Or in this particular case: A rather odd end. Indeed, as your cerebral cerebebebebababian parts have no doubt already informed you, I have in some dubious fashion managed to finish “The Cult Of Wensday”.
Let’s get the iffy bit out first shall we? Purchasing! Yes, if so inclined you can get a physical hardcover copy of it here (which I recommend if you wish my authoring career to not be measured in kelvin and rather actual, physical manifestations) and the estranged ebook version here. That particular ebook using some horrific new “ePub” format I was required to dabble in, needless to say I now finally have a format I loathe with equal measure to pdf, bmp and the ever flirtatious “.flac”.
But if you’re like me, and less inclined to throw money away you might be able to find a free version, with only a few more typos and formatting issues to its name.
Actually just READ IT. This appears to be the rather large hurdle at the moment, I can’t even feel depressed about making a “bad” book because no one has read it (myself included of course) to tell me if it is or isn’t!
More excitingly, they both have ISBNs attributed. This means, regardless of Oxford’s actual wishes – or sodding Thatcher’s for that matter – both my name and the /correctly/ spelled title will have some vague sense of immortality in the record of bibliographies. This is sort of like procreation, but gentler on my carpet.
For those wondering, but too lazy to check, the book totalled a margin above the requirement for a “Novella”. Gushing out at an estranged 19,000+ words.
I also make piss profit on the hardcopy, less than a dollar at that, but would still prefer people get that version.