Chuffed to Bits

9781904881643-Perking the Pansies COVER.inddI try hard not to over-promote my books here on my personal blog. I reckon that most readers have either bought the bloody things or aren’t going to. But today I can’t help myself. Just when I begin to think that Perking the Pansies is reaching the end of its shelf life, I get bowled over by the reviews added to Amazon. In the last week I’ve received two new five star reviews. I quote:

“A big thank you to Jack Scott for making me smile on virtually every page.” More…

“Jack Scott’s prose frolics along exposing with defining brilliance ‘the sorts’ we all meet and want to avoid with every fiber in our bodies whilst abroad.” More…

So it seems the book’s still got legs. I’m chuffed. Thank you.

A Queer Business

Book reviewing is a queer business. Amateur reviewers, often anonymous and sometimes with an axe to grind or with lofty literary pretensions, can damn with faint praise or go nuclear with their toxic pen. Naturally, no book appeals to everyone. Bad reviews are an occupational hazard. Even the top of the heap gets mixed critiques. Someone once wrote that Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was “…the worst book I’ve ever read.” It might not be everyone’s cup of tea but the worst book ever? Hardly. Clearly, the reviewer wasn’t that well read. Was Louis de Bernières bothered? Not with a cheque for the film rights in his back pocket, he wasn’t. The best anyone can do is rise above the din, turn the other cheek and keep their own counsel. It doesn’t do to spit back even when sorely provoked. I’ve got off lightly. On the whole, reviews for Perking the Pansies have been excellent, and not just from my nearest and dearest whom I emotionally blackmailed. Shadowy rogue reviewers? It reminds me why dogs lick themselves – because they can.

Far from the Madding Crowd

The whirlwind virtual world book tour has reached its final destination back in old Bodrum Town. The imaginary train has pulled into the non-existent station. I’m knackered. My final gig is at Roving Jay’s Bodrum Peninsula Travel Guide.

Regular viewers will remember that Jay was an early reviewer of my book and called it:

A Post-coital Embrace that Lingers ’til Dawn.”

It’s a steamy critique and still my favourite.

Jay pumped me on the Roving Sofa with a quick fire round about Bodrum.

“My vision of hell is being squeezed onto a commercial party boat like the Victoria Line during the rush hour with a bunch of orange-faced holidaying strangers and brats in baseball caps. We select our boat trips carefully – usually with a handful of hand-picked gals and pals. My advice is get your own group together, find a smaller craft and talk to the captain about what floats your boat. Most owners are amenable to any reasonable request and open to negotiation on the price. We’ve cruised from Yalikavak, Bitez and Bodrum; another great way to get away from the madding crowd.” More…

Shaken, Not Stirred

Ex-spook, Linda (she denies it, but I know she was), gave up her 007 career at the Pentagon and settled in the Low Countries to write about life and fret about global warming. If my house was fifty feet below sea level, I’d fret too. Linda is a prolific blogger, accomplished writer and published author. She’s also an all-round good liberal egg with the all the right values and a huge heart. Linda has been a great supporter of my blog virtually from the outset. She wrote an incredible review of my book and, best of all, I didn’t have to bribe her. This just goes to prove you can’t wet the beak of the honourable. In addition to the review, she’s written a post Pansies, Oh So Successfully Perked on Adventures in Expatland. Read it here.

M’Lady and the Crazy Marionettes

Next whistle stop on my virtual book tour (are you still on the train?) is Liz Cameron’s blog, Slowly-by-Slowly. Liz writes with depth and poetry about her cross-cultural life as an American married to a Turk through the eyes of a troupe of Ottoman era Karagöz shadow puppets. She’s not insane. It’s a metaphor, silly. Of greatest interest to me, though, is that Liz lives in Provincetown, a pretty little New England seaside resort which is a summer mecca for gay visitors – a kind of American Brighton. Yes, I am that shallow. My invite to ogle the shocking males must be lost in the post. The shocking mail in Turkey is to blame, no doubt.

Hop over to Slowly-by-Slowly to catch the book review and to hang out with M’Lady and the crazy marionettes.

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