Once Upon a Time I Was a Writer

My blog has turned into a new house blog. Worse than that I’m going to have to become an electrician. Tighter UK electrical regulations mean I can no longer wire up the odd light or install a double socket where there used to be a single socket without getting a qualification. It won’t stop people plugging a thousand Christmas tree lights into one socket. But it’s not fair. I have a BSc and an MA. I’ll have to go back to college again. Maybe the law shouldn’t stop there. University for taxi drivers perhaps?

Humane mouse traps. What’s humane about them? Anyway, if I said I was going out to buy one and a few lengths of pipe lagging could you make the connection without a crash course in Mouse Facilitation? I wonder whether I need a licence to handle them, the pipes that is not the mice?

Once upon a time I was a writer. My next writing task is to sling over thirty published stories together and send them off. The UK publishers of poetry and short stories look as dire as they did when I last submitted in the late nineties. Maybe they need a taste of what’s been happening on the Internet. The London literature establishment remains as sniffy as ever about Americans and the Internet. There are some regional publishers, but they’re in the conurbations and they only receive Arts Council money so long as they publish local stories called A Sentimental Journey Into Sheep.  However, I am a qualified writer, so if my stories inspire mass outrage don’t blame me. I just wrote it the way I was taught and there is a ten year guarantee on all work.

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