That weren't no DJ, that was hazy cosmic jive

A novel project

Finally, I give birth to a novel. Now, who can I give this crying muck-ball away to?

It isn’t a political thriller, despite the nature of my bloggings, nor is it a story about a purely-fictional conservative prime minister named “Sterling Hopper.” Though if it were, there would be a scene where he crashes into a manure truck.

The backflap is likely to say something such as:

“a thrilling, mysterious escapade; a baroque madhouse brimming with murderous intrigue and alien sex! In a world so inscrutably surreal, you shall be left gasping for a breath which you dare not breathe – lest it infect you in your soul!”

That might be a mite misleading, but hey. It’s basically right.

Next exciting steps for me will include the hunt for an agency and publisher, which is going to be something rather new to me. An exciting process, but also one that will demand infinite patience, and will require me to thicken my already-tortoise-like skin. If you have any advice, I’d definitely welcome it.

I’ll ask you to also be patient, and indulge me in an occasional non-political (and non-dinner) post about these upcoming tribulations, how it’s going, and any interesting bits of news about bookish progress. And, should the day come when I can provide means for you to acquire the story by way of a credit card, you can be certain I will do that.

Thanks everyone – keep on truckin.’
(Or cyclin.’ Or takin’ the train).

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March 2020

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