My harshest critic has always been ... erm, somebody else

This week, I broke my own record (accidentally) by receiving two (yes that's two, count 'em!) one star reviews on UK Amazon, for my priceless philosophical work Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death.

Apparently my sense of humour leaves something to be desired, like the funny bits.

I'm all for freedom of speech - let people demand that governments fall, bombs rain like sleet on the heads of that bloke they work with who keeps annoying them and all the rest of it. It follows that I have no objection to them saying this. I really don't.

But I do wish they hadn't!

Here's a snippet:

"I had to give up reading it as I just couldn't take anymore "jokes" about diarrhea and masturbation. These things can be funny occasionally but practically every page contained at least one "joke" about one of them."

I resent that! There can't be more than two jokes about shaking hands with the governor of love, and less than 100 pages are filled with potty humour, so what are they on about? Seriously, there's a lot more to the book than some wank jokes and a lot of shit.

Let me reminisce now - cue tinkling music indicating a flashback, please imagine a screen wavily changing to the next bit.

When I first put a book out, the bad reviews were terrible, really killed the day, or at least much of it. Now they just make me laugh. Those people made no points about the book whatsoever.

Not to their taste? Clearly.

Will they read me again? Never.

The exaggerations are just ridiculous, though. People who read this blog know I like to turn the air blue on occasion, and some of my imagery is a little strong, but from the reaction I've had this week you'd think it was a manual on throwing bricks at minorities and strangling the elderly.

Enough. I just hope too many people don't take these reviews seriously. They honestly don't present a fair depiction of the content. Anyone who doubts that can read the first story here. That way you can see if it's just a lot of pointless fart jokes, which admittedly do crop up on occasion but not at all on every page.

I started self publishing a year or so after having one of my stories included in a French anthology. To my great pleasure, it was picked up on by several French websites - who (with one exception) liked it. Seriously, that's true. I don't mind admitting that a great source of pride.

Say what you like about the French, but they have great taste. They are synonymous with it, in fact. As to my critics - fuck 'em.
Walter flopped it out unobserved

Admittedly I'm an acquired taste, but there you are ...


Sherlock Holmes and the Underpants of Death available here in the US and here in the UK.