the lap-dance is always better (when the stripper is crying) – bloodhound gang

With the referendum and all, I’ve been writing a lot about politics for what seems like most of the last six months, so as a wee palate cleanser, here’s where the writing’s been going.
This week, I’m working my way through the final polish of the Roger McRoger autobiography I’m working on. This should be out by the end of the year. It’s the first time I’ve ghostwritten anything for anyone, but he seems pleased with what he’s seen so far, so I must be doing something right. Or, he’s too polite to have me whacked or something.
He’s also tasked me with the job of sorting out the cover, since he was so impressed by the ‘1919’ covers. This was during a marathon drinking session (or ‘editorial meeting’) in a strip bar owned by some friends of his a couple of weeks back. Considering I’m the sort of person who goes to fetish clubs and doesn’t look at people, you can no doubt imagine how comfortable I was with that. For the first half dozen pints, anyway. They seemed like really nice people and I hope they were only joking about barring me for life. I didn’t even want a lap-dance and how was I supposed to know she was pregnant, anyway?
I’m also planning next month’s NaNo, a novel about digestion, excrement and plumbing. I’m kreibebe on there. Approach at your own risk.
I had some ideas and assembled them into some sort of an order, then went back and pulled, stretched and crushed it into an outline that made some sort of sense. This is a whole new ballgame for me – a novel with a beginning, a middle and an end. God knows where that’ll end.


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