Blood on the Linoleum, Rats in the Kitchen

I sub­mit­ted this (this being A Dirty Job) to an online com­pet­i­tion thing and it got good feed­back so I’m put­ting it here too. And it’s def­in­itely not just because I’ve included a link to this web­site in an author bio attached to a story set to be pub­lished this year and I need to have an update more recent than April 2013. No, sir!

The prompt was for a max. 1000 words mys­tery story, no sci-fi, no fantasy. A sur­pris­ing num­ber of the sub­mis­sions fea­tured poo and mine is no bet­ter (but does have the sav­ing grace of it not being a major part of the case).

There was another one I wrote about a guy in a glass box but it wasn’t great so it can go fuck itself. YES I AM BLAMING THE STORY FOR ITS FAILURES NOT MYSELF leave me alone.

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The Muse that Inspired This Should be Disappointed

Of Drunken Baby’s Con­flict, and the fight

to which Fat Baby came, when reckoning

was poured out into the mall, and Chicago,

as their heroic infant fought against

the men­ace, did fear for their future path,

sing, O Doc Mar­tin wear­ing Muse.

 

By which I mean to say that the third part of Drunken Baby (When an Unstop­pable Force Meets a Fat Baby), a story which nobody even wanted begun, has finally been concluded.

 

Part One: Birth of a Hero

Part Two: A Villain’s Beginning

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This Is How I Want To Live

I spoke to a real live poet once who made a liv­ing off pub­lish­ing things. He said that he actu­ally wanted to write nov­els and short stor­ies, but star­ted writ­ing poetry because it was easy. With that in mind, I hammered out Out In Space over lunch­time. Now to start liv­ing off the rev­enue that will surely pour in.

Addi­tion­ally, I found out last night that some people have orna­mental sinks. They look exactly like sinks except that after you’ve used them, some­body tells you that the drain is filled in and the con­tents aren’t going to dis­ap­pear down the plughole.

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A New Hero for a New Age

I’m not sure what to say about Drunken Baby — Birth of a Hero, so I won’t.

I’ve just booked tick­ets for 88mph at the Edin­burgh Fringe Fest­ival. I’ve never been to the Fringe before and I’m look­ing for­ward to it, and to see­ing the show. I man­aged to arrange the time off work so that I’ll spend eight more hours at the fest­ival than I will on the coach there and back, and that’s almost like actu­ally exper­i­en­cing it.

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On Poirot, Twitter and Neil Gaiman

I’ve been sub­jec­ted to a whole lot of Agatha Christie’s Poirot recently, through no fault of my own. I don’t have any­thing against him or Agatha Christie, but when you are sat in a room with it being played hour after hour, it starts to grate.

The only response was to retreat into a fantasy land where I am sub­mit­ting pitches for what to do with the rights to Poirot next. Thus, Ideas for New Poirot Tele­vi­sion Serieses. The titles of the pro­posed pro­grams are catch­ier than the title of the actual page. And Tom, of Mus­ing, Inanely, sug­ges­ted the Poirot: The Movie entry, which is why it’s the worst one in there.

Since my last post I’ve revised my stance on Twit­ter. It can be inter­est­ing, but I made the mis­take of fol­low­ing Neil Gai­man and now my feed is con­stantly flooded with his tweets. The man just doesn’t stop. I’m not going to stop fol­low­ing him because there is inter­est­ing stuff there, and ignor­ing any­thing that doesn’t interest you is easy thanks to Twitter’s char­ac­ter limit, but… Well, I’ve actu­ally just nul­li­fied my own argu­ment, so I can stop there, I think.

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Pigs are the most intelligent animal. Tasty too.

I have a deep-seated admir­a­tion of pigs. They per­form well in exper­i­ments thought up by devi­ous sci­ent­ists, can sur­vive in the wild after escap­ing, can become aggress­ive and be remark­ably dan­ger­ous, and have an envi­ous amount of genetic vari­ation thanks to mil­len­nia of select­ive breed­ing. That’s pretty much everything I look for in an animal. That, and no more.

Con­sequently, I find myself relat­ing very much to Steven, proprietor of Steven’s Pet Bon­anza Emporium.

I also have a poem writ­ten up but I haven’t pos­ted that in case I don’t have any­thing else writ­ten this week and need to main­tain my catheter-esque drip of content.

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Extracts from my Vampire Novel

With the suc­cess of Amanda Hock­ing and Stephanie Mey­ers, I have also turned my hand towards dark, teen­age fantasy stor­ies.

I wrote this almost a year ago now, and I know the teen­age vam­pire mar­ket has matured a lot in that time so you’ll have to for­give me if some of the plot ele­ments I chose feel cliched or dated.

Some have accused me of bit­ter­ness. To those I say noth­ing. I just strip naked and walk into a beam of sun­light. Won­der at my lit­er­ally dazzling physique, mere mortals.

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