Richard Is Real Goddamnit — Part 3, The Book is Here, I Can Turn its Pages!

My new book is real, finally. I got the first copy today. And I am promising myself to read it…soon

The book is real. It’s here. It’s been made. I picked up the first copy of The Richard Poems earlier today. This weekend, Saturday, November 9, we launch:

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I will be reading from the book Thursday, November 7 in Wellington:

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But for now, I still don’t quite know how to feel…I have this thing when I release a book: I am excited to see it, to know that it’s real, to touch it, and feel it, to hold it. But reading it is another thing. My eyes will scan for the typos that we all missed. Or some deep sense-check that makes me decide out of nowhere I was insane to do this, and somehow had wished I knew that earlier.

It will pass.

When my first book, On Song, was released in 2012, I came home to the first copy of it. It was open and sitting on the coffee table, and I was the only person at home. I stared at it for a few minutes, then vacuumed the entire house. I took the dishes out of the dishwasher and hand-washed them, put a load of washing in the machine, and started dusting. Eventually, an hour and a bit later, I sat down with a drink, and opened the book. I found a glaring typo — the same word repeated in a bloody pull-quote. But I did get over that, and decided not to hate the book.

When my second book, The Death of Music Journalism, was released in 2020…I can’t remember. I know I brought it home and stared at its amazing cover for a long time, and thought about how lucky I was to know Matt Couper, the artist that painted it exclusively for the book, and only because I had asked, not because there was any money in it. I thought about how Matt and I have been friends since kindergarten. And I thought about how my brother once said that “nobody could say you’re not a real writer now” when my first book came out. But to my knowledge he’s never actually read it, and didn’t seem to know my second book was even a thing.

And so, earlier today, I picked up a handful of copies of The Richard Poems. I dropped one off to a friend, an early reader and key supporter of the project. I came home and stared at the cover. Again a wonderful image — this time the photographer Peter Black gifted me the use of his amazing photograph in exchange for a credit (and a copy of the book of course). The dynamic Phantom Billstickers have put that cover around town, and one of the poems on a poster:

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That there is probably Rock Star Treatment — famous and brilliant artists gifting you covers. New Zealand’s postering legends putting up your work on their bollards. I’ll probably not get reviewed, or if I do they’ll hold that, or the fact that I used to be a reviewer, against me. Or both.

But I can handle that. On Song was reviewed. Mostly favourably enough. And it was only an okay book — I was proud of it at the time, as you should be. And I loved the process. But I can’t say my heart was fully in it.

The Death of Music Journalism was reviewed really well — including The Listener and Landfall. Can’t get much better than that as a first-time poetry-book writer in New Zealand. And I did a bunch of readings in support of the book, and generally had a very good time living with it, until I somewhat outgrew it. It was my Lockdown project. And it was a validation. I could call myself a poet, because I had a book of poems (shades of my brother’s wisdom right there eh).

Earlier this week I was lucky to get coverage of my book on Jesse Mulligan’s show on RNZ. Again, a mighty privilege, something not every writer gets. And I’m not even on particularly good terms with RNZ these days either, so it wasn’t really calling in huge favours. Although, also, it kinda was. I am my own publicist. And so there. For better and worse, that’s how I’ll roll.

Jesse started the segment off by introducing me as having said, “He says this is the best thing he’s done” and I thought Jesus mate, who writes your copy these days? And then I realised, I had written that to him in an email! Lol.

But, no shame. This is the short-lived window of self-promotion. I have created an entry for the book on Goodreads. And when I’ve read it I’ll list it, add it to my pile of completed readings for the year. I’ve read this book more than any other book, I’ve spent more time on this. Most of the poems in it were created this year — this whole book came about (the idea of it, and then the creation) in less than a calendar year. I think it hit me in early February that I had a book. I approached my publisher in May or something — and we agreed to do it. Went hard on it from August. I wrote the final poem in the book — literally the piece that closes it — in September. A month later it was being sent to the printers.

My heart is so hugely in this book as to be almost living there right now. When I open the pages, later, I’ll be sure to look for it. To maybe feel it beating as the pages slowly turn. This was 2024’s sanity-project. One that has lived inside me, in some way, since 2001. It was almost a play. But no. I cannot write plays. It was possibly a short film — but no. That’s also not me. And maybe it’s a novel — if anyone else was to write it. Again, not me. It is almost a novel/novella-in-poems. And it is the best thing I’ve done. To date.

Excuse me that indulgence. But Richard Is Real — Goddamnit. We did it. Me and The Cuba Press did it. And Substack readers have been along for the journey, maybe some of you more than others. But you’ve all been receiving versions of the poems, including some recorded readings. Many of them have changed significantly in this book — the editing process was involved. And I loved it, and learned a lot.

I’m thrilled also with the back cover:

Those amazing endorsements from Rachel McAlpine, and Richard Langston (#notallrichards). Two writers I admire, and am lucky to know.

And if you scan that QR code you’ll be taken to the playlist where you can check out the music that helped to make the book:

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Now, once again, excuse me. I’ve stalled for quite long enough. I’ve had a book to write. Which means I’ve now got a book to read. You can read it too of course. Come to the launch this Saturday:

Or order online from The Cuba Press. Or ask your local bookstore to get a copy for you. Or send me a message…