Normal nonsense will be resumed shortly, and if you’re on the front page you can scroll down to see the newest posts as normal. In common with most bloggers I do this in my free time with no great expectations because I enjoy it and because I relish the knowledge that thousands of people share my interest in the things that I post, and probably also because I’m a bit of an attention whore. As many of you probably do, I use an ad blocker and I tend to switch right off when people try to sell me stuff or talk to me about my responsibilities, so I understand that some of you might not want to hear this little lecture from me.
Also in common with most bloggers I have to make a living and I rarely make any money from blogging, although in my case one of my day jobs is also writing so sometimes I do get paid tiny amounts for blogging elsewhere. But the fact remains that there’s no such thing as free; everything you get on the internet cost somebody something, at some time. I know very well from the last hellish eighteen months I’ve just battled through that times are hard, but hard times for most of us make it more important– not less– that we should all try to support people whose work we like, whether it’s paying for a download or CD of a band we like, donating to the programmer of the app we use all the time, helping out with somebody’s Kickstarter project, or– yes– by purchasing a book by a writer whose work we appreciate.
Know what I mean?
Career Suicide is my memoir of working as an artist and film maker for most of my adult life, while experiencing almost every misfortune except popularity. I’ve been told it’s funny, a good read and it contains valuable insights on the art world’s foibles and failings. And slightly less valuable insights into my own. My adventures in gonzo art criticism continue at my other blog, of the same name.
Uncanny Valley collects my published short stories from various anthologies and magazines circa 1996-2006: among other things, a magic talking dog castrates the Estuary Gaffer Tape Rapist with his teeth, a robot maid trades housework for sabotage, and the last living intellectual escapes from his cage at the zoo and goes on a rampage of contemplation…
They’re not expensive, they’re professionally designed and copy edited so they look a hundred times better than your average self published bunch of shit, and they’re available in various print and electronic formats. Even the Apple Store, although they had a bit of a wobble at first because they interpreted mention of a rapist getting his nuts bitten off as “erotica.” Really, Apple? Really? This blog isn’t stopping, I’m not on strike, the books sell OK already and I’ll still love you even if you don’t buy something after I’ve blatantly whored myself out like this.
But please do buy something, if you can afford it, and do the same for other people whose work you regularly enjoy and follow. Me love you long time if you do.