It's always like this when one proffers one's manuscript to the unwashed: that's why I sent it out to agents at the same time. By the time Maurice, Mike or Lily (or any of Alexander's "readers") get back to me with typos I'll be bearded and/or grey like Rip Van Winkle presumably was by the time Penguin published his illustrated memoires.
So, to the approximately one person (no doubt a high-flying agent, probably representing Dan Brown and/or J.K.Rowling) who has visited this blog recently - staying for a grand total of 0 minutes according to Google Analytics - I say this: sorry if there are loads of typos, but my friends are an ungrateful bunch of shit-eating ingrates who'd not recognise fine literature if it crapped on them from a great height, such as mine already has.
More on this later.
J.J.J.
Monday, 6 September 2010
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