This is the proof copy of my debut book. It came in the post yesterday and was waiting for me on my arrival home after work. The artwork is my own, and it consists of 275 pages of prose written between January 2014 to January 2016. With any luck, it should be available to purchase via Amazon by Monday 31st of October. When I held it in my hands, it was strange to think that three or four years ago I could barely write anything at all, let alone compile a collection of prose. ‘Damnd Lovers is a document of my transformation from a lovesick loser into a writer. It’s a bit angrier and abstract than what I’m writing now, but I guess that’s because I was angry at myself for being so numb. To think of how long I kept my thoughts and feelings bottled up with nowhere to go. To think of those nights when it felt easier just to drink beer and forget about stuff. Quite shameful, I’m sure you’d agree. But those days are behind me now, and I wish never to see them return. It’s turned me into a bit of a recluse, and the last time I held a woman in my arms is too shameful to bear thinking about, but I’ve been compelled to make up for lost time. And time is something of the essence for creatures such as ourselves. If we need to say something, we should say it. There’s no point in keeping our truths under lock and key. If you wish to read my truth, I would be a grateful man indeed.