Tag Archives: author parent

Hybrid. Not just for cars.

This post, on Chuck Wendig’s blog, got me thinking today. (BTW I can thoroughly recommend Chuck Wendig’s blog, unless you’re sensitive to swearing but then, if you’re sensitive to swearing I doubt you’ll be here either).

He was talking about hybrid authors. That is, those of us who self publish their work and also have a trad deal. Apparently, these folk earn more.

You know what. I’m not surprised at that.

Frankly, I would kill for a trad deal, so I could do both. Unfortunately it’s never going to happen. I used to have a reasonably high end business job, and I know how business works. I’m a really crap proposition. It won’t always be that way, but right now it is. A stay at home mum who takes two years to write each book. Even if I managed to pen a query letter covered with just the right amount of fairy dust and unicorn pooh to score that magic read (yes even with an ‘in’ I failed to the point where they sent me a letter back with comments that showed, quite clearly that one of the readers hadn’t even read the book). Even if an agent or a publisher, absolutely loved my stuff, there would be somebody who could churn out a book every 6 months, whose work they loved just as much, who’d get the deal. Geesh! I mean seriously, I wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole, so I don’t expect them to.

If I want trad, I’ve got to have a ‘proven track record’ – ugh I loathe and detest that phrase – and to get one of those, I’ve got to make it the hard way; as a self published author.

However, at least with self publishing, I do have the option to get my books out there and, possibly, succeed. It will be much harder – although not as hard as getting someone to read my query letter – and if I do succeed it will happen in slow motion. But the opportunity IS there.

This is what I love about self publishing.

What I hate is that anyone would bung their first attempt at a novel out there unedited, unrested, without thought. It absolutely amazes me – and gets me into a bit of a frothy mouthed rage, to be honest – because they’ve turned the only route to market for many of us into a slush pile that no-one will touch.

Thanks you bunch of complete and utter bastards.

The K’Barthan Trilogy (actually it’s four books so I’ll have to call it something else, ideas on a post card please) took me 25 years to write.  That’s if I count them from the first attempt. Although I admit I’ve done the donkey work in the last few, between 2008 and now. A lot of people, who would probably enjoy it will never will never find out about it, and others will never touch it because I’ve committed the terrible sin of publishing it myself.

Whatever people say, the prejudice has not gone away, with good reason (cf the complete and utter bastards mentioned above).

That is pretty galling.

Which brings me neatly onto hybrids and why I think they do better.

They’ve sidestepped the prejudice.

Those who ‘don’t read self published books’ will read the self published work of a traditional published author. They’ll pick up that author’s work in the first place. Those book shops who ‘don’t stock self published books’ will stock the self published work of someone with a trad record. It really is all about the brand. It’s the same road; getting to the point where there are enough people out there who trust you to write a good book, who will be confident giving them to their friends to read.

Hybrid is win-win. Hybrid authors have the endorsement of the establishment, they have fans from the normal off line world and they bring them with them. Those fans give the author the momentum to get their books up the listing past the glass ceiling of other authors, amazon book police and jaded, indie author loathing forumites, into the light where the ‘normals’ who are just looking for a book to read, see them. Their trad pub background gives them the golden key onto the review sites and into magazines that ‘won’t accept self published work’ but will from someone with a trad pub background. It’s definitely where I want to be.

In short, the way I see it is this.

If you’re a hybrid, you get to keep the cash and sell without the prejudice.
If you’re trad published you get to sell without the prejudice but there’s less cash to keep.
If you self publish you get to keep the cash but you earn less because until you’re seriously established, everyone you approach will assume that your work is sub standard, poorly edited crap.

It’s a conundrum. Hmm… would knowing what I look like help?

Well, you asked...
See how trustworthy I am.

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More McMini

Here are some more lovely gems from my small son.

“Mummy, remember when ….. (name redacted) came round and she did a pooh that was so huge that we had to break it in half with the loo brush to flush it away.”
“I’m tying not to.”
“Well, imagine if we were so poor, that we couldn’t afford a loo brush and had to cut it in half with  our hands or with a knife and fork.”
“I’m really trying not to.”

This one sums up the splendid randomness of life with children. This morning, I was woken up early with someone jumping into my room shouting, “boo!” McOther got up, luckily, fed the ravening mini-beast and went off up to town to the market. Meanwhile I got to the point where I was dressed in trousers pants and socks but my pyjama top when McMini, who was downstairs eating his breakfast, called me urgently.

“Mummy! Mummy! Please can you help me.”
“Sure, what can I do?”
“I need you to help me prepare some breakfast.”
Poor wee soul, I’m thinking, his Dad must have forgotten to give him his breakfast before going out, either that or McMini refused it, which is not unknown. So I scurried down.”Course I can help, what would you like?”
“Oh no Mummmy it’s not for me,” McMini explains as we make our way through to the kitchen, “I wanted to bring you your breakfast in bed but I need your help. I thought you might like a piece of toast but I couldn’t cut the bread,” visions of McMini wielding the bread knife flashed into my head and I tried not to think about them. “Would you like a piece of toast?”
“Hmm, actually I think that what I would really like is one of these crumpets*. Shall we toast one and then you can butter it for me.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea, then you can go upstairs and get back into bead and I will take it to you.”
“Well… I’m half dressed,” I said as I lifted McMini and he dropped the crumpet into the toaster, “press the button,” McMini pushed the lever. “I think the best thing is if I eat it up down here and then go and get dressed.”
“No Mummy!” (shocked) “You can’t do that. You must go upstairs and finish dressing, first. Then you must come down and eat it.”
“Right o. Can I have a bite before I go?”
A beat.
“Oh I suppose so.”
“Thank you.”
“But don’t forget, I have to butter it first.”

He then proceeded to dig a series of small holes in the top of the butter with the tip of the knife, it looks like a primitive woodcut of an owl.

In church last Sunday, the gospel was the massacre of the innocents.

“Why did Herod want to kill all the little babies Mummy?” ‘whispered’ McMini.”Because he cared more about being in power than anything else.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess he wasn’t a very nice man.” **
“Yes, he was a big wee pot.”
Sniggering from the pews behind showed that this did not go unnoticed.

Going to bed last night.
“Mummy! Come back in here or I will shoot you.”

Going to bed this evening, I found a large velour spider, which is called ‘Glorious’ sitting at the top of the stairs. I picked him up and brought him into the bedroom.
“I found Glorious on the stairs.”
“Oh no, that’s OK Mummy, you should put him back. He has been naughty.”
“Ah right, so he’s on the naughty step is he?”
“Yes, he is nearly finished then he can come back in so long as he isn’t naughty again but he must be out there for a little longer.”
I went and put Glorious back where I found him, walked back in to McMini’s bedroom.
“You can go and get Glorious now and bring him back in. I think he has been out there long enough.” McMini said, the minute I set foot in the door. I went and got the spider and handed it to McMini.
“Glorious is very sorry, he has given me a kiss and I will kiss him back to make up,” said McSmall. And he did.

This is Glorious.

Glorious, looking very contrite.

*Pikelets if you’re northern, google it if you’re from anywhere else but for heaven’s sake put an s on it – crumpetS – unless you want to have to wade through loads of stuff about sex.
** Herod killed two of his sons and I’m pretty sure he also killed his wife, such was his determination to hang on to the reins of power… as Augustus said: “It is better to be Herod’s dog than one of his children.” He makes Lord Vernon*** look like a bit of a pussycat doesn’t he?
*** and if you don’t know who Lord Vernon is, read the K’Barthan Trilogy. NOW. Um… please.

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Aw bollocks it’s the Chaos Fairies! Never mind here’s another gem from McMini.

Multo pissed offo con ultimo gizmo, con action grumpo. I dropped my iPad today and smashed it to bits. Arse, that’ll teach me to eyebomb our garage door with McMini for a laugh and then try to take pictures of it.

Wankpots! Wankpots! Wankpots! Bloody Chaos Fairies.

Needless to say I dropped it from about 3 feet and am almost certain that it was my spanner fingered attempts to catch it that were responsible since they simply involved me batting it up into the air so it went higher up and came down on one corner as opposed to its back. Then again, if these things are the all purpose take everywhere items the makers and adverts would have us believe then maybe they should try making them a bit more sodding robust. Probably.

IMG_0891

On the upside, the screen works so I won’t have to spend £110 (urrrgh MT’s knees go a bit wobbly) on a new screen straight away. There’s a shop who’ll fix it quite near and they will do it while you wait (2hrs) and I might even be able to get McOther to pick it up – said shop is about a mile from where he works.

Oh and our garage door looked like Nigel Mansel for a few moments – until I removed the eyes in disgust.

And another positive, I managed to do 35,000 words, or thereabouts for NaNoWriMo, which, considering I wrote nothing at weekends or the week before last and very little last week either is making me feel… smug.

So to cheer us up, another couple of conversations from McMini.

His godfather is recovering from a shoulder up and suggested we draw him a card.

“My shoulder hurted a lot once but once I had got home it went away. He will feel a lot better when he gets home.”

And on the subject of marriage, overheard by his Dad.

“I’m going to marry my Mum when I grow up.”
“You can’t do that,” said McCousin, “your Mum is already married to your Dad.”
“Yeh but he’s old. He’ll die before long and then I’ll marry her.”

I’m not quite sure how to take that.

And this evening as we’re going to bed.

“Eugh! I’ve just smelled my trousers and they smell absolutely stinky.”
“Oh dear, what wee and poo stinky?” 
“No. They smell like fried socks.”

So… a mixed bag.

Oh and if you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last two weeks, well, for the first one I was baking a cake – more on that story, later.

In the second week I was catching up with all the things I was supposed to be doing when I was making the cake instead. Then I was hanging with the in laws and McMini. There’s not much going to happen this week either, phnark but I do hope to get the K’Barthan Trilogy done by Christmas.

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Yes, you can polish a turd… if you light it well.

— Caveat, the whole point to the less is more bit of this post was that the prop under discussion was the one used in the actual series of Dr Who. It wasn’t. It was built by a fan. Looking at the equipment available to the BBC props department and a chap in a shed, the whole perspective suddenly changes. Basically, a 19 year old lad has made something, himself, that I thought was an actual BBC prop. So it’s more on the freaking awesome level than what I call it. So what I say about attention to detail still stands but actually, the example might just as well be made up. So there you are. Check your facts. All of them. Even the ones you don’t even realise need checking. —

This week has been half term so all meaningful work on K’Barthan things has dropped in favour of doing stuff with the ankle biter. We went to a sci-fi exhibition at the local museum, great fun, and opened with a host of look a likes, Dr Who, Darth Vader, a rather handsome jedi knight, a cyberman, Boba Fett and McMini was pictured with all of them.

Inside the exibition they had the actual control console from the Tardis. There have been several, anyone with kids who remembers the beebatron on CBeebies, or who has subsequently seen Cari and David’s Pop Shop will know what happened to the one out of the 5th Doctor’s Tardis. The one in the exhibition was the current one. Here it is. So what do you notice?

IMG_0689

That’s right. It’s really shit. And close up, it looks like this?

Dodgy Tardis

and this….?

dodgytardis3

So this is what amazed me; the difference between the way it appears on film and the way it looks close up.

On film: slick, sparkly and kind of steam punk with all that shiny brass and bits of 1960s telephones. Of solid, robust and more to the point cool.

Close up: shit.

And here’s the magic.

It doesn’t matter how hit looks close up because, it’s designed to be seen on film and the minute I take a picture it ceases to become a load of old tut and turns into to something else.

And what does this have to do with writing?

Well, my point is this. It’s easy to get hung up on world building and character back story when you write spec-fic. But what this teaches me, at any rate, is that the trick is not so much what you put in as what you leave out.

Yes, the Tardis Control Console looks terrible to the naked eye but on TV it looks bloody brilliant. Sometimes, less, or a hint, is more and the reader – or viewer’s – imagination does the rest. The secret is selecting the trigger details, the odd snippet here and there which people reading it will embellish for themselves. The real Gods are the writers who do that in a way that will have every reader seeing the same picture.

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Am I what I eat? I hope not.

It’s Friday, not much is going on, McMini is upstairs ‘playing’ with a cross trainer, which is somewhat worrying but hey, he’s enjoying himself, taking some exercise and it’s keeping him quiet. Actually, it’s not, he’s shouting cheery numbers down to me as I sit here in the kitchen.

“One hundred a million!” clunk clunk, “seventy zero” clunk whirr clunk, “fifty a hundred three!”

Which reminds me, I don’t think I’ve posted anything about the conversation we had in the supermarket the other day.

After our splendid trip to Alsace, McMini has developed a liking for frankfurters or “les knack” as they are known in Alsace.

Dinosaurs meet.

Dinosaurs meet.

So I tend to buy them in packs of four, one sell by quite soon, one with a date a bit further away so I can keep it in reserve for later in the week. So there we are at the cold meats section and I’m rootling about at the back looking for one with a longer date. McMini is idly looking at the packets of stuff asking random questions and I am marvelling at the way his mind works.

For example, his question about precut salami: “How big is one of these sausages, Mummy, if it’s not cut up?” you get the picture, I’m sure. anyway, there we are.

“Mummy…?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what this meat is?”

“No,” I say, because Mummy is not really looking.

“It’s pterodactyl meat.”

I grab the latest sell by date knacks I can find and pop up to see what he’s looking at. Pancetta, cubati de.

“Is it really?”

“Yes. They catch the pterodactyl and then they kill it, and cut it into tiny pieces and then WE eat it.”

“I see. That’s… very interesting. Did your father tell you that?”

“No, I made- I found out all by my own. I know all sorts of interesting things.”

“I’ll say.”

At this point I notice an elderly man who gives me a lovely smile and walks away chuckling.

Later, on the way home, he says. “Mummy, I love you and Daddy and God more than anyone else in the whole WORLD even more than my best friends!”

This is how a five year old thinks and talks, I suppose and it’s really rather wonderful.

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“Come in to my parlour,” said the spider to the fly.

On our last day in Alsace the weather was blinding so we left later and spent a morning at the hotel pool. McMini was playing with model planes, micro mini planes, one of which was an X Wing fighter out of the StarWars films. The conversation, as reported to me, went like this.

McMini, “Get in! Get in! Get in.” rinse and repeat.
McOther intrigued as to what is going on asks, “What are you doing there?”
McMini shows him the X wing with it’s cockpit opened. “I am trying to get this ant to climb into my X Wing.”
McOther, “Why?”
McMini, “So he can go for a ride.”
McOther, “But he’s an ant, he won’t be able to drive it.”
McMini, “That’s alright, I will drive it for him so he can have a lovely time.”
McOther, “I’m not sure he’d like it, why don’t you leave him where he is?”
McMini, “But Daddy he will have such a fun time.”
McOther, “I’m not sure. Ants enjoy different things to humans, he might not like it.”
McMini, a little crestfallen. “Oh… are you absolutely certain, Daddy?”
McOther, “Yes.”
McMini, “OK, I will leave him where he is then.”

We’ve been giggling about this ever since.

This evening, McOther rang to say that he was on his way home and that there was a lovely moon. I suggested McMini could look at it through his junior National Geographic telescope (what was I thinking)?

McMini, “Will I see any aliens?”
MTM, “Maybe.” (What was I thinking?)

So we got the telescope out and set it up and he has a look.

MTM, “What do you see?”McMini: “Nothing, just whiteness.”
MTM, “Hang on, shall I just check it’s in focus?”
McMini, “Yes please Mummy. ”

So I check it and focus it.

MTM, “There you go.”
McMini, “I still can’t see anything.”
MTM,”Hang on, let me check that again,” MTM checks the focus again, “is that any better?”
McMini, “No I still can’t see.”
MTM, “Maybe it’s the angle, shall I check again?”
McMini, “Yes please.”

So I check the angle and yes, it’s all fine, the moon is bang in the middle and he should be able to see it. I wonder whether he’s closing the wrong eye. He has another look.

McMini, “I still can’t see any aliens, just white moon.”
MTM, “Well, you probably need a bigger magnification to see aliens.McMini, very crestfallen, “Oh…. I wanted to see some aliens.”

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Why Slow is Good for E-Publishing

As the length of time between releases deepens I always begin to get twitchy. As I face the fact that K’Barthan 3 will not be out for Christmas, indeed, is unlikely to be out by Christmas NEXT year, I am close to a major freak.

Reading this and the reblogged post it contained made me feel better. Hats off to Mr Vernon for sharing some heartening stats and some sage advice. I may put the brakes on and start writing other stuff alongside my big stuff. Because I’m not really a one trick pony, which is one of the things that is making it so hard.

Why Slow is Good for E-Publishing.

And on the back of that, this one, too…. Bottom-Dwelling E-book Authors RISE UP!!!.  Oh how I aspire to sales like Frank’s.

So at last I’ve got the message. And the message is: chill. Quite easy that, today, here. It’s brass monkey’s.*

Sorry everyone, but One Man: No Plan is not going to happen in a hurry. But that’s because I want it to be good. And I’m sure both of you (and the dog) would rather wait and read something that’s the best thing I can write, rather than the quickest.

Yeh, I’ve just binned an entire plotline: 50,000 words, which is what I mean about it taking a while. Phnark.

Onwards and upwards.

 

* Yeh, I know, it looks odd but that apostrophe is right because the full phrase is cold enough to freeze a brass monkey’s balls off.

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Look what I found!

Am I going to eat it? You bet your arse I am.

Alas! Poor Yoric. I knew him Horatio (but not in the biblical sense I hope)

Few things are lovelier, fried, with onions, bacon, a little potato and a touch of garlic and pepper. It’s actually a bit of a tiddler, they usually grow to the sort of size that would dwarf the toaster there in the background. Today I found three young ones and a biggie that had been squashed. I’ll never eat them all so I left the rest and took a small one. The biggie had gone to spores and I’m hoping the small ones I left will get to do that as well.

It came from a National Trust property near here. I found one there a few years ago, too, in the middle of a beautifully manicured lawn… which was quite bizarre. This one was on the other side of the estate, in a field.

It’s always exciting, finding one of these.

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Here’s to embracing my inner tortoise. Hello Mr Hare, would you like to try some Mogadon?

Hello and today it’s time for a rant. It’s the end of August. Tomorrow it’s back to zero sales, the brown band of shame will be mocking me from my KDP reports page. I’ve long since abandoned hope of selling a single book anywhere but Amazon – despite my best efforts.

You know, I believe you can make your own luck. Except that I also know that, in reality, the only thing you can control in your life is the way you react to what happens. But I think that if you can delude yourself you are in control, you’ll probably make a better fist of it.

On to my books, or significant lack thereof. One of the many things I’m doing wrong, not writing a book every month. Instead, I’d like to share my frustration, if I may, at my complete inability to do… well… anything. Because if the Not Very Good Club of Great Britain hadn’t become so successful that it was no longer not very good any more and had to shut own, I’d put forward my online bookselling skills as my reason to join.

You see, my books have stopped selling. For the last two months I’ve made one sale. Thank you, whoever you are. Obviously, this is my fault but the more I read around to see what I can do to improve, the more obvious it becomes that the thing you need in self publishing, on top of talent, in abundance, is time. So that’s me fucked. I seldom have 2 hours a day to write, let along to do social media.

Time, for me, is up there with unicorn shit.

So, writing a book takes a long time. Seriously though, I’m particularly short of time at the moment, there’s been no social networking, I’ve not sorted any reviews and the sales free months do point to a correlation between doing those things and er… not. Oh dear, so, interfacing with my readers. Mmm… there’s a box left un-ticked.

While we’re at it. Another piece of frequently given advice. Write what sells. So that’s vampire novels, erotica and thrillers.

Oh bollocks. Double jeapordy – a quote from the Constant Gardener there (check me, I’m highbrow). The fact is I can make more money writing corporate puff so if I want to write something I’m not really fired up to write, I’ll write web copy, thank you very much.

So… what can I learn by picking through the twisted girders and dust that comrpise the Ground Zero of my literary aspirations?

Thing 1: Don’t start with a trilogy, not right off the blocks. Trilogies are really hard to write because basically, what you’re looking at is a 400,000 word book. That’s like telling your cookery teacher, at your first lesson, that you won’t cook jam tarts, you’ll cook that thing with the smoke and the iPod to listen to that Heston Blumental serves.

It’s hard to keep track of who has done what, when and to whom, in a book, especially when it’s 400,000 words long. If you are bringing up a small child at the same time – which, as anyone who has attempted it knows – is the equivalent of having your brains stirred, constantly with a giant wooden spoon, it’s monumentally stupid. The more you have to remember, the longer it takes to get back into it again when you stop. Which I have to. A lot.

The secret then, is to write lots of shorter stories. If I hadn’t published the first one in blind panic, afraid that I’d be last to market, that’s what I’d have done. Ah. Never mind. It’s a good plan. One I fully intend to exploit when I finish this wretched trilogy. So, my own advice, write short things and for the love of God, if you must write a trilogy out of the gate and don’t publish ANY of it until it’s FINISHED. yes, I published my first book in 2010. I should have been publishing it next year.

Write a series if you must, but go for stand alone books. Trust me on this one, Aunty MT has well and truly stuffed this up so that you don’t have to.

Then there’s the working hard thing. The fact is, I am a stay at home Mum and I write… well, actually I write because I can’t not. That’s why I call myself an authorholic; because it’s like a bad crack habit. If I worked at it like a job, 9 – 5 it would probably take me a bout 6 months to write each book, which is lucky because doing the Mum thing I have much less time than that. So to find the ‘six months’ required takes me about 2 years. Not feasible for a publisher then.

Even so, it seems sensible to do something with the crap I spew out, and so I get it professionally edited, get ritzy covers done and then I publish it myself. I hope to succeed, no, scratch that, I hope to write a book that is so good it will succeed on its own merits. Hey, I actually KNOW I’ve written a decent book but heaven knows, though I give it my all, I’m piss poor at selling the bloody thing. Let’s qualify that, I can sell it to random strangers on the street, at social events, signings etc but online? Nah.

Which brings me neatly onto the social networking aspect. OK I have a smart phone now so Twitter is easier but bloody hell. How do these people do it? Write a well conceived, sensibly thought out blog post every day while being a full time carer or a full time parent and publish books on top. Jeez. I’m in awe. I’m floored. Hats off folks you deserve to succeed. I just… I mean… how  is it possible?

There is a way around social networking hell. Skim, drop in the odd post, queue up lots of blog posts when you have the time. Put a timer on it – an hour, morning and evening, say and hey that’s a couple of hours left to write. However, I still find that exploiting social media (sod exploiting it, it exploits me, let’s be realistic, I’m just talking about getting the ruddy stuff to work) takes hours longer than it should. Hours. A commodity I do not have. Me, I’ve done it all wrong. I’ve made friends on line and now I spend my time talking to them. Hmm….

Having had my rant, I have to say, I’m at peace with my choice. But sometimes I feel slightly put upon, as if I am being judged for trying to write and sell my own books and have a life at the same time. But I have family and sometimes there are crises, or people are ill and they need me. Then there’s the annoying fact that I need more than 4 hours sleep a night and just… don’t have the time to pack everything into my day. But I can’t give it up. I know hard work is the answer but not at the expense of the people I love. And I know that, sure as eggs are eggs, while I strive to succeed, I am competing with people who have probably written a better book than I, who have the whole sodding day and… well… let’s say my stuff is less likely to make it big.

I’m an ex marketing manager, I know how to promote stuff and I’d say I’m quite placid and relaxed but, sometimes, even I find it hard to take the realisation that even if I cracked it with a really good novel, the difference between success and failure is, above everything, to do with the time I do not have.

So, let’s cling to the belief that I’ll manage to buck the trend; prove to the world that you can succeed in slow motion. Because lord knows that’s the only possible chance I have. I don’t begrudge anyone their success. I appreciate how hard they must have worked for it, but the fact that I do what I do in a very short day, and everything stops in school holidays, doesn’t make me any less committed, or serious. Although it might make me a bit more frustrated.

The fact is, you can set yourself deadlines but if Real Life gets too hectic you have to re-evaluate; the deadlines have to give.

Here’s to embracing my inner tortoise. Hello Mr Hare, would you like to try a Mogadon?

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More McMini…

It has occurred to me that outside the input from others this blog is officially, not funny any more. So I decided the best way to fix that was to abandon my postings about McMini on facebook and put them here, where everyone can see them. So, here they are.

First up, McMini on… hmm, yes, well, I suppose this is a kind of recycling.

He sits in bed examining the soles of his feet and carefully peeling off a bit of loose skin (have you got the boke yet? I have). He holds it up.
“Look Mummy, I am eating this meat. It is delicious,” he says, puts it into his mouth, chews and swallows.
This morning, things have changed.
“Mummy, I picked a bit of skin off my feet just now but I didn’t eat it because it stinked, so I threw it away somewhere. I don’t know where it is.”
“Great, I’ll look forward to finding that later,” says Mummy.

McMini on hunger; recently, he has been developing hollow legs.

“I’m so hungry I could bravely eat a dinosaur’s tongue! And the horns of a dinosaur.”

Polite rebuttal.

“If you will excuse me Mummy, I am feeling a little tired now so I think I will have a sleep.”
“Night night.”
“Night.”
Mummy gets three quarters of the way down stairs.
“Hey Mummy! Come and look what I’ve found!”

Scientific enquiry…

“You know the little hole on a whale’s head? Well you know the water that comes out of that? Well, it’s old air. I am going to try and blow the old air out of my nose. When the water goes into my mouth it is cold but when it comes out it is warm.”
Science fact number 63. Old breath has water in it.

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