It takes ten years to get good at something. Ten years of consistent practice that is. Or so I heard.

It’s probably right. Sounds about right anyway. That means I have six years left of writing before I can unscramble words into a proper story, and eight years left of standup comedy before I can do a good whatever the hell standup comedy storytelling is (the jury is definitely out on that one).

That typed, I don’t know if the rules are set in stone. I know well that the key to writing is editing …draft after draft after draft. Shape the words into a solid piece of wordly art.

I can’t do that. And when I try it just seems crap, to me anyway. So I’ve been writing and publishing first drafts.

First drafts that are different to anything else. Which, in an internet of mindless indexing like for like, leaves the stuff gunthered into an electronic cul-de-sac. And leaves me with a choice, give up or go harder…

The second half of Nancy G is well underway, the turd prophecy of ‘hyb is done, and the adventure of Special Agent Black Socks will follow in ’25 (with health and luck). The standup is on monthly in Sligo, and it will get even more bonkers. And a one off audio drama is on the way, based on ‘The Strange Last Voyage of the Spaceship Phobos.’

I’d been ignoring this site as it’s pretty much an internet dead end, but fuck it, may as well make it a quality internet dead end while I’m at it …go on the humans.