John Gibson: It's Elmore enjoying a good girn
You're never going to see Elmore Leonard, the grand master of American fiction, in Charlotte Square in August. He doesn't do itsy-bitsy book festivals featuring the usual suspects.
Does he need to get off his bum anyway? Not when publishers gladly pay him three million dollars for two books. And he's at that stage in his life when he can more than well afford to holler about some of the rough trade in his profession.
He's just been revealing: "There are guys who don't know how to write who are on the New York Times bestseller list overnight. Or guys who are even writing their own books who have a little name under their name.
"I don't understand that. I don't understand how this fits into publishing. What do the publishers think? 'We're paying this guy (James) Patterson 70 million dollars and someone else is writing the book.' Does that make sense?"
Has Elmore's theory any street-cred? He'll have done his homework.
My initial encounter with him was in the early sixties. With him and Paul Newman in Hombre. Perhaps, of course, you preferred Carry on Cowboy.
Rowling in it
If I'm to believe what I'm reading in the papers - and who would these days? - Joanne Rowling wants to build Hagrid's house - a "folly" - in her garden in leafiest Barnton.
Smacks of the Potter pictures. Apparently Joanne's been kid-gloving the neighbours. I wouldn't be best pleased if I had a Hagrid reminder close to my patch.
Hagrid, the bearded giant, was played by the rotund Robbie Coltrane and I'd demand a sizeable reduction in my rates with him in the neighbourhood. But it's all Hagrid hearsay.
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Wednesday 19 June 2013
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