22 April 2012
See also the much better images of many beautiful and strange species in:
Fungi - Australian Rainforest curated by Black Diamond Images
21 April 2012
out today in the newest issue of the daringly heretical Lovecraft eZine
Ecstasy of the Gold
by Stephen Mark Rainey
by Simon Kurt Unsworth
The Dog Who Wished He’d Never Heard of Lovecraft
by Anna Tambour
The Ourorboros Apocrypha
by Jayaprakash Satyamurthy
Over the Hills
by Victor Takac
This Inscrutable Light: A Response to Thomas Ligotti’s “The Conspiracy Against the Human Race”
an essay by Brandon H. Bell
Eric Lofgren & Jonny Christopher Ledford
Co-editor: A.J. French
Kindle version: Kenneth W. Cain
Issue cover: Ronnie Tucker (text: Stjepan Lukac)
Story illustrations: Nick Gucker, Robert Elrod, Galen Dara, Steve Santiago
Story readers: Justin Zimmer, Morgan Scorpion, Bruce L. Priddy, David Binks
Publisher & Editor: Mike DavisThe stories are beautifully set, the artwork is delicious, and zounds! Each story is also presented in an audio version. "Ibsen" highly approves of Bruce L. Priddy's reading of "The Dog Who Wished He'd Never Heard of Lovecraft", and who am I to disagree?
Thanks, Mike, for giving me the opportunity! Writing this was so much fun, it must be illegal.
20 April 2012
A Pippin of a Question
I always wanted French crabs, and put the question to all who know: What are these? For surely, if they are French crabs, I'm Dame Lobster Ther M'Dore, which reminds me to post this scrap here: "[A]n oyster long out of his shell (as is apt to be the case with the rural bivalve) gets homesick and loses his sprightliness"
Technical description: Many of these apples have stems that look like outie belly buttons
The taste is so rich that the mouth is overwhelmed with appreciation.
"There were jellies, which had been shaking, all the time the young folks were dancing in the next room, as if they were balancing to partners. There were built-up fabrics, called Charlottes, caky externally, pulpy within; there were also marangs, and likewise custards,—some of the indolent-fluid sort, others firm, in which every stroke of the teaspoon left a smooth, conchoidal surface like the fracture of chalcedony …"
— Elsie Venner by Oliver Wendell Holmes (this is also the source of the oyster truism)
"What is this craze to get well known?"
What a screwy question.
Gladys Glover wants to "be somebody", and is, once she pays for her name to be on billboards.
"It Should Happen To You" has similarities to "Diary of a Nobody" which was also, it must be said, a satire.
"Have an opinion"
- Step 3 in WikiHow's How to Become Famous Using Social Media
19 April 2012
Joanne Anderton - 'The Bone Chime Song'
Adam Browne - 'The D____d'
Sue Bursztynski - 'Five Ways to Start a War'
Brenda Cooper - 'Between Lines'
Katherine Cummings - 'The Travelling Salesman and the Farmer's Daughter'
Thoraiya Dyer - 'Faet's Fire'
Kathleen Jennings - 'Kindling'
Dave Luckett - 'History: Theory and Practice'
Ian McHugh - 'The Godbreaker and Unggubudh the Mountain'
Sean McMullen - 'Hard Cases'
Ripley Patton - 'Mary Had a Unicorn'
Rob Porteous - 'The Subjunctive Case'
Anna Tambour - 'Murder at the Tip'
There can never be too many, though they ripen on every sill. How to stretch out the enjoyment? Slow-dry them in a warm oven. When they're hot, they're delicious as 'roasted' fruit. When they're cold, they're chewily scrumptious. And their looks separate the medlar-lovers from the common crowd.
Besotted with Persimmon! Previous Medlar Comfits posts:
The fruit for people who don't eat fruit
A persimmon calyx
15 April 2012
"A fairy tale Dostoevsky would have liked … It's like it was written by a demented chef"
— David Kowalski
The fit with Chômu Press is so perfect that I have hesitated to say anything here, for fear the feasting season will fall off the end of Time, or the End of the World will come at 2:00 the day before the release. So I hereby invoke the Writer's Prayer:
Chômu Press doesn't publish me-too fiction that you've read somewhere before wrapped in another title. They do publish the most intriguing and readable stuff. And they care about presentation. The productions are luscious, partly because they get some of the best artists involved as well as the superb designer, Anil D.Nataly. And mostly because they do insane amounts of work themselves.
Sure, I could have gotten CRANDOLIN published somewhere, but I have wanted the best, and the context I can put this press into, to show that I really do admire what they do as well as their guts, is to say that they're the Blaft of the UK. And anyone who's followed my love affair with Blaft knows that they're my favourite publisher in the world.
Quentin S. Crisp as editor is just what I always wanted for CRANDOLIN, and me! He's like a rain of vinegar hitting the mountain of me, a pile of bicarbonate of soda. He's what all great editors are — insidious drugs. I've been tripping for weeks. (And if you haven't read Crisp's own fiction, you're missing something major. He's a writer of classics, given the readership. I've just finished Shrike, and think it should be rereleased as a Popular Penguin, though it's hardly been read by anyone yet.)
Finally, CRANDOLIN is too original for agents to have been any more use than a sautéed umbrella. And I wouldn't have approached Chômu Press though it looks mouthwatering, because I grew too cynical about the whole fiction scene. So thank you, dear Starburst Poet (Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.), for not only picking me up from the muck of my own depression, but for being yet another wonderful editor; and then, after that, for turning out to be a big hairy yenta — a meddling matchmaker!
Of course, there are other brave readers to whom I am also indebted. They donated their blood to CRANDOLIN and their shoulders (at least) to me, without ever charging me for their earplug expenses. I shall reveal them as the novel turns.