Sunday, May 02, 2010


Apparently, my short story "Getting Old" got what's known in the biz as An Honorable Mention in Datlow's 2009's BEST HORROR LIST.

So did several hundred million other stories, so I'm not gonna blow too much smoke out my arse about it, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pleased about being included and, quite frankly, I could do with a few excuses to spark up a cigar right now.

It's in the Bare Bone #11 paperback anthology, which is still available here from Raw Dog Screaming Press.

Ah, screw it, here's an opening-scene teaser:

Sure, you all know the routine, the drill. Hop a slab-wagon out of Division and head downtown with a cup of cold coffee and the Dust 'em Down Boys. Hang back when you get there, take your time. Light a cigarette, swap some small-talk with the uniforms while they tape off the snuff-scene. No one's going anywhere.

"What have you got for me, Todd?"

"Small-time extortionist, name of Larry French. Professional strike-breaker, low-rent tough guy. Made a living from shaking down bakeries and grocery-shops. Looks like he finally picked on the wrong guy. Somebody gave him a bellyful of twelve-gauge bird-shot for his trouble. How's Linda?"

We follow a trail of blood-soaked gravel across the lot until we find a body tangled up in an old plaid work-shirt. Don't ask me why, but the guy tried to take it off while he was dying. "Oh, you know. Fine."

"And the kids?"

"They're fine too."


At 4:59 pm, Blogger Jason Gusmann said...

taut and terse. happy-making.

At 5:46 pm, Blogger I am not Kek-w said...

It gets weird. Very weird.

Viral reality-tumour infection weird.

At 5:57 pm, Blogger I am not Kek-w said...

From my Twitterstream earlier today (140char blocks):

"The story's set in a sort of twilight/Noir-ish imaginary 1950s: Burroughs meets Ed McBain Police Procedural meets The Outer Limits.

Middle-aged homocide cop feels the existential tug of his own mortality vs the strange pull of Otherness - of forces from outside.

Solves an extremely strange murder using even stranger investigative techniques that leave him even wearier, more world-worn."

I've got better (or worse, depending on yr p.o.v.) at promoting my stuff over the last week or so. Less shy, shall we say.

I call this micro-genre Neuro-Noir.


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