Following the completion of his Honours in Forensic Odontology, Thomas has returned to writing his books. The next six months will see the completion of three projects:
the release of the fourth Dooven Book, When Fear Is Not Afraid, including the Cinematic Audiobook edition,
the release of the second Wrong Book, Wrongly Writing, along with its audiobook edition,
and the continuing audiobook recording and production of the fifth Dooven Book, With Eyes No Longer Blind.
Wrongly Writing, the prequel to the internationally recognised tedium of Writing Wrongly, promises a healthy dose of banality that revolves around international drug smuggling, complications over library membership and the Dutch.
“We’re also releasing a jazz album in anticipation of it,” says Thomas. “It’s essentially the jazzy background music used for the audiobook. Our producer, Simon Saktté, decided background music was essential because not only is my writing appalling, but my narration is even worse, so some serious distraction is required to lessen the likelihood of class-actions against me, Panda Books Australia, or Studio 57, apparently.”
The album will be available free for anyone who’s read Thomas’ books as compensation for damages already incurred. We ask Thomas whether his Honours is related to his supposed claims of being a Stainologist, as revealed in the first Wrong Book.
“No, actually,” he says, “because it’s not possible to do an Honours in Stainology. I looked into it, but the website is still down, which, ironically, also has something to do with class-actions.”
We ask why he did an Honours at all.
“Basically so I can eventually get a girlfriend,” he says. “Talking about dead bodies is guaranteed to get a woman’s’ attention, especially if I specifically relate it to theirs. I’m not very experienced when it comes to women, and I’m certainly not comfortable with them, despite their soft bits. I haven’t had much opportunity to talk to women in general, as they tend not to stay in my vicinity long enough to instigate anything resembling a conversation, and me screaming at them while they run away doesn’t count, apparently. At least, according to Doctor Marjory, who’s the only one I’ve ever spent time with. Unless I count my mother, which I don’t, considering the most feminine thing about her is a beard.”
We ask whether his Honours would be used to fuel further books.
“Not nearly as much as appropriate punctuation.”
We also ask what his Honours actually involved.
“Poking dead bodies and looking at skulls, and then considering how both can be used in the identification process. I have quite a lot to do with the police in the second Wrong Book, although admittedly I'm on the receiving end, so it’s helped me understand why they got so angry when I deliberately defecated in their interview room. Also, in the book, I hang out with an absolutely massive transvestite called Barbara, so forensics comes in quite useful there, too, considering her overwhelming identity issues.”
When we ask him to elaborate, he tells us to sod off and wait for the book’s release.
“Also,” he continues, “There’s another book coming out next year called Viscera, which is really dark and deep, with no Doovenism in it, whatsoever. We’re now in the technical editing phase, and my forensic studies have helped shape it into the sort of vagrant, literal depravity that should concern readers far more than my books about cats and dogs fighting in hotels.”
We asked whether this indicates a move away from writing New Fable fiction.
“Not at all,” he says. “In fact, not only am I contractually obliged to write two more Dooven books after the Morigan Trilogy, but there’s talk of a second series of another eight titles.”
While Thomas pauses for a drink of warm, medicated milk, we raise concerns about whether a second series of Doovenism is a responsible thing to unleash on a world still reeling from three pre-existing books, let alone the pending Morigan Trilogy, which could potentially culminate in a substantial number of fatalities. Through his milk, Thomas smiles and tells us that’s another reason his new-found forensics expertise could be useful.
He then spits a mouthful at us and insists that we shouldn’t look like napkins.