219 Days

Pills has been out for 219 days now.

It drifted for a little while in KDP purgatory, but now it’s starting to pick up some momentum. People are actually reading the thing.

Of course, I missed a few tricks re: publicity due to MASSIVE FUCKING LIFE EVENTS TAKING PRECEDENCE, but now things are starting to settle down, I can spend more of my life writing, blogging and tweeting (woooo), and less of it freaking out.

I suppose looking at the last 18 months and what’s been happening around the world, it has been hard to promote anything other than political agendas. Writing ‘Buy my indie book on Amazon’ seems a little trite when the leader of the free world is threatening nuclear war, defending Nazis and paying porn stars hush money. It’s almost as though real life is so fucking weird that it’s tough for fiction to trump it (see what I did there?).

But perhaps it’s in times like these that fiction is most needed. I’ve never been one for burying his head in the sand, but after all the crap that’s going on, it’s quite nice to escape for an hour into an imaginary world (even if that world is full of its own horrors).

Anyway, I’ve been writing again. Considering the turn my life has taken, I thought my new stuff might be a little softer – at one point, I even considered working on a kids’ book – but, nope, it’s just as mean and dark as ever. The only change is that I’m more confident with it now. I know the process. I know it takes fucking ages. I know you can edit the bullshit. I know my voice and how I like things to scan.

I think I’ll have something new out later this year. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with my back-catalogue, this blog and tweets about Brexit and spiders.

 

6 comments

  1. Ah, but you’re right — this is actually the time when fiction is probably *most* needed, most desperately important and required. I’ve been so politically active the past year: phone banking, testifying at legislative committee hearings, attending rallies, calling my Congressperson, blah blah blah. And at the end of the day, nothing — I mean *nothing* — makes me happier than to just put it all behind me and lose myself in a good book. It’s not just an escape but a reminder that art transcends the pettiness of life. It’s a relief, a comfort, a friend.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ‘Art transcends the pettiness of life.’ I like that. And props to the political activism. I simply left the UK when Brexit happened, so now all I can really do is swear at Farage and Trump on Twitter.

      Like

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