i laughed at this. and laughed and laughed and laughed.
if there is a fact i know for sure it’s this: my parents will never read my first book because it is all sex. not the make-believe steamy ‘and then his tumescent man organ rose up to meet her womanly rose, dewy with love’ kinda sex bullshit. it’s like this blog just more book-like. and with other, extra bits. and some background yadda yadda we’ve not spoken about before.
somebody said to me the other day (or i read somewhere) that nobody really liked knowing too much about their authors, which is why they thought author twitter and IG accounts were doing more damage to their sales than anything else.
tricksy then, i think, this move into the booky business if large parts of my personal life and thoughts have been splashed all over this site for years.
luckily, i live by the unshakeable belief that – weirdly – people can be all sorts of things at once: sexual beings, creative beings, sad, raging, wild beings, math people, visual people, impotent, artist, voyeur people, exhibitionists, dancers, fathers, mothers, depressed, content, marmite lovers and bovri—
actually no, that last one is bullshit. you are either a marmite lover or a bovril lover.
laters plum faces.
i have two and a half months until my book goes to ester and i’m still trying to figure out a title. i don’t like the first one we came up with anymore.
AND I STILL NEED TO GET THIS NEW SITE UP AND RUNNING WHAT THE FUCK.