Day 49. 155 pages, 75,826 words.

I was just philosophising about my strange and very enjoyable life this morning, over on Usenet where I still make the occasional post.

In particular, I have been posting on the George RR Martin fan newsgroup semi-regularly since I began publishing books. In fact, I have been posting there (as has Mrs. Hatboy) ever since the newsgroup’s creation, but now I’m one of only three or four people still active. I’ll be paraphrasing the post here now (or actually more like flat-out copy-paste repeating it), but the link will get you to the group where you will find a treasure trove of totally unmoderated wit and wisdom.

It’s interesting to note that (not to keep score or anything) since I read A Dance With Dragons in the recovery ward at the hospital where I had my cancer surgery[1], I’ve undergone a mess of chemotherapy and written six novels, five of which are in this silly series of mine.

[1] I’ll always remember having to hold the book braced against the mattress and table, because it was technically too heavy for me to lift right after my operation.

Which, okay, the size of the book makes a bit of a difference (indeed, Arsebook was a bit small to really count as a novel in my view) but I’m going to call it. I have caught up with A Song of Ice and Fire in the time it’s taken Martin to write the 6^th book.

I also helped Mrs. Hatboy to raise a couple of kids, although that statistic may not count because Wump was already a toddler when I went into hospital in 2011. But even so, she starts school this year. Just for a bit of perspective. I also did it, to counter the “but but but so many distractions!” argument, while working full-time. Well, anyway, I’m pretty chuffed with how it’s all gone.

Now if I can just get a six-seasons-and-counting HBO series.

Oh, and a massive, massive international bestseller streak. That’d be sweet. Probably asking a bit much, but it would be sweet.