Galley Beggar Mail
And Happy New Year. Oh hell. It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Time was, I’d get these letters out at the start of the month. And now look. It’s the 26th day already. Anyway, happy late January. The truth is that later January is probably better than early. The days are getting longer. Only a very few pine needles remain on the floor. Snowdrops are pushing through the soil. Maybe if Keats had lived longer he’d have written an Ode to Slightly Less Shitty Winter…
It's very nearly the end of December and I'm tempted to write a review of 2014. It's been a great year. But I fear that if I do start recapping all the things that have happened, this letter may just turn into a triumphalist diatribe about how great our authors are. Even worse, I may start on some pathetic whinge about all the hard work we've been doing. Or, still worse, an unfortunate combination of the two. A pathetic triumphalist whinging diatribe. And who would want to read that? I don't even want to write it - even though it would mainly be about Elly, me and my massive ego.
This won't be our last newsletter before Christmas – but it is pretty much the last before the big shopping frenzy. Which is pretty much the best excuse I can make for this missive being a big selling frenzy. That and the fact that we've been working on lots of superb new books that I hope I can make interesting for you…
…But before we hit the books, something slightly more amorphous, but crucial to making those books possible. Friendship. Not alas, the Joe and Chandler kind. No, I'm talking about the kind you pay for.
I'm sorry to say that the supremely talented, but lamentably potty-mouthed author James Miller has written a story full of depraved rudery and freaky language. I'm sorrier yet to have to tell you that we've been duty bound to publish it as a Galley Beggar Single. This story is too wonderful to miss and deserves to be out there. We couldn't say no. It's such a good satire of the Brookyn alt-lit scene, of dumb male students and of everything else that we had to take it. The world needs this filthsome, sweary thing. In fact, I think you need to read it. Unless you're easily offended, of course. Or even moderately easily offended. You can probably gauge if you're going to like it by looking at the cover.