Finally it looks as though we're in business. After months of leaving me in the doldrums, my publisher has written to say he's gearing up to the July publishing. He's sent me reams of questionnaires to fill out; I've spent much of the weekend writing blurbs and autobiographical sketches and answering questions about my ideal reviewer.
And I've also insisted on publishing 'The Gift of Honey' under the name of R. Rushforth Morley.
Why? Rather a mouthful, isn't it? Rather old-fashioned?
Maybe. But Rushforth was my mother's maiden name, and I'm happy to keep it flying - if nothing else, as a nod to my favourite grandparent, who had the delightful Anglo-Saxon name Harold Rushforth, and began every day of his life with a bacon sandwich.
And there's a nod in another direction, too: I'd like to think it has the ring of a 'W. Somerset Maugham' about it: a writer I've always admired for his craftsmanship and well-plotted stories.
But the real reason for taking pains over the name on the cover of 'The Gift of Honey' is because my given name, Robert Morley, has always been in the public arena. Surely you remember the genial, adipose actor, playwright and wit? Although he passed away in 1992 his stature still casts a shadow (all through my childhood my name was greeted with a raised eyebrow and the comment "Well you've certainly lost some weight!" Not to mention the fifty years.).
And would you believe that my sister (well, half-sister really, but why be technical?) was named Elisabeth Taylor? Now, doesn't that raise another eyebrow? Whatever was my mother thinking of? Actually, it's Jayne Elisabeth Taylor - and you wouldn't be surprised to learn that she prefers 'Jayne' to 'Elisabeth'... (Hi there, Jayne! You reading this, sis?)
So I've struggled with this second-hand name business. I guess this is why it's taken me fifty years to get round to getting a novel published! I've tried the trendy Bob Morley (only Mother threatens to cut me off), anagrams (how does Terry Bremolo sound ?- or even Beryl Tremotor, which happens to have a Cornish ring about it, although I'm not sure I could face a sex change), and even dropping my surname: yet Robert Rushforth seems to leave off too much of my identity, as well as needlessly giving away the George Orwell advantage. Do you know that story? Eric Arthur Blair chose his nom de plume from a list of English rivers, and settled on one from the middle of the alphabet bercause he calculated that Avon or Blackwater would place him up on the top shelf out of reach , whereas Wye would require searching for his books on bended knee.
So that's it. R. Rushforth Morley. I hope that it's a name that'll soon be staring you straight in the eye, from the shelves of a bookshop somewhere near you.
And I've also insisted on publishing 'The Gift of Honey' under the name of R. Rushforth Morley.
Why? Rather a mouthful, isn't it? Rather old-fashioned?
Maybe. But Rushforth was my mother's maiden name, and I'm happy to keep it flying - if nothing else, as a nod to my favourite grandparent, who had the delightful Anglo-Saxon name Harold Rushforth, and began every day of his life with a bacon sandwich.
And there's a nod in another direction, too: I'd like to think it has the ring of a 'W. Somerset Maugham' about it: a writer I've always admired for his craftsmanship and well-plotted stories.
But the real reason for taking pains over the name on the cover of 'The Gift of Honey' is because my given name, Robert Morley, has always been in the public arena. Surely you remember the genial, adipose actor, playwright and wit? Although he passed away in 1992 his stature still casts a shadow (all through my childhood my name was greeted with a raised eyebrow and the comment "Well you've certainly lost some weight!" Not to mention the fifty years.).
And would you believe that my sister (well, half-sister really, but why be technical?) was named Elisabeth Taylor? Now, doesn't that raise another eyebrow? Whatever was my mother thinking of? Actually, it's Jayne Elisabeth Taylor - and you wouldn't be surprised to learn that she prefers 'Jayne' to 'Elisabeth'... (Hi there, Jayne! You reading this, sis?)
So I've struggled with this second-hand name business. I guess this is why it's taken me fifty years to get round to getting a novel published! I've tried the trendy Bob Morley (only Mother threatens to cut me off), anagrams (how does Terry Bremolo sound ?- or even Beryl Tremotor, which happens to have a Cornish ring about it, although I'm not sure I could face a sex change), and even dropping my surname: yet Robert Rushforth seems to leave off too much of my identity, as well as needlessly giving away the George Orwell advantage. Do you know that story? Eric Arthur Blair chose his nom de plume from a list of English rivers, and settled on one from the middle of the alphabet bercause he calculated that Avon or Blackwater would place him up on the top shelf out of reach , whereas Wye would require searching for his books on bended knee.
So that's it. R. Rushforth Morley. I hope that it's a name that'll soon be staring you straight in the eye, from the shelves of a bookshop somewhere near you.
1 comments:
Terry Bremolo sounds like a footballer and Beryl Tremotor like a character off a seaside postcard! I think you did the right thing. Never knew that about Orwell. Fascinating stuff.
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