You regret for me to inform you, Dear Reader, that I am ending my unannounced hiatus.

Seems a good time to get back into this blogging mess, what with having written a book and successfully alienated any semblance of an audience I may have amassed.

So, what have I been doing?

Aside from staying in shape? (Because square is a shape. And by square, I mean lame. Lame is a shape.)

Don’t be a rectangle…

Editing, more than anything else. Parenting, at a point just above bare minimum. (The boy can read now, so I can’t leave my gory and/or sexy materials laying about. He might end up like me, he gets to reading that shit. And speaking of shit! The girl can shit! Specifically, she can shit in a designated and desired location (in the shitter!))

So, book. My first book, The Sarimist Loyal, is in a state of completion comparable to done. Say 99% or so. But that last percent is a big fucking deal.

My to-do list for the book

  • Find Beta readers (I have two. The first of which is completely useless for the simple fact that he is my best friend. The other, I’m getting ready to send the book over to, but I’m ascared because I’m fairly certain she’s gonna make me cry. But that’s what I need at this stage. No book is complete without proper humiliation. Cat O’ Nine Tailed through the streets.)
  • Get book professionally edited (I’m currently dodging my editor because I’m an Ebenezer Scrooge McDuck (with fewer pennies to pinch (though a possible solution to my penny problems would be to press coal to diamonds in my ass, because I am a tight-ass (with a tight ass))). Apologies, Editor, if you are reading this. I’m terrified of taking the plunge, because the only thing scarier than diving into a pool of gold pieces is diving into a pool with no pieces. Or water. Diving headfirst into an empty pool.)
  • Get a book cover made (I could do it myself. But I want an illustration done. So, again, I’m dodging around commissioning art because I can’t decide what I want arted. And pennies again. They all want my pennies for a book I can only hope will make me a penny over penniless. I like the word penny.





No caption needed. Pointless effort, Dear Reader. Expended for you.

  • Write up a back cover (I’m working on it. I just… I’m fucking tradition (admittedly, tradition is no stranger to being fucked) by not writing up the standard fantasy third person synopsis. I hate third person with a passion most reserve for rapists and lawyers. I will write back cover copy from a first person perspective and damn the consequences.)

Alright, what else have I been up to?

Writing a monthly article for ARTS magazine.

Yes, someone actually allows me to put words on paper. Yes, that paper is then actually distributed to actual people. Yes, some of those people do proceed to wipe their ass with my work.

And it is a pleasure to contribute. Though I can’t say ass while writing articles for the magazine. Or fuck. Probably not even a casual tossing of twat pancake.

But I find creative ways around such boundaries, managing to say plenty that should bar me from publication.

You can read it online if you are interested. You can read it online even if you aren’t interested. Very accessible. You’ll love it.

Don’t worry. I’m not the only person writing for it, so there is content worth reading. So check it out. By clicking here.

Oh, what’s that? You have another question for me? How is the rest of my writing coming along?

Well, if your gonna go and ask such personal questions, I’m gonna go and answer such personal answers. What did I even just say? I’m gonna give you a personal answer. I think. Let’s start with today. (Yesterday at this point. Let’s hope today went/goes better.)

While making, for my child (the one who doesn’t go to Tiny People Academy), a bowl of cereal (for lunch, because it’s that kind of day), she points proudly to a pile of stuffed animals on the couch. “See what I made?!”

“Yes, baby girl.”

“I made that!”

“And even if that is the pinnacle of your life’s accomplishments, you will always be my baby girl. You’ve already accomplished more than I ever have.”

I then proceeded to weep for the duration of an episode of Sons of Anarchy while eating my own bowl of crunchberries. For what reason my tears fell, I know not. Not over the little one’s stuffed animal pile. Certainly not over the bastard who took a bullet to the brain in SoA. (No, the little one doesn’t watch with me. She isn’t allowed to see ole Sam Crow until she is four.) Likely because of the strong sensation that I am spinning my wheels. Going nowhere. Yes, my own fault.

I need to get that book out.

To distract me from said book, I’ve made some 30,000 words of progress on my increasingly frustrating second book. And DI(c)E PLEASE!… there is still someone who very much wishes to read what happens next. And she is going to be beta-ing my book. So, I’ll fix that onto my to do list. Not to say it will be done timely. I shouldn’t make promises because, apparently, I’m quite trash at them.

But needless to say, no writing was done today, but for this (look what a fiasco that turned out to be). One of those days… stapled on to one of those weeks.

I’ll post something else soon. I’ve got ideas for days. Prepare to suffer.