Thursday Bloody Thursday

Hey FOLKS! Welcome back to my blog.

This week Iā€™ll be etching angels into blocks of ice and teaching you how avoid smudging your mascara whilst reading Immanuel Kant. I hope youā€™re all having a simply wonderful time. Iā€™m swell, thank you for asking! Iā€™ve lost three pounds since last week which proves once again that, once your digestion adjusts, the Swarfega diet is cheap, effective and so so deliciousā€¦. All the team say a big ā€œHIYAā€ (at least in size 48pt font), especially Piccadilly Mel whoā€™s currently finishing a new feature on grooming her cactiā€¦

Sorry. I canā€™t keep it up.

Iā€™ve been wondering if I should change the blog over to some kind of lifestyle portal for the young and impressionable. I was intending on providing tips on how to varnish hardwood floors using a q-tip. I want to be that kind of person who becomes an ā€˜influencerā€™ because of my sunny disposition and willingness to wear tight slacks in a hot yoga video thatā€™s also a Ponzi schemeā€¦

Only I canā€™t. Iā€™m bloody useless.

I came back to the blog this week armed with enthusiasm. My eyes no longer felt like theyā€™re being rubbed with raw garlic and my brain had been sparking ideas Magnito-style, like I’m Sir Iain McK shackled up to his butt-crack and hoisted twenty feet into the air.

I even had an urge to draw. I had things I wanted to say, lots of subjects to occupy my mind, and a general urge to reach out into the vast silence of the internet and hope to connect with a few like-minded people.

And then I remember how vast and silent the internet really is.

My spirits really need a lift. Iā€™ve been struggling with technology all week, and not just Amazonā€™s ebook dashboard which is confusing the hell out of me. Statcounter ā€“ the system that monitors if anybody reads this blog ā€“ was down over the weekend. In the downtime, I seemed to have lost all my regular readers (or youā€™ve all moved house, which would affect the regular reader count). Maybe it was something I said. My cynicism is not my most charming feature. My numbers have slid so low that even as I sit typing this, I wonder if eyes other than my own and the Chinese bots will ever read it. Did I mention the site is being hammered by the Chinese?

So, it brings me to this point where I start to ponder awful decisions. Is this blog really worth maintaining? Iā€™ve been trying to write something every day, post cartoons when I can. But the amount of effort itā€™s taking is entirely disproportionate to the result. Maybe I should just direct everything into a book.

Probably not.

One of the difficulties, I know, is navigating my emotions between two states. On the one hand, I have a hand in the W&Y podcast which gets a multiple of thousands of listeners an episode. And on the other hand, thereā€™s everything to do with me. The disparity is awful.

Look one way and I vicariously enjoy a view of the world where youā€™re well liked and you attract listeners, reads, and ā€œfansā€.

Looking the other way and I see the small shed where David spends his day refreshing his stats page hoping thereā€™s been at least one visitor since noon yesterday!

Yes, my mood is a bit low today. Iā€™ve had a very productive week, sending little bits of work out into the world, but very little has come back. I know Iā€™ll carry on. I have days like this. Iā€™m sure everybody does. Theyā€™re just not dumb enough to write about it in a blog post.

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Why Dunciad.com?

It’s a cool domain name and it was available. Yes, I know. Available. Crazy, isn’t it?

Really?

Yes. It also helps that it’s also my favourite satire written by Alexander Pope, one of the most metrically pure English poets who also knew his way around a crude insult or two. If you’ve not read it, you should give it a try.

So this is satire, right?

Can’t deny it. There will be some. But it’s also an experiment in writing and drawing, giving work away for free in order to see how many people are willing to support a writer doing his thing. It’s the weird stuff that I wouldn’t get published elsewhere in this word of diminishing demands and cookie-cutter tastes.