Greetings, dear couch potato.

I have been a bit remiss in keeping up this farce of a blog, shame on me. But
shame on you as well, for not demanding a continuation of my brilliant prose.
Naturally I put this grave breach of etiquette down to your introvert and shy
nature. But enough of you, and more of me!

I was at a party last week, thanks Helena and Will. The topic of writing came up, due to my soon to be published book. We discussed at what stage you can call yourself a writer. Several plateaus were mentioned and fiercely championed by diverse drunkards. Let’s begin at the bottom:

The pretentious artist 

You know, the kind of person who has never sold or published, and has been writing on and off for the last five years but never/seldom completed anything. And has the audacity to call themselves an author/writer.  Like a waiter, who “really”is an actor.  
The real reason to why they are not published is that no one “understands” their work, even though their mothers and friends attest to their genus.  

There was a woman at the party that did claim that you are, and can call
yourself a writer, if you do write, aspire to become a writer, and identify yourself
as a writer.

Great attitude. This means that I’m not really unemployed, but a writer/astronaut/porn star/millionaire. 

The two-bit success 

Someone who not only has completed a work, but got it published. This book/poem/article did not sell well and/or get great reviews/fame. But still got the official stamp of approval from an editor and got printed.

The one hit wonder

Someone who has published a work that actually did sell and/or got good reviews/fame. Can this person call him/herself an author for life, even though they have not written a single word in the last 20 years while they worked at a supermarket?
Or do they have to keep writing and trying to get back into the game?

I used to work as a factory worker 15 years ago. Sadly, I did not win any awards, but if I’d been employee of the month/year would I have been able to call myself a factory worker for life?  

The struggling scribbler

Someone who publishes regularly and makes some money out of it. Sadly not enough to write full time, but still has to rely on a second, “real” job to make ends meet.  

The arrived

Can write fulltime, and has great reviews/sales/fame.
Has no problem in getting advances, and can so write on
credit if need be. Even has an agent, and perhaps a publisher. But might still
be a bit of a sellout, who has to think about trends/sales/attitudes of
publishers/readers etc etc – and still has to make bitter compromises

The superstar  

Independently wealthy. A household name that has the fame/cash to write whatever they desire. Does not have to sellout/take orders/think of trends/worry about offending readers etc etc.
Free and happy.   

You know, they how become so famous/stinking rich, they don’t have to pay for sex ever again, even though they have lots of money. Unfair, isn’t it?

Quite surprisingly, I am actually interested in your views for a change. Write what you think on the "rants and raves" page or on facebook.

Ta-ta and toodle-oo 


So here goes the blog cherry – PLOPP!!!

Hey, how nice of you to take some time out of your busy schedule of facebooking and surfing for pornography to visit my site and witness my first tentative steps into the blogging world. 

I despise blogs, facebook and other social media. I’m not keen on mobile phones either. I used to have these sweet daydreams about getting published, and so being able to go off the grid and live out my days in some cozy third world harem. Ahh…yes, laughing, drinking and frolicking the days away with a legion of tanned buxom beauties. I might even write a word or two a day. Now…where was I?

The blog! Right.

But contrary to sweet, warm and cozy illusions – reality is, as usual, bitter, chilling and

It’s bad enough that I have to go against my principles and delve into the putrid swamp of social medias, I also have to push the book vigorously – a double sellout – like a third rate whore, taking it from both ends.  

Not only will I have to slave away at my keyboard to keep the likes of you entertained – I also have to do it without payment - damn it!!!

The intelligent person would just copy another author’s blog, post by post. And so save both time and creativity for paying customers. But nooo(whining no) the sniveling cowards at my publishing company thought it a bad idea, and expressly forbade the move. 

So, I have no other choice than to hike up my skirt, drop my panties and get whoring:

My name is Gordon Hooper. My cousin, Alexander Holstein and I have written “Alex and Katija, High and Mighty” – detailing his adventures as an international private investigator.
This modern masterpiece will be published later this year in E-book format; the cellulose version will follow shortly thereafter.  

That will be enough for now, as I tire of this vile spectacle.
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