Michael Logan

Novelist, Journalist and other things ending in -ist

Ghost writing an ethical folk-pop-rock biography

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I have agreed to take on a rather peculiar job ghost-writing the biography for what I think is the only ethical folk-pop-rock duo in the world, Quentin and Crisp.

Rather than tell you about it, since it is my job to step into the shadows, I will allow Tobias Crisp, one half of the badly dressed act, tell you about it in his own words:

Dear friends in ethical folk-pop-rock,

Has it really been almost three years since we last spoke? It seems it has. I can only issue sincere apologies from Quentin and myself, and simultaneously provide you with wonderful news.

So much has happened, that I cannot tell you it all at once. Suffice to say that Quentin and I are tragically torn apart for the moment, stuck in separate continents due to a quirk of fate. I am living in Nairobi, where I am trying to get my ethical SANSOCK factory off the ground in the slums of Kibera, and also looking for funding for my new product, REFUCHEESE (It’s cheese. Made by refugees.)

If you are a donor, please send me your email address and I will give you my bank details. Minimum donation of 50 thousand euros please. Alternatively, you may send an attractive movie star or pop singer down for a fund-raising jamboree. If at all possible, send Kylie Minogue. She is welcome to stay in my humble abode. I do only have one bed, but I am sure we can make do somehow. I am open to other beautiful young ladies, but please don’t send that Lady GaGa. She would snap me in two like a twig. I’m not even sure she is a lady and, despite the rumours, I emphatically state here and now that I do not worship in the Church of Man Love.

Anyway, I digress.

Poor old Quentin is still in the commune, where he has been in a full body cast ever since he tried to use his conflict resolution skills to prevent a few dozen young Hungarian men, who despite their lovely embroidered waistcoats were quite appallingly right wing, from attacking a Roma village in the east of Hungary in January. I will spare you the details, other than to say the hospital staff had to fish his left testicle out of a Magpie’s nest before they could re-attach it.

But enough grumping. To the good news.

As you know, Q&C have led action-packed lives, full of highs and lows, peaks and troughs, ducks and dives. Now, at long last, our lives are to be chronicled in book format. In a few weeks time, I will sit down with Michael Logan, a journalist of my acquaintance and ghost writer of the renowned biographies Small Legs, Big Heart (the story of Peter Watwicky, who gave up his stable job as a circus midget to pursue his dream of winning Olympic Gold in the high jump) and Kiddy Fiddler (the tale of Jack McBart, who overcame a horrendous background of child abuse to become the youngest ever lead violin in the Dunstable Symphony Orchestra). With such illustrious titles to his name, I just know he can do our life story justice.

Keep your eyes open for updates on how we are progressing and please help keep the ethical folk-pop-rock alive until Quentin is recovered by encouraging your friends to download our hit singles, Socks and Sandals and What Ails You World? from our MySpace page.

Yours in ethical folk-pop-rock,
Tobias Crisp.

If you want to follow the updates to the writing process, you can follow Crisp’s blog at:

http://quentinandcrisp.livejournal.com/

Hear their songs at:

http://www.myspace.com/quentinandcrisp

And watch videos of them in action at:

http://www.youtube.com/user/quentinandcrisp

Cheers,
Michael.

PS I do know that Crisp bears a remarkable resemblance to me, but let me assure you that since I am also told I look like Paul Scholes, Simon Pegg, Jimmy Somerville and just about any other gingernut out there, this similarity is down to my chameleon-like appearance. We are not the same person.

Lazy writer

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After a massive spurt (Carry On fans, feel free to titter), I have not written a single word on the book for the last week. This is partly because we were down at Steve and Sue’s villa on the Indian Ocean, oh posh us, and I went on a reading frenzy while lying on the terrace listening to the waves slapping against the coral cliffs below us.

On the way down we had a tyre blow out at 100kph, which probably should have been more terrifying than it was. The car did not flip over and roll, or skid into the path of an oncoming truck. It just wobbled a bit, like my bowels, and was harder to control as I braked to a halt.

Anyhoo, tonight I am going to get back onto the horse and continue with the 2nd draft. I hope to have a decent version finished by mid-December, so if anybody wants to volunteer as a reader (other than those who have already been nominated/nominated themselves), please let me know.

Be warned, however: just because I have a big baldy forehead this does not mean the book is highbrow. It isn’t, as the title – Apocalypse Cow – will probably hint at. Normally I attempt to write serious, thoughtful stories, but this piece of nonsense is just splurging out of me and needs dealt with before I can move on to ghost-writing the biography of my good friends and ethical folk-pop-rockers Quentin and Crisp, a project I am very excited about.

I am looking for people who are happy to give an honest opinion that is more in-depth than: it’s shit/I fell asleep after three pages/I guess it’s alright if you like that sort of thing. I am likely to be sick of the sight of the thing by then, so will need fresh eyes to point out the huge plot holes an overweight hippo could meander through without touching the sides.

Lazy writer

by

After a massive spurt (Carry On fans, feel free to titter), I have not written a single word on the book for the last week. This is partly because we were down at Steve and Sue’s villa on the Indian Ocean, oh posh us, and I went on a reading frenzy while lying on the terrace listening to the waves slapping against the coral cliffs below us.

On the way down we had a tyre blow out at 100kph, which probably should have been more terrifying than it was. The car did not flip over and roll, or skid into the path of an oncoming truck. It just wobbled a bit, like my bowels, and was harder to control as I braked to a halt.

Anyhoo, tonight I am going to get back onto the horse and continue with the 2nd draft. I hope to have a decent version finished by mid-December, so if anybody wants to volunteer as a reader (other than those who have already been nominated/nominated themselves), please let me know.

Be warned, however: just because I have a big baldy forehead this does not mean the book is highbrow. It isn’t, as the title – Apocalypse Cow – will probably hint at. Normally I attempt to write serious, thoughtful stories, but this piece of nonsense is just splurging out of me and needs dealt with before I can move on to ghost-writing the biography of my good friends and ethical folk-pop-rockers Quentin and Crisp, a project I am very excited about.

I am looking for people who are happy to give an honest opinion that is more in-depth than: it’s shit/I fell asleep after three pages/I guess it’s alright if you like that sort of thing. I am likely to be sick of the sight of the thing by then, so will need fresh eyes to point out the huge plot holes an overweight hippo could meander through without touching the sides.

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