At least my pants stay up
I know I've been slack with my blogging lately. However, I'm not so slack as William Shatner's pants which apparently fell down at LAX airport.
Now that's the kind of news I like. You just gotta love that guy. Eighty one years old and still whipping up a storm.
By the way, I'm over 20,000 words into my new novel. I'm not sure if it's any good. In fact it's probably in very bad taste as so far I've managed to squeeze in everything a publisher would probably hate: lots of gags about The War (sorry), A German matron (sorry), An elderly woman with Alzheimer's who believes she a famous screen actor, a Scottish romantic novelist, a care home, and a mother of three who's just quit her job.
Now I just have to get in the telephone sex, the comical deaths, The Sound of Music and a whole host of other bizarre happenings and this will be the novel that hopefully will make people both and laugh and cry. It'll probably make any publisher laugh and cry as well - but probably not for the right reasons.
I'll be self-publishing obviously.
Bizarrely enough, in my novel, my heroine's pants can be found around her ankles. And this was before I'd read about Bill Shatner and has nothing to do with Fifty Shades of Grey.
More about Fifty Shades soon I think. It needs a serious reviewer like my good self to do it justice.