Thursday, September 25, 2008
Ooh, Hurts So Good, edited by Alison Tyler is up on Amazon.com, and ready to buy! If you click the link, and search inside you'll get to read almost all of my story 'The Sound of One Hand Clapping'.
Mostly, I get squirmy and abashed when stories are out there. But I'm proud of this one. I loved writing it.
At the last minute, I had to change the song I excerpted, because being a twat I forgot about getting permission from the writer/musicians. It orginally was referencing this song:
- but I changed it to this:
(Found new version! Beakutiful man with dulcimer.) I'm sure you can tell that the different song shifted the emphasis somewhat. Hopefully it still works - 'Drink to me only' is allegedly about cunnilingus. Which would fit.
- if you want to read the all important last few lines of the story, and the twenty other tales in the book (which I'm sure are stunning, though I haven't got my copies yet) you'll need to get your hands on a copy!
Sorry, dear readers. I went on holiday and got back and have been in a Whirl.
So - what's new?
1. I got my copy of 'Ultimate Burlesque' - which is gorgeous and just overflowing with great writers and stories. Lots of glitter and feathers and filthy good fun. Now available for preorder!
2. I am nearly finished a story I'm working immensely hard on - mostly because it involves elements of a plot, and I find plots incredibly difficult. Hence a lot of sweat and thinking and not much bloggering.
3. Kristina Lloyd and Mathilde Madden have started 'eroticacoverwatch' - asking why there are no men on erotica covers. Personally, I'd quite like to see smutty books drop the naked people altogether and go for something fresher - maybe suggestive fruit or phphphh I dunno - a zip graphic? Bunnies? A foil-wrapped johnny? But, if we must have titties on covers, it does seem only fair that they should be equal opportunititties.
4. I found out sadly that I still have the Wedding Curse - which is to say, every time I go to one I fall on my erse and twist my ankle. That's five weddings out of six, folks! It's uncanny. And bloody painful.
5. I also rediscovered the nonsense that is dressing up girly-like. No wonder I do it so rarely. Foolishly, I thought buying a frock would be enough. But it's not. In order not to look merely like a troll in a frock, but more like a troll that has Made an Effort, apparently one needs to acquire magic underwear. And then a slip to stop the magic underwear sticking to the frock. And then fake tan to stop sun-deprived hermit-skin looking whiter than the bride's frock. And then - okay, I'll skip the various shaving/plucking/grooming rigmarole. Suffice to say, I think false nails should be banned under the Geneva Convention. Sticking hard plastic to ones tender skin with superglue just can't be a good idea.
6. On my holiday I did archery. And it was brilliant and amazing. Have asked for a bow for my birthday. Am unexpectedly a damn good shot. Don't laugh.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Meanwhile, enjoy browsing the winners of The Diagram Prize, for books with the oddest titles.
The winner has just been announced as 'Greek Postmen and their Cancellation Routes', although personally I liked 'Bomb proof your horse.'
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
I love writing these flashes, but I'm a bit knackered! And I stayed awake last night worrying about The New Rakes, just because.
Am I the only writer that feels like getting published is a bit like those dreams where you find yourself at school/work in your pyjamas? It's exciting, but it still makes my tummy go all flippy.
So, am off to get dressed and make like a member of the human race for a day, at least. I might even go and buy some teabags. [GLASGOW - Brace yourself!]
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
He came from a land of ice mountains and green lakes. Their boats were heavy with copper and he wore amber beads. He was so tall, like a king. But when he saw me – ah, brother! – he forgot his own country.
We were blessed beside the stones. My father lifted a cup of mead to ask the gods for strong children.
That night, we lay under the thin moon and my husband showed me how we would make new life – with the length of his slat as hard as the new metal, cutting into me and making me a woman.
nb: I'm really not so hot on history. But - there's no written language left from the Bronze Age, and a lot of uncertainty about most of their culture and life. So I *think* that means I can make up whatever I like?!
Oh, also, word-nerds may find Webster's Online Dictionary a very interesting resource. It has a 'multi-lingual thesaurus translation', and lots and lots of other gizmos, including word usage in literature, quotations and images. Sadly, I still couldn't find the Bronze Age slang for 'cock', so I just made something up that might pass as vaguely pre-Celtic. I hope.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Alice lifts the medal to chin height, tries not to look to her left and the glowing bitch who took first place. Naomi is a natural-borne athlete; with sculpted thighs and biceps so curved and taut you could bounce pennies off them.
Under the stadium lights, Alice’s smile wilts and the blood slows to a crawl in her veins. The cameras strobe and snap faster and faster, and images burst across Alice’s mind – last night’s hot dream, the silk of the other woman’s skin, the beautiful shock as their lips and breasts touched. How Naomi smiled, showing her shining teeth.