And this is when you know you are in hell…

Spent all day – ALL DAY – working on my Doors manuscript, all 150,000+ words of it, fixing the last of the changes that need – NEED – to be made, as recommended by the lawyer and as fought over by me, over the past several weeks.

Finally then – FINALLY – we get to the last knockings. One more day, one more go at the manuscript, and maybe – MAYBE – we will be all right. By now, I have somewhat mellowed, dealing with lawyers and what they have to say about my books being akin for me to dealing with a boa-constrictor snake wrapped round my fucking neck.

After the first 29 pages of the ‘report’ it’s hard to keep your cool, no matter how many trips to the toilet you make, or off-map journeys to your other emails. The head goes, then the heart. Finally the balls. Then somehow the balls come back, then go again. Then…

THEN! You finish. You FINISH. Get me? Write the email your publishers and lawyer have been waiting for, attach your responses to their latest report, answers in BLUE. The go to attach the document of the finished manuscript you have been working on ALL DAY.


It’s vanished. Gone. Vamoosed. Where NOBODY FUCKING KNOWS! Not even your computer guy Adam, who is the Dr Who of computers and knows everything. EVERYTHING.

You open the drawer and reach for the gun only there’s no gun there. NO GUN!!!

And hope. Hope that Adam, who you now owe your life to, can help, can do something, can make it all all right on the night. ALL RIGHT!

But he sounds puzzled. Worried. Perplexed.

This is when you know you have arrived at the innermost circle of hell and the devil has sharpened his fork and is openly laughing – LAUGHING – in your face.

But wait. For there is a tiny pinpoint of light at the end of the insanity tunnel. Adam does something. You don’t know what but it is something. And suddenly there in a far corner of the big iMac screen is a tiny little document that looks – LOOKS – like it might just be… the … one…


2 thoughts on “Hell

  1. I’m simultaneously shivering with actual horror and smirking like a twat. Christ, what a fucking insane way to earn a living. Am I right or am I right? That was rhetorical, by the way.

    • At least entire books couldn’t disappear into typewriters. Mind you, they could be set fire to by loose cigarettes, have the dog run off with them or just have beer spilled all over them.

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