A woman stands amongst the tangled strands of a steel labyrinth. A distant bass rumbles overhead. Pressure grows. No, this isn’t a scene from a Ridley Scott movie. This is Helene Fischer live in concert. Advertisements
Just received this bit of help, so thought I’d respond. (My words in red…) I have checked your website (no you haven’t) and i’ve found some duplicate content (no, you did not because there isn’t any), that’s why you don’t rank high in google (I don’t rank high in Google for a million and one … More Give the spam some daylight
I’m too disorganised to write about one thing so I’m going to ramble instead.
This might be one of the more personal blog posts I’ve written, so don’t be surprised if I delete it! I have a small confession to make.
I used to be snobbish about smartphone cameras, but not any more. The days of hauling 4kg of metal up a mountain are over.
“Mr Holmes doesn’t work here any more.”
All self-published authors will know that a finished manuscript can’t be published until it’s been formatted. Simple, says the layperson, it’s the 21st Century. What could possibly go wrong?
Storm Brian battered Britain this weekend. I didn’t think Brian’s were capable of such fury, but it proves the Met Office are trying to con us into thinking that deadly storms are our benevolent friends.
The latest email scam is breathtakingly stupid, but still serves as a warning to read things carefully.
I occasionally like a bit of schlager. After a day of Children of Bodom, Xandria and Toten Herzen it’s nice to wind down to the likes of Dschinghis Khan.
What do you do when you’re flush with money from the sale of four ebooks (total royalties earned £5.12) and you’ve just finished the sixth novel of the TotenUniverse? You write a blog post.
My totenherzen.com domain name was transferred to GoDaddy last year. I did it to avoid WordPress locking it into a premium upgrade when it was time to renew. Didn’t stop them putting a dirty grey filter screen over the blog though when the ‘remapping’ expired. Cheeky bastards.
Four comments waiting in my shit filter inbox on WordPress, and being the lonely sort I was so over the moon I had to share it with you all.
I must be bored because I’m about to write a post in response to another bit of spam. This time the spammer was moved to write after reading the post about Subbuteo, so I’m guessing this penniless nut is around about my age. Here’s the unwanted cack in full with some interventions:
On my list of regular blogs to visit is the one written by New Zealand historian Matthew Wright. His interests, however, don’t just lie in the past but the present and future too, mixing current science with science fiction. When his book of essays came out examining the curious side of quantum mechanics, Explaining Our … More Interview – Matthew Wright
This is what happens when you impose a moratorium on yourself. You end up sitting in a garden centre cafe with a laptop and nothing to write. I’ve just been making a list of things to do if I decide to extend the moratorium beyond twelve months. Give it up completely.
Some of you may not know this, but March 21st 2017 is a very important date.
How many lead singers does a band need? One? Two? Amaranthe have got three. That’s what I call covering the bases. Three singers. A male rock, a female pop, and a sort of growly male death metal one just to make sure no one mistakes them for Lady Gaga teeming up with Linkin Park. (I … More You take three voices into the shower?
Untold riches await those who manage to get their book listed ‘perma-free’ on Amazon. But how does anyone find out?
I read news articles about AI threatening humanity and how we’ll all be eaten by robots and I scoff. I wasn’t not scoffing when that same AI came along and took a bite out of my arse.
I’m going to sound like an egomaniac by explaining another bout of absence, not just here but in other places on the web. I always think it sounds a bit weird when an unknown blogger apologises for not blogging, as if the internet has been holding its breath, but I can see where these people … More On the road.
Happy Christmas and all that.
I’d love to say something like ‘ten years in the making…’ (and say it in a very deep voice) but it’s not taking that long.
Why does a rubber rub out pencil? People are so nasty and horrible these days that if you ask a perfectly reasonable question they’ll say, ‘why don’t you google it, asshole.’ (It is possible to make these people look stupid by asking a rhetorical question…) Back in the day, when I were a lad, I … More Pencils, Rubbers et al
Back in September I reviewed Harry Whitewolf’s novel The Road to Purification, Hustlers Hassles and Hash. Author, poet and traveller, Whitewolf’s writing is a fusion of observation, fact and speculation. I asked Harry about his work, travelling, the number 11 and gn****.
One thing I don’t like is reading jokes. Gags on paper are never funny for me. Comedy literature is different, but reading ‘this fella went into a bar…’ never raises a smile. But I’m going to ignore my own rule with this post because there’s no other way of telling you the zombie joke. And … More Am I The Only One Who Thinks The Zombie Joke Is Funny?
Not a cover reveal. . . . Release date is looking like 2017 now.
Guides to foreign travel tend to fall into two camps: Rough Guide/Lonely Planet hipster real-life travel; and posh folk writing idyllic memoirs of unrealistically tranquil settings, sometimes accompanied by tame wildlife. Harry Whitewolf’s odyssey falls into a camp of its own. An autobiographical miasma of reportage, history lessons and ‘what to avoid’ advice you’ll never … More The Road To Purification – Harry Whitewolf
Ha! Fooled you. Clickbait, you see. It’s what the private sector is good at: discovering ever more devious ways of diverting you away from what you want to what it wants. But I’m not here to bore you with pinko-commie anti-capitalist ranting. I want to examine more closely the often-heard assertion that the private sector … More Why The Private Sector Is Better
I love the supernatural, I love the unexplained, the paranormal, a good mystery. In the early 1980s, the perfect magazine was published. Called The Unexplained, it was all about the unexplained. It nearly scared me to death. Literally. The adverts started to appear on telly and I was soon hounding my parents to buy it. … More Spontaneous Human Combustion