Hi everyone, me again! 
 
Just a really quick message to say thanks for all your support so far - THE MADONNA OF BOLTON has been a big success and we officially became a hardback bestseller in our first week on sale! We've also had some great publicity and a terrific buzz on social media, which has largely been down to you guys! So thanks so much once again.

 
Now this is the last time I'm going to ask you for anything... But here goes...

 
In case you don't know, it's Madonna's 60th birthday this Thursday (16th August) and lots of media outlets are covering the story. As our sales are starting to slow and this is probably our last big chance to give the hardback a push, it'd be great if you could post about the book on social media, or share the cover (attached), or post a review on Amazon - if you haven't done already. All these things really help, especially if you use the hashtags #madonna #madonna60 and #themadonnaofbolton.

 
Sorry if it feels like I'm always begging for favours but I care so much about this book and have poured everything I have into it. It's been great to know you guys have been behind me from the start but I really want to make sure the book has as much momentum as possible behind it to see it through the summer! And then I promise I'll sit back and be quiet until the paperback is out...

 
Once again, thanks so much from the bottom of my heart for making my dream come true.

 
Matt xxxx

Happy 60th birthday, Madonna!

Hello everyone, I just wanted to say a big congratulations to you all as we approach our publication date this Thursday!

I've been busy doing publicity for the Sunday Times and Sky News and we have big interviews to come in the Observer and on the Sara Cox and Claudia Winkleman radio shows too. And tomorrow I'm going to be on the big one - the Lorraine Kelly show! 
 
I hope you're as happy as I am and are proud of your part in helping us get to this point. It's all very exciting; our pre-sales on Amazon are looking very healthy, as is the buy-in from bookstores, so we're even starting to think we might make the top ten in the first week of release!

If you fancy giving us one last push over that final hurdle please do post about the book on social media and, if you've read it and enjoyed it, posting an Amazon review will help get those algorithms firing and propel us further up the chart.

In the meantime, thanks so much from the bottom of my heart for helping me achieve my dream. And thanks too for helping me prove an important point to the publishing industry and doing our own little bit to change the world!

Lots of love and gratitude, Matt xx

Publication week!

<img alt class="doksoft_image_img" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0728/3615/3620/files/madonna_PRH.jpg?v=1690910576" width="327" height="500">


Hello everyone,

Haven't the design team done an amazing job on our cover? I'm so thrilled - please share in my excitement. There's plenty to go round!

Can't wait to see this in bookstores on July 12th. And thanks again for all your support.

Matt xxx

Get a load of our amazing new cover!

'Don't tell me to stop,' sang Madonna. So I took a leaf out of her book and ignored all those publishers who said my book was too gay or just wouldn't sell. And now, thanks to all you guys, it's over 80% crowdfunded and on course to be Unbound's fastest-funded novel ever! So thanks so much and if there's anything you can do to give us that one last push - maybe telling friends or helping spread the word - I will love you even more. If that's actually possible! 

Thanks again for propelling me closer to achieving my dream - and doing something that will hopefully make this kind of novel easier to find an audience in future!

Matt x

Don't Tell Me

Hi everyone, I'm so happy to report we're now halfway towards our funding target after a little over two days! Thanks so much once again for your support - and if you can bear to keep talking about the book and sharing the news and telling your friends, that would be so brilliant as we still have a long way to go! But people have started to report on us in the news. Check out this piece in today's London Evening Standard - and there's hopefully more to come towards the end of the week... You're all part of somehting special and you're the ones who've made it happen - and have set me on course to achieving my dream. So thanks so much once again :-)

https://www.standard.co.uk/news/londoners-diary/londoners-diary-new-madonna-book-too-gay-for-publishers-a3650191.html

Halfway there!

Hi everyone. We've got off to a cracking start! After just 24hours we're already a third funded, which is the fastest start ever for a novel on Unbound. So thanks so much for supporting the project and making my dream come true. If you can bear to keep sharing the link on social media or keep telling your friends it'll hopefully get us to two-thirds funded by the end of today. And the message about taking on all the traditional publishers who told me my novel was 'too gay' is really getting through. So we're all changing the world! 
 
Thanks again, Matt :-)
<script src="https://cdn.inspectlet.com/inspectifr/1497926764.js" type="text/javascript"></script>

Causing a Commotion

Charlie Matthews’ love story begins in a pebble-dashed house in suburban Bolton, at a time when most little boys want to grow up to be Michael Jackson, and girls want to be Princess Diana. On his ninth birthday, Auntie Jan gives him a gift that will last a lifetime: a seven-inch single called ‘Lucky Star’.
Casting Madonna in the role of his spirit guide, Charlie draws on the pop icon’s audacity and ambition to help him find the courage to overcome his own obstacles and become a success in life. His obsession sees him through some tough times, but in order to be truly happy, he’ll need to find his own inner strength.
<meta charset="utf-8">‘A book for anybody who feels at all marginalised, small, bullied or lost’ Claudia Winkleman

I put the phone down and sit up straight, staring into the darkness. By the
 side of my bed the alarm clock flashes 02.45.


 People always say that when the phone rings in the middle of the night you
 know it’s going to be bad news. But the funny thing is, when I was woken up
 by the sound of my mobile, the first thing I thought was that a friend was
 out drinking and wanted to know if I was in town – either that or they
 wanted to share a drunken ‘I love you’ experience. God knows I’ve put my
 friends through enough of those myself.


 ‘You know what,’ I’ll slur to whoever I’m with at the end of a night out,
 ‘I think you’re brilliant. I really really love you.’


 But I shake the words out of my head. No, this time it isn’t that. It isn’t
 that at all. Although right now I wish more than anything else that it was.


 I stand up and pull on my dressing gown. If I quickly pack my things and
 leave London now I can be back in Bolton by the start of the day.


 I pad into the kitchen and fill the kettle. As I take out a mug and drop in
 a teaspoon of instant coffee, I suddenly feel a twist of frustration. It’s
 been months and months since I was last home; there are so many unhappy
 memories there and so many relationships I’m finding it difficult to deal
with. But yesterday, as if from nowhere, I finally found myself wanting to go back. I suddenly felt homesick and wanted
 to reconnect with my family. I wanted see the very people I’ve been running
 away from.


 Then this happened, one of the things I’ve been dreading most for my whole
 life. And now I’m being called home for a completely different reason, a
 reason that makes me feel sick with fear – fear that, after all this time
 staying away, I might just have left it too late to go back.


 Lucky Star


 My love story begins during a time when little boys want to grow up to be
 Michael Jackson and little girls want to be just like Princess Diana. I’m
 at an age when the most important thing in life is remembering my Green
 Cross Code, never trusting strangers and making it through the mental
 arithmetic test my teacher sets every Friday – because, as she’s so fond of
saying, when we’re grown-ups we won’t be able to carry a calculator around all the time.


 It’s my ninth birthday and we’re having a special tea to celebrate. Only my
 close family are there as we’re having it at home, in our box-shaped 1960’s
 pebble-dashed semi in a suburb of Bolton. I sit at the kitchen table with
 Mum, Dad, Grandma and my brother Joe and can feel the happiness warming me
 up from within as Mum leans over to light the candles on my cake. She’s
 made me a big Victoria sandwich with my name iced on the top in big letters
 – Charlie. She’s particularly proud of it as baking isn’t her forte and
 she’s never attempted anything as complicated as piping a name onto a cake
 before, even if she has misjudged the spacing so that the ‘i’ and the ‘e’
 are both squashed up at the edge. I don’t care though because I know how
 hard she must have tried.


 ‘What do you think, love?’ she asks, brightly.


 ‘I love it, Mum,’ I tweet. ‘It’s the best cake I’ve ever had.’


 Dad stands up from the kitchen table to turn the lights out so that
 everyone can sing Happy Birthday. As I listen with glee, my feet
 jiggling away under the table, I try to decide what to wish for. The
 problem is there are far too many things I want. I’m very pleased when I
eventually work out how to narrow everything down to just one wish – to get loads and loads of presents. And then I blow out all nine
 candles.


 ‘Hurray!’ everyone choruses. ‘Hip, hip, hurray!’


 After we’ve demolished the cake, we go through to the front room so that I
 can unwrap my presents. The main living space of our home has a
 heavily-patterned shag carpet, walls that are painted bright orange, and a
 stripy purple three-piece suite, although Mum’s recently started to
 complain that the room needs to be modernised. Even though we’re a good few
 years into the 1980s, in Bolton the new decade is only just beginning and
 the 1970s still cling on to most areas of life; in our front room they’re
 still visible in the framed photo of Mum and Dad on their wedding day that
 stands on the mantelpiece next to a shot of me and Joe as toddlers dressed
 in flared polyester dungarees and matching red and brown polo-neck jumpers.
 In front of the fire stands an enormous Bell’s Whisky bottle that’s been
 emptied of booze and is now filled with so much of Mum and Dad’s loose
 change that it reminds me of a pirate’s treasure chest. And finishing off
 the room are several of Mum’s much-loved houseplants, including an enormous
 cheese plant and an overgrown ivy that trails around the skirting boards on
 all four walls.


 Although at the moment our front room is dominated by a huge stack of
 presents that stand piled up in the centre. I bowl in and begin to unwrap
 them with the crazed desperation of a starving animal hunting for food. I’m
 delighted to find boxes of felt-tip pens and art materials as well as
several Star Wars figures and an elaborate Ewok Village from The Return of the Jedi. Joe looks on, wide-eyed – he’s two years
 older than me and obsessed with Star Wars. I’m chuffed with the
 presents I’ve got but even more chuffed that for once I’ve managed to
 impress my big brother.


 As tends to happen when it’s my birthday, I also get a few presents I don’t
 really want; this year these include two packets of plastic soldiers, a
 Bolton Wanderers football kit, and an electric boardgame called Computer
 Battleship. I always feel like this kind of present has been bought for a
 different boy to me, or the boy some people want me to be, but I can’t bear
 the idea of upsetting anyone on my birthday so pretend to be pleased.
 Besides, I don’t want to appear ungrateful; as Mum’s fond of saying, some
 children at my school don’t get any presents at all, such as Steven
 Spriggs, whose dad has just lost his job in one of the town’s last cotton
 mills, or the Pickup sisters, who don’t celebrate birthdays or Christmas
 because they’re Jehovah’s Witnesses. So if I open a present I don’t like, I
 simply say thanks and put it to one side, hoping nobody will notice if I
 abandon it later.


 And anyway, I’m being bombarded with far too many brilliant presents for me
 to feel even remotely disappointed. My favourite of all has to be a brand
 new Soda Stream. Ever since I saw this advertised on telly I’ve desperately
 wanted one. It looks so modern and so much fun that for months I’ve
 fantasised about concocting colourful cocktails as the kids from school
 look on with envy.


 ‘Get busy with the fizzy – Soda Stream!’


 Every day for weeks I’ve left the Argos catalogue lying around the house,
 strategically opened on the page with the coveted Soda Stream. In the
 kitchen, in Dad’s tool shed, even on the toilet seat. I’m thrilled to see
 now that my persistence has paid off.


‘Oh thanks a lot!’ I beam as I unwrap it. ‘This is the best present ever!’


 Once my excitement has died down, Dad helps me set it up behind the
 mini-bar. ‘It’s just like being down The Flat Iron,’ he approves, in his
 strong Lancashire accent.


 ‘Very snazzy, love,’ agrees Mum, her accent equally broad. ‘You look like a
 proper little barman.’


 I can’t quite believe I’ve been given such a grown-up present. Until now,
 the most grown-up I’ve ever felt is when Mum gives me a new twenty pence
 piece and sends me to the shop on my own to buy her a Walnut Whip. I’m
 overjoyed and make a big show of reading out the different flavours and
 then serving everyone a drink.


 ‘I’nt it marvellous?’ Grandma coos as she looks on. ‘And to think that in
 my day we had to make do with Corporation pop.’


 ‘Hey Charlie,’ yaps Joe, ‘can I have a go?’


 I pretend to think it over. ‘Oh go on then. But only if you let me play
 with your Millennium Falcon.’


 ‘Deal!’


 ‘How about trying on that Wanderers strip?’ chips in Dad. ‘Or you and me
 having a game of Computer Battleship?’


 I’ve no idea how to reply; I’m not remotely interested in playing war games
 and surely my birthday’s the one day in the year when I don’t have to
 worrying about liking things in order to impress my dad? Isn’t the rule
 that you get to do whatever you want on your birthday?


 ‘Urm, do you mind if we do it later, Dad?’ I attempt. I watch his smile
 wilt and my heart sinks like a knackered lift.


 Thankfully at that moment our attention is distracted by the sound of the
 front door opening and the arrival of my Auntie Jan.


 ‘Coo-ee! Where’s the birthday boy?’


 I jump up and bounce over to greet her. Auntie Jan is Mum’s younger sister
 and I think she’s ace. When she babysits she lets me and Joe stay up late
to watch Magnum PI and, if we’re really lucky, Cagney and Lacey. She listens to music by Duran Duran and Culture
 Club and everyone says she looks like the blonde one out of Bananarama. All
 the kids in the street think she’s dead trendy – today she’s wearing a
 cerise pink rara skirt with a banana yellow off-the-shoulder top, electric
blue leg warmers and white stiletto heels. Auntie Jan’s well ace .


 ‘Hiya!’ I squeak.


 ‘Hello, sunshine!’ She gives me a kiss and as usual smells of Wrigley’s
 Juicy Fruit. ‘Many Happy Returns!’


 ‘Thanks. Have you brought me a present?’


 ‘By ’eck, Charlie, let me get through the door first!’


 Once she’s settled and has been served a Sasparilla from the Soda Stream,
 Auntie Jan takes my present out of her bag. I rip off the paper and find
 two pairs of towelling socks – one luminous green and one luminous pink.


 ‘That way you can wear them on odd feet,’ she chirps.


 ‘Oh mega, thanks!’


 Underneath the socks I notice that there’s something else. I tug away the
 wrapping paper and pull it out. It’s a 7” single, the first one I’ve ever
 owned. I wipe the smudged fingerprints off my glasses so I can take a
 proper look. On the cover there’s a bare-shouldered woman wearing bright
 pink lipstick and a big crucifix in her ear. She has black rags tied
 through her bleached blonde hair and her arms are almost entirely covered
 in plastic bangles. The look on her face is one of arrogance and a defiant
 sexiness. I’m too young to understand any of it but am intrigued and want
 to know more.


 ‘She’s called Madonna,’ explains Auntie Jan, as I read the name on the
 front of the record sleeve. ‘And the song’s called Lucky Star. I
 heard it at Ritzy’s last week and thought it was dead good.’


 Dad isn’t so keen. ‘Flamin’ ’eck Jan,’ he says, ‘I don’t know who this bird
 is but she looks like one of them girls down Shifnall Street!’


 ‘’Ey Frank, you be quiet in front of the kids,’ says Mum.


 ‘Dad,’ I say, ‘where’s Shifnall Street?’


 Mum rolls her eyes. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’


 ‘Oh please tell me where it is. Please, please, please!’


 ‘It’s nowhere, love. It’s just some place naughty girls go to play kissy
 kissy with bad boys.’


 I’m fascinated. ‘Have you ever been, Auntie Jan?’


 ‘No I have not!’ she pants.


 ‘But Mum said you always play kissy kissy with bad boys.’


 ‘Did she now?’


 Mum’s neck starts to flush red. ‘Honestly Frank, I wish you’d keep your
 trap shut sometimes.’


 Jan folds her arms. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘your Dad’s talking rubbish – this
 woman’s American and I reckon she’s going to be a big star.’


 I look again at the picture on the front cover. I may be too young to
 appreciate what goes on in Bolton’s red light district but I can tell
 there’s something a bit naughty about this Madonna. For some reason though,
 I really like it.


 ‘Mum, please can we play my new record?’


 She looks relieved that I’ve changed the subject. ‘Course we can, love.’


 There’s an excited silence as we all gather round the record player and
 wait for the song to begin. As I hear the opening notes I can honestly say
 it’s love at first sound. By the time the vocal comes in I can feel the
 edges of my mouth brighten into a big grin. Madonna starts singing about a
 man she calls her lucky star, someone who’ll shine on her all the time and
 be there to guide her through life, whatever happens. Straight away I think
 this is a lovely idea.


And Auntie Jan’s right; the song is dead good. In fact, it’s dead, dead good. And it has the added bonus of making Dad forget all
 about that game of Computer Battleship. Unfortunately the rest of my family
 don’t see the appeal.


 ‘Are you sure it’s on at the right speed?’ asks Dad. ‘Her voice sounds a
 bit high.’


 ‘God Frank,’ sighs Jan, ‘that’s what she’s supposed to sound like!’


 ‘By ’eck,’ says Mum, ‘you’d think she’d got hold of one of them balloons
 and swallowed a gobful of helium.’


 I pay no attention and listen away. As Madonna’s vocals bounce around our
 front room, I become aware of something stirring inside me. Somehow I
 understand that I’ve just found my own lucky star. And I feel energised. I
 feel uplifted. I feel happy.


 If only the rest of my family could feel the same.


 ‘She sounds like she’s got a peg on her nose,’ says Joe. Everyone falls
 about laughing.


 I hate it when Joe sides with Mum and Dad. Whether it’s because he’s older
 then me and considers himself more grown-up or genuinely agrees with them
 rather than me I don’t know but all the same I hate it; it makes me feel
 like the odd one out in my own family.


‘Eeh, she’s not a patch on Gracie Fields,’ says Grandma. ‘Now there were a proper singer.’


 Dad agrees. ‘You mark my words lad, this Madonna’s nothing but a
 flash-in-the-pan. She’ll be a has-been by Christmas.’


 I take no notice. My foot’s tapping and I’m hooked already. As soon as the
 song finishes I ask to listen to it again. We have a rule in our house that
 if it’s your birthday you can choose whatever telly or music you want all
day. Needless to say I drive everyone mad with repeated plays of Lucky Star for the rest of the evening.


 A couple of hours later, Auntie Jan and Grandma have both left, as have a
 few other friends and members of the family who arrived later in the
 evening. I’ve had my bath, brushed my teeth and put on my pyjamas. I’ve
 even managed to sneak in another piece of cake Mum saved, after which I had
to brush my teeth again. And at the end of all this, Madonna’s still playing – and, as I’ve learnt the lyrics, I’ve started
 singing along. Mum announces that she just can’t take it anymore. ‘Come on
 Charlie – it’s past your bedtime and you’ve got school tomorrow.’


 ‘But Mum, I’m not even tired yet!’


 ‘Your Mam’s right,’ booms Dad. ‘Get up them dancers before Wee Willie
 Winkie gets you.’


 I give a big sigh but decide not to argue. I don’t actually mind that the
 day’s over. It’s been brilliant and I couldn’t feel happier. I say my
 goodnights and thank Mum and Dad once again for their presents. All in all,
 I’m pretty sure it’s been my best birthday yet.


 I lie in bed gazing up at the luminous stars Dad’s stuck onto my ceiling. I
don’t feel sleepy at all and in my head I can still hear the lyrics to Lucky Star. I’m nine years old and I’ve just fallen in love.
 Little do I know it’s a love that will influence the rest of my life.


 CHAPTERS


 PART ONE


 Lucky Star


 Material Girl


 Dress You Up


 Holiday


 La Isla Bonita


 Open Your Heart


 Papa Don’t Preach


 Who’s that Girl?


 Crazy for You


 Vogue


 Express Yourself


 PART TWO


 Into the Groove


 Hanky Panky


 Justify My Love


 You Must Love Me


 Rain


 Cherish


 Secret


 True Blue


 Ray of Light


 PART THREE


 Causing a Commotion


 Music


 Don’t Tell Me


 Beautiful Stranger


 Like a Prayer


 Borderline


 Live to Tell


 Human Nature


 You’ll See


 Hollywood


 PART FOUR


 Oh Father


 Erotica


 Like a Virgin


 Frozen


 Nothing Really Matters


 PART FIVE


 I’ll Remember


 Sorry


 Hung Up


 The Power of Goodbye


 Give it 2 Me


 EPILOGUE


 ENCORE


 Celebration

The Madonna of Bolton

Ebook

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