Books I loved reading.

Sunday, 22 November 2015

Harley ate something that disagreed with him.

Despite lugging around a bell louder than that which deafened Quasimodo, Harley has been out hunting.

    Three mornings ago I awoke to find three rats, each as large as my little murderer, all neatly laid out by the back door.

    On Friday there was another - or a part of it. The rest was outside the front door where he'd barfed it up, and ever since Harley has been unhappy. Not as unhappy, I'll wager, as the unfortunate rodents but definitely not his usual self.

    He's still refusing to eat, preferring to sleep and mooch about the house, glaring at me as it if was all my fault. The closest thing I ever get to eating rats are the kebabs I sometimes foolishly buy at the local shop when I'm too hungry to know better.

Friday, 20 November 2015

An unhappy discovery and nearly slaughtered by an octagenarian

 Chet Haughey collared me today.
     His real name is Charles, but the only person who calls him that without being instantly eviscerated is a woman. I should point out that her grisly fate is not averted as a result of her gender but because she's taller and stronger than he - and more than willing to demonstrate both abilities.

     He's discovered that I'm planning to write a fourth novel in the Old Geezers series of which he is a major player, even though the third isn't even published yet, and he's not at all impressed. Below lies our less than happy conversation.

    "So you're writing another of those goddamn books - why? Is it because you want more money?"

    I try to tell him that I'm a panster and don't really know what's going to happen until it does and accidentally left number three open, and then explain that it isn't for money since I recently discovered that I'm being pirated and really just doing it for fun.

    His eyes light up briefly at the word pirated then demands to know more.

    "If that's all it is then I'll take care of the ******** (seriously major expletive deleted) myself." Then frowned when I explain that unfortunately web sites can't be slaughtered; but he won't listen. "Then Ill take your Cease and Desist order and shove it up their  *******. Do you know how many drinks I've missed after being dragged through time and space by you? Millions I reckon."

    I suggest that his liver might be happy.

    "Screw my liver! It's done me for nearly eighty years. I was more worried about those pills we all had to take to keep us young. And I'm still not sure we're not all going to grow a pair of..."  I assure him that he won't be growing any bits of women's genitalia.

     "Well I'll tell you something." His sweaty face hovers less than an inch from my own. "This next one better be the last, or you won't be writing any more damned books - 'cos I'll rip your fingers off and stuff them where the sun don't shine!"

     So, that's me told. 

    Many thanks to for the free image

Saturday, 14 November 2015

An unexpected tetralogy

I've just finished the latest round of editing for the final editions of my three trilogies: Three  Hoodies Save the World, Old Geezers and Kongomato; all of which I truly believe and fervently hope are my best works so far, and allowing me my intention of taking a year off to learn how to paint (better) and finally write the computer game I've been designing for years.

    Only to realise that I can't. What a dumkopf I am. upon reading all three with a fresh eye, or at least as fresh as my ancient orbs are capable, I see that I've left myself no choice but to write another of each.

    Of course I could just expunge all references to any further dealings with my characters, but that would spoil the endings of all three.

    What a dimwit. These nine books are the result of twenty years revision, the first of which was written in DOS!! On a clockwork computer.

    My only decision now is whether I'm going to take that year off or delve right into editions number 4 times three. 

    I'll solve this in the age old British way. I'll have a nice cup of tea - or two.

Sunday, 8 November 2015

We've created a monster.

I'm not talking about the literary kind this time, as is my wont, but a real honest to goodness monster.

   That's him on the left and my pathetic attempt to paint him a couple of years ago.

    After commuting his sentence a few weeks ago Louis the Limp has become a new man/horse. My daughter has spoilt the wretched nag so much after not sending him to pony heaven that he's worse than he ever was.

    No more of that horse food muck for him. He won't eat it.

    'Give me a carrot...peel it first!

    If it was up to me I'd leave his (very expensive) horse food in his crib until he ate it but my daughter won't. 

   "Leave him alone, daddy. He's old and he's my precious." And all the time the worm is looking over her shoulder and winking at me.

  "You're mine, pal," I told him yesterday after my daughter had disappeared to hand-pick him some fresh golden hay. He just laughed in my face and to display his abject terror turned around and released enough toxic flatulence to bring down a passing sparrow.

Saturday, 7 November 2015

Editing sleeping and more editing

I've just finished the third edit of kongomato 3 and realised that yet another character had to go. This laborious process took me back seventy five pages and another twelve hours. I do so hate killing people off but it had to be done because I want these three final novels, the last of my three trilogies to be the very best work I ever did, as I suppose every writer must feel. And in that vein my Christmas publication dream was hopelessly optimistic.

   I was, and still intend to take an entire year off from writing as soon as they're published to learn how to paint properly on a computer that doesn't crash every five seconds, and to publicise the twelve novels that by then will be on the market. 

    I wrote a couple of blogs a few weeks ago about pirating, and my part in it. I'm the victim in case you thought I was one of the bad people. Before that time my sales had been slow but steady. Have I done myself a disservice by talking about it, because since then I've hardly sold any at all. I had decided that I should perhaps use the news that I'm being pirated as some unorthodox means of self publication. That was a bad idea. I've had hundreds of free downloads of the free bits from Smashwords but almost no buyers. Of course I could just take that as a statement that my writing sucks - but I refuse. I suspect many people download almost everything that's free and rarely if ever get around the reading them.

    Next year I'm going to go overboard in publicity - I might even pay for some although from what I read that's rarely if ever successful.

    Have to come up with some other plan - maybe pleading.

    I'm not averse to a bit of shameless grovelling.

Saturday, 31 October 2015

My street cred is kaput

I bought a motorbike a few weeks ago as an emergency replacement for my scooter which is getting old and beginning to show the seventy thousand miles I've inflicted upon it. I bought it because I'm self employed, and if I'm ever late or even (horrors) don't make it at all, then I'll lose the contract, lose the house; my wife will leave me and my daughter probably disown me.

    It won't be quite as tragic as that but it's nice to have insurance.

    So, picture the scene. Me riding a motorbike (if it can be called that) limited to 13 horsepower, giving it slightly less power than my daughter's hair drier, when I'm passed by a girl, I think, on her extraordinarily enormous hog on the motorway whilst coming home. 
   I don't know if it was the raised middle finger that bothered me more than her roaring past at 140 mph with an insolent toot of the horn, or the image of all my friends back home, who still ride real bikes. If they ever saw me I'd be laughed out of the riding club to which they still belong. In fact they wouldn't be able to laugh for crying in shame and embarrassment.

   I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't matter. These days I just want something to go to work on, saving me hours and a fortune by not using public transport - but it's not working.

   If one of them calls and asks what I'm riding, I'll just lie and tell them its a Harley - and remember not to invite any of them around - every again.

    That's not me by the way. That's far larger than the machine I bought. Maybe I should have actually looked at it before parting with the cash.

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

It was finally time.

Louis, the nag of whom I may have mentioned before is very ill, and last weekend it was finally time to do the decent thing.

 That's him, the little sod wouldn't stand still so this took me days.

    Anyway , for the last three weeks he's been refusing to come out of his box or even stand for most of the day and last week the vet said his blood tests showed that there was nothing else we could do for him. 

    My daughter decided to feed him one last time before the awful deed happened, until behind her passed the lame horse he's been sharing his private field with for the last three weeks. 

    He has to have his own field because Limping Louis can't have grass as a result of his Laminitis, on top of his Cushings disease - and because he hates people but he most especially hates other horses. 

   The moment, the very nano second he realised he no longer had to share the field with another horse he almost smashed the stable door in his eagerness to get out and after dragging my daughter through the stable yard like a rag doll spent twenty minutes bucking, neighing and rolling about in the horse droppings like a young colt.

    The next day when my daughter arrived he'd burrowed out of his box and she found him in the communal hay barn stuffing his furry face like a maniac.

    The old git was just in a bad mood and now he's just like his usual aggravating self.

    We know he doesn't have too long but as while he's back to his old irascible ways we're going to leave him to enjoy his solitude

    It's good to see the old Louis back for a while.