Frank’s books

Sticky Pages is out on Amazon and Smashwords

Sticky Pages front cover  Frankflash! Last weekend I put out my second ebook, a 15,500 word novelette called Sticky PagesIf you’re quick you can still pick it up free at Smashwords.

It’s also on Amazon too but the minimum price they’d accept was 99c (77p), so I recommend you snap it up at Smashwords instead for free. You can download it onto your Kindle from Smashwords just the same as on Amazon. If your weapon of choice is an ipad, nook, or Sony reader etc, no problem, you can zap it straight to those too from Smashwords.

Sticky Pages is a satire on what it’s like to work for a big organisation with overbearing management who make all the employees feel small and crushed. Know the feeling? Without giving too much away here’s the blurb I wrote for Sticky Pages:

“Randy Bloemfontaine has a problem. Several problems. He hates his boss, for starters. He hates his lousy job writing financial ads for the horrendous corporate organisation that is UK Cash Cowboys. He hates the way the internet has taken over life. His life. Everyone’s life. Most of all, his 64 mega-bit problem is, he can’t stop thinking about sex. Randy can’t look at a woman without mentally undressing her. Over the years Randy has learned to live with his afflictions. But when his boss sends him on a three-day internet conference packed with drop-dead corporate eye-candy, and asks him to write a bunch of urgently-needed banner ads along the way, things threaten to get very sticky. If you think Don Draper had it bad in Mad Men, meet the UK Cash Cowboys’ clients from hell in power-mad CEO Cleopatra LeGrande and corporate automaton Norman Shylock, who heads up their Online Marketing Bullshit Division. Any advertising creative who has ever worked on the account of a big corporate client will recognise the ham-fisted interference by senior management who wouldn’t know a good ad if it was sat on the end of their noses doing a striptease.”

Needless to say, Sticky Pages is based on my own personal experience in the creative team where I work at UK Cash Cowboys (my day job), the big-shot UK financial brand with aspirations of becoming market leader. Or as I like to call us, the money industry’s equivalent of a Big Mac – slick advertising, but containing all sorts of nasty shit that’s bad for you. I should know, I write most of our ads. On that level I guess Sticky Pages is kind of a case study on how NOT to run a company.

Take our CEO, Cleopatra LeGrande. She’s got an MBA in ethnic cleansing. When she wants to trim her teams she sends in Radovan Karadic, she sends in Ratko Mladic. Her overbearing management style, cascaded through the company by her death-eater board of konzentrationslager kommandants, sucks out the last drop of enjoyment from the working day. Does it have to be like this in every company? What is it with people when they get a sniff of power? Must they all grow Hitler mustaches? LeGrande models herself on Lord Voldemort in drag. Put her in front of a camera and she’s all coutured femininity and airbrushed smiles, grinning out some bullshit about how we’re all one big happy family at the Cowboys. In reality there’s not a person here who doesn’t hate her guts, and the company she stands for. Last month she had all the staff suggestion boxes removed because they were rammed with hate-mail. Murder threats, requests for her to take up skydiving without a parachute. No wonder our customer service sucks. ‘Happy staff make for happy customers,’ right?

If I ever run a company my ethos will be simple. Manage people as you’d like to be managed. As friends, as equals. Treat me well and I’ll walk through brick walls for you. Wrong me and I’ll pray with all my heart for your destruction. I mean shit, all people want is to be able to walk through the average day with their heads held up. To make a difference. To have a purpose in life. And not be treated like serfs. Is that too much to ask? Look for the best in someone and you’ll find it. Look for the worst and you’ll find that too. I’m no management guru but it doesn’t sound like fucking rocket science to me. Sadly my guess is that most of us will have to spend the majority of our adult lives working for self-important, power-mad greedy assholes like LeGrande and her sycophantic oberleutnants Dick Holder and Norman Shylock. That’s how capitalism works. You eat shit or you starve.

In that sense we should all be able to empathise with the plight of the central character in Sticky Pages, Randy Bloemfontaine. He hates his tyrannical employer, but in a tough jobs market in the middle of the worst recession in a century, he knows he has to keep bending over and taking it to pay his mortgage. I hope the story gives you a laugh, anyhow. And if you’re reading this in your lunchbreak, hang in there, it’ll soon be 5pm. Don’t let the bastards get you down.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmailby feather

The sexiest blog on planet earth

Sex on the Brain cover - Low Res Welcome to the first ever day of my blog, dudes. A day that will live in infamy, as Roosevelt once said about another bad thing. Okay, let’s cut the stuff. The last thing the world needs is another blog. You’re here because of Sex on the Brain, right? You’re a sex fiend. Well that’s cool. So am I. It’s a kind of hobby of mine. A lifelong obsession that began the day my strawberries dropped, more years ago than I care to remember. Since then hardly a day has passed when I haven’t had, wanted, or thought about sex practically 24/7. Even my dreams are mostly about it. In a roundabout way, that’s how Sex on the Brain came about. Humour me peeps, while I explain. Way back in 2004 when I first got the idea for S.O.B., I was holding down a bum marketing job, helping raise my son and trying to work out how to break through as a writer. Cue violins. I’d had a near miss with a genre novel in 1997 which the publisher pulled the plug on at the last minute, flushing two years of my life down the toilet. The experience kind of poleaxed me for a while. For several years I wrote the square root of jack shit. Just thinking about another novel made me tired. Did I really want to spend another three years of my life coming home from work to hunch over a keyboard all night, and all weekend, and all my holidays, at the end of which I might not get a word published or a sou in return? Well no, duh. But yes. Life’s treadmill may almost have snuffed me out as a writer, but not quite. Sure I’d become Mr 9 to 5, yet somewhere inside me a small flame still flickered. Guttering, virtually extinguished, practically a smouldering taper with a dying glow. But it never went out completely. No sir. Then in 2004 it happened. One of those WTF Damascus deals. A.k.a. a mid-life crisis. When you get to middle age you look in the mirror one day and think oh shit. This is only going one way. It’s not a fucking rehearsal dude. This is your life, it’s half over, and you only get one shot. That’s the day the tumbler finally clicks into place in your brain. The fog clears. And you decide it’s now or never. Really. You either get off your ass and give your dreams a shot, or roll over and fade away. Hell, writing another novel was still off the radar at the time. There just weren’t enough hours left over after my day job had bitten a twelve hour chunk out of my ass. I needed something I could work up in bite-sized sessions, whenever I could carve out an hour, half an hour, ten minutes. I needed a subject I wouldn’t have to research. Something I was already interested in. Something we were ALL interested in, so reading and writing it might be a pleasure. That’s when the penny dropped. Sex, duh. The result, eight years later, is Sex on the Brain. A several hundred page collection of poems and stories about the pleasures of the flesh, imagined and real. A carnal copia that will have you roaring with laughter one minute then slipping a cheeky gun into your pocket the next. I hope. This book cost me eight years of my life dude, a shedload of eating sushi off a barbershop floor, and more dodgy one-night stands than I could count on the hands of twenty six-fingered men from Mars. I’m still in the bullshit marketing job but hey, if enough of you like my shit, who knows, one day I might be able to tell them to jam their lousy job up their ass. I’m counting on you guys. If you’ve checked out Sex on the Brain and think it’s cool, tell your friends. If you haven’t read it yet, WAYWF! Don’t let me down guys. I’ll be back soon when I’ve got some really sexy stuff to post on here.

Facebooktwitterpinterestmailby feather