Scrapbook: The Hope That Kills Us

2002/2003

I posted a bit about The Hope that Kills Us when I first started this Substack, but I return to it now as I found these cuttings in my big box o’ stuff I’ve kept over the years. The Hope that Kills Us marked my first publication as a prose writer (I’d had poetry published before). I was an undergraduate at Aberdeen and Alan Spence was our writer in residence at the time. He was invited to submit a story to this collection about Scottish football and, when they opened it collection to non-commissioned submissions, he encouraged his creative writing class to submit. I did, and was successful with a story called “Football Scarves and Richard Kimble” (which I will re-share soon after this post).

It was the publisher, Freight (who would go on to publish my first three novels) who organised this piece in the Press and Journal, the local paper in Aberdeen. I felt thoroughly uncomfortable in the photo shoot and I’ve honestly never been comfortable with photo shoots. Luckily I’m rarely called on to take part in them. I said then that I would love to make a living by writing and that still holds true. Maybe one day.

Freight also organised a public reading at Pittodrie, the home of Aberdeen Football Club, which is to date the weirdest reading I’ve ever done. On a small stage, through a massive PA, as Aberdeen fans were coming into the stadium for a game against Partick Thistle, we each read our stories. I went first (not by choice). Mine was about being a Celtic fan. I thought I was going to die. Actually, no one gave a shit. I’ve no idea if we even sold a single copy of the book but we did get to stay and watch the game and eat a pie.

There was a launch in Glasgow too, and a wee event at Hampden Park, both of which I attended. The Hope That Kills Us was a watershed moment in my career, the moment I knew that this was possible. The story also helped me get into Glasgow University to do my creative writing masters later in 2003. I still get a buzz holding the hardback, and these clippings brought back strong memories, not least of my crappy goatee and over-wavy hair, and the flat in George Street, Aberdeen, where the photo was taken.