Deadbeats

Ahh… tabs. Beautiful and nourishing face weed, constructed from only the finest toxins and lung-fucking carbons. How I shall miss you…

Two weeks ‘clean’ and counting. Brain is spazzed by inner-ear disorder but, what little of it has viable worth is ruminating on what shall be termed ‘The Commercial Project’.

Oh yes, 2006 - Annus Whorus continues. Picture your dear author swishing his naked arse beneath eastern european streetlights. All shall know me…

Gx

Ho Ho Ho [Repeat ’til Fade]All change. Tomorrow I shall be a ripe and fruity thirty years of age. Send me Frankincense. 2006 is upon us and, while normally I give not a Tinker’s Wank for such New Year musings, this year will be different. This is the year of change, the year of upheaval. Over the next four months or so it is unquestionable that I will have relocated, sold the ‘nine-to-five’ business that has covered my back when the real world won’t take good reviews for payment, and started on a track that will make my life by this time next year somewhat unrecognisable. This is daunting. This is the stuff upon which arse shattering fear is built. However, it must and shall be done.

Book-wise, this is the year of whoring the words upon an undemanding public. More Than This in particular has emerged as a book that I am finally immensely proud of and one that I’m content to ram down the throat of anyone who’ll help me make a noise about it. Time to start shouting a little.

Still to come are the second and third in the “Deadbeat” series (Dogs of Waugh and Old Bones respectively), my book on playing Holmes — I’m holding off on that until I have a satisfactory way of launching it, I have plans but thus far that’s all they are — and a collection of short stories.

Because I can.

Hmm… Best get on with it then hadn’t I?

Happy New Thing. Enjoy breaking every damn one of your resolutions.

Gx