I was sitting in the garden on a toadstool. I'd done a bit of dusting of the flowers and tidying the beds and had started to reflect on the past year. A thimble full of mead helped my thoughts. Followed by another, and another, and another, and another. Well it is only a thimble. As a transvestite hobgoblin I like to be at my best when I'm in the garden. Who knows when visitors will turn up. I don't shout about it though. I started to think about the four books I had written, my two works in progress and the endless short stories still gathering dust.
My mind drifted and I remembered this time last year. My publisher in America (Taylor Street) suddenly closed it's doors and we were all unleashed and left to scavenge for a morsel where we could find it. Some of us went out on our own and started new packs which slowly grew in size. I sat rocking in my own little world thinking 'I just don't believe this. How could it happen?' We were such a happy band of warriors.
Then one day another publisher threw open their doors and welcomed me in. I couldn't believe my luck and I had several thimbles of mead in celebration. One by one my old friends flocked back knocking on the door and everyone was welcomed. We were a happy band of warriors again.
Then the days and skies darkened. We had the worst news of all. Yet again the publisher for many reasons closed the door on us. When I think about it I can understand why of course and to be fair they were far more professional than the previous company but I was devastated. What to do? What to do? Then I remembered Wild Wolf Publishing who I had desperately wanted to publish my books originally. One by one they took us on. We must have looked like a bunch of very weary travellers.
My own book Soulfate is now nesting within the outstretched arms of Wild Wolf Publishing along with many other old friends. Thank you so much Wild Wolf.
I couldn't be more happy if I was drunk on mead and in a fashion house of frocks.
Laters Potaters
