The Secret Blog Of J.K Rowling

That's right, using undiscovered evidence, those special people at THEY, have discovered that I am in fact J.K.

And I don't mean the hat wearing, sports car driving, corner of the earth hogging one either.

Yes, apparently my uncle's, cousin's, hairdresser's cat overheard the news only today that not only am I secretly J.K but so is my wife (thanks for that one Python).

 It turns out that so many books are now being published by J.K Rowling and James Patterson (also an anagram of J.K. Rowling) that Lloyds of London have now refused to provide insurance for the publishers, stating that in the event of her untimely death, all publishing as we know it would collapse, indeed a publishing insider went as far as to say...

          "That it was doubtful that any other human beings would be able to string two coherent sentences together and manage to sell them."

I now fully expect to see a hillside of authors all standing in turn and ripping their Scooby Doo masks off shouting...
          "I'm Rowling."
          "No, I'm Rowling (yes, I borrowed that from Spartacus)."

Now, obviously I'm not J.K. Rowling, and this isn't her blog... I would also like to say that I have absolutely no sour grapes with J.K's achievements.

Although personally, I think the Harry Potter movies missed out on the obvious opportunity to be this generations Carry On movies. You know what I mean... Not a single 3 way joke, a total lack of cheeky spells in the bath house. Even when Harry gives Dobby his sock They chose not to use.
     

            "Dobby is free....to wack off his boiling Elven love juice. Oh, Miss Granger, Dobby thinks you have a very pretty mouth."

Now, I have to talk about the movies because as a grown up I still can't bring myself to stroll brazenly into the Children's section and after selecting the edition I want from the 9-12 shelves proceed to the tills. Where I would blush, and stammer something along the lines of...

          "It's for my eldest, honest. Could you wrap it for me."

As I started to point out, this is not sour grapes. The last Potter sold in the region of 8.5 million copies in the UK, her first adult novel only managed to sell a million... What a failure... Really, do you know how many female authors are in the million club, me either, but it's not many and most of them are J.K Rowling.

In fact almost all authors who haven't reached that point would most likely give their own hair - to be donated to the poor and unfortunate, those too ugly to be seen in daylight, you know I'm talking about hair plugs for Wayne Rooney, right?

Indeed, as I've pointed out before, I'm such a hypocrite that for a publishing deal and a million sales, I'd perform inter species erotica with Dobby for Mistress Rowling's pleasure. (You know how that would go, if I were lucky, I'd be the one dressed as Potter, giving the Elf a little something special. It's not a sock this time Dobby.)

So, getting back to the point, what has me vexed enough to unleash this blog on the inter web?

The Sunday Times... and I quote.

"J.K.Rowling has secured another literary coup by writing an acclaimed detective novel in the guise of a first-time author."

That doesn't look so bad now does it?

Apart from the obvious bit, it was acclaimed because the people reading the book thought to themselves, "This is bloody good for a first time author, well done Robert, what a fantastic first novel."

Of course it was good she's written about10 books most of which have been best sellers...
Dear Sunday Times... She didn't tell anyone, yes, the novel won acclaim but it only sold a thousand or so copies.

And then someone shouted Spartacus!


Until Next Time...