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I have the manflu and I am in bits.
This email will make no sense but I am not writing another so to the thurken spitting fires with coherence.
Also, I have started this email three times and it has all gone wrong.
Three times!!!!!
In a row!!!!!
I’ve been so good this year. Hitting my deadlines, finishing books, getting my emails out and now it’s all for nothing.
And for once it’s not my fault!!!!!!!
Genuinely enough.
I know I always lie about it not being my fault, but I started this email a week and a half ago. You should have seen me. All full of wonder and excitement. And enthusiasm.
The first email involved some random joking about how shit AI is for the world. It was terribly witty. I mentioned Terminator 2 a lot. It’s so good, I’ll try fit it in somewhere later with my copy and paste tool. It’ll be grand. No one will know.
The second draft involved pigeons. An easy move on my part to talk about animals when I’m trying to fill this email up. You guys love me talking about animals, and that’s alright. I love talking about animals. And they love talking about me. The bastards.
Third one?
That email was a fun one. It was about The Elder Scrolls Oblivion getting suddenly rereleased out of nowhere. There was this whole section about the dark brotherhood I was going to go on about…
"… But Rob, these sound like magnificent themes to your emails, why didn’t you use any of them?” I hear you cry out in a chorus of alarm.
Great question, voices in my head.
You see, my emails are usually a flowing river of idiotic consciousness. From those who control my cheques, I receive a page of notes of what I’m to talk about and away I go. I don’t think. I just be stupid and type. And I have some fun, and sometimes it’s a bit of fun to read.
But it is those pages of notes that I truly rely on.
Alas, every time this month, as I was nearly finishing my first draft (complete with all the pertinent information, such as one of my books getting a special deal, or announcing an audiobook date, or announcing a preorder for a new book right here), there was a change up in what I needed to talk to you guys about.
These things happen all the time, and because I’m so shit at keeping up to date with my emails, it doesn’t usually matter. But I’ve been a good boy recently, and somehow, this frigging month, some key details changed right when I was doing my homework.
Fuk me, I grew to hate seeing that fresh new piece of information popping in with a shit eating grin on its papery face with the top line… “Change of plans, can you please inform them of…etc.”
DAMN THE MACHINE!!!!!
Yes, yes, I know the cool, loose-cannon, wildcard arty author thing, would be to lose my shit with those who control my messages and deals, and say “Screw you, man, you can’t tell me what to do!”
But…. things have been ropey between me and the “nice lady” who edits my content these last few emails, so perhaps, without sounding too much like a coward (who doesn’t want a secondary editor telling me all about their “happy barbequing adventures” all while I’m trying to make you fuks review Raven Rock,) I’ll not have a go at them.
(Actually, for those interested, the lovely girl who edits my content had a lovely barbeque in the end. It got a little cloudy at the end of the night, but because they had one of those moveable firepits with the swinging trays that you hang over the fire and cook food on, they were able to move the party to a windless area of her courtyard (she has a fuken courtyard- fuk off). She said more, and I read most of it, but maybe if she’d invited me I’d have given a shit).
*Editor’s note – why on earth would I want that dickhead at my house on a Friday night? He’d probably just go on about why var is killing football or why movies made after 2018 belong in the bin. What about trial of the Chicago 7 asshole? What about Love and Monsters?*
So a week and a half late, and a stop start routine to these emails, I can proudly declare, I have nothing to talk about, so that’s exactly what I’m going to talk about.
Nothing.
At all.
And somehow, I’m already nearly 800 words in.
You know, this is kind of like “canoodle time” with the wife- I’ll just quietly work on this fourth attempt, ignoring all distractions, and hope for as swift a conclusion as possible with fewer tears than normal.
Anyways, because of the dreaded man flu, my head is all over the place and I can’t remember what deal I’m pushing anymore, or what I’m supposed to push. So I’ve decided to just type until my word limit reaches whatever my target is.
Fuk it.
What could go wrong?
I just checked my word count. Fuk. I can’t escape this email yet.
I know its June, but I’ve decided in my delirium, this is STILL my May update.
Blame my Manflu. And I blame my man flu on my wife. For the last while she’s been going around all giddy about testing positive for covid, or flu, or some fuken cold. They have bleeding tests for everything. For weeks she’s gone on about it and got herself signed off for work and all. Well for some. I suppose that would make anyone happy, I guess.
Anyway, though she showed few symptoms, she passed it on to me. Because they are the rules, apparently. So here I am, no idea what I’m writing, but at least my throat has stopped being sanded down by a couple of pissed off gremlins.
That’s right.
I have gremlins.
And I know there’s a joke in there but my head is not up to this.
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