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The novel is finished*, It is now with my lovely editor, who will sort out my crappy grammar. It is 130 thousand words of Breedful shenanigans, give or take a few hundred words of malarky. I hope you’ve lubed up your eyeballs and given your wrists a good workout because this is one hefty tome.

It will be out in February. “February!?!” I hear you cry. “Why February?”

Welp, mes amis, December and January are some of the worst months to release a book. Everyone is either liquored up and full of pie or crying because they got liquored up and ate too much pie—but that might just be me.

As well as release dates being a factor, there’s also all the technical ‘stuff’ to sign off on but that’s not my department.

What is my department is the dreaded ‘back matter’ or ‘back blurb’ or ‘back cover copy’ or ‘the demented hellscrawl of a mad person.’

Now, I have a slightly unorthodox theory with regard the issue of ‘back blurbs.’ Go with me on this. If you’ve read up to book five, you’re likely to read book six. You’re invested, interested, even morbidly curious—whatever, you’re in. Am I right?

But oh no. Apparently, that isn’t how it works. I am told that no matter where it comes in a series, a book needs ‘back matter,’ and apparently, I have to write it.

Ask any writer, and when they’ve finished begging you for beer money, they will tell you that the absolute worst part of writing a book is coming up with the back cover copy. You have to reduce the wonder of your creation—the ins and outs, the cuts and thrusts, the convoluted and downright curious twists and turns—to a paragraph and make it snappy. It’s harder than trying to explain blockchain to a chicken.

Also, by this point, all the words have been used up. After typing ‘The End,’ the poor writer emerges from their pit and wanders around, blinking in the harsh light of day, grunting and scrubbing ineffectually at the food stains on their filthy jimjams while plucking lice from their unkempt hair.**

You are in this weird ‘just finished a novel’ headspace. You’re full of feelings, mostly hunger and exhaustion, when some editorial assistant*** demands you find more words for the back matter and that they are brilliant enough to make everyone who sees them want to read the dang book or go on a holy pilgrimage. “Either or will be fine.”

I hates it, I does. Did that come across?

So, anyway, there you have it, my manifesto on why back matter should be banned and news that the story is finished. It will come out in February, there will be a preorder, there may even be a quiz. I will let you know when dates are finalized.

All that remains is to wish each and every one of you lovely peeps a fantastic Christmas and/or an awesome Midwinter Feast.

*The novel is never finished; it is relinquished, but it can always, always be improved or entirely rewritten.
**Okay, my hair—I mean me.
***The jumped-up eville minion of dark and eville gods.

Evening folks,

Hot innit? Too dang hot for me, anyway. Not that I love the cold, but the thing about the cold is you can put layers on. Summer is different. Apparently working nekkid is ‘frowned upon’ and ‘a bit much’ according to my nan who dropped in unexpectedly the other week.

Aaanyway, now I have an ankle tag.

Only joking. I do have a state of the art… for 1990, Colde Ayre Blewer or ‘electric fan’ as the kids are calling them these days. It’s almost entirely useless, akin to having someone who smokes fifty a day blow raspberries at me while they’re running a marathon.

As in previous weeks, my life is editing in my dark office, now with extra sweat. I’ve had to banish the dogs because it is too hot to be confined in a smol room with a panting, farting critter or so they said via their speak ‘n’ spell buttons. What can I say? Everyone’s a critic.

When evening falls, I emerge from my den like a bog eyed Morlock and take the hounds for a walk before hitting the sack and watching rubbish tv. I think you’ll agree, life doesn’t get wilder than this.

I am however closing in on completing the second draft of Breed 6.

I find the second draft to be the hardest. (I would say that wouldn’t I?) This is the version where I attempt to dig out the story I’ve buried under a mountain of possible subplots and extraneous words.

Like a diamond ring that I’ve dropped in a cess pit, I know it’s in there, I just have to hold my nose and wade into the muck. It’s quite technical, especially for someone whose brain is literally boiling in its own cerebrospinal juice.

What I wrote in the heat of the moment I have to take apart and rebuild. I won’t bore you with the details, suffice it to say the manuscript has grown despite redundant storylines being removed. It’s like magic without the rabbits.

I’m currently working on Chapter Thirty, which is about seven from ‘The End’ but that might change.

While we’re all waiting for the next exciting instalment of ‘KT’s Die in Hot Offices’, here’s a survey– a chance to get to know a little more about you like your bank details, mother’s maiden name, first pet that kind of thing*. Feel free to ignore, but don’t, but if you want to you can, obviously…

TTFN

*Not really. I know if you read my stuff you’re bright enough to know that, but just in case a rando got in here by accident, let me assure you, I am too thick and too scared of them prison daddies to commit fraud.