So, here we are.
Today was launch day, and already I have tense confusion. Buuuuuut you know what I mean. It's gone midnight, so it's yesterday (no, wait, it was yesterday, damn, this is confusing), but I'm still awake, so, for me, it's still today.
Hmmm. Remind me not to do this again.
Anyway. Launch day. Today, I got not one, but two ISBN numbers which have my name associated with them. All false modesty aside, I'm proud of both of them. The MonkeyKettle book contains a sci-fi concept powerful enough to fuel a series of novels, if I ever locate the cure for laziness and fear and really go for it. And if I don't? Still a great little story. As for Black Beacon Books and 'The Loving Husband...' I followed the stories exactly where they wanted to go. It was like watching a movie in my head. If I wrote it right, you'll see your own version of that movie when you read it.
This evening was a launch party. For MonkeyKettle, a celebration of their second anthology. For me, that too, and also the launch of my e-novella. And it was also an open mic night, and my dear friends and companions on the path of musical perversity and celebration agreed to come up and play with me, unrehearsed, so I could sing my shit and feel like a little rock star for a bit.They did me, and more importantly themselves, very proud indeed.
Me? I sang Thunder Road the way it deserves to be sung. I have that much in me. It felt good.
It's possible I'm not entirely sober.
This weekend, from now in fact, until the end of next week at the very earliest, I have to dedicate to finishing the act of moving house. As timing goes, it couldn't get much worse - launch a book, then vanish from social media for seven or eight days. On the other, rather weightier hand, my family deserves it, I deserve it, and I owe it to myself and them to get the fuck on with it.
So... so, thanks. If you're reading this, you know me, almost certainly personally. We've met. I know your name. We've talked, and I've made... whatever impression I've made, depending on when we talked and what particular bullshit was lighting my brain up that night. Regardless, thanks. Thanks for giving a shit, about my writing, or my music, or me. Or all three.
Kit the soon-to-be-hungover
Kit the happy.
Kit The Published Fucking Author.
Kit the intoxicated.