Hello buddies! It’s been rather a wonky and wonderful few weeks, doing all sorts of book-related waffling, going here and there and eventually back again, and reading the very kind reviews of various people WHO AREN’T EVEN RELATED TO ME. I think I’ve got a couple of weeks of relative quiet now, which I’m going to make use of by pruning a bit of Book 2, but before I do that there is something I wanted to address, because it keeps coming up in media spots and reviews and such.
Yes, I used to write a blog called Arse End Of Ireland.
No, I don’t anymore.
No, it’s not archived anywhere.
I killed it.
It is a LATE ARSE.
Oh, the desolation.
The reasons for my Arse’s demise are scant but sensible. A: I started it when I was at home minding the smallie, and then she got bigger and I got a job, so I got tired and stuff. Five posts a week every week was a draining enterprise, to say the least. 2: After a couple of years of bloggy neglect alongside the honing of my literary skills, what once looked like pretty decent wordsmithery took on the effect of half-thoughts couched in straining swears. And D: Sweary Lady was actually a construct. Not half as much a construct as I’d have liked her to be, but basically she was a hyperbolised, gonzo version of me, and I never wanted her to take over. I’ve always written fiction; I just decided it’d be smarter to launch mah stories from a solid profile, and so I reinforced by literary leanings with a very silly blog until such time as they stopped leaning and stood up all by themselves. And they have. Job done, Arse!
So Arse End Of Ireland is gone. There are still a few select posts from Arse days here on the blog, which you can peruse if you wish to know what kind of eloquent cribbing I used to be known for, before I became a fulltime novelist. In the meantime, I have novels to be writing, which is a far more rewarding pursuit (in that no one ever gave me money to make bad jokes about Ireland before).