I work for a large Scottish book wholesaler as a publishing assistant. That means that lots of aspiring authors send in their manuscripts and I write them a polite letter telling them to fuck off and never bother us again.
Last year the head of publishing decided to rip off 'Schott's Original Miscellany' and publish a Scottish version.
I contributed about 40% of the material and although I never recieved a penny, I did get my name in the book as a major contributor. It had a first print run of 10,000 copies and they sold out in four months. The second printing will arrive in September and so far we have advance orders for just under 3,000 copies.
I started having other great ideas for books and submitted three or four a week until I realised that my boss was just humouring me.
Last week he told me that one of my ideas has been put forward and not only do they want to publish it, they want me to write and illustrate it. The book is going to be a dictionary of Scottish slang and it should be in the shops for Christmas.
I am posting this because I am feeling pretty chuffed with myself and I would like to apologise to my good pal Paul.
It's come to a pretty shitty state of affairs when talented young writers like him still haven't been published and fat drug abusing chancers who are just ripping off the Viz Profanisaurus can.
fatty.