I am not a blooger...will never be a blooger... and have no interest in blogging. I also am caught in an evil triad: my wife, my publisher and my publisher's advertiseing agent. So as any married man can well understand...I am in the survival mode. They said I should blog...therefore I blog.
I wanted to write a book....my wife allowed me to write a book. She wanted it published...I decided it should be published(only the silent survive). I found a publisher who said she would do all the work...therefore I'm published. The publisher turned me over to her advertiseing department....therefore I blog.
All should understand I'm an abused diva author, who is barely able to follow my three greastest passions in life: my motorcycle, my bottle of Ten High, and the next poker game with my brothers(I need their money). I barely find enough time for my morning and afternoon naps because of the triad's demands.
Should anyone read this and think they detect a small amount of sarcasm, you would be wrong. You will have mistaken fear for that most dangerous form of human communication with women(which I would never use around my triad) sarcasm.
The only reason I agreed (fear in no may was a part of my decision) to do this is revenge. The pen is not mightier than the sword...just ask anyone who has been stabbed by both for comformation of that statement of fact. But a well sharpened pen can be just as satisfying as a well aimed round from a sniiper's rifle. I was promised I could use this any way I saw fit if I would agree to write on it from time to time.
Never give a much abused diva author any weapon without restrictions. You want me to write a blog...as you have said so shall it be. I was also told that if I took offense(not that my taking offense could ever happen) to some stupid comment made by a reviewer I could return fire. Now there's something I do understand.
One lady said about one of the books I wrote,"Does this man not know the difference between fractured and broken? They are the same!"
Well dear lady yes this man does understand the difference. Fractured means some tape...mabe a cast and back to the field with a light duty chit. Broken means pins, possibly screws and the ever popular rehab (room 3021-west wing) for a few fun filled days. I may not be a smart man...but trust me...I know the difference.
Don't complain about my use of grammar or punctuation. I write the way I think and the comma for me is a rest stop on the way to the end. I have an editor...another woman...she's still getting over her last nervous breakdown from working on my last book. I intend to put her right back into a rubber room with what I'm working on now. She has all she can do to make my junk readable and has even hinted I'm stubborn about making the changes she suggested.
Leave your comments at your own risk, I have notthing but time on my hands.