Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Putting the writer in H Writer; Haggard.

It's been pointed out to me that I haven't updated this blog in a while. So here I am updating the blog. I had a birthday. I'm a year older. I feel ten years older but I suppose I'll never have to go back to being 40 again, the worst year of my life.

It was a quiet affair: I cooked Duck Montmorency for family and friends, and drank some wine. It was necessarily sedate. These people had jobs to go to in the morning. Spent the morning strolling around Stormount with Kelly's family and Maggie the dog, who took it upon herself to display a previously not hinted at death-wish, hurtling with a clang and a yelp into an electricity meter and, through successive bouts of self-harm, bleeding prodigiously from her drooling mouth. She looked as though she had just savaged a kindergarten group before limping off back to the lab like Zoltan: Hound of Dracula.

The other big news is, I suppose, the publication of my book. The "sort of" publication of my book. I finally released the damn thing through Jottify and the next day Jack, the Jottify boss, contacted me directly, asking me if I wanted to be the flag-ship publication for Jottify's first sortie into the world of direct sales. Or rather sales from somewhere people might have heard of.

I've sold twenty five books on Jottify. That may be the glass ceiling. I suspect I've sold many more on Amazon, as the book, briefly, went top ten. I was unable to maintain that position however. Which was fine. I have, at this point, no way of knowing how many books have been sold or how much money I've made. Who knows: I might be a hundredaire!


  1. The day you wrote this I finished a story I was writing (for the present at least). The following day, molested by my demons, I looked in vain for something else to start. Before going to bed I read "The Narwahl." This morning ideas seeking consciousness woke me up. I think your story, John, was the catalyst.

    You're doing what real poetry does -- stirs the imagination -- and what much of what passes for poetry these days fails to do.

    The day you wrote this I was talking to an old man. He had just had a nasty letter from the council insisting he remove a small bush from in front of his house. The bush was less than x feet from the kerb. I don't know what the shrub is called, but it is in flower at present. It has the most heavenly scent and is a lure for honey bees. If that's not the Narwahl ...

  2. I never thought that The Narwhal would prove inspiring. Thanks very much for this.