Jesus Christ, I just had a Sarah Jessica Parker moment there when I thought of a subject for today’s blog. Have I suddenly questioned my sexuality? No. Have I developed a face like an anorexic horse? Certainly not. I am simply taking a literary pause from writing highly graphic scenes about cannibalism. Got a problem with that have you? Well you can finish it if you think you’ve got what it takes.
Fact or fiction?
During my lunch of Beluga caviar and champagne on soggy toast, I decided to look at some reviews from other author’s books. What brought this on I hear you ask mid-yawn. Well, apart from the medication, I watched a movie (US) film (UK) last night entitled “Trade”. Blah, blah, blah there are Russians running a child kidnap racket out of Mexico City. This adjusted the chemical balances and electro-neuron activity within my brain to remind me of a comment I received about the Ukrainian gangsters in FBK. The reviewer called it “clichéd”. Now the only clichéd thing about the Russian mafia in the UK is their unending supply of funds and their ability to obtain absolutely anything for a price. Believe me I have worked with these people many times and I kid you not. I was once present for a meeting within an Industrial unit, not so far from Heathrow airport and these guys had a stolen, that’s right STOLEN, Westland Lynx military helicopter. Now how clichéd can you get? Jesus wept!
This brings me to my point, via helicopter, most of the authors out there are writing fictional books. These are works of fantasy; they are supposed to take you to another place for a few hours at a time. They are designed to transport you out of your humdrum life, away from the mortgage arrears and extra marital affair that your spouse just found out about to a happier, carefree place. So what is it with the voice of doom reviewers? “That couldn’t happen in real life...just too unbelievable...the facts were wrong in your book about the birth of Christ, we all know that a baby wouldn’t be allowed to lie next to a pile of donkey shit for that long a period or he would contract hyperventilatractionalbullshittingme disease.” .... F+CK OFF!!!!! Please...Just go and disembowel yourselves.
Okay, I have now transported myself back in time to 1968; I have just finished my latest book. It’s about a space ship landing on a planet, which is ruled by apes and humans are the under species. At the end my hero is looking for somewhere to have a pee on the beach when he discovers the Statue of Liberty buried in the sand. Fact or Fiction? Did anyone ever explain what happened? Was it explained to us how apes learned to talk and look like Roddy McDowell (I am not going to Google his name for a correct spelling, so don’t even go there.) The answer is no because this is escapism and it made almost $48 million.
These sad reviewers should stuff their bowels back into the cavity and start reading books about an orphaned slave in the 1921 tea famine of Ceylon who was brought up by a one-legged nun and ended up winning the Nobel Prize for developing sugar cubes. There. Finished. Get my point? No. Well I do and that’s all that counts.
It’s been a pleasure, as always, but I must get back to my cannibalism now.
PS whoever tried to hack my email account at 1:50 am Big Ben Time this morning is gonna be in a lot of trouble.