Writing in "The Financial Times", Peter Carey describes a day in his life, a day without writing. He calls it a
holiday.
Today, on this New York morning, lying in bed, listening to the shower -- today I will permit myself to take a holiday from writing. I will freely and happily give February and March to publicity for my novel His Illegal Self. The next novel, the so-called work-in-progress, can be set aside. Instead I will dine with journalists. I will tour Britain, the US and Australia and I will not resent publicity. I will not write. And I will be very pleased.Later in the day he gets his website up and running, only to find he's ranked by Google at "the back of the bus, on page eight, the 85th Peter Carey site." But he's worried that "Apart from the estate agent in San Diego, all these Peter Careys appear to be me, they have my birth date and have written my books. In the past I was careless of them. They bred like rabbits. I was never ever so vulgar as to Google my own name, though I was pleased to hear that they were there but now I see they are clearly arrayed against me." Not at all Peter. My "Peter Carey" website ranks second purely due to its longevity I suspect. I'd be quite happy to change places, so long as I stayed on the first page, as I never intended that webpage to subsume your author identity. I notice, today, that Carey's official website has moved up to 14th on the Google list: 14 with a bullet. Won't be long before it hits number 1 I suspect.
