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This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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With notable exceptions—among whom I would include you, my friend—writers are the most egotistical of all humans. The desire to be published is a desire for attention. When one writer draws less attention than another they suffer a humiliating insult to their psychological ego centres.
The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair
Et Tu, Babe
The Awful Truth About the Sushing Prize
Stranger than Fiction
* As I recall, anyway. It's been a couple of decades since my last re-read.
“I heard six shots. You didn't get him with any of them?”
“No, but they think I hit his car.”
“Good shooting. Next time I need to hit a barn door from ten paces I'll ask you along for advice.”
“It's easy to be sarcastic, but don't forget I've never used a gun before.”
“That's true. At least you worked out which was the shooty end. Could have been messy otherwise.
He's meant to be one of the most intelligent people in the world. An autodidact too.”
“He can spout as much about cars as he likes...
Which left the agency driver—just as I'd suspected when I made him up.
It was the oldest plot twist in the book (so far, anyway). I wagged my head at the thought of how predictable it all was.
Back in the car park, I made a convenient continuity error and climbed into my black Range Rover, hoping my readers wouldn't remember that I'd left it at a burnt-out warehouse three chapters ago.
any
The Awful Truth About the Sushing Prize
My thanks to damppebbles blog tours for the invitation to participate in this tour and the materials (including a copy of the novel) they provided.