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Apart from reaching 20% of secret project, that is?
Ugh.
They did it.
They’ve been after me for years to do media. Something to get a little exposure, they claimed.
“One interview, put out the story of why you got into writing,” they said.
“I don’t want to do that,”
I wittily replied.
“How bad could it be?”
They reassured me.
“I don’t want to do that,”
I copied and pasted.
“Just fucking do it!”
they demanded.
“Wow, you even put the silent c in for that profanity,” I countered a few days later, knowing my fate was sealed.
“Just fuking do it!”
they demanded, though without the c it didn’t scare me as much.
“Fuk you!” I proposed.
“NO, ROB. FUK YOU!!!”
I saw their point.
“I see your point. One fuken interview and I’m out,” I said, and then they said nice things that don’t belong here, because they are the fuken worst.
Speaking of the worst.
The interview WAS the worst. I hated every fuken moment of it, even though I’m a charming fuk, and the journalist was just a lovely person who made me very comfortable throughout the horrid ordeal. She was rather good at her job too, because reading back, she somehow managed to lasso some semi coherent words from my insane ramblings, into creating a wonderfully complimentary article about how freaking awesome I am.
And then the story got picked up by a bigger newspaper, and suddenly people were all telling me what a lovely guy I was, and how proud my dad would have been, and I just I wanted to be back in my cage working on my secret project that isn’t a Spark city prequel or any Dellerin tale involving Erin, the Seven, or the Crimson Hunters. But that was okay. It was done. I could hide away.
And then a fuken radio station got involved and I was like “COME ON!!!”
A few hours ago, I had to do a live interview that was both entertaining and traumatising, because that’s what most of my days are out of my cage. They tell me I was great in it. All smooth and hilarious and completely bonkers. Good listening apparently. The interviewer got way too much into how much more famous my cat is than me (I think he is a Taylor fan) and really, that was the highlight of the experience. So now, as I crawl back into my cage, turn on Lord of the Rings and get back writing, I have decided that I refuse to answer all phone calls, or emails for media right now.
FUK THAT SHIT!!!!!!!
I AM FUKEN DONE!!!!!!!!!
Unless the Late Late Show calls.
I’m in for that one.
So anyway,
Keep reading, keep enjoying, keep fuken reviewing you legends.
Take care of yourselves, and each other.
the ROB aka Taylor’s owner.
(Named after a boxer. Not a singer.)
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