The Long Blog Goodnight

16th August 2017

I’m going to speak straight from my brain and consider things that will leave Anna thinking that most of you reading will soon leave due to offense. I’m going to talk about political allegiances and the gulf between what you’re told about peoples principals, compared to what you actually discover when you let people talk you through what they think, and why.

No, of course I’m not going to do that! Quite where you think you’ve wandered I’ve no idea!

We’re all friends in the foxhole, and we all know that the two least interesting things about each other are our political habits and sexual orientation. What hole you go ballot shovelling is almost certainly going to be less interesting than the oddness of your feet for instance. All feet are odd, and in the most interesting ways. You might not think that of your own, and I’d probably agree about mine; but we’re used to our own root vegetables. Go waving them about in your brother-in-law’s face and expect a reaction. My own feet are long to the point of clownish and bunch together at the end in a form that you might refer to as ‘a fistful of toes’. The net result is that I have to wrench the laces up on my shoes and my brother Jacob thinks this makes me look a bit spastic from the ankle down. I’m sorry that I said spastic. You might think that you’re offended, but Brother Jacob has never said sorry to me about the name calling, so imagine my feelings. He’s going bald though, so we all win, and we all spend time off the podium. If going ‘off the podium’, or ‘up the podium’ is some new blaze, urban sweet slang then I apologise and plead ignoramus. I would plead mischief, but one should never plead for that, you just let it unspool and be prepared to get mucky. That will be all I’ve got to say about that.

I’m killing time really, if you can possibly do that (and if I have, again with the apologies). I’m waiting for nightfall to deal with the marrow that is the end of act two in The Brine in Me. The sooner the light fades, the sooner I’ll come back later to this blog and finish it off. I’ve been putting Derek through the wringer for the last few chapters. I thought about tearing up the entire second act and re-writing it as a rock ballad, only to keep remembering that I avoid ballads and I like what I’ve written instead. So we’re all safe, and what with me living on the Welsh border the heavy clouds are already wringing the light of early evening by its neck.

Hi there, I’m back to finish this blog! The going was good last night, didn’t even stop writing to go have some toast. I’m sauntering my way to the ninety thousand word mark with The Brine in Me, and that to my reckoning being a little over three quarters finished. That’s the sort of completion that can twist you into thinking that you’re almost done, which ain’t the case, bud.

Sorry, I’ve started reasoning to myself. He’s right though, me I mean…

In other happenings over the last few days, Serious Biscuits broke out its press pass and was given much gracious access to a Steam Punk gathering in Wales. Ostensibly this was for me to interview and/or provoke the locals into all manner of dirty little details that may or may not end up finding their way into my next novel. The trouble is with Steam Punk though, your eyes feel like they’ve been grabbed by the scrotum and are being pulled all over the place. Dashing Victorian looking gentlemen duel with walking sticks against sky captains with robotic eyes, and burlesque sirens spill from alleys and gin counters. Oh and over there are two female mimes doing penis shapes with balloons. Between all that is the steam futurism, the zombies and those who might not be wearing costumes at all but fit in anyway (this is Wales, folks, and I mean no discouragement).

A lot is talked about regards diversity these days. I’ll let you know right now, get your ass down to see these guys take diversity in fabulous new directions. Many thanks to the organisers and all involved. Keep it unreal, guys!

Words uttered by Witches, High Priest’s and Low Thieves…
JW Bowe xx

P.S! Anna urges me to point out that she loves me very much. She’s decent like that. Actually that might not have been what she said but I’ve befallen to deafness in my left ear, and sometimes it’s just easier to make stuff up and pretend you heard what they said.

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If you enjoyed this blog, and you’re impatient for something else to read, feel free to bunch up close to a free sample chapter from JW Bowe’s debut novel, The Meifod Claw, which is available now at Amazon, iTunes and on various other international eReaders.

You can also double up your sampling by following this link to the forthcoming fictional autobiography of The Meifod Claw’s wheelchair-in-chief, Derek Gainsborough. His life and apologies will be released next year under the sail of The Brine in Me.

JW Bowe can also be unearthed on YouTube and in various other ways through the Serious Biscuits homepage. Scroll down for further links, action and disclaimers.

 

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