Born in Mid-Air

06/12/2011

Scott Taylor discusses his Nottingham-based debut novel and why he decided to self-publish. Words: James Walker

alt text

Scott Taylor was born and bred in Nottingham but has since found himself completing a degree in journalism, running a coffee shop in Bristol and teaching English in Siberia. He’s now back in his home town after self-publishing his debut novel Born in Mid-Air. Here he gives a little context to the book as well as a small excerpt.   

You've travelled about a bit...
After finishing my studies at Alderman White comprehensive and then South Notts College I moved down south to do a degree in journalism at Surrey Institute of Art and Design. My mum died suddenly of cancer when I was in my second year. Despite wanting initially to pack-in the degree (and everything), I pressed-on and graduated in 1998. I stayed living down south after my degree for a few years before moving to Bristol and managing a coffee shop. This was quite tiresome and I soon got into teaching English as a foreign language. My first role was in Siberia. I lived there for a year, experiencing winter days of minus 48 degrees and summer ones of 30. Teaching English also took me to Kurdish Turkey and northern Italy. These expeditions taught me a lot about both myself and that massive thing out there called The World.

But your back home now...
I returned to Nottingham in 2007. Before then, my sadness about mum had made my hometown something of an emotional open wound, but after ten years I found that familiarity had made the old place a friend. I now live in St Anns with my girlfriend, writing, and working in a call centre. I had a rehearsed reading of my comedy play Sticks & Stones performed in London in 2008, and wrote three sketch shows which featured in the first two Nottingham Comedy Festivals (2009 & 2010).

You’ve self-published your first novel. This seems to be quite a growing trend...
Technology has changed the landscape. Authors have latched onto the fact that they can use sites like Lulu and Amazon KDP to go straight to the audience instead of trying to first impress an agent behind a desk in London who has to impress a publisher over lunch in London, who might then see fit to release the book to everyone. Self-publishing used to be a dirty word, but it shouldn't be. Musicians who spend their own time and money writing and recording an album are praised for it. Authors who spend their own time and money writing and publishing a book deserve the same kudos. Sure, it's a product that's rough around the edges, but that's half the attraction. Think about mixtapes in music. They're interesting and individual because the big companies haven't homogenised the sound yet. Self-published books are writer's mixtapes.

Why Born in Mid-Air?
I was born on the sixth floor of Balloon Woods flats. They've since been demolished, and I find it a bit sad that I can't go back to where I was born, look at it and think, 'This bizarre journey all started there'. I'd like to do that sometimes. But I can't, I'd just have to gaze at a vague point in mid-air. I suppose I'm using that as a term to capture a feeling of vagueness and uncertainty.

The main protagonist Dom is struggling to find his place in the world after his mum's death. Why is he finding this loss so hard to get over?
It's his mum. She wasn't perfect, they didn't always agree, but still, that bond was there. She passed away without them saying goodbye, without a chance for that final redemption of his mum saying, 'It's ok. Everything's forgiven. I love you.'

You've set the book in Nottingham as the end of the millennium approaches. What kind of city was Nottingham then and why this period?
There was a lot of questioning of faith and beliefs and what-not at the end of the millennium, and an expression of uncertainty as people looked to the future. I think that dovetails with Dom's feelings after his mum's death, but his reasons are all personal. I also set the story then because that's when my own mum passed away.
Nottingham seemed a lot more musical then, with more clubs and fewer pretentious bars and gastro-pubs. It may well still be musical now, but perhaps I'm just out of the loop since I became a grumpy old curmudgeon.

You've got one tweet to tell us why people should read your book...
Born in Mid-Air offers a glimpse into the broken heart of a boy and the pulsing soul of a city. Relive the late nights of 1990s Nottingham.

Tell us a little bit about the excerpt you've chosen.
The excerpt I've chosen is quite representative of the book as a whole. It's got some musings by Dom about the city and his relationship with it, just before a bit of a key point where the story makes a stride forward. The key moment includes alcohol and a girl, which again is fairly typical of both the book and my life in the 1990s.

Born in Mid-Air

Walking through the city streets again, Dom found that his vibe needed some fine tuning in order to fit in with the buzz of the city.  It wouldn't take long, though.  He walked knowingly, taking sly shortcuts down back alleys which at night bustled with clubbers but during the day lay redundant.  Only so often did he emerge into the busy streets, and then only briefly.  He'd quickly dart into another alley and be away again.  He could travel to almost any location in town and avoid the crowds, a feat which evaded most.  Realising this boosted his moral, and his feeling of belonging and being in touch.

Dom felt the buzz of the city and understood its moods better than anyone, he reckoned.  When he had walked the streets on previous occasions, he felt that only street sweepers and newspaper vendors were on a par with him in that regard.  They had the advantage of just standing there, soaking it up all day.  Dom had explored every street in the city centre, and he had read the history of much of it in Angel Row library.  His familiarity was not deja vu, nothing to do with having 'been here before', the sort of reincarnation you occasionally read of in women's magazines.  The feeling was more one of his mind saying, “Of course!”
When he learned the history of a street or building, it all made sense, all fitted together, the feelings he had and the history.  They matched.  He loved testing-out this theory by going somewhere and then reading its history.  He was compelled.  His grandma's blood, coursing through his body, fuelled his great uncle's legs to stride about the place and look at everything.  With Alfred's eyes. 
 
The thought had suddenly occurred to Dom that perhaps he was something of a historical tour for his deceased ancestors.  He walked around, while they observed from his open-top head, reminiscing at the places they had once fallen in love, bought a hat, or got drunk and punched a fellow.  The vague sense of familiarity he often experienced in a given place was maybe the result of their confused ramblings drifting down into the driver's cabin.  The ramblings of a group of dead ancestors sitting in an open top bus which transported them around their old haunts would be nothing if not confused, Dom reckoned.
 
He realised that his random walking was to kill time.  Now that he'd seen Jo, he had nothing to do until this evening.  He had said he'd make his own way to her sister's house.  He decided to head back to the hotel.  Strolling into the reception area, he noticed that it was very quiet as he collected his key.  A couple of elderly gentlemen in suits were milling about, but that seemed to be all that was happening this afternoon.  Dom contemplated having a drink and craned his neck so as to see into the bar area.  It was as empty, apart from a tall female with her back to the door.  She wore a small denim jacket and a short tight skirt with some sort of flower print on it.  She didn't look bad, Dom thought.  This was probably more to do with the length and smoothness of her legs than any other factor.  
 
Yes, he decided, he definitely would have a drink.
 
Getting onto the stool next to the girl, Dom raised his eyebrows at the barman to summon him over.  As he ordered a bottle of Becks, Dom was aware that the girl was looking at him.  
The barman turned away, and Dom faced the girl.
"Fancy seeing you here," she smiled. 
"Shit!  Alright?  I didn't realise it was you.  What're you doing here?"
Heels fidgeted on her stool, getting comfortable.  Her eyes were dopey and half-shut.  Dom figured she was pretty drunk.
"Well, I was . . . called here on business.”  
She slurred her words and struggled to keep those sleepy eyelids open.
"Business?"
"Yes.  Why are you here?"
"I live here. For now."
She looked pretty informal for work, Dom thought.  The barman put a bottle of Becks on the bar in front of Dom.  He reached for his wallet, but Heels stopped him.
"No, no, I insist.  Let me get this for my friend."
She pulled out a roll of notes.  Dom noticed a couple of fifties in there.  She bought the drink then struggled to put the change away.  A couple of coins fell to the floor and made a racket on the polished wooden floorboards.
"Are you gonna look after her?" the barman asked Dom.
Dom simply said, "Yes".  There was no need to give him the satisfaction of stuttered apologies. The barman flicked his bar towel over his shoulder and walked away, shaking his head. 
"So.  What have you been doing today?"
"Erm . . . well, I met up with an old college friend..."
"Oooh, you mean Jo?  Tut, tut!"
"What do you mean?"
"Laura said you were being sneaky about your friend."
"Sneaky?  That's crap."
"So, what's the story morning glory?"
"That's just it, there is no story.  I've told her that, but what can I do if she won't believe me?"
Heels started singing 'What's the Story' by Oasis.  It was a bad version.
"What's your story, anyway?" Dom interrupted.
"What do you mean?"
"You and Guy.  Wasn't it going really well?"
"Yeah . . . kind of."
"So what's up?"
Heels scowled at the bar.  She looked as if she might tell Dom something she didn't want to.  She was frowning and concentrating, like when you try to stop yourself being sick but know it's going to happen. "Errrrrrm . . ."
Now she looked as though she was going to cry. Dom intervened.  "Don't worry about it.  I was being nosy.  Forget it."
There was a silence that would have been an official Awkward Silence had Heels not been drunk.  She probably won't even remember she's been here, Dom reckoned.  He was still curious as to why she was here at all.
 
Born in Mid-Air is available from Lulu.com (for hard copies)
Amazon (for Kindle download) 
Twitter ID, @ScottimusRex
 

Share this article

|

Ads by Google


Comments


comments powered by Disqus

Share Tools

Go to comments Read comments and make your own

|

Send us music

Want LeftLion to write about your music?

Send us music
more info

New College Nottingham

New College Nottingham
more info

Event Listings alt

LeftLion on Facebook

Related video alt

Ads by Google