Yesterday, Luath Press (an independent Scottish Publisher) asked Twitter for their best literary heroes.
Continue reading “We Could Be Heroes”
And lo, it is the end of September, and time for another Pictonaut Challenge. This is a very early draft (as in I started it at 18:54 and finished it about 10 minutes ago) and lacks my usual levels of whimsy. And that is all I can think to say about that.
Continue reading “The Journey – September’s Pictonaut Challenge”
Share this:
You know when you’re reading a book in a public place like a bus or your office at lunchtime, and you get really absorbed in that different world, so it seems totally normal when there’s a naughty bit? ‘He put that there, she made an unusual hissing sound, they used a melon’ – all that sort of malarkey happens around you and it’s fine because you’re swept along with the narrative. Only then you have to get off the bus ,or answer the phone to a stationery supplier, or do whatever other thing it is that brings you crashing back to normality.
What next? Do you feel slightly embarrassed that you just witnessed something so intimate in public? Do you feel a bit giggly, like you have a naughty secret? Do you look around furtively for people that have read the book before, with that sinking feeling they know they know exactly what you just read and are going to mention it in front of everyone?
Also, do you factor in book snobbery? If you’re reading 50 Shades of Grey, everyone knows what’s happening in there cause of the terrifying hardware shortage in the US – that was on the news, by jimminy. But more literary books have sex by the shed load too. (See what I did there? Shed load? Cause that’s where you keep your hardware, unless you’re kinky billionaire whats-his-chops – I havent read 50 Shades, but I think I get away with it…) This week I’ve been reading Half of a Yellow Sun, and there’s human anatomy all over the shop. The very first chapter ends with a boy listening to his new boss have intimate relations, and it starts as it goes on.
For my part, when I come across a rude bit and I’m in the office or wherever, I opt for a giggly/furtive mash up. I’ll look around surreptitiously to see if anyone else has clocked me reading about bedtime highjinks in the middle of the day, smile secretly to myself, and carry on about my business.
How about you?
Share this:
You may be all hot and bothered about the release of JK Rowling‘s longed for new novel The Casual Vacancy tomorrow, but that’s nothing compared to the emotional torment of waiting for the fiction debut of Andrew Blair and Daniel Lilley. That’s right, I could only be talking about The R-Patz Factz, a new book exploring the life and loves of Twilight actor Robert Pattinson by committing to doing no research on them whatsoever. In the following guest post, Andrew tells me more about what inspired him to create this thing.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably point out a) the aforementioned author is my boyfriend, and b) Robert Pattinson in no way endorses or knows about the project.
Continue reading “Edinburgh Man Writes Book About Twilight Actor Robert Pattinson”
Share this:
The Registrar blinked owlishly over the rims of unnaturally vivid fuschia glasses.
“Are you absolutely sure, Mr and Mrs McBevis?”
“Actually I’m Ms,” said Ms McBevis, “I kept my own name when we married.”
“But it says here that you’re both McBevis.”
“Yes, funny coincidence really – we were both called McBevis already. We met at a social event for people with the surname McBevis. But we aren’t related.”
“We checked the family trees to be sure,” Mr McBevis added, “genealogy is quite fascinating. It turned out my great great aunt Mavis McBevis was actually a tree.”
“A great lusty oak,” his wife added enthusiastically.
“I see,” said the registrar, who didn’t really see, but was beginning to find the whole conversation rather tiring. “Well, it’s a small world I suppose.”
The McBevis’s nodded vigorously, so the registrar got in there before they started talking again –
“And you are absolutely sure about the baby’s name?”
“Of course we’re sure,” Ms McBevis said, “why shouldn’t we be?”
“You want to call the baby Horace McBevis?”
“Yes.”
The registrar coughed in an embarrassed sort of way.
“It’s just that… Well. Horace seems a slightly unusual choice for a little girl.”
The new parents rolled their eyes at one another.
“We don’t want to force gender roles on our children,” Mr McBevis said, in the tones one might use to address a small dog. “This is the 21st century, you know.”
“I understand that, Mr McBevis,” she began, “but -”
“But what?”
Many thoughts went through the registrar’s head.
But couldn’t you choose a unisex name, like Madison or Jo?
But don’t you realise that poor little girl is going to be bullied within an inch of her life?
But it’s 5.05pm and I am off the clock.
“Nothing,” said the registrar, handing over the certificate and pulling on her anorak in one deft move, “it’s lovely. Goodbye.”
And that, dear reader, is the tale of how Horace McBevis got her name.
Share this:
I wrote a short story about a French orphan called Elodie Laroche, and the nice people at Outside Thoughts (a fiction podcast) got an actor called Amy Hall to read it out at an event in Glasgow. You can listen to it at this link:
http://outsidethoughts.com/?p=382
12 Books in 12 Months 