Instant history: Occupy movement book to be released this December.

Profits from the book by Writers for the 99% will go to the protest movement.

The progressive press OR Books has announced the publication of an instant history of the anti-capitalist protest: Occupying Wall Street: The Inside Story of an Action that Changed the Course of America. It is written by Writers for the 99% who do not claim to officially represent the movement, but actively support it and have come together specifically for this project. Copies of the book will be available on 17 December- the three month anniversary of the movement's beginnings in Liberty Square, downtown Manhattan. All profits from the book will go to the occupation.

Colin Robinson, co-publisher at OR Books, spoke about the book's aims:

It's a tremendous challenge to produce a worthwhile book in such a short space of time. But Occupy Wall Street is an action of historic proportions and we believe it's important to create at least a first draft of that history as it is occurring. In assembling the book we will do all we can to respect the transparency and non-hierarchical structures that are the hallmark of Occupy Wall Street. We're making no claims to be creating the authorized version of events, that's impossible at this point. But by bringing together first-rate interviewers, writers and editors, we believe we can tell a story of the occupation which describes its extraordinary achievements and encourages their spread across America and around the world.

The book will also cover the movement's structure and organisation; chapter headings include the general assembly, the kitchen, the medical centre, clean-up and education and empowerment.

Other writers have joined together in support of Occupy Wall Street and the global Occupy movement by signing an online petition. It lists over 1000 names, including Salman Rushdie, Michael Cunningham and the Director of Digital at The Onion, Baratunde Thurston. Read more on this here.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood