Paige Hawthorne: Blog

Time goes by so slowly …

The editors - Steven, Mike, and pc - resolutely deny any and all guilty knowledge re: my latest story, "Hide & Seek". We'll see how that plays out if and when a courtroom gavel bangs down.

From my own POV … why plagiarize just one novel at a time? Thus, my earnest hope is that the attorneys for Michael Connelly and Thomas Perry and Lawrence Block and Ross Thomas don't visit this particular site to read this particular story.

Oh, a "Vanity Fair" article provided some valuable intel on Instagram Influencers. Hmm … I may also have borrowed a speech or two from "The Crown".

Wait. Why should I think of my little story as stolen property? Let's consider it an homage, with a silent 'h'.

Oh yeah, I homaged the fuck out of some white supremacy stuff from T. Jefferson Parker.

Paige

NB: The Annual Humiliation - Paige Hawthorne Division - is underway over at the Big Clit. So be sure to go vote for other writers and stories. Thank you.

The editors of my upcoming story - "Hide & Seek" - are so confident in the fidelity of their craft they will pay a generous bounty to each and every reader who finds even a single typo, mispelling, or grammatical error in any of the over-400 pages.

This generous bonus from Steven, Mike, and pc will be bestowed upon each reader who submits a notarized attestation from the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, along with three Froot Loops box tops.

Paige

I don't do idle ultimatums. Previously I had threatened retaliation against the mortification mongers who nominated my work product, and me personally, for the Big Clit. As they had hoped, and -- perhaps -- prayed, my scores have plummeted into historic nadirs.

My public humiliation is … um, humiliating. Publicly so. Not that I pay the slightest attention to reader votes. Particularly from those of you lacking opposable thumbs.

Ergo, you weasels, whence and wherefore, hereto and forthwith, I have completed another Winter Jennings story - "Hide & Seek".

Sixteen chapters … read 'em and weep.

Paige

NB: The actual posting here may take a while since the editors - Thorny, Steven, Mike, and pc - were stunned into catatonia when the latest manuscript plopped down on the doorsteps of their hovels.

Some fuckwad, ibid: hater, tossed me into the Big Clit mosh pit - no doubt relishing the low-vote mockery that is ensuing. Cranking up the Insult Thermostat, he nominated me for 'Author of the Year'. Knowing full well how that went for me last time around.

(Q: How did it go? A: Not well.)

Not content with mere personal humiliation, probably clutching his pearls to his chest, he also plugged "Frontiers" into some vague category or other.

So, gleeful haters, this is your holiday season. Sharpen your Number 2 so you can pencil in Number 1.

But, as you start to uncork the champagne, be aware that this … this … indignity may force me, in retaliation, to post yet another story.

Forewarned is … um, forewarned.

Paige

Eh? Say what? Now wait just a mo …

A recount? Whiskey! Tango! Foxtrot!

No … take a deep breath. Another. Now is the apposite time to exhibit the grace and gravitas for which I am so justifiably celebrated.

True, the Big Clit did middle-finger me. True, lesser authors shimmied off the stage with golden statuettes clasped in damp, undeserving palms.

Well, fine. Congrats to you boys. You … you … boys.

(While my suspicions have not yet risen to courtroom levels, the whispers that my box was stealthily emptied are rife. That's Ballot Box, you gomers!

NB: I do not expect the winning writers to summon the moral energy to right this flagrant wrong. Nor would I accept any belated awards, no matter how amply deserved …)

Of course none of this - my getting trounced, those … boys … winning everything - really concerns me since I pay absolutely no attention to reader scores.

Whatev,

Paige