So who am I.
I’m Blake Pritchard. 19 year old optimist.
There’s this other guy too – Dylan Henry (a dancer who has quite miraculously turned into an author) who has plucked me from the nether regions of his imagination. It’s important to note that I am not Dylan and Dylan is not me, although you’ll never see us in the same room together.
This whole Blake Pritchard thing is all a bit of an experiment, really. The blog you are now reading is kinda like a scrapbook for me, where I can just blurt out stuff and paste pictures and stuff that ‘turns me on’. But where it all REALLY happens is in my eBook series that’s going to appear on the Tercio bookshelf in the near future. That’s where all my typos, grammar gaffs and spelling errors get edited out. So, watch this space
I’d like to thank Tercio for taking a punt on me. I’m definitely a long shot. We got
talking one night and she said, ‘Hey, I like your stories – let’s publish them as a
ePub series’ and I’m still reeling that I have a publishing contract when it was the
last thing on my mind. I mean, I’m not really a writer. But I guess I am now.
But more than anything, I want to thank Zola (and the team at Tercio) so much for understanding that
young gay ‘apprentices’ like me have so few ways for officially sharing stories
and getting ‘out there’.
I’m embarking on Blake’s Big Gay Adventure and everyone’s invited to come
along for the ride. It’s gonna be… ahem… confronting at times, but I think you can
So how did I get here?
I moved to Melbourne to escape the Middle-of-Fucking-Nowhere that is my home town. I’ve known that the country life wasn’t for me since the day my father asked me to shovel cow-shit into bags for him to sell. You can probably imagine the look of disgust on my face- at seven tender years of age- as he handed me the shovel and gloves. He learnt quite quickly to not ask again. You can’t force a car to fly like you can’t force a child with the ‘fabulous’ gene to do country farm work. It just goes against nature.
I don’t consider myself to be the smart tool in the shed (as my father used to say) but the one thing I think I know a lot about is love. Ironic, really, because I’ve never been in love. But I know enough about the wonders and horrors that are associated with it though countless Jane Austin books and movies. Love is the one thing that is common among every human being. Apart from, probably, lungs and shit. Needing to love, wanting love and being able to love are qualities we all possess. Some people more than others, sure, but at the end of the day, everyone wants to experience that feeling of having someone else adore them for who they are; someone to wake up next to- to kiss on the lips and say ‘Good Morning’. Someone to truthfully tell you when your outfit is awful. Someone who likes crêpes as much as you do. I’m going to be completely honest with you: this is the real reason that I’m moving to Melbourne. I couldn’t give a shit about the coffee-culture, or nightlife (these are just the wonderful perks). What,or who, I really want, is a man. Ideally, I want Mr Darcy with the looks of Prince William, but I’m not fussy. I’ve survived nineteen years on this planet without a man, so I think I’m ready (and deserving) for any form of attention from the same sex. Of course I have my preferences, but I’m not going to turn down any offers at the moment. I’m not really in any position to do so. But if you held a gun to my head and asked me what kind of guy I wanted I’d tell you the following things: Must be taller than me (which is 6’1), Blue eyes, Dark Brown hair (wavy, not overly curly), not to thin but not cubby (man boobs will not be tolerated), Must be intelligent; I don’t care if you have a six pack, if you don’t know the difference between ‘There/Their/and They’re’ then we are going to have some issues. Ideally I’d like someone studying something artistic but they can’t be a dick about it. Someone with a sense of humour that can protect me and be my man. Is this all to much to ask for? I don’t think so either.
So thats me.
Mr Perfect’s Apprentice – Looking for Mr Right.