Lucie Lit Unleashes

Another guest column from Lucretia Lit this week.

Oh those poor ex-husbands of hers. How they must 

have suffered

Cheers

Bernie

Messaging my Glitoris

with Lucretia Lit

Column 3                                                    

A REGULAR highlight of my exciting life is the arrival of Futurebook: The Bookseller's digital publishing email.

The Bookseller represents those poor sweeties who own bricks and mortgage bookshops.

My writer friends and I have a running lottery on how many lines in before Future books begins its first bash at the Evil Giant Amazon.

No one won this week as it was a whopping 11 lines in before the Big A received its first mention.

The lottery jackpots and we were all disappointed. Our sorrow turned to joy when we read this sentence during the second attack.

``I've heard time and time again recently that Amazon is all about scale, and it is this that will finally kill off publishers, unable to compete against this ruthless behemoth.’’

Those hyperbole pills are really working for you, Bookseller, dearie.

Having you comment on digital books is like Dracula taking deposits at a blood bank. Bazoomko!  https://mail.google.com/mail/#inbox/136e41472331fee9

K. M. Luvvie, don’t worry about that nasty man who said you should stop writing about capital and start trying to accumulate it. That gag is about as funny as a rejection slip. You on the other hand, Karlo, have all those sweet Dad jokes in your books. Scewadum!

NICE to see respected Pakastani journalist Irfan Husain at the recent London Book Fair. The international guest wrote,

``Located at Earl’s Court, London’s enormous exhibition hall, the fair brought together literally hundreds of publishers. Indeed, when I asked an official at the media centre for the exact number, she couldn’t give me a figure. ‘’

Irfan, honey, we know you mean it as a compliment. But that says more about the calibre of British journalists than the resilience of bricks and mortgage bookstores. Uwhacanini!

P. W. matey, don’t take this the wrong way and it is only a question. We know that you are the only Australian Nobel Laureate for literature and that’s wonderful because most Aussies think reading is a jail Oscar Wilde went to. But Patty, yer ol’ bastard, has anyone actually finished one of your books. Nobellaba!                                                                 

Ms Poison Pen returns

Another guest column from Lucretia Lit this week.

She is awful; can't wait to see what she has to reveal.

Cheers

Bernie

Messaging my Glitoris

with Lucretia Lit

Column 2

NAUGHTY New Hampshire author Jodi Picoult has been going around insulting all those cute self-publishing writers.

Ms P was being interviewed on something odd called the Daily Beast. (one of my ex-husbands used to always wake up with that – how tiresome for me).Her advice to aspiring authors was an emphatic “do not self-publish’’.

Jodi dear, you  published your first novel, Songs of the Humpback Whale way back in 1992. Let the new kiddies play with their lit toys anyway they want. Screeeowww!

TSE, Sweetie, you were quite right to lock Viv away in that mental hospital.

It was either you or her. What havoc recitations of your poetry would have caused to the already damaged minds of other inmates. Tseekah!

NO such excuses  for you, J-J R, you Swiss scoundrel. Fancy surrendering you children to a foundling hospital.

And all that nonsense about religions being equally good. Are you mad? Oh, that’s right you are and don’t go blaming your critics for that.

There is no better religion than good old Christianity. I have offended against it many times and have always been forgiven. AROOSHKA!

OH, say it’s not you, Danny. When a book thumps the table with the title Whitney Amy Michael Elvis – Superstars are not Superhuman, it sends shivers up my spine – shivers of dread.

The author is accredited as D T Pollard. One D..T.. Pollard we know is Danny, of the clan, who wrote the successful Rooftop Diva: A Novel of Triumph After Katrina.

We know authors have to eat but do they have to do it through books which prevent readers keeping their food down. KABUSTED!

OOOH, Alex Crawford, luvie, it’s not all about you. Alex is a girl with a boy’s name . She works for Sky News, is most macho, and fits in well at Rupee’s Boys’ Club.

In February Alex in Libya sent an endearing story to Sky TV viewers about a freedom fighter who found one of Colonel Gaddafi’s hats. He may well have been among the freedom fighters who later ruthlessly butchered an unarmed Gaddafi, begging for clemency.

Geez, brave Alex, why not a book about your few days in Libya when the locals were kind enough to put on a war for you?

Let’s call it Colonel Gaddafi’s Hat to assure readers it’s your memoir without any of the big-picture guff.

And we thought all the fun and shallowness of Sky could not a book make. The cash registers go Kachinski!

Send your literary Goss to Lucretia. Email bentbananabooks@gmail.com