Three Hoodies Save the World

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

Archive for the month “June, 2017”

Half way through – I think

When writing a novel I have this self-imposed rule that it shouldn’t be less than one hundred thousand words. I don’t know where that rule came from but I’ve pretty much stuck to it with the exception of Old Geezers 3, which fell woefully short.

I’ve reached about half way through my new one (for which I am going to use a pen name) but this time I’m just going to keep going until it feels right. That’s probably what I should have done with my previous fourteen novels.

If I’m still alive by the time it’s finished and been edited several hundred times I think I’m going to try for traditional publication for the first time. If nothing else it will be a challenge I’ve never faced before. And if that doesn’t work I’ll just self pub it and get onto the next book. Something tells me that my attitude is wrong but for the life of me I don’t know what it is. I love writing, and as I may have mentioned, I’d love to be rich – I think. But ultimately there’s always another book waiting to get out. My retirement is approaching with the acceleration that middle age brings. I should be able to knock off at least another dozen before the man with the scythe comes ‘a callin’.

With about ten pages done today, I think I’m going to start on the cover. I’ve found plenty of people who (for a fee naturally) will produce one for me, but I’m going to do it myself. I already know what it will look like so I think I’ll begin on it today.

I don’t believe I’ll be able to find a thong wearing middle age women in the stock photo libraries so I’ll have to let my strange imagination try to draw it myself. Just why there’s a thong wearing middle aged woman in the book is something you’ll have to wait to find out. I also doubt there’ll be much choice of nipple rings in said libraries, either. I hope GIMP and I are up to it.


Be careful what you wish for.

In England (that’s the dreary little island wedged between Ireland and France) we long for summer. All year round we long for it. And when it finally arrives it takes the average Briton two weeks in the blazing sun just for our skin to turn white.

Needless to say we don’t get summer very often, It sometimes happens about July, but we have to be careful, it’s usually about two o’clock on one unannounced day during that month, and that’s it, gone, back to the rain and snow.

So you can imagine how happy and thrilled we were, and just as quickly horrified now that we’ve beaten our own thirty years record and been blasted for nearly five days with 30+ degrees, and today it’s 34 C, that about 108 F in old money. That’s probably old hat for people living in the mid west or California, but for us it’s the end of the world.

No water in the taps, none in the shops, and all the air conditioners are sold. Most of those had cobwebs, hastily brushed off when the entire sun came out from behind the clouds last week. All the shops I went to said they’ll be restocking next week where presumably we’ll have to wade through feet of snow to get there.

You might sense a soupcon of cynicism here, but the last time I lived in heat like this was in the south of France, and that was over twenty five years ago. Now I’m old and can’t bear it. I was riding my motorbike home tonight and even opening the throttle to the stops wouldn’t generate enough wind to cool me down. It almost got me killed but that’s beside the point.

An interview with Arnold Pratt

Arnold Pratt is my new hero (sort of) and features in my latest novel. I caught him as he was resting between dodging two police forces and MI5, all of whom want him with a vengeance.

“Hello, Arnold. You look a bit harried.”

“You’d look harried, too if you was being chased by the law and the secret service. Especially if you haven’t done anything wrong. But they aren’t going to get me. I’ve got a plan.”

“Well if you haven’t done anything wrong, then why don’t you just hand yourself in?” It seemed a logical question but somehow seemed to make him even angrier, although it was really hard to tell as what I could see of his face in the gloom was covered in mud, blood and something smelling of cow poo. I tried to steer the conversation away from anything that might involve me and by extension send me in prison.

“Did you ever think  about changing your name?” I backed away at his scowl.

“Why? And before you tell me, A pratt isn’t a pregnant goldfish. Goldfish are lizards and lay eggs.” It was obviously something he’d been teased about before. I flinched as the ripe smell of something dead wafted from his coat. I didn’t really know how to go on. He doesn’t seem like a master criminal – slightly bonkers perhaps – but not actually bad. At the sound of a distant passing police car he scurried back into the bush where I’d found him. “I’m going to get them all for this. I’ve got friends. Friends who owe me favours. You watch; they’ll rue the day they picked on me.
With that he was gone, shambling over the field at the outskirts of the village in which he lived; or used to live. Judging from the suspicious bulge in his coat, I didn’t want to be around when he invoked his master plan. He was already wanted for double murder and perhaps espionage. God help the police force and MI5; they’d picked on the wrong man.

The Great Amaranthine Typo Hunt

Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor


Though I (and my team of beta editors) try really hard to keep the Amaranthine Universe free of typos, we miss stuff. (Plus, I’ve gone through and changed a few things without letting the beta editors in on it. Bad, I know). Wouldn’t it be nice if we could kill ALL the typos? Imagine a typo free Universe. Sadly, I can’t realize the dream alone. I need YOUR help.

Have you found a typo? Use the contact form or just drop me an email at Joleene (at) and let me know which book/story and what the typo is (If you can include some of the text around it, that really helps!) As a thank you, I will send you an EXCLUSIVE short story. How does that sound?

Want to be sure you’ve got the newest version(s)? Don’t rebuy them! Just drop me an email with a list of the…

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Someone gave me a five dollar bill (US) and on the back is printed: By God We Must
I suppose I should assume that it wasn’t printed by the US Mint?
We don’t have that problem over here. Or rather we do, but as so many of our coins and notes are bent we just use them anyway. Better to get rid of them than have them taken off us and lose the value.
Just a few weeks ago in England we changed our one pound coins. The day before, I went to the bank and gave them twenty pounds for some pounds coins – I do a lot of parking. Now it turns out that seventeen were bent. I’m going to use them, anyway as it’ll be weeks before all the meters are re-calibrated for the new, heavier coins.
The only reason I’m boring you all with this is that in my money collection, alongside a (real) silver dollar and several dozen foreign notes all bearing enormous numbers, like the sixty billion Reischsmark note, is a one hundred year old one pound note. I’m afraid to take it to the bank because my dad gave it to me when I was a child. I was going to give it to my daughter.
Better not to know I suppose.


The new book is coming along quite well and I hope to have the first draft finished in a couple of months. However, as I’ve been described by some of my less than impressed readers of being genre-curious, and to stop confusing them, I’ve decided to publish this one under a pen name. Why?
‘Do you think it’s so rubbish, you don’t want your name associated with it?’ demanded my daughter in one of her rare moments of lucidity, which is to say when her face wasn’t surgically grafted to Face o Gram or whatever she loves this week.

And that might even be a part of the motive, but the main reason is that It’s completely different from what I usually write.

I’ve written a series of three horror novels, and a single novel which is a mixture of horror and suspense. The there were another series, this time of three Y/A SF novels, and a series of three adult SF novels, all of which have varying amounts of my version of humour.
I also came up with a compilation of short stories which was just plain weird, and another compilation of blog entries and reminiscences about my daughter and work, which are just as strange but different from each other.

My newest work is completely removed from all of those and that’s why I decided to use another name. Just what exactly I’m going to do about publishing it is unknown.

Do I put it on my blog? But then if I did I might as well just write it under my own name. Or do I mount a new publicity campaign in an attempt to sell it? But then if I did that, my other novels would be left out in the cold.
I think I’m talking myself out of it.

I wonder what the percentage is of indie writers who’ve spent a lot of money publicising their own work and actually made money or drawn even.
Ultimately I just love writing and I’ll continue to do it until my fingers drop off. However, just once it would be nice to worry if I left the keys to my Porsche in the swimming pool, the library or my personal helicopter.

I did once drop the keys to a boss’s Porsche in a swimming pool. Not so bad, except that they were electronic. His wrath was biblical.

An outing with my daughter.

We had a little scare with my daughter last week and had to go back to hospital. Happily we were out a few hours later. Apparently the haematoma on her brain isn’t shrinking as fast as it was hoped, and the pain was getting her down. Unfortunately she can thank me for that. I bequeathed her my absolute immunity to painkillers and anaesthetic which means that she has to grin and bear it.
So this morning we went out to the local mall with the intention of redressing the mistakes she’d made when taking out a new phone contract without talking to me first.
That part was relatively easy but on turning around it was to find her gone.
It was then that I happened upon a great idea. Someone should write a Where’s-My-Daughter app. That way she could never wander off. I know the temptation is great, her being female and surrounded by shops and all. And I have a feeling that the app would involve having some kind of transponder surgically grafted inside her skull. But petty details aside I still think it’s a good idea which any of you may feel free to write and take the credit for.
My daughter (allegedly) wasn’t too keen but I’m just putting that down to a little residual bad humour after the accident.

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