Tag Archives: Books

Without Form and Void | Chapter 2 ‘Blue Green Rock’ | Audiobook

So I thought I’d have a go at this audiobook lark since authors are apparently supposed to play an active role in the promotion of their own work.

I’m considering recording the whole novel but as the rest of the story follows a more traditional narrative written from a woman’s perspective it might sound a bit odd drawled through a shit beard. This chapter here is more a fever dream anyway but what the hell, it’ll give people an idea of what to expect.

I’ve got a good feeling though. I mean it’s this kind of hands-on, can-do attitude that may actually sell a few more goddamn books. If, however, it doesn’t I may actually just rent a caravan on the shores of Loch Ness instead and skag mah wee heid into oblivion before going monster hunting with rocks in my pockets.*

Continue reading Without Form and Void | Chapter 2 ‘Blue Green Rock’ | Audiobook

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More Goddamn Books

amy sketch
The green is printing ‘bleed.’ I cut the title down from eleven words to three letters. Is that better? I don’t even know anymore. In fact I might not even care. I mean I probably do but I just feel homicidally bored, know what I mean?

Hey, remember me? Yeah, I’m that fat facetious piece of shit who once wrote popular articles, both of them around the starts of ’12 and ’13 (and by ‘popular’ I mean more than thirty Facebook likes; and by ‘articles’ I mean social media toss but who are you to judge—if you can bare to look at yourself in the mirror for long enough to brush your teeth without poking out one or both eyes with your Oral-B then you’re clearly delusional anyway and we have much in common so let’s continue, you daft twat.

Christ, I forgot, there was that one about the Pope as well. Some liked it, some prefer living out their life as an indentured servant to a make-believe tyrant and counter ferociously any attempt to make them, you know, read what even the Tory rags of this rag-tag island of toe-rag proles can hardly deny. Need a final clue? Really? It’s child rape, my dear, and I’m never playing charades with you at Christmas. Continue reading More Goddamn Books