In February 2023 I slunk out of my warm wordy north London encampment, my study, to do my first physical promotion of my novel, When the Moon was White.

Since the book takes place in a fictional American town in the Sixties and features music from that decade, I contacted the convenor of the local U3A (University of the Third Age) ‘Americana’ group, and together we arranged for me to do a reading at their next meeting, at a local pub.  

So on a Wednesday afternoon, with a stack of my books, I strode across the road to the Victoria Stakes’ upstairs function room, set out nicely for a reading, the pub owner being a big supporter of similar neighbourhood events.

I watched about 25 U3A members file in. The demographic looked just right: they would have been around during the Sixties and familiar with the Moon Race and other events of the time. A microphone, though, was clearly called for, and the pub owner duly brought one up.

The Americana group organiser, who’d downloaded a few Sixties tracks mentioned in my novel, sat next to me at one end of the room with his laptop. I read several extracts from my book, punctuated with the music. It all lasted around 40 minutes, after which the group asked interesting and intelligent questions. One man knew more about one of the songs than I did, and the physicist in the room doubted the plausibility of my plot – to paint the moon.

Afterwards, seven people bought the book, which I signed – one to ‘a moonlover’, one to a geologist. I had announced that I’d donate half of any proceeds to the local food bank, and I think this encouraged one or two people to buy the book.

That suited me. In person and not, I’m trying to seed my book in places where it may  strike a chord, but I hardly expect it to be a big seller. I’m happy to echo James Joyce: he said he’d rather have two thousand close readers than two million readers.