Almost But No Qatar

Long-time readers (ha!) may know that the only thing more consistent than my ability to inconsistently update this blog is my ability to briefly mention doing so in the opening paragraph, somehow insulting my genitals and quickly moving on to larger topics.
The HORRENDOUS/GLORIOUS title pun sway you not, I have no interest in sport politics or sport in general (BIG SURPRISE) perhaps leaning back to my last memory of soccerballfoot being of me, a mere 7 years birthspawned, kicked in the face and breaking what a paramedic would doubt is my nose.

But let’s get to the exciting bits that don’t involve childhood trauma or sexual inadequacy, few as those may be. A rather terrifying amount of things have occurred since we last exchanged letters by the lighthouse and you insisted on that weird thing with the goats. More romantic failures than I’m able to keep count of at this point, relatively par for the course by now.
One example was an ex-wife of a serial killer (but now now don’t you judge or I’ll put you right outside with the fucking Thatcher skulls) who was rather….amazingly well adjusted all things considered. So well that I had my first SECOND DATE in half a decade! A second date that sadly involved me being forced to watch the authorial vomit turned film of 50 Shades, a err “couples chair” for the duration of the only proof authors worse than me can get published and a surprise snog attack from her at the goodnight point. All well and dandy right? BUT NAY MORTALS NAY! 3 days nearing 4, I received a delightful rejection text of “We’re rushing things let’s just be friends k lol”. It was an attempt to let me down easy no doubt, although not a very good one.
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE! Mere month past another mysterious lass manifested, agreed to meet me and got rather blasted on six glasses of wine and…some sort of ice glass trick I’m not cool enough to understand. Hiccup attacks struck her, I assured I was not ashamed or embarrassed, she had to run but not before a drunken snog attack in the middle of a packed restaurant, followed by a “I CAN’T SEE ANY GUYS” let down message but one day later.
Of course this all points to my FLAWLESS taste in women, but perhaps the bitching of a 28 year old virgin should enter a lull around this line.
IN OTHER NEWS THAT ISN’T REALLY NEWS: My lair was EXTENSIVELY upgraded recently, allowing far more room for human waste disposal and general dominance over me by a population of nudist cats. Slightly more exciting is Usu – my beloved first mass market novel you’ll ignore – is launching on June 23rd. I do get more royalties from digital sales, but I’d still encourage people to waste their income on the physical copies because I’m a sentimental bitch like that.
The pre-release reviews are……………….few for now, but extremely flattering. For those actually curious it should hit most US retail stores, international stores that listen to my publisher’s distributer and of course the last resort of Amazon. I am ironically still waiting for MY copies of the book to arrive. No doubt lost in terrible local mail service, but either way I plan on assaulting local book stores and re-arranging it into slightly less shitty placements, which you of course will do as well.
I spent the past few weeks trying to track down the “inspiration” for Usu, which your floundering grasp of English no doubt suggests is a person, if only because I just said so. A person, a tragedy, an event fully chronicled if you actually explored the site for once but we’re all lazy shits so I’ll digress from digressing. Attempts to track her down were not because I think things can ever work out there, or hold any hope of closing that old wound. Rather because I promised myself I’d write Usu /for her/ 10 years ago almost to the day, and what value of it if the person who needed to read it most never did? Yet my search was fruitless, something I expected given the privacy centric individual. Names, email addresses, even cell numbers and my own abilities to find and creep out women through single photographs (I shouldn’t confess quite how many times I’ve done that however) all fell to silence. Yet perhaps one day the book will still reach who it was originally intended for, I’ve an odd feeling about that – or meningitis. Probably the latter.
Usu became much more than “just that”. Don’t think I wrote some personalised inside joke drivel, those 10 years were spent crafting a world that, while inspired by a personal tragedy, is a creature all of its own. Each night after sniffing my lucky panties goodnight, I would piece together fragments of something stirring inside me. Stitching together wound and word. Ultimately creating something I’m actually proud of for once. Also the YEAR OF EDITING by people completely not me helped quite a bit I suspect, so much so I’m paradoxically grateful to my publisher and editors. It’s surely just business isn’t it? Yet they’ve clearly taken a chance on me, and believe in the story as much as I do.

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Life Or Something Like It


Now now don’t you stare at me like that, I have a multitude of excuses prepared for the rather dreadful delay in my posting rate.

Let’s start right off then shall we? I wrote another book. YES INDEED. In the time it took you to not read my début novel, I managed to create, publish and unpublish an entire new one. A far far far superior experience at that. In fact, I can now reveal “The Cult Of Wensday” was actually “practice” all along. The book I most recently wrote is one I’ve pined over for a decade, dismayed at lacking the ability to do it justice. TCoW’s creation is what allowed me to sharpen my skills enough to pull it off. Which is also why I went and made all digital versions of TCoW completely free a while back.

What’s this?! Another question? Why did I unpublish it? Simply put, I originally self-published, after receiving dozens of rejection letters. Perplexing still the rejection letters from publishers ALL commented on how well written it was, how “professional” it was, but none wanted to pick it up. In fact some were dickish enough to insist I think of marketing first and writing content second.

Then Bad Dream Entertainment came along, and one Saturday evening when I was once again putting off the hundreds of women who don’t want to sleep with me (I’ll remind you 30 is approaching, and it looks like I’ll hit that rather shameful milestone!) and that particular publisher ACTUALLY WANTED IT. So of course I signed on, signed away my rights and have spent the past few months editing it to make for a more refined experience. The changes have actually been rather tame, and surprisingly respectful of the original work. I’d say the only sour one is they’d prefer to use professional artwork for the cover (making my original print cover – and yes this exists physically in quite a few people’s hands – moot). Yet I’m oddly happy with that choice anyway, it means I can get someone truly talented at art to make a cover I never could.

That’s one of the reasons I decided to focus on writing actually. Indeed the constant suggestions by others I do it motivated me a fair deal, but I came to accept that I’m half the artist than the writer I am, and even further from what I eventually hope to be. My art never had control. I could not imagine a scene and draw it, I could draw it and then have to write around whatever I drew….a painful task. With writing, I see no walls at all.

Reeling from anything remotely close to arrogance or confidence I should remind you I suck, am going to die a virgin and recently got romantically rejected for the 34th time. It surprises me how often I still dive headfirst into “first dates” despite my 5% success rate, it doesn’t however surprise me that I’ve been counting, or that the number has reached that high by now.

Oh yes yes the book! It’s called “Usu” and you can find out more about it if you check the novels section in the projects section. I’d confess it was born from a secret hell I experienced a decade ago, so secret I made a page long post about it and advertised it all over the artwork section THAT NO ONE EVER VISITS. *ahem* The far more official release of the novel should be around April/May if my editor doesn’t murder me first. In the mean-time you COULD read my first book, but we both know the chances of that occurring.

Other than being rejected several times, writing a new book and another absolutely useless hospitilsation, little of note has actually occurred. I met another Swedish Modblogger (unfortunately male this time – not that I had a chance in hell with the lass), impressed him with my ability to get lost in small spaces, learned basic Slavic history and drank a coke in an English Pub like a fucking badass.

Interesting side facts! The hand (for the old cover and the post) is once again my own. I tried to get a girl to hand model for me on one of those rejection romps, but left to the dust once again I simply took a photo of my girly hands and that was that.

As I have a religious belief to not read any legal documentation before I sign it, I’m actually not sure what I can and can’t say about the novel at this point in time. To be safe I’ll simply say editing is going better than I expected and release is expected around the middle of the year yonder. Because reasons.

To pack as much useless content into this post as you’ve come to expect, allow me to once again unleash my mastery of bulletpoints!


  • Still a virgin
  • Women still very fond of the idea of bludgeoning me
  • Bathed
  • Scared off a sexual predator by being too nice to them
  • Got to chaperone a “Mafia Princess” for a day


That last point could use more explanation, like how it was supposed to be first date but ended up being me meeting this girl surrounded by 20 massive Arabic men discussing “business”, and then hanging out with her 13 year old brother who ran around a public mall naked shouting about the supposed existence of his genitals, but, but I won’t ramble on that topic. Instead, I’ll abruptly end this post when you suddenly start suspecting it.

Milked Stake


I’m sorry, did I interrupt you? You know, from all that reading of my novel you’ve not been doing. Though respectfully, one entire person has claimed to have read it so far, with sales uhh several times that. I’m going to keep working with one as a base for the deceptive multiplier.

For all my lack of profit and feedback, I at least can hold claim to widespread availability. Now even iTunes and The Nook Store are mysteriously undercutting me, and the two physical copies I possess do smell rather nice.

On the topic of things that smell rather nice, long-time-readers (which is all I have for better or worse) may recall modblog. The delightful little blogging pioneer where this site not only got started, but where thousands learned to efficiently ignore me each day!

Now I’ve met A LOT of people from THE INTERNETS in person, probably more than three dozen or so, but those have generally been failed dating attempts (usually they chew through the ropes and chains are cumbersome), with my only “fellow modblogger” encounter before that being the horror-inspiring “Sir Penistuck” I’ve mentioned on here far far farrrrr too many times.

THIS CHANGED RECENTLY! Indeed, little less than a week ago a Swedish lass and a lesbian that could kick my ass in any manpower requiring task, ventured to my little rabbit hole, allowing me to “hang out” for the day. By “hang out”, I of course mean “insult myself constantly, look awkward and get us lost for hours at a time”. We braved the depravity of “Sandton City” – a local wallet vacuum in building form – and partook in icecream related activities! Considering the last time I did that I was dumped hours later……it was a pleasant change of memory. There’s a picture linked in that blog of text somewhere, you know it’s a good one because you can’t really see me.

Odds And Ends


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.

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