I'm Risking Everything.

If I want to write, I need the time.

This image is a graphic representation of a scene from my new novel.

Two days ago, I walked away from the business I built from nothing twenty years ago. Why? Because I want to write full-time. And, as the novel I’ve just finished writing has proved, I’m no longer of an age where I can both write and run a business. I don’t have the physical, mental, or emotional strength required to do both while maintaining the exceptional standards I demand. It’s a considerable risk, really, because I’m also skint.

I’ve got enough relatively clean lucre stashed up for about a year’s rent and food for The Woman and me, and I’ll up my YouTube game now I have time and a bit more energy. Business is going well, but if I don’t go for it now, I’ll end up being one of those old people with regrets, and that doesn’t feel right; in fact, it feels like death.

So there you go. The reason you haven’t had any shorts on here for a few months, or had any YouTube videos or streams for a while, is because I’ve been writing this novel - working all day, writing all night - waking up at my desk after three hours of dribbling kip, with ‘qwertyuiop’ embossed in my forehead at about midday. Rinse and repeat.

This is starting to feel like a sob-story. It isn’t. I haven’t felt this happy in years.

I’ll let you know on Substack as soon as the novel is ready; it could be tomorrow, it could be next week. I’m just waiting for Mr Bezos to give me the thumbs-up, and I’ll do a YouTube stream and Substack post to launch it. That’s it. There’s more below, but that’s all you really need to know, and why I’ve not been about.

Back in the day, things were great. I’d accidentally set up an online business, I was in my thirties, living my childhood dream of living in Soho (you’ll find out about that in the novel - the dream, not the living,) and to twist George Best’s old line slightly, I spent most of my money on drugs, whores, and handmade suits. The rest I frittered away.

It was fun. Most of the time. I nearly lost the business twice, having to sack all my staff, move all the stock into my Soho flat, paperwork and lock picking tools taking up every bit of available space except where I sat, weeping like a pussy, fearing that once again I’d be moving back to my mum’s drum in Sunny Dartford, going from eggs benedict and the like for breakfast in The Dean Street Townhouse, to Weetabix, (Lidl brand, Bix-o-Weet, or something equally soul-crushing,) and a loop of antiques shows, home improvement gak, and general knowledge quizzes on telly. After dinner (boiled everything,) I’d have the ‘soap belt’ from Hollyoaks, via Corrie, sometimes Emmerdale, and ending with Eastenders (it’s some weird period drama about a version of London that hasn’t existed for about thirty years,) and all of that thoroughly not enjoyed through the fog of my mum’s Superking snouts. Kill me.

Cue the training montage, Eye of the Tiger playing - me doing the work of about seven people. Sales, marketing, advertising, purchasing, customer service, and things I still don’t know what they are called, or even what they are, just that they need doing. A few months later, all the stock was moved out, and the staff were rehired.

Twenty years is a long time, and a lot of frankly insane things have happened in the maintenance of two of the world’s most successful lock picking tool websites. But that’s a novel in waiting, the point being, over the last year, I haven’t been enjoying running the business, ergo, I haven’t been enjoying life - and I’ve never not enjoyed my life - I’ve loved it.

So, if you want to help me not lose The Woman, my accommodation, and die on the streets of Phnom Penh, having sold my passport attempting to drink and drug this almost inevitable failure away, when my novel is available, buy yourself a copy. Then buy three more – that’s your Christmas presents sorted. Looking at it like that, I’m doing you a favour. You’re welcome.

Don’t forget to leave a review on Amazon. Let me know if you want me to write it for you - another favour I’m happy to do for you.

If there’s anything else I need you to do, I’ll let you know.

Don’t let me die.

Chris Dangerfield