The Faint Taint of Deceit #6

November 24, 2011

And so we reach the end. The bitter end, you might say. In this exclusive serialisation I have teased you with snippets from my new book ‘The Faint Taint of Deceit’, a veritable Golden Gate Bridge of heavy weight suspense. You experienced fistfights, time travel, ball breaking bosses, sexy flight attendants, planes nose-diving out of control, well pressed tuxedos and gun-shots to the face. You’ve had it all. And it was to be at this point that I would reel you in, having hooked you with a fat juicy wriggling worm of suspense. I would close the net and casually (yet firmly) suggest that you wipe the crumbs of mediocrity from your vest, put some trousers on, for God’s sake, and shuffle down to your local high street bookshop to buy a copy of your own and perhaps even one or several for family and friends. And you would obey… like the mindless consumer zombies that you are. However… a slight problem has arisen. Due to a dearth of vision and courage within the publishing community at large, the book will now not be available in many bookshops this Christmas as planned. In ANY, if truth be told. To cut a long story short, promises were made and not kept.

Many would expect me to be bitter at a time like this. They would expect me to badmouth various dishonest odious miscreants, who know perfectly well who they are. They would expect me to start vile rumours about certain people in high ranking positions in leading publishing houses that spend more time trawling red light districts than reading great fiction when hit over the head with it. They would deem it perfectly reasonable for me to sit in a car across the street from said publishing house and follow said fat deviant home, wait for him to fall asleep, paint the words ‘LIAR’ across the front of his house in 12 foot tall red lettering and wait for him and his family to come out the next morning and watch as their faces turn pale in a grim cocktail of disgust, terror and confusion. I would be well within my rights to do all this, but the thoughts haven’t even crossed my mind. I’m better than that. I’m an author.

This serialisation was supposed to be a marketing tool. A free hor d’oeuvre designed to whet your appetite, to entice you to get your fake leather wallet out and stump up for the main course. But now, without any main on the menu, you’ve effectively been stealing food for the last six weeks. I hope you’re suitably ashamed. When I received word that this book would not be published, I contacted and told them that I would not be finishing up the serialisation, that there was no longer any point. They informed me that I was contractually bound to deliver a final excerpt from the novel. We argued. Well, I argued. They just spouted a load of hyperbole about nothing, if I’m being completely honest. Nevertheless, having consulted my lawyers (that’s right, plural), I have decided that honouring our agreement is the correct thing to do. After all, I’m a man of principals. I’m an author.

Chapter Six: ‘The End’

“Well done on killing that bad Russian.” said Garrison’s boss.
“Thanks.” He replied. That night he went to sleep and woke up back in 2011. When he told everyone what had happened, they dismissed it as a coma dream from the coma that he had been in for ages. But he knew deep down that it was real.



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