Bigfoot has decided to do things differently. He writes for kids, vowing to create the most bogglesome stories ever—but also to never be “spotted”
About The Projectionist
In a town where stories are dying, one girl still projects her tales in the woods… until her extraordinary powers begin to fade.
How does Bigfoot name his characters? Does he ever change the names of his characters?
Memorably, he once named a character after himself, but he doesn’t like me to mention that (he’s saving it up for another book). Sometimes he goes with the sound of the name or gets fragments of words, then muddles them around and squishes them together inside his head. He also lifts names from boats, signposts, and maps.
For The Projectionist, he tells me he named Ceres (the lead character) after a dwarf planet near Jupiter. I always said he should have called her “Jane,” but he was dead keen on something a little more cosmic.
Once or twice folk have suggested Bigfoot change the names of his characters—but that just makes him terribly moody…
What is his favorite website that he uses to promote his writing?
Somehow he’s concocted his own website which is a bit of a miracle, as he’s usually all at sea with computers and the interweb. Last time I checked, he didn’t even own a nonsense device—he says all that tweeting and pinging upsets his precious brainwaves.
How many words or pages does Bigfoot typically write in one session?
Remarkably few that I’m aware of. He tries to get up before sunrise, but he takes a week or two to type each chapter.
“Slow and steady wins the race,” he always tells me.
“Rubbish,” I say. “Do you think proper authors write like that? Your typewriter has actual moss growing between the keys!”
Does Bigfoot have any writing rituals?
He walks for ideas. It’s infuriating. I don’t know where he goes to half the time: wandering, pondering, mooching, often in the woods or somewhere dark with ferns — it’s hugely antisocial in my opinion, but he says walking is the best remedy for any kind of thought slump.
What are Bigfoot’s passions outside of writing?
I had to ask him this one. It took him a while. Rainbows, apparently—who knew! And he has a thing for the sea. And also tea. There’s a rumour he used to be a cloudspotter as well, but I’m hoping he’s given that up.
Has he made any public appearances to promote his book?
That’s a big no! He goes to pieces if I even mention it.
“Go on,” I urged him last week. “Do a school visit! You’re an author, that’s what they do; it’s what you should do too—you need to get out and meet kids, read to them. They’re not going to find your books at the bottom of the Amazon, are they?”
He didn’t like that. Not one bit. Goodness, the look he gave me could have withered nettles, and it quite spoiled our plans for his upcoming book launch. He said he’d sit the whole thing out in a cave, as far from other folk as possible.
Who would he most want to read his book?
Kids, of course—that’s who he’s aiming for—but he’s writing with a certain type of kid in mind, the sort who still gazes out the window and sees patterns in the sky. He’s quite particular about that.
“Bigfoot,” I have to remind him, when he gets all dreamy like this, “Why not all of them? There are kids, like literally everywhere!”
He snorts at me. “They’re on their nonsense devices all the time. Chirping and bleeping and peeping like you wouldn’t believe!”
I didn’t argue with that. He’s very stubborn. But I know he wants grown-ups to read his books too. “It’ll boggle up their brains,” he told me once.
“And that’s a good thing?” I asked.
“They’re still kids inside,” he said. “Just bigger.”
Is there an idea that a non-writer has pitched to him that he has considered writing?
Nothing in particular but he’s obsessed with politicians and the garbage they spout and how incredibly full of themselves they get. He finds their ideas a source of both hilarity and concern. I believe he secretly scribbles down their words to regurgitate into his stories (don’t tell him I told you!).
Does he ever use dreams as inspiration for his writing?
I wish he wouldn’t. Sleeping is something he prides himself on, but when he wakes, he does bang on about his wacky dreams and how he’s got a brilliant new story about a library in space, or ducks quacking numbers, or other such fanciful nonsense.
And I didn’t mention the cheese, did I? Probably best not to. Except to say, it has a prominent role in The Projectionist, and that was no accident.
Personally, I think it better if he stays away from both cheese and dreams. Then he could settle down and write some sort of travel guide. At least that would make him useful.
Has he ever gone away to work on a piece of writing? If not, where would he go if he could?
To a cave.
“That would be the bees’ knees,” he often tells me.
In fact, he won’t shut up about it. “A nice cosy cave, with a stream. Big enough to stretch out in, but also warm in the winter… maybe with a waterfall for a door?”
I just smile. What else can I do?
How does he measure the success of his writing career?
He’d love kids to enjoy his novels, yet wants to stay hidden in The Wilds and never be spotted.
“Bigfoot,” I usually say, “that’s impossible!”
But he tells me he will keep writing, year on year, and make up stranger and more peculiar tales, creating the books you just don’t get in bookstores.
And although he’s dreadfully misguided, with his head rammed with fluff, I do wish him well with it.
Someone has to.
I hope that helps.
(For what it’s worth, I think it’s a bit of a corker.)
Toodle pip!
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