Three Items of Note

This marks the first week of my latest effort to fight back my anxiety and panic attacks and be more public. I have tried before, in various states of medication, and have never quite "succeeded." If I ever appear to be unduly short of temper or curt in any responses to comments, I'm sorry. I'm not the only one driving my brain when it comes to this stuff.

Also, when I have accurate information about Republic to give out, I will give it out. It will blaze in every form of social media I use. My publishers will print publicity notices and shoot them directly into your brains with arrows. It will be the new high point in my ongoing fight against the most unexpectedly crippling and humiliating thing that has ever happened to me. Simon Spanton will grow wings and spontaneously age twenty years in reverse. Insane with joy, he will declare himself the God-Emperor of Greater London and you will have to fight a war to break the shackles of his mad tyranny. You will not miss it when it happens. This is really the last I'd like to say about it until it's time to say something useful.

Also, fucking Mamatas and his fucking embed of Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks..." This song is the biggest fucking earworm I've encountered in years. The sonofabitch passed it on like a haunted DVD containing a creepy Japanese ghost. Well, the joke's on you, internet, because now I pass it on myself. Have fun doing everything in your life to the beat of this song for the next six weeks ("All the other dishes that I'm la la washing better wash better wash better la la la washing...").