An open letter of apology
You may have noticed that I have been lax in updating my life for the last few days or so. Regrettably, I have no convenient or overriding excuse for this, but ask that you choose one of the following that may, or may not, suit your individual tastes. These convenient, but untrue excuse options include:
a) I was abducted by aliens. They supplied a wonderful candlelit dinner, but like the needy, amorphous beings they really are, bypassed most of the foreplay and rushed straight for the anal probe! I have not been able to sit down for a week, and ergo, couldn’t update my blog.
b) My home was used as an impromtu terrorist-cell and I was locked in the bedroom for the duration. While these Al-Queda wannabees ran rough-shod over my house, imprisoning me and my family while they plotted clandestine plots, I found it too difficult to access the internet, and ergo, couldn’t update my blog. As an aside, I think their leader had an uncanny resemblance to Saddam Hussein. Just why Saddam would be cavorting with Osama’s crew, I have no idea.
c) I am a talentless clone who suffers irrepairable mental damage when the master leaves the house, even for a moment. The master left the house. Didn’t know how to function. Ergo, couldn’t update blog.
d) I was strapped to the bed having the most gloriously wonderful sex imaginable. The passionate love-making, in all possible combinations of taste, texture and flexibility, lasted for days of enduring pleasure, so ergo, I couldn’t update my blog.
e) I am a pathetic, lazy person. Nah, this one’s just too implausible.
I implore you for compassion and understanding, with the added grovel that I will endeavour to remain ever your faithful servant, updating these pages regardless of foul moods or inclement weather.
Shane Jiraiya Cummings
(or his silly, muddle-headed clone)
PS. You may be interested to know I started (AND finished) a very melancholy little story entitled Dying Roses. It is intended for the Commonwealth Short Story competition. As it is especially literary, and not quite so speculative, I have higher than average hopes for its success. I also spent considerable time reacquainting myself with Harbinger. Not only that, I felt inspired enough to pen 1500 words of a pump-action section detailing the exploits of Captain Brand and his many guns.
PPS. My story, Midnight on the Jetty, my second story ever written, was very nicely rejected from the Cold Flesh anthology. I was amazed at the remarks. Not only were there two ‘sorry’s in the message, the editor stated “the writing is very good, but the story isn’t gory, violent or terrifying enough.” A facinating rejection, one that I agree with on those grounds. It just surprised me that a story could not be gory enough. It makes me feel quite the literary snob in fact – “Oh yes,” *insert snobbish British accent* “my work is simply just soooo sophisticated. I mean visceral? Ye gads man! I thought visceral was that vein in your leg. I believe I’ve made a jolly great chump of myself!” Suffice to say, I’ve sent the story off to another market (Flesh and Blood magazine)
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