On Blasting Things Into Space
If you're a frequent visitor here, it would bring me much joy if you were to sign up to my mailing list. That means you'll get all the writing posted on my blog here delivered to your inbox on a Saturday morning - it also means you won't miss a thing when I jettison my two social media accounts (the 't' thing and the 'i' thing) out of the air-lock - which is exactly what I intend to do any day now.
I don't think I'll miss them in the slightest and I hope you don't either. There must be better ways of letting the world know what I have going on aside from doing the thing that 70 billion other people are also doing - and it's not like I'm hard to find in the world.
Social media has about as much class as a dog who hasn't drunk water for two days and I ain't gonna pant no more.
Welcome to 2017 in which I have decided to make commitments with a whole heart and not half of one.
In keeping with strapping on the blinkers to get things moving forwards at a pace that pleases me, I wrote another short today called The Conversation Of Ants. This too will live in my next collection which so far has gone under many working titles in my head, but I'm liking the sound of naming it after yesterdays creation - Death Rides A White Horse. Time will tell is it's good enough to hold on to that position.
This week's reading material looks like this:
It's a whole bunch of wholesome nutrients if you like Bukowski, if not... I would recommend you read something else. Still, you have to love a book cover on which Robert Crumb makes his presence felt.
Footnote: I've taken a break from noir crime fiction for a little while. I had begun to go outside whenever it was dark and raining to loiter beneath street-lamps just to smoke. Sometimes, I would even wear my Big Coat.