Last year at this time I bragged about my literary achievements – and lo, here I am doing it again. It threatens to become an annual thing.
So, in 2015 I’ve had 8 poems and 6 stories published in magnificent places, and I think I’ve cast my net wide in terms of subject matter. There were, in no particular order:
ghost estate vigilantes; Southern Seas ports besieged by cliché sailors; fond memories (true story!) of my young self’s budding voodoo skills; a classic Poe reduxing; a Chinese-shadow kamasutra; a politically sound, street-roaming Norteño dog; a Hades of rotten leaves; a retired piano-tuner switching to vocal chords; a ledger of our leisure days; a very small miracle (unless it is just very far); a guide to slumming it, eastern-tale sultan style; a case of apricot-flavoured Robert Frost possession; a mythological moral whodunnit; an attempted escape from the business park belt; and other such reveries
These are online, ready to be read (oh, the magical Internet!), so dilly-dally no more, folks!
And these yokes are old-school paper and ink little things, bona fide gems that you can (should) get yourself a copy of. (Simply by clicking on them – again, the magical Internet!)
“Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers or yesterday’s homeopape. When nobody’s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning there’s twice as much of it. It always gets more and more.”
“I see.” The girl regarded him uncertainly, not knowing whether to believe him. Not sure if he meant it seriously.
“There’s the First law of Kipple,” he said. “‘Kipple drives out nonkipple.’ Like gresham’s law about bad money. And in these apartments there’s been nobody there to fight the kipple.”
“So it has taken over completely,” the girl finished. She nodded. “Now I understand.”
“Your place here,” he said, “this apartment you’ve picked – it’s too kipple-ized to live in. We can roll the kipple-factor back; we can do like I said, raid the other apts. But-” He broke off.
Isidore said, “We can’t win.”
Do androids dream of electric sheep, Philip K. Dick
I presently have brain-bubbles grade excitement due to the fact that my poem “Gerrymanderings of the mind” got to second place in the ESL (English as a Second Language) category of the inaugural Oxford Brooks International Poetry Competition.
It’s about my new home town, Nantes and it “explores immigrant arrival to a new city in a wonderfully irreverent style“, according to competition judge Hannah Lowe. I wrote it not very long after moving back to France from Ireland last year.
[Pix of my ‘hood]
My story “Out-of-town Harry” is just out now from In Short Publishing, a brand-new venture out of Australia that publishes stories as pretty standalone chapbooks.
They have free postage world-wide for order of five chapbooks or more.
I’ve read only one other story so far (out of the first 18 published), Ramon Loyola’s, and it was really good.
Mine has a slight SF slant, going between present-day London and a post shit-storm one, and features a musical invention/installation I’ve been thinking about for years. There, that’s all I’m gonna tell ye.