Crossroads

And, no, not this shite.

My old dear used to watch this. Utter shite.

It’s a strange time in the life of the Jackhammer. Those who read this blog regularly will think I’m pretty strange, pretty much all of the time, and you’d be right, but things, at the moment, are especially odd. I ain’t talking Britney Spears weird, let’s get that straight. I haven’t shaved my hair off, except the places I’m meant to and some others which are necessary to avoid the classic “egg in a nest” nightmare scenario. Nope, my strange is more about a set of crossroads I’m coming to. I’ll explain and try and make it a little more exciting than it actually is by including some prostitution references.

So what crossroads am I coming to?

Well, firstly, the reason I haven’t been blogging, of late, is that I’ve been desperately trying to finish off the third book in The Great Right Hope trilogy, and the first draft is done, but not dusted. Suddenly, there is a big gap in my life. The second book, A Fistful of Rubbers, is in the process of being edited, and there’ll be a shed load of work to do on that after my editor, Zetta Brown, e-kicks the shit out of me ‘cos I can’t spell, but the main story of the trilogy is done and there’s a void that my Xbox isn’t filling.

I’ve come to love the characters of The Great Right Hope over the last five years. For me, it’s crazy to think that it’s been about six years since the conception of Sid Tillsley, and the story of the most unlikely vampire hunter, ever created, comes to an end with my twenties.

The 24th April will bring thirty years of the Jackhammer. Will I grow up? Another crossroad…and it’s a biggy. 2010 brings with it the great unknown as the company I work for is closing the site where I do my science thang. I don’t know if I’ll be relocated, made redundant or cast for the sequel of Christopher Lambert’s famous thriller set at a chess tournament, Knight Moves.

I just don’t know.

So that’s why things are strange. Your very own Jackhammer will be entering a new decade of his life, saying goodbye to his beloved Sid Tillsley and mythical Middlesbrough, and moving to pastures new.

The older you get the more you sit and think, and I think this is because it is harder to get up and do. Ten years ago, my birthday brought a plethora of drinks from “friends.” They dressed me up in a pair of fake tits, a seventies porn star moustache and wig, and sent me out around York university’s student bar (Vanbrugh for any interested alumni). I was so drunk I couldn’t remember any of this. I can vaguely recollect someone taking me back to my room, but I definitely remember reaching a crossroad then, as I do now. Admittedly, the crossroad wasn’t quite as important. I just had to choose where to piss. Unfortunately, I chose the window of my student bedroom, which would have been OK if it was open.

Now, I have more to think about than where to piss, although in later life, this will probably be my main concern. Now, I’m making the decisions that I should have done ten years, and working out exactly what I want to do with my life, and what’s important to me. Any thoughts on a post card, and before you say it, I won’t go “Gay for Pay”…again.

In terms of writing, it’s time for a new direction, too. This time next year, the three novels of The Great Right Hope trilogy will be sitting patiently on the shelves, ready to be read by all who are not easily offended. One thing is for certain, writing, like hunkiness, is in my blood, and my imagination is twisting further into obscurity, with every passing year. In my head are the voices of hundreds of characters demanding to have their deeds relayed to the world. Sometimes I’d wish they’d shut up as I’m fed up of burning down orphanages.

I forgot the prostitution references.

Or did I…