Gone to Croatan -- er, Wordpress

Everything K. A Laity-like can be found now over at the website, http://www.kalaity.com. I won't be deleting this site; not everything transferred (apparently some of the 5000+ comments gathered over 8 years had problems). But everything can now be found in one easy-to-negotiate place -- without the clever but obscure name. Trying to be more transparent: make it easy to be found.

☞ THE NEW BLOG HERE! ☜

Change your book marks please! The new era has begun: and doesn't it look good (mostly thanks to S. L. Johnson, I must say). If I've missed things that ought to be on the website, be sure to let me know.

Six Sentence Sunday: Con-Eire

Thanks, Linda Parsons.

The blog has moved: this is the last post that will be here apart from a housekeeping kind of post tomorrow. Everything's been moved over to the website for your ease and comfort. We'll play over there from now on.

It's Six Sentence Sunday again: they're going to be wrapping things up come January. It's a lot of work to coordinate something that keeps growing in leaps and bounds. I'm grateful for the new readers it brought me.

This week I offer a few sentences from my play Con-Eire which gives a behind-the-scenes glimpse at the workings of a spec fic convention. Having helped with quite a few of them, I have seen the enormous effort that goes into running them and the often capricious behaviour of 'big names' who have forgotten the fact that the people who run these are not paid and work only for the love of the stories, art, programmes and films that they love.

We catch up with the various members of the Con Com after news that their guest of honour, Very Famous Writer, has threatened to pull out because he discovered that the artist GoH is Very Famous Artist, with whom he has "history" as they say. But the complications multiply: we had a staged reading of this at Trinoc*coN which was a hoot, if I do say so myself. It was helped mightily by a very game cast and a whole lot of giggles.

 

MAEVE

Well, everything’s very hush hush—which is to say, nobody is too sure—but Minor Writer claimed that Very Famous Artist may be delving into her past for the next romance.

CONNOR

I feel like we need a scorecard.

DECLAN

Artists have to be free!

CONNOR

They always say that, but none of them gets anything done unless somebody else is taking care of the bills.

DEIRDRE

ANYway—

MAEVE

Well, that’s all I know: Someone from the past...

If you think you might like it, you can pick it up as an ebook at Amazon:

Six Sentence Sunday: Rook Chant

All right, it's Sunday again -- and Father's Day! Happy Father's Day all -- so here's my six. A little change of pace: not fiction, but non-fiction. A little taste from my latest publication, Rook Chant, which offers a compendium of essays, translations and reviews on one of my favourite topics: magic. I write about it from many different angles, often bringing fairly obscure things to a general audience. My way of saying, "look at this cool stuff I found!"

Here's my six from a presentation I gave at the Harry Potter Symposium in Salem, MA. What a fun event that was! Charles de Lint and MaryAnn Harris were there (and singing!) and many other luminaries. My presentation tried to give the basics of Anglo-Saxon magic to an audience that included all ages. This  will give you a taste of the charms:

By the time these charms are being written down, England is a mostly Germanic-speaking land with a healthy population of Celtic folks, fighting off Vikings and often one another. The one constant was magic. The charms of Anglo-Saxon England  consisted of words, herbs and actions. The Anglo-Saxons believed that words had a magic of their own especially when spoken aloud, but that the application of the right herbs would help the healing processes along, too. Sometimes other actions were required to create the right atmosphere or to move bad luck along to someone else. Used in conjunction the result was simply magic.

I've already got a lovely review and several requests for review copies. I also will be announcing another exciting piece of news soon that's a direct result of Rook Chant. It just goes to show, the real magic is making your dreams manifest. Audaces fortuna iuvat!

Check out the other Six Sentence Sunday entries and find yourself a few new authors!

Out Now: Rook Chant

Few things make a writer happier than a gorgeous book cover and this one's a beaut, thanks to the ever talented Queen of Everything, S. L. Johnson. You may recognise the image from a photo I took: how rare for a writer to have a hand in the book cover! Rook Chant brings together a wide variety of publications that have appeared in various places.  I've had people asking me to send them pieces that are no longer available or available only in academic journals or otherwise hard to obtain. Everything from Anglo-Saxon witches to Alan Moore, Finnish magic and charms.

Blurb: Collected Writings on Paganism & Witchcraft by award winning author, K. A. Laity. This collection represents a wide range of pieces touching on the breadth of her interests in paganism and witchcraft. It includes everything from short pieces for pagan/spirituality journals like The Seeker Journal, The Beltane Papers, Circle and New Witch, papers delivered at academic conferences or published in academic journals as well as a few reviews and translations of old magical texts.

"Laity is a very remarkable sorceress indeed."
          ~ Elizabeth Hand, author of Waking the Moon

"ROOK CHANT is a delicious in-gathering, a magpie's nest of shiny new things about subjects old, gnarled and powerful. Sit with it, relish it and be bound likewise into a breathing tradition that puts Potter et al to shame. It is a charm well-sung and a talisman."
          ~ H. Byron Ballard, Asheville's Village Witch and author of Staubs and Ditchwater: a Friendly and Useful Introduction to Hillfolks' Hoodoo

Buy it on Amazon -- and of course any help you can give on getting the word out, clicking "like" on Amazon or agreeing with the tags, would be most appreciated. The biggest hurdle writers face these days is to be heard in the cacophony. Thanks! Click the picture for Amazon US:





Or get it at Amazon UK, Amazon De, Amazon Fr, or Amazon It (anyone I missed?).

Six Sentence Sunday: Just Waiting

Happy birthday, QoE! :-)

Another Sunday rolls around, another chance to sample new writers from a wee snippet of prose. Here's my six and yes it is inspired by a Fall song, so just deal with that, all right. Not everything comes from the words of Mark E. Smith: this week I wrote a story based on a song by one of the Rat Pack, just for a change of pace. The whole of this story is up at Near to the Knuckle, so if you like it you can read the whole thing and not just this snippet. They found just the right picture for this story, too -- love it!

He was just waiting, standing in the park, staring up at the window he knew so well and waiting–for what?  A light, her face, a sign from the heavens? Everybody’s waiting for something: chips and pie, pie in the sky, a windfall from their uncle dying, a lottery win, fame and fortune and oh, honey, if you just put your head out the window and saw me standing here, you would know I’m the one.

But she never looked even though he stood here too many nights and someone was bound to report him as a perv or potential kiddie fiddler, but her presence drew him here like a junkie to his fix. He just needed a sign.

“Well, what have we got here?”

If you want more, head over to Near to the Knuckle and check out the many fine stories they have there. Enjoy your Sunday, hope it's relaxing.

Drop by Six Sentence Sunday.

Unquiet Dreams & other things

I am so happy to announce that I just signed a contract with Tirgearr Publishing for a collection of short fiction to be called Unquiet Dreams. Stories old and new will be gathered up in this dark bouquet. I'm so excited! Some of these stories have not been available for a long time and people are always asking me about them, so I finally stirred myself to put together what I had. Wow, it's quite a lot! The title comes from Yeats' poem "The Stolen Child" so it's fitting that this comes about in Ireland and with an Irish publisher.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

So this is me whispering in your ears with my unsettling stories, little trouts. More news as we get further along in the process.

I have also agreed to edit an anthology for the brand-spanking-new press Fox Spirit Books called Weird Noir. Here's the skinny on it:

On the gritty backstreets of a crumbling city, tough dames and dangerous men trade barbs, witticisms and a few gunshots. But there's a new twist where urban decay meets the eldritch borders of another world: WEIRD NOIR. Featuring thugs who sprout claws and fangs, gangsters with tentacles and the occasional succubus siren. The ambience is pure noir but the characters aren't just your average molls and mugs—the vamps might just be vamps. It's Patricia Highsmith meets Shirley Jackson or Dashiell Hammett filtered through H. P. Lovecraft. Mad, bad and truly dangerous to know, but irresistible all the same.

This will be fun; it will be coming out later this year. I should also have a story in their anthology Tales of the Nun and Dragon (assuming I get it done soon!). Isn't that cover the best?!

Last but far from least and hot off the presses, it's "My Twitter Wedding" over at Asinine Poetry. If you weren't so interested in this week's other publication, my gritty little crime story "Just Waiting" this might be more to your taste. Pure silliness dedicated to my sweetie. Enjoy.

Writer Wednesday: News

The pressing news is that ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol. 1 can be obtained for FREE today and tomorrow. This slamming collection offers jam-packed thrills from me, Mr B, editor Matt Hilton, Absolutely Kate, Col Bury, Richard Godwin, Graham Smith, David Barber and many many more. Highly recommended! Not just because I'm in it (though I'm quite fond of "Chickens" which gave me a chance to revisit Los Angeles) but because it's a lot old school non-stop action. As Crimesquad said in its review:


"This book should not be purchased by asthmatics or heavy smokers as it leaves a fit person breathless with excitement."

I had a wonderful trip with the lovely Maura and we both managed to write a lot between enjoying ourselves immensely. A proper write up tomorrow but I have oodles to catch up on with emails and whatnot, so you can get a sneak peak at some of the photos here, beginning with a lovely one out the window of Maura's folks' house.

It's always nice to return home to another new publication. My short "Just Waiting" (yes, it is named after a Fall song >_<) appears over at Near to the Knuckle. Drop by and give it a read, comment and feel free to share -- let me know what you think.

Over at A Knife & A Quill I am Staff Member of the Month :-) Luca gave me a great write up. I have some new reviews going up this week. Unlike some big name reviewers, we don't sneer at writers because of assumptions about genres (and don't get me started on the superannuated NYTimes and their growing idiocy).

Busy busy. Maura and I managed to get a good amount of writing done after attending 2D, so it wasn't all idling on the beach. More to report soon -- get a sneak peak over at the new publisher Fox Spirit!

Six Sentence Sunday: Kiss Like a Fist

The lovely Monica Vitti for no reason at all

That time again: Six Sentence Sunday. I figured you might like a song-inspired story that isn't inspired by The Fall.

Yes, they do exist.

The song is Florence + The Machine's "Kiss With a Fist" which you'll notice is not quite the same as the title of my story. There has to be a word for it: someone who cannot get a quote right to save their life. Even when they're singing along with the words. Hopeless: maybe that's the word. I gave that characteristic to my character Ro in my novel Owl Stretching [oh and good news -- final edits accepted, so with luck I'll hear something soon about the release date and so forth].

So here's my six from "Kiss Like a Fist" and below it Flo's bouncy celebration of mutual assured destruction. I've bleeped one objectionable word so I don't have to add an adult content warning to the blog; you'll find my crime/noir stories a bit sweary (Chloë would approve). This one also contains gratuitous but minor Shakespeare swipage (you wouldn't even notice if I didn't tell you -- working these things in is just the kind of puzzle that entertains me and matters to no one else. Another habit I need to cure, I'm sure):

She had a mouth that could raise the dead. It had raised me plenty over the years, but I'd never been close enough to Rosaline's orbit to do anything about it.


Until tonight.


I brought her a third martini and her tongue had loosened enough to share some sage advice with me as she leaned back in the little snug. "Never f**k anyone crazier than yourself," she said, sucking an olive between those rose red lips.

I would have done well to listen to that advice, but it was already too late...

Check out the wealth of authors participating in Six Sentence Sunday and find some new gems. This story's been under submission for about two months; checking Duotrope, that doesn't seem to be an unusual length for this publication (alas), so I'll curtail my impatience and keep working on other things. You know me, I get itchy if I don't have a new publication coming out.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Lyrics and A Hard Road to Nowhere

  A bit of a cheat: a music two-fer. One is old, but the other's new; nonetheless, given the difficulty of finding your audience in the ocean of new publications out there, it deserves a boost to the signal.

The Fall: Lyrics by Mark E. Smith

The lynchpin of my current writing career: what, you think I exaggerate? With stories like "It's a Curse" and "Bill is Dead" and "Mandrake Anthrax" and "Grotesque" and "Just Waiting"? I do occasionally have stories not inspired by Smith's lyrics but they're getting to be in the minority. The Fall's lyrics are like Zen koans mashed up with the ramblings of a mad meth drinker with overstuffed carrier bags.

My garden is made of stone
There's a computer centre over the road
I saw a monster on the roof
Its colours glowed on the roof

All the songs in this collection will forever be coloured by reading the German translations out loud on the tube going back from Kentish Town to Stockwell while giggling madly after that first hypnotic show. Magic.

John Hodgson's A Hard Road to Nowhere: The Blitzkrieg Bop Story captures that story from the other side of the equation; the intoxicating, maddening, frustrating and elating process of forging music in the fluctuating organism that is a band -- or rather a series of bands that finally create a centre of gravity that becomes Blitzkrieg Bop. Obviously blown away by The Ramones at a crucial age, Hodgson and his fellow bandmates find a wellspring of inspiration as the first eruptions of punk arrive in the remote northeast of England. The third person narrative occasionally feels a bit awkward but it provides a way to highlight the pages ripped from Hodgson's journals of the period, which capture the youthful highs and lows with vivid authenticity.

Cheap as chips: get it now -- and be sure to bookmark Hodgson's Soundcloud page for the music to accompany it. A wide variety of songs, old and new and updated. Good stuff.

See also my review of Val McDermid's The Distant Echo over at A Knife & A Quill.

Not sure if the FFB will be at Patti's or at Todd's -- check both, they're bound to be worth it.

Writer Wednesday: Post Card Fiction Prizes

Making your mark in the world can be a tenuous thing; as long as the good will of others holds up or their indifference doesn't take over, you stand the chances of being forgotten within your lifetime. You may find fame and fortune, but the odds are against it. So don't be depressed by that! Make every day fun. Create something, anything. I made a lovely postcard for a friend this morning with my Tate Mod postcard book (a book of blank postcards of heavy paper stock) with my watercolour pencils and it sort of turned out like I imagined it.

As far as I'm concerned, that's success.

I got paid very well for a very short story: that's success, too. But it can't be the reason for doing it because writing takes so long even for a rather short story. The pleasure of creating, of figuring out the myriad puzzles that go into anything you make, that has to be its own reward -- often it will be the only one you get. Hey, I didn't say stop trying for more mundane success -- keep at it. As the lottery ads in NY say, "Hey, you never know." You stand a better chance at succeeding with your creativity that you do with the lottery anyway.

If you need a laugh, go read my silly poem "On Seeking a Place for a Picnic." If you want something more substantial, go read my reviews and whatnot over at A Knife & A Quill. Or go "like" our Burning Bridges book trailer: it's got a "dislike" -- I suspect our former publisher has found it.

All right, enough delay: let me announce the first annual Postcard Fiction Contest prize winners. First, let me thank everyone who entered. I was well pleased with your cards and stories -- some of you went all out and I have to say the postcards did enter into my deliberations. How could they not?

So I read and re-read and finally narrowed it down to three finalists. Because I promised a cash prize for the top winner, I decided I needed some other kind of prize, so it will be titles.

DICKINSON PRIZE (AKA second runner up)

"alessandra" for 'Amherst's Mad Pastoral' on postcard of Trastevere (I can almost taste the food)


MOORE PRIZE (AKA first runner up)

"mbilokur" for 'Better the devil you know' on postcard of Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera & a giant papier maché demon



and the grand prize including cash in the current value of US$25 goes to --

[drum roll]

POSTCARD FICTION GRAND PRIZE

"shloobee" for 'Don't do it, Salvador!' on postcard of 'Salvador Dalí in jener fiktiven Position, die auf sein Gemälde La gare de perpignan übertragen wurde, assistiert von Dr. Soler-Roig in einem Helikopter' of which the text here follows:

'Don't do it, Salvador!' The lemur sounded more alarmed than she felt. Dalí was always up to some sort of ballbaggery and usually came out of it quite well. A token protest was always welcome to the artist's ears, however, and the lemur liked to please. 'Do not fear, my little one,' said Salvador, 'nothing can go wrong. This world is but an oyster in a jam jar ripe for the taking.' The lemur watched as Salvador pushed himself from the balustrade and swan dived out into the empty space. He hung there for a moment, or so it seemed...and then plummeted to earth. The lemur watched him hit the ground. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'Who does he suppose is going to clean that up?'

Congratulations, all!

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: A Gun for George

A Gun for George offers the new Walter Mitty for a 21st century.

Terry Finch is a frustrated pulp fiction author and eternal loner looking for brutal revenge on the mean streets of East Kent.

This short film offers a fascinating (and funny!) look at a few tropes that are instantly recognisable to any film fan. It has a vintage look, but takes place now(ish), deliberately mashing up past and present to embody those colliding impulses.

Hard-bitten, gritty, pulpy crime narratives: British television used to rule on this front, as Mr B has written about a few times here and there. It's a trend that's exploding again lately: tough, he-man grit, but it's often one that can seemingly only happen in fantasy -- either hedged around with nostalgia or set in an unquestioned past.

The appeal rests on the idea that average men, who once had the unquestioned assumption of male power and privilege, find that has been taken away or at least become complicated. Some blame the usual targets (women and minorities rather than patriarchy and capitalism), but these films and similar books show a world that many long for --  one with uncomplicated interactions where good triumphs over evil even if it has to bend the rules to do so (think Dirty Harry and Charles Bronson films). It's not purely a male fantasy.
 
However it has often been a genre without women, except as easily-discarded sex partners, dames to be rescued or mirrors for their manliness, and as well as one where the Other can be easily distinguished by visible markers (i.e. race or ethnicity). It's a genre I'm writing in a lot lately, so I'm intrigued by all this backward splashing of nostalgia and modernity. Sometimes it is deliberately set in the past (like my story "Chickens") but other times it's happening right now ("Bill is Dead"). It's about world building in either case: that's what a lot of mimetic fiction writers don't always get -- it's all about world building.* 

[Need I add that most of the writers I've met working in the genre are not like Terry Finch, fine gentlemen and ladies who play nice and prove generally kind and inclusive to everyone? Naah, you know that.]

Let me get back to the film (instead of writing what will probably be my next PCA presentation on gender and nostalgia in noir fiction judging by this >_<).  Yes, the film examines the place of the displaced 70s man of action. It's also hilarious! It's pure Dunning-Kruger in action (oh dear, another paper that wants to be written) because Terry Finch thinks he's really an awesome tough-guy writer and everything we see demonstrates that he is not.

East Kent Grit: what a lovely concept.

Best laugh perhaps comes when a doctor cautions him, "If you must write, do it away from the sick and the vulnerable." And his caravan! HAHAHAHA!

See the site for The Reprisalizer, Terry Fincher's pulp star ("Real Name: Bob Shuter"). While it's a bit neglected of late, it provides dead on, awesomely realistic creations of vintage pulpy goodness. The whole created world of Terry Finch shows such care and attention to detail. Wonderful!

See Todd's blog for the round-up of overlooked gems.

*One of the reasons I have to spend so much time getting my students to visualise the medieval world; without a lot of explanation, my students tend to see history as just now with a hat on (a funny medieval hat in that instance). A lot of mimetic fiction neglects world building and often readers assume they know the world in which a story takes place only to be brought up short when they stumble across something that doesn't fit their own experience.

Postcards, Bridges, a Knife and a Quill

I model the latest SL Johnson design with lighting by Garbo

I have got so far as narrowing down the entries in the First Annual Postcard Fiction Contest to a pool of final contenders (yes, Ale! Your card arrived). Agonizing to make the final choice! I may need a glass of wine for this. Alas, I have none. I suppose that could be remedied, but I have so much to do today.

I will force myself to make a choice by Wednesday and keep rereading them in the meantime. A huge thank you to everyone who entered. I may indeed make this an annual event. It was about this time last year that I got the call saying I was going to Ireland. It has to have been the fastest year on record, whew.

Not that it felt like it when I was packing and clearing out my old flat. The horror, the horror. But wherever I may be, I will stop around this time and think of the adventure about to unfold and feel very happy:

“If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper...”
― Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited 

 No time to spare for wistful thoughts: much too busy! One of the latest projects: a book trailer for Burning Bridges: A Renegade Anthology. Yes, if you're reading this you likely already know the story -- and that you have no excuse for not getting it! Free on Smashwords, 99¢ on Amazon and all that going to literacy. Don't make me come over there! No, really -- because I'm staying over here. The trailer tells the story of the assembly of our renegade band. Check it out and give it a like and get the book already!




One more important bit of news: I'm writing reviews over at A Knife and A Quill, a site for dark fiction, as you might guess from the name. Lots of horror and crime fiction covered over there. So if you have an interest, drop by and read some reviews, interviews and features. If you're an author think about submitting something for review by the team. Yes, this is in addition to writing for The Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse and the occasional piece for Un:Bound. Why do you think I'm so busy? My quill is always scratching away.

Writers, who can resist a quill? I remember comparing quill tattoos with Sarah Pinborough at P-Con. Writing: it's in the blood, it's in the flesh.

Six Sentence Sunday: Grotesque

Another Sunday has rolled around, giving you the opportunity to spot new writers you might like with the Six Sentence Sunday crew. A great, simple concept that seems to be very effective. My six this week come from a short that's been under submission for a bit now; I've become so good at the "submit & forget" that until a chance bump to the memory regurgitated it, I had forgotten the story existed and also where I had sent it, so I had to dig around to find it. Some detective work, eh? All I knew: it was named after a Fall reference.

Yeah, that narrows it down.

So here's a bit from "Grotesque" which is out there trying its luck (and now I know where). I picked a few lines describing the pub where most of the story takes place. Loosely based on a pub I know, but made much much worse, naturally; that's what fiction's all about. The scene begins with an explanation why no women have ever crossed its threshold:

Perhaps that could be blamed on the décor, which ranged from brown to more brown. Or the ambience that derived from unwashed and mostly middle aged men just off shift. The young lads all went to the shiny new sports pubs with their cacophonous screens and drinks with asinine names that they swilled back like candy. 

We had two kinds of lager here and one of ale, with Guinness on the side for the old men from the isle. In the summer you could also get cans of Budweiser to take out into the 'beer garden': a picnic table on a concrete square between the rubbish tip and the gray wall of the car park. The chief appeal seemed to be you were allowed to spit out there.

I'll let you know if/when something comes of it. I'm sure it will eventually.



       

Shhhh, reading!

In case you missed it yesterday, I have some lovely postcards to read in order to choose a winner. Looking forward to that.

And hey! My photo of the Howff appeared in the Dundee Evening Telegraph last night. Thanks for taking a picture of my picture, sweetie :-)

Writer Wednesday: Flash!

Because everything's more exciting with an exclamation mark at the end (sledgehammer! verrucas! antidisestablishmentarianism!), yes -- it's National Flash Fiction Day! All right, so only in the UK, officially -- but since I live in Ireland I don't have to listen to what the Queen says anyway, so she can't tell me not to write about flash fiction.

Jubilee, my arse!

Sorry, channeling Jim Royle for a moment (how apropos!). I like writing flash: when a long project gets stuck, often the best way to get unstuck is to write something short but complete. Clears the brain.

So here's my flash fiction you can read on line right now, hastily copied and pasted from the bibliography. All are a thousand words or less, so plenty of time to read one even in your busy schedule. How else would you celebrate? If you feel so moved, why not write a flash story in the comments or paste a link to one you've got up somewhere. Share the wealth -- even if it's only a bite. Some also come in easy listening audio form and some are -- gasp -- poetry. Others may contain language unsafe for gentle ears. You have been warned:



“Biscuits.” Flash fiction. Short Humour, May 2012. Also available at Postcard Shorts, May 2012.

“Bill is Dead.” Flash fiction. Pulp Metal Magazine, Spring 2012.

“Words.” Flash fiction/podcast. Dogcast 5: March 2012.

“Mandrake Anthrax.” Short story. A Twist of Noir, 14 Dec 2011.

“Soap Opera Digest.” Humour. Dragnet Magazine 2 (Jul 2011): 40-42.

“There was a Professor of English.” Poem. Asinine Poetry (Apr 2011). Also an AudioBoo.

“A Charming Situation.” Short story. Written for the Sherlocking fan site: now free on Scribd (Nov 2010).

 “The Last Ant.” Humour. Wild Violet 9.2 (2010).

“Rothko Red.” Audio version available at Soundcloud, also included in Dogcast 12.

“Wixey.” Flash fiction. Wild Violet 8.1 (2009).

“The Princess and Her Pig.” Poem. New Fairy Tales 1 (Oct 2008): 18-19. Soundcloud.

“Diva Soup." Soundcloud. 2008.

 “Corrections to the Rules of Fimble Fowl (for 3 players or 4).” Humor. Wild Violet 6.2 (2007).

When Little Joe the Krampus Met. Chapbook with The Joey Zone (Dec 2003). Soundcloud.

“The Eleventh Commandment.” Rictus 9 (Apr 1997).

And of course my very first publication, the one Clive Barker called, "full of fluent style and poetic dialogue" (swoon):

“Revelation.” The Official Clive Barker Page, www.clivebarker.com. Winner, MGM/United Artists/Clive Barker’s Lord of Illusions Short Story Contest, November 1995.

Now I have some postcards to read!

The Secret to Life, the Universe and Everything

My Ballardian dwelling

Well, it sounded better than "Just another manic Monday." But that's what it is and already afternoon here. I have the excuse of going very late to bed -- mostly due to the nice weather which means Club Karma has their "garden" seating now (can it be a "garden" if it's just tables in the alley?) so thumping bass wafts out along with drunken hooting and hollering conversations that get funneled up to the cul de sac outside my bedroom window and into my Ballardian dwelling.

So I go to bed late.

A few quick things: if you haven't checked out the photos from last week's trip to Brigit's Garden with the lovely Maura, do! It was a grand day out.

My flash story "Biscuits" now appears at the wonderful Postcard Shorts site. Drop by and give it a like or a share and get a chuckle out of it. I've been writing a lot of flash fiction lately because it's a nice break in between longer works. So much of writing and publishing is scraping away day in and day out with no visible results. Nice to write a story, send it out, have it appear sometimes within a very short space of time.

Who knew there was an official Flash Fiction Day? I'll have to assemble links to all mine.

If you need some entertaining, read Anne Billson's hilarious free "My Day by Jones" AKA Alien as told by the cat onboard the ship. Read my write up over at the Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse.

I've got a short piece on writers' colonies over at the blog for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop; drop by and leave a comment or share it with your friends.

So in addition to keeping busy, pursuing the life you want for yourself, replacing fear with hope and living fully in the now, the secret to life, the universe and everything of course remains 42.

Six Sentence Sunday: The Claddagh Icon

Another Sunday has rolled around; in the States it's Mother's Day, so happy Mother's Day to my mother and all the other mothers out there. It's also Six Sentence Sunday, so I've selected another story to tease you with. It's definitely a tease, because while I've sent the story off to my publisher in Italy, I don't know exactly when it's coming out or even if it will be available in English (I think so). It will be part of a series of sexy noirish tales set in different cities around the world -- yes, another publication venue that Mr B pointed me toward.

The story is named after a local landmark, this sculpture that appears on the Claddagh side of the bay, which is doubtless hardly surprising. Across Grattan Road there's another statue which really does look as I describe it in these opening lines. I enjoyed finding the voice of this character. As you might expect, I've spent a lot of my time here listening to the ways people talk:

I first saw her standing by the icon. I was saying hello to Father Burke's statue as he raised a glass to the offie across the street and thinking about indulging myself, it being a grey sort of day that calls for a smoky glass of the gold nectar. Under the halo of the icon, her golden hair glowed. The cormorant rose above her as if to proclaim her beauty to the world. I'm not sure what the boat represented: maybe it was my hopes sailing away...

This story won't be for everyone: steamy! And noirish, so not everything's going to go well for everyone. I'm enjoying the crime groove. My head's full of interesting ideas.

Don't forget -- you can sample a bunch of writers' sixes at the official site.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Complete Nonsense

Tomorrow is the 200th anniversary of Edward Lear's birth. There's a terrific blog that keeps track of all the events and and another that prints pages from Lear's diary. In a wonderful piece in the Independent David Quantick wrote winningly about Lear and the appeal of nonsense. I have to say, I was convinced before I ever read it that, "A little bit of nonsense is the secret of a sane life." Lear is one of those touchstones to which I always return.




You can't really go wrong where ever you start, but you may find you don't want to end. And there's all kinds of places to read on the web, if you don't have the money to spend. But The Complete Verse and Other Nonsense of course will give you much intercourse with rhymes that will soon become friends.

I wrote a poem and passed it off as one of Lear's. I had it published in Asinine Poetry. And then I made this recording. More nonsense, please.

listen to ‘There Was a Professor of English’ on Audioboo

Drop by Patti Abbott's blog Todd's blog this week and next for the full roundup. Mr Lear is part of a mighty triumvirate celebrating birthdays tomorrow, including Tony Hancock and the delightful Mr B. Happy birthday, boys!