Run, do not walk, to get your free Kindle copy of Fifty Shades of Neigh. Seriously, not even kidding – the giveaway ends at midnight PST.
Got it? Good. Let’s get down to (horrible) business. Continue reading
I’m so close to being done with Fifty Shades Later that I thought it might be an enjoyable little retrospective to watch that Bronies documentary on Netflix. After all, I’ve spent close on a year finding out more about bronies than I ever needed or wanted to know – it felt like an interesting way to say goodbye.
We lasted about forty-five minutes. Holy Christ, this thing is dull. It’s like an endless, one-note puff piece in which a collection of tiresome young men and boys talk about how much they like ponies. And that they’re not gay. But they like ponies. And they’re persecuted for liking ponies. And not gay. Even though they like a cartoon for little girls.
Writing the Fifty Shades of Neigh series has been a weird experience in a lot of ways. The strangest one is that – in attempting to create a faithful parody of Fifty Shades of Grey – I’ve had to try and stifle my own instincts as a writer. For example, the characters in the original are so static they may as well be cryogenically frozen. They rarely grow or change in any significant way throughout the books. In writing the parody I wanted to carry that across, but it felt totally self-defeating, like trying to swim against a current. It was like I had all these panicked little instinctive voices in my head, all of them freaking out because I was going against something that everyone from Stephen King down had told me was a fundamental truth of good fiction – characters need to change and develop.
Eventually I gave up. I couldn’t keep it up. I listened to my gut – change was too vital a thing to toss aside. Even if – in Hanna’s case – she just got a mani-pedi and a new weave, there was still a joke in there in that she thought a pedicure constituted growing as a person. The one character who’s remained totally static is Crispian Neigh, which goes right to the heart of why I hate him and hate writing him. He’s boring. He’s a one-note joke. He’s a grown man who likes My Little Pony and isn’t that whacky and weird?
It’s the reason why I spent most of the Fifty Shades of Neigh series trying to avoid writing about Crispian – if the books were just one long brony joke they’d almost be as boring as the originals. Almost. You could practise for a lifetime at boring the tits off people and still not approach the depths of boredom we’re about to plumb in chapter eleven of Fifty Shades of Grey.
Yes, it’s time to read the Sex Contract. Clause by clause, paragraph by paragraph, epoch by geological epoch. Soul-crushing boredom is the new Sexy. Continue reading
Welcome back to my readalong of Fifty Shades of Grey, a book that may very well be the worst bestseller of all time. Yes, we all know Stieg Larson needed an editor and Dan Brown’s novels were pretty damn silly, but at least if this was a Dan Brown someone would be face down in the squid tank by now and someone else would have left a cryptic message using their own internal organs. (You’d think kidneys would make handy punctuation marks, wouldn’t you?)
Before we press on, I would just like to remind you that my new novel Held: A New Adult Romance is still available for only 0.99 in the Kindle Store. Sale ends soon, so don’t miss out. And in slightly more relevant news, you can now own a Kindle copy of Fifty Shades of Neigh for the same super low price – 0.99.
And now on with the recap. You might want a nice strong cup of tea and a blanket on standby for this one. Because oh boy – this guy’s a weirdo. Continue reading
I’ve been a little busy lately, but I’m delighted to be able to do an official cover reveal for the inevitable sequel to Fifty Shades of Neigh. Fifty Shades Fatter is going to come with a readalong guide to Fifty Shades Darker (so that you, gentle readers, don’t actually have to bother with the wretched bumrag of a thing) and contains at least 20% more plot and toilet jokes.
Follow the more tag for a sneak looky-loo at the first chapter. Continue reading
The most depressing thing about Fifty Shades of Grey (other than the relentless mangling of the English language, charmless characters and wildly irresponsible glorification of abusive relationships) is that in a strange way, it does do what the blurb promises.
Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever.
I mean, I take exception to the ‘erotic’, obviously. I’ve sorted laundry more titillating than these yawnfests. And there are sadly very few laughs to be had. In fact, the e-mail exchanges where the main characters indulge in what I suspect a moron considers ‘witty banter’ just made me want to stab both of them repeatedly in the head. Also the only thing this book will really move is your bowels.
But obsession? Possibly. Possession no, although that does sound extremely nasty. If at any time while reading Fifty Shades of Grey you find yourself experiencing any of the following symptoms, please seek advice from your nearest Exorcist;
– dangling participles.
– loss of will-power/common-sense/ability to understand Thomas Hardy novels.
– flushing and/or lip-biting.
– unnatural tolerance to startling amounts of alcohol.
– severe outbreaks of exposition.
In a funny kind of way, Fifty Shades of Grey has stayed with me – sort of like a bad scallop or an reckless third martini. I wrote Fifty Shades of Neigh to wring some fun out of a book that just isn’t fun or funny. The current novel I’m working on – a tie-in to Summerland – has almost been hijacked by my serious objections to Fifty Shades of Grey, the things too horrible and heavy to write about in Fifty Shades of Neigh. Fifty Shades of Grey not only completely misunderstands BDSM relationships but also pretends that it is somehow erotic when a man controls a woman, right down to the food she eats and her private grooming habits. It features a man who believes that because he awakened a woman’s sexuality it means that he has some kind of ownership over her. It’s a creepy, disgusting book, based on the killer fantasy that if you only love him enough he’ll eventually stop hitting you. I wanted to answer all these things in fiction and so far I’m fairly pleased with the results. Of course, it’s very, very depressing to write.
Last November I got halfway through and couldn’t take anymore, so I switched to something lighter to give myself a break. Fifty Shades of Neigh was the result. I’m currently four chapters into the first edit of this new book, and months into a winter of discontent so deep that even a genuine son of York could only do so much to cheer frostbitten Britons up. It’s in these weird, depressive periods that I go frantically searching for laughs, so it’s likely that I will end up writing the sequel to Fifty Shades of Neigh.
Fifty Shades Fatter will probably be out in summer. (You know, summer – you remember. That time where it rains all the time, instead of more fucking snow.) I don’t have much written yet but I can tell you that Kate has taken up Cryptozoology as part of her career writing lying articles for supermarket tabloids, Jesús is cranking out Kindle porn and Teresa feels so guilty about ratting out her idiot daughter’s boyfriend to the authorities that she’s pulling strings to try and get Hanna a career in publishing. Crispian, meanwhile, is in a very different place than where he started out last time and Hanna is losing her already precarious grip on reality…