Not being a religious fellow, the only impact that Easter usually has on my life is that I eat more chocolate than normal. I’m already something of a liability when it comes to moderating my sweets-and-chocolate intake, but put chocolate eggs in front of me and I’ll go all hummingbird on you — eating up to three times my own weight in Cadbury every single day. Unlike hummingbirds, however, I am neither delightful nor possessed of a metabolism capable of handling that sort of food consumption.
Easter is something of a lardy, bloated period of any given year for me, and it usually concludes with me looking like a melting walrus.
My habit of saying really inappropriate or moronic things is about as old as my ability to talk. I have what I suspect is an insecurity-fuelled need to be funny in any given social situation, and I also tend to believe that no subject should be off-limits. Not everyone shares that belief, though, and I’m not always great at judging people’s sensibilities. I’ve made more than my share of jokes that have offended or annoyed people, or — worse — have just not been laughed at. I also have a brain that is an absolute bastard and will not let me forget a single misjudged joke or embarrassing comment. Continue reading
I think I’m finally approaching the end of what I’m calling the second draft — although, technically, it’s more like the third — of my novel, Monsters of Elsewhere. It’s taken longer than I’d originally hoped; I started this particular draft mid-November and had thought it would take one to two months. Continue reading