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Now I understand why my muse waited until I was 50 before giving me the nod. Mainstream publishers would never have touched the stuff I write. Years of humiliation and disappointment might have been too much for me to bear, and maybe I would have succumbed to full-blown alcoholism and drug addiction, and ended up by committing suicide. To save me from such a fate my muse held back until technology advanced to the point where I could safely sidestep those obscurantist gatekeepers trying to prevent me from getting to my readers. Now I can write what I like, put it up on Smashwords, and share the contents of my mind with anyone discerning enough to enjoy a certain brand of dark humour.