I’m not one for needlessly celebrating every milestone or anniversary, but please humour me for a moment. September 2007 saw the release of the first book authored by yours truly. In the ten years since, I have written hundreds of thousands of words, for over twenty non-fiction titles. I’ve written about Facebook, LEGO, The Archers, famous assassinations, erotic games, and unsolved crimes.
Although some of the reader reviews for my first opus, Does Anything Eat Shit, are cutting:
“It’s an uninformative, cringing read devoid of all real wit, charm or quirky facts.”
“If, like myself, you’ve been unfortunate enough to have received this apology of a publication as a Christmas gift, then I heartily recommend you don’t waste any of your time even glancing through it.”
They fail to take away from the fact that this truly terrible parody sold over 25,000 copies. There was even a Polish edition (oh, you lucky Poles). Today I raise a glass to first-time authors everywhere and to humble beginnings. We all have to start somewhere.