Is this true? No. I have posted more than 200 times. On a few occasions I posted a blog ahead of time by mistake, removed it, and installed the creature later.
Phantom blogging aside, I've given writing advice, published fiction samples, used the word fuck, promoted other writers, and waffled enough nonsense to open my own nonsense stand. Or waffle stand.
I'm going to thank people.
Karen Woodward told me to blog. The other week, she came and asked me to look over a story of hers. So I am still repaying that favour she did me.
These are the usual suspects.
Many a post revolved around Kacey Vanderkarr. I
For reasons of the plot, Missy Biozarre's obituary remains one of the best blog posts I wrote for authors - for I was trying to reach writers who are scared to set words down.
Commemorating Missy's demise was secondary to that mission. She's still out there, Cheshire Catting her way through the dark, with that befanged smile.
There are those who offer humorous support to the beleaguered writer, and all of my friends are of that stripe: quick with a quip and a hefty dose of mockery that is a common trait in those who befriend me.
These names may mean nothing, or little, to those reading this scribble. So I'll turn all abstract and speak of the writing game and those who aid the wordsmithery on display.
One day, this blog will close. I made that decision before I wrote a post. And I fought the urge to close the blog almost every single time I posted something.
It was easier to battle that notion, this time out. Anniversary, and all.
I support writers. Maybe I don't care for your style, but you get my vote. I don't have to like a writer's scribbling at all. Hell, I don't have to like the writer behind said scribbling.
But if you do as I have done, you are supported. I filled blank pages. If you do that, you do well. And you are welcome at my door.
Your opinions may be obnoxious, your fetish for the word whom untenable, your politics unconscionable, your trews laughable, and your plot-twists unphotographable...
Yes. Those who aid the wordsmithery on display are writers. For there are no rivals here. There. I said it yet again. And I'll go on saying that, until the end.
Has much changed, since I started the blog? Well, I still occasionally crack a knee off my main desk. The secondary desk was dismantled to make room for some room. That's a technical thing.
When I started the blog, I was a would-be Kindle author without a Kindle. Within weeks, I had a Kindle. And then, sticking to my deadline, I was a Kindle author.
Kacey Vanderkarr thought it amusing that, to celebrate publication, I had a rather fancy chocolate éclair. No cheese and whine partying. A dip in the sea, rather than a launch.
Interruption. A heating engineer is seeing to the pipes. Does that signify anything? Yes. I officially opened my blog on Hallowe'en. It was a dark and stormy night...
And, not having the internet at home (except on my phone), I went into town and blogged via the public library.
So, news of the heating engineer signals a shift on the tech front. It's easier to publish blogs with the internet steaming through valves at home.
And it is easier to publish e-books that way, of course. I have published from my phone. But I wouldn't recommend that. Go and use your own.
Tired humour is the best.
Well, another interruption. I don't know if the water heater is fixed, but I managed to clear up a moment of ambiguity concerning the career of one William Shatner. An episode of the Twilight Zone.
The heating engineer is now satisfied.
I am happy to report on the hotness of the water.
No, this was never going to be the epic blog post demanded of a 200th edition. I had to keep the heating engineer entertained. An ice cream van went past, and he rather excitedly gave the impression that he was off for some ice cream.
A convenient call from a colleague carried the engineer back to his own van for a consultation on spare parts. I suspect that casual diversion allowed for the purchasing of confections.
Fractured blog posts are okay. I've now survived a massive thunderstorm. How? I stayed indoors, obviously. Torrential rain invaded when the storm broke. I survived that too, simply by being in a bed that was above the level of puddles.
This blog post was brought to you via veiled allusions to Chet Baker, Edward Bulwer-Lytton, and veiled allusions to veiled allusions.
I must away, for something in the oven has an appointment in space-time with BURNING. This is an appointment I feel that I must interrupt.
On the matter of ice cream: CHECK THIS OUT.