This is me during my aforementioned Bukowski-slash-Kerouac-slash-Thompson phase.
My hopes for genius through osmosis failed.
William Hunter Howell is the author of the Amazon No.1 Best Seller Affable in Adversity: the bereavement b*tch.
(i totally don't know why i wrote that first bit in third-person. okay, that's a lie. i totally do know why i wrote it like that. i wanted to imagine i was so successful i'd employed someone else to write my copy. i'm a bit of a walter mitty like that.)
anyway, pretty unsurprisingly, my book was not the winner of any awards - not even teeny-weeny pointless ones - and that is because my debut book should not be read by anyone, literally anyone. even if you are choking under the tight grip of bereavement and completely lost in the total pointlessness of life, this book should only be considered as your very last resort. if you have to then you have to, but i'd say you should resort to a series of prayers and then the sacrifice of a baby lamb first. why? because as honest as my book is, it is dark, self-absorbed, pretentious and really-really wordy, which are all side-effects of me writing a book before I knew how to write a book. back then i thought being a good writer was knowing big words. turns out it isn't.
saying that, Stephen Fry really liked it, which is cool.
(oh and my second book is no better. it is not as pretentious or wordy but it was written at a time in my life where i was heavily influenced by Bukowski, Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson, which means the book may have been great if i was a great writer. but i'm not. i'm average. so this period of my life pretty much resulted in months of really bad hangovers and a really rubbish book to show for it. lesson learned. sort of.)
actually the lesson wasn't learned at all - like at all - because, for some reason, i am still trying to write.