Takin' care of business...

Well, it's Friday, and what's Friday for if not blatent self-promotion. And possibly running round the garden in your underpants, singing rude sea shanties at the top of your voice. What do you mean you don't know any rude sea shanties? What the hell is wrong with you? Make some up! Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?

Anyway, yes, BSP time. There's a wee interview up on the Rap Sheet today where I attempt to answer that perennial question that every writer dreads: "Where did the idea for XXX insert name of book here XXX come from?"

I should point out that in the course of his introduction Mr Karim (as we now apparently have to call him on account of him getting the corrective surgery) insinuates that I was all aquiver when I went to collect my honorary handshake for getting an ITW nomination at Left Coast Crime last year. Lies! Lies! I was not even slightly aquiver. I was a quiver-free zone. Good God man, I was holding a glass of champagne at the time! Quivering would have resulted in spillage of precious, precious alcohol. And you all know how we feel about that at Casa MacBride.

So leaving aside the EVIL BLATANT LIES about quivering, the article also features a fetching photo of myself and a certain father-to-be. In the background, you can see Mr James, either sniffing his own fingers (unwholesome) or trying to staunch the urge to vomit. As he's sitting next to John Rickards, I'm hoping it's the latter.

Actually, coming back to the EVIL BLATANT LIES for a moment, you know how Mr Karim justifies his slanderous assertion of quivering? He has a photo of me getting my hand shook at the time, and it's all out of focus. This, he maintains, is evidence of excessive quivering on my part causing his camera to shake. LIES! It was all the beer and finger sandwiches he'd consumed. I can't be held responsible for that, can I? Unless of course he was intimidated by my manly source of ultimate evil. That would make anyone shiver.

Quivering indeed...

Where was I?

Ah yes, underpants and sea shanties.

"There once was a nun from Nantucket,
Who liked to go pee in a bucket,
And under her habit she kept a pet rabbit,
And three times a week she would..."

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