its pretty natural… isn’t it?… to think about what your book isn’t. It isn’t this bestseller, and it isn’t this acclaimed medal winner, or that one either. Or that one. Right in the midlist. Or that one, hotly anticipated and fresh out.

It isn’t a dazzling, dizzingly-dense interwoven feat of literary engineering. Or a breath taking, gossamer-fine expose of the modern malaise. Or a morbid masturbatory journey into one mans soul..

What your book isn’t is endless. not so much like being stuck between a rock and a hard place as a rock and any place. but the comparison game is addictive.

I’m not a very dark person. I’m not drawn to vampires. I’d rather laugh than cry and like Mrs Doubtfire before me I like my men short funny and furry. Which makes me team.. second extra to the left?


the one who gets to pull a few faces before he gets killed off.

But then I’m not Cindy Lou either. My heroes aren’t so much falling on the sword for the sake of humanity as tripping over it in the dark. And they’ll go down in a blue cloud.. As for volunteering for hero duty, a damsels eye view is likely to be a round backside hurrying out the castle door as fast as spindly legs can carry it.

And then again I’m not a literary cracker; I’m bricking up that fourth wall like the zombie hordes were on the other side.

And then again..

So if you go down to Amazon today, be prepared to find everything you haven’t written. Its depressing how wrong your writing will look when all you do is think about what it isn’t. this isn’t a game you can ever win.



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