Long-suffering readers are well aware that I never release my books on schedule. Some would argue it’s because I’m a lazy cunt and they’d be right but my attitude to writing is “it’ll be done when it’s done.” I am not a workaday writer who can sit at his keyboard from 9am and tap away like it’s an office job. I admire those who can, but that’s not me. I’m dependent upon inspiration. I feel my creative tanks fill up until the pressure reaches bursting point, then I sit at the keyboard and words pour out. After a few days, the tank is empty. I’ve tried forcing myself to stay at the keyboard but it’s like dry-retching after a hefty chunder [1].

So, I write in spurts.


Jugend, Hottend, Tighterschloss – yesterday abend

You’ll be please to hear, then, that the sixth and final volume in my epic pick-up memoir- Uberkrauser [2]– has now officially hit the half-way point of 75,000 words. That breaks the back of it. If you’ve tried writing yourself, you’ll know how intimidating blank pages can be. Even more so if you’ve committed to the project so the book must be written.

That’s how I felt early this year, after having procrastinated all through late 2019 and failed to begin the final volume. It would be embarrassing to have volumes 1-5 and 7 published and then never get 6 out the door. “Nick’s lost it,” people would whisper, “he went all George RR Martin and couldn’t finish what he started.” Equally intimidating was the quality issue: could I write another 150k words of blather about the same old shit without it reading like one of Tom’s being boring? [3].

bangin top

Palpable relief

So, all through the first 75k words I was wondering if I’d do justice to the stories or whether Uberkrauser would be forever known as the “last season of Game Of Thrones” version of a pick-up memoir. I’m pleased to report that I’m happy with the quality and my sole test reader says it’s the best yet. For the first time, I’m confident the book will be finished eventually.


The tone is set, the book is moving, and now I just need to keep plugging away. It’s parked for now so as to let the creative tank refill. I’ll probably get back on it in a couple of months.

If you’d like to crack on with my memoir then start at the beginning with Balls Deep here and slowly work your way through the pack.

[1] I’m aware that comparing my prose to vomit is not ideal.
[2] Working title
[3] If you’ve read the other six volumes, it evidently worked out okay so far.