The first pricklings of doubt have raised their ugly heads

Greasy-haired wanker

As many of you will be aware, I have been somewhat ill since October thanks to Kidney stone issues. Renal Colic is what they call it in medical parlance. On a side note I just realised that I used three words with foreign etymology in that last sentence.

Regardless. Since October I’ve been on strong painkillers and have barely written proper word in all that time. I felt that I was getting better and so started to submit existing works to windows held by Abaddon Publishing and pitched to Games Workshop.

For the latter I had to write 250 words on why they should have me as a freelance writer. Pain free, I wrote what I thought was a good proposition and was then sent a test.

I have to write two pieces about the one thing I don’t really enjoy writing about. Space Marines.

Unfortunately, on Monday I was struck down with a massive bout of pain and retreated into the world of Morphia. An already scheduled CT scan confirmed my fears. I had another kidney stone.

I therefore find myself doped up all day, trying to write two 250 word stories about Space Marines, and my fucking brain just won’t help. What made sense whilst addled was, quite frankly, fucking appalling whilst slightly less addled.

And those bastard niggly doubts, those back stabbing gobbo scum suckers have raised their heads and sunk their hooks deep. Grima Wormtongue is sat on my lap, whispering how I’m crap, that I’m wasting my time.

Well, they seem to have forgotten that I’ve got over two decades of martial arts experience. I’m going to beat the living shit out of them, and I’m going to submit something. Will it be the best I’ve ever written? No, but I’m not going to let my weak self stop my writer self from meeting a deadline.