Who Would Like Three Free Signed Books?
Also in today's newsletter: a review of summer, a poem and an exclusive audio excerpt from my next novel
Another summer is slipping quietly out of the back door. It’s not totally out yet but one shoe is back on. The door is open just wide enough for an old stray dog to slip in and steal the last of the courgettes (the dog will later regret this). Can you feel the subtle change in the air? Did you, just like me, almost get knocked unconscious by a falling apple the other day, merely as a result of walking along a country lane, minding your own business? Have you been beset by a creeping, heightened sense of awareness that one more year of your life is slipping away? NEVER FEAR. To compensate, for this week and this week only, to anyone who takes out a full annual paid subscription to this page, wherever you are in the world, I’m sending out signed first edition hardbacks of not, as usual, two, but THREE of my books: Notebook, Villager AND the freshly-off-the-presses 1983. That’s approximately £50/$66 worth of books in total.
You can find out a little more about the books here.
The system is simple: once I get notification of your subscription I will email you for your address and get the books in the post to you, with tracking, within not more than three days. If you live far away and you’d like to contribute to the postage, fantastic, but if you can’t afford that, I will sign and send them to you, regardless. Once you sign up, you’ll have full access to my archive, upcoming paywalled pieces (I have several of these planned for autumn), and - at the bottom of this newsletter - me reading an exclusive excerpt from my next novel, Everything Will Swallow You, in my garden earlier today with Roscoe (aka Philippa).
The offer also applies to people currently paying the monthly rate who decide to upgrade to annual. (However, Substack doesn’t notify me about that kind of upgrade, so if you decide to do that, please email me with your address at tom@tom-cox.com.)
A few other things I’ve done this summer, in addition to feeling absolutely exhausted from writing and editing my biggest, most ambitious novel yet:
Made this hare out of willow for my garden (I was quite pleased, as it’s my first ever attempt at sculpture) with the guidance of the expert weaver Jo Sadler.
Got my mind deep-fried by the weirdness of this extraordinarily, unexpectedly dark and creepy book written in the mid 1920s by TF Powys - lesser-known brother of John Cowper Powys - about a village in rural Dorset.
Negotiated some tricky stepping stones on moorland walks.
Taken a punt on inexpensive half century-old Japanese and Tunisian records, based solely on their cover art and the fact that they contain flute.
Admired this tree where residents have nailed car registration plates lost in floods on the adjacent lane, then - because I want to, and I am allowed to - moving the tree’s location and putting it in my novel.
Obsessed over intriguing doors in old walls (again).
Befriended arrogant cats in restored heritage kitchen gardens.
Spent too much time at flea markets.
Added to my hagstone collection.
Written this poem about (sea)gulls:
They’re just gulls, really
The “sea” bit is superfluous
I found that out
When I was speaking
To an esteemed nature writer
And called them “seagulls”
He seemed really angry
Though not as angry
As my ex girlfriend
Was
The time one of them
Stole a fresh pasty
Out of her eager hands
For the second time
In a week
Her first week
In the South West
She had decided she loved pasties
But not yet learned the rules:
KEEP YOUR PASTIES COVERED
At all times
When outdoors
And within five miles of the coast
Don’t give your pasties
To (sea)gulls
Give them your old microwave ovens
Clocks
And kettles
Instead
They will take them away
And recycle them
Because while they might be hooligans
And thieves
They are always thinking
Ultimately
About the planet
And its health
Unfortunately I couldn’t find a photo of a seagull to accompany this poem so I’ve decided to use this one I took of a furious horse instead. It’s not been a bad one, overall.
