2 days to go till the launch of my new novel, The Kitty Killer Cult, and I’ve just seen my display in the window of the local Barnes & Noble. Of course there are dozens of others books displayed in the window, but I like to think passers-by might spare a second glance at my stuff.

Wisely, the bosses at B&N have decided to go with a copy of the book cover rather than a photo of the author. They want to attract customers, not scare ‘em off with my ugly mug.

Meanwhile, the book’s received a cool review in Crime Scene Scotland. It’s an honest, constructive appraisal of the novel’s strengths and weaknesses. I ain’t complaining.

Ah, Uhaul. We love 'em really.

Below are some personal reflections on negotiating the operation of a U-Haul truck. It's a light-hearted piece, not intended to portray the stately company in a bad light. So don't sue me, ok fellas?

Open the door of a U-Haul truck and you’ll be hit by a distinct smell wafting from the seats. It’s a sweet, sweat-smoked odor, the smell of fear left by the bodies of countless drivers who weren’t used to driving anything bigger than a sedan.

The good folks at U-Haul are very trusting. They don’t check the truck over with you beforehand, counting the scratches and dents. Unless you’re humble enough to ask, they won’t make sure that you’re au fait with the controls, or that the mirrors are adjusted so you can see behind the vehicle. They take your credit card number, give you the keys and leave you to it.

They may be trusting but they’re not averse to testing your parking skills. They might leave the vehicle in a precarious spot – on a slope, in a busy parking lot or even on the edge of a ditch. If you fail their test you’ll land the truck in the ditch, but don’t despair – they’ll always have a Cat ready to get you unstuck.

Once you’re on the road, you’ll drive slow as you familiarize yourself with the ride, wondering why other motorists are driving anywhere near you. With the remotest chance of there being an inexperienced driver at the helm, it makes sense for everyone else to stay the hell out the way.

Hugging the center of the road, you’ll reach your destination to realize that you’re going to have to park backwards. You’ll rarely reverse into parking spaces in your regular car, so how are you going to do it when you can’t see anything behind you?

This gives the whole neighborhood a chance to come out of their homes, waving you in all directions as you back up at a doddering pace, sniggering at your clumsy maneuvers. But you know the truth. When you return the truck you’ve endured all the tests. You are a U-Haul Survivor.

Before the plastic surgery - August 2000

Okay, I’ll admit it, I dressed up as a lion once. Actually, a lot more than once - for a few weeks straight – in public, in the middle of Scotland’s capital city.

During the Edinburgh International Fringe Festival, it’s tough to get attention. In the year 2000 when the Milk Treading play ran there, it was up against 70,ooo other events – this year there will be over 90,ooo, a number that puts the Charleston Piccolo Spoleto’s few dozen shows to shame. I knew I’d have to work my tail off promoting the stage production of my novel, so I hit the High Street with a full lion’s costume left over from some other show. (There was also a black and white dog suit, but it was modified from a cow costume & it showed).

I handed out flyers, roared at old ladies and drank lots of Red Bull, sometimes accompanied by my son Sam, who was 8 months old at the time. He got a lot more attention than me but he preferred to chew my flyers rather than distribute them. I was also up against jugglers, 20s-style outré performers with Germanic costumes & hawk noses, Cambridge undergrads with floppy haircuts & lame jokes, plus a whole passel of singers & clowns.

Sam also attended several of the rehearsals for the show, squatting happily on a blanket for most of the time. I would split my energy between acting, directing and running over to the kid to tend to his needs. With all the empathy of a piece of toast, Sam called on me a great deal. It was a good test for my fellow actors, though – they got used to Sam’s distractions so a rowdy Celtic audience would have been no problem whatsoever.

Sam wasn’t so content on our premiere show. The tension was tangible, mostly emanating from my fellow director, Keith. He had the smell of first night fear about him, stronger than the odor of my son’s dirty diapers; Sam howled the place down, further freaked out by Keith’s wife. Still, the show went on and we found an audience.

To give a flavor of the play, I’ve included some reviews below. I think that dressing up a lion for PR purposes had something to do with its success; there were no such full-body costumes on stage. Perhaps the crowds came expecting the Wizard of Oz, instead getting a plot that was wizened and odd. Still, they came and there’s always a chance that I’ll restage Milk Treading. This time I won’t be dressing as a lion, although Sam might get a costume. He’d make a great mouse.

REVIEWS

‘In the prologue, DJ Scratch – played by dramatist Nick Smith – invites us to satisfy our animal urges.

‘It sets the scene for this tale… When Julius and his tom-eating wife Bridget arrive at a restaurant, she selects her meal by licking the menu to get a taste of what is to come. When asked by his hardbitten editor how he can face getting up in the morning, Kyle responds: “Curiosity, unanswered questions. I am an investigative journalist.”

‘Who could do the job better than a cat? In fact, nature encroaches on the play in an alarming way.

‘Dogs, domesticated by cats, live in ghettos and are enslaved by their base instincts which, according to Milk Treading, they can’t be nurtured out of. On the political stage is Mayor Otto, played by a superbly, gruffly lionesque Alan Thompson who struts and paws his way to power. Rosalind McCaig as Otto’s mother and Kyle’s straying wife is an exceptional cat.

‘This is a provocative piece of theatre packed with issues and themes. Go and unleash your feline side.’

FELINE GOOD: 4 out of 5

(Denyse Presley, Edinburgh Evening News)

‘Sam Spade and Mike Hammer have nothing on Julius Kyle, reporter for the Evening Herald and the hero of Milk Treading – sure, they could solve crimes, but could they lick their own tails?’

(Andrea Milaney, Herald & Post)

‘Better known as a film maker, Nick Smith’s first foray into theatre is ambitious. 12 actors play a litter of characters in an allegorical piece on the consequences of political and personal intrigue. The protagonists of Milk Treading are cats, played in human form and this unusual character context actually works, exploiting that awareness we all have that some of us are "dog people" and others "cat people".

‘The story is one of the consequences of greed coming before the greater good. Xenophobia – against dogs – nepotism, unfaithful females, poisonings and gang warfare bring death and destruction to this society. I personally don’t like cats and understand the treacherous nature of them fully.

‘There are excellent performances from Alan Thomson as Mayor Otto, who was clearly enjoying his roguish role and Stuart Banham as the rain-coated newspaper reporter, Julius Kyle. Libby Learmonth, a mouse chewing, catnip sniffing gang member and Jamie Young as the thug, Bad Dog shine and make much of smaller parts.

‘So see Milk Treading – there are people waiting to entertain you.’

(Max Blinkhorn, Edinburgh Guide)

‘A witty and literate script, excellent staging, and I especially liked the gestures/movements that conveyed cat or doglike characteristics with remarkable effectiveness.’

(Carol Stobie)

Gearing up for the US launch of The Kitty Killer Cult, at the West Ashley
Barnes & Noble bookstore on Sam Rittenburg Blvd, Charleston SC on April 1st. I'll give a brief talk and reading at 7.30 p.m., although I probably won't attempt another comedy routine as I did at a Glasgow signing a couple of years ago (my time doesn't come cheap, but my jokes do).

Meanwhile, I just found out that Milk Treading is now available in Italy. To misquote Steve Martin's Picasso at the Lapin Agile (a play graced with an exquisite performance by Drama Queen Christie Cummings not long back), "it was read by Italians, which didn't hurt I can tell you."

I wasn't born here but my Great Gran was. Good enough?

Scotch Missed

Last night I was asked if I was from Scotland and I said yes. My origins aren’t as simple as that, but sometimes people like a bit of simplicity in their lives.

I would have qualified what I meant, but I was tired and it takes too long to go into detail – born in England, Scottish family, lived in Edinburgh & Stirlingshire for a few years, moved to the States from Scotland.

Being Scottish is something to be proud of, so much so that a distant connection to said lineage is desirable too. Shorthand-wise, I’m from the land of bagpipes and men in skirts (no, not Egypt, although they did have bagpipes. And the men wore skirts.) – but next time someone asks, I’m British, OK?

In the spirit of my surrogate Scottishness, I’ve just had a feature printed in The Scotsman, an esteemed national newspaper. That’s national as in Britain. The photographer spent 2 hours at my house taking pics and none of them were used… but I enjoyed the attention all the same.