In response to much prodding and pleading from my fan(s), I have finally decided to write that first book. It will be called Party Girl: From Ottawa Hack to Parliament Hill Flack.
Or something like that. The last part might change, but not the first part. Definitely not the first part.
It will be an e-book to start with, though reader(s) will be able to buy a soft cover copy for much, much, more money. I'm going to follow the lead of my brilliant son, the man-child living in the Bat Cave downstairs, who has self-published three bestish-selling books of poetry. He managed to publish without ever spending a bleeding penny, and I intend to do the same. So think of Party Girl as my handmade love letter to Ottawa.
It is a memoir of sorts, as much as it can be a memoir because I don't exactly remember everything. It will follow my exploits beginning with my studies at the Carleton School of Journalism where I never really managed to get a BJ (that's Bachelor of Journalism -- get your mind out of the gutter!). It makes me laugh that there are all these people wandering around with a BJ behind their names.
In an unusually and stunning act of common sense, Carleton has since changed the degree designation. Now it's a Bachelor of Arts or Communications or something. I don't really care because, as I said, I never wore the cardboard hat.
Carleton might consider giving me an honorary degree after the higher ups read my book, but now that I think about it, never mind. I'm not trading my personal integrity for a piece of paper.
The book will be told in three acts, or if you like, three servings. The appetizer will be a sumptuous summary of my Carleton days. I will reveal some very juicy stories. Remember the time, BJs, when recruiters came from the Hamilton Spectator and were caught by a student in a bathroom stall remarking on both the intellect and the tits of a prime candidate? And how can I forget the time Joe Scanlan threatened to flunk me because I was writing an expose about his "crisis team" for the Ottawa Journal. Stuff like that.
For the entrée, my readers will be served a full helping of smartass from my "career" as a reporter/columnist. It begins with my time at The Ottawa Journal where I bravely crossed a picket line for a couple hundred bucks a week. After the Journal folded, as all good newspapers eventually do, I spent the next few years as a music reviewer at the Ottawa Citizen where I terrorized musicians with my rapier-like drunken typing. In my off hours, I did this.
Oh yes, I have pictures!
In an unusually and stunning act of common sense, Carleton has since changed the degree designation. Now it's a Bachelor of Arts or Communications or something. I don't really care because, as I said, I never wore the cardboard hat.
Carleton might consider giving me an honorary degree after the higher ups read my book, but now that I think about it, never mind. I'm not trading my personal integrity for a piece of paper.
The book will be told in three acts, or if you like, three servings. The appetizer will be a sumptuous summary of my Carleton days. I will reveal some very juicy stories. Remember the time, BJs, when recruiters came from the Hamilton Spectator and were caught by a student in a bathroom stall remarking on both the intellect and the tits of a prime candidate? And how can I forget the time Joe Scanlan threatened to flunk me because I was writing an expose about his "crisis team" for the Ottawa Journal. Stuff like that.
For the entrée, my readers will be served a full helping of smartass from my "career" as a reporter/columnist. It begins with my time at The Ottawa Journal where I bravely crossed a picket line for a couple hundred bucks a week. After the Journal folded, as all good newspapers eventually do, I spent the next few years as a music reviewer at the Ottawa Citizen where I terrorized musicians with my rapier-like drunken typing. In my off hours, I did this.
Oh yes, I have pictures!
For dessert, I will be serving up a virtual cherries jubilee from my time on Parliament Hill where I stalked the halls of power and accepted rounds bought for me at the National Press Club by Supreme Court judges, best selling novelists and aspiring senators.
Oh the stories.
I remember everything.
Not only do I know where the bodies are buried, I know what they are wearing.
When I'm finished, I will never eat lunch in this town again. Readers from away will wonder why they ever bought a paper or paid their taxes. Those in Ottawa should be terrified.
Oh the stories.
I remember everything.
Not only do I know where the bodies are buried, I know what they are wearing.
When I'm finished, I will never eat lunch in this town again. Readers from away will wonder why they ever bought a paper or paid their taxes. Those in Ottawa should be terrified.
With apologies to Fargo: At the request of the survivors, some of the names will be changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest will be told exactly as I remember it. Or did I dream it all?
I'm selling Party Girl for $20 which is a lot, I know. But I have to hire a proof reader. Believe me, you will thank me.
Party Girl will be available in Fall 2016 or maybe before depending how my life is going and when exactly I'm having my tits done.
Party Girl will be available in Fall 2016 or maybe before depending how my life is going and when exactly I'm having my tits done.
In the meantime, the book is available for pre-order by donating on this site. Those who pre-order will also receive a copy of my award winning documentary: Carnival of The Blues: 10 Days at the Ottawa Bluesfest. For $40, you can buy my book and NOT get the DVD!
Anyway, if you want to watch it, you can watch it here.
My gift to you for supporting my work over these long, painful and dreadful years.
P.S. There will be no book signing, unless you want me to sign your iPad.
Anyway, if you want to watch it, you can watch it here.
My gift to you for supporting my work over these long, painful and dreadful years.
P.S. There will be no book signing, unless you want me to sign your iPad.
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