No Beer So Fierce/ In The Belly of The Beer

Some people thought that I spent last summer teaching in Cambridge. However ...

A Twist Of Noir / Beat To A Pulp

A TWIST OF NOIR & BEAT TO A PULP are two great ezines.

At the moment TWIST has a new story from one of my favourite short story writers AL TUCHER.

BTAP has a new story from DAVID PRICE.

Worth more than a little of your time, I think.

Days Of Futurama Past

Days Of Futurama Past

Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ Kevin Rowlands once sang ‘Lord Have Mercy On Me/ Keep Me Away From Leeds’ in the brilliantly titled Thankfully, Not Living In Yorkshire, This Doesn’t Apply.

And, to be honest, a fair number of people agreed with Kev since Leeds certainly fit their idea of the grim north. What could be gloomier, in fact? Leeds on a rainy weekend in September? Watching Joy Division? Aaaah ...

So: it was 1979 when I first visited Leeds with the intention of attending the Futurama Festival at the Queen’s Hall, which was billed as ‘The World’s First Science Fiction Music Festival’ - although there was little sci-fi about the experience.

Joy Division were amongst the cornucopia of bands playing over the Festival’s two days along with Factory records glum chums A Certain Ratio, Scritti Pollitti, Teardrop Explodes, The Bunnymen (pre drummer and complete with drum machine, Echo), Hawkwind (who I slept through), The Only Ones (who I almost slept through), John Lydon’s PIL (slept through a bit of them, pity) and The Fall who were the best band of the whole two days.

The Swinging Curtis’ however were also damn fine. They were on the crest of a creative wave after Unknown Pleasures and Transmission and before the synthesizers softened their sound. They were, for most people, the stars of the show. The bees’ knees, the cat’s whiskers, the dog’s bollocks.

As soon as a year later the Futurama was moving towards the mainstream. Acts included Siouxsie & The Banshees promoting their hit Kaliedascope album, the Bunnymen- complete with a drummer and on their way to stadium rock- and a newish band from Ireland who were being raved about by Garry Bushell- U2. I actually thought they were quite good with their Television-lite pop rock although I did, along with a Mr. Ronny Burke, spend most of their set shouting Nanu Nanu at the singer – Bozo - because of his resemblance to Mork From Ork.

The Futurama Festivals carried on for a few more years but I didn’t go again or, indeed, return to Leeds until the late 80’s when I stayed with a friend in Chapeltown an area well known during the Yorkshire Ripper’s reign of terror.

Who are you calling grim?

(this post appeared last year at PULP METAL MAGAZINE)

All New PULP METAL MAGAZINE -NOW!!!

Jason Michel's PULP METAL MAGAZINE has a TON of new material this month.

FICTION: Frank Duffy, Danny Hogan, John Donald Carlucci, Evan Fleischer and Jason Henry McCormick.

MUSIC: Visual Noise By J. J. Anselmi

CELLULOID: The film Charlie Bubbles by ME

NON FICTION: Ticket To Ride - A True Story By Robert Crisman, David Zeltserman Interview by ME.

I DIDN'T SAY THAT, DID I? : Richard Sanderson- The Post Punk Peter Hamill by ME.

And, of course, theres lots of juicy stuff in the archives.

So get on over there:http://pulpmetalmagazine.webs.com/

Over 18's only, though!

FULL OF CROW Blog!

If, like me, your a fan of FULL OF CROW magazine and it's myriad offshoots (BLINK INK,
MICROW, ON THE WING etc) then you'll be pleased to know that their Don of Dons Lynne Alexander has now set up a fantastic looking blog.

This will make it a lot easier for the likes of me to keep track of their comings and goings.


One piece of news is The Full Of Crow Poetry Hour:

Full Of Crow Poetry Hour: Full Of Crow Poetry Hour on BTR. (link) (Advance Sign Up, Poetry Readings With Featured Poets) Open to all poets, all are welcome! This hour- long show still uses the call in format on Blog Talk Radio, but poets should sign up before the show starts for a time slot. Each poet will have about five minutes. Please contact Lynn Alexander (host) with the number you will be calling from so you can be identified in the call queue. You will also get an estimated time to call in to reduce the wait time.Sign up for alerts, show tools, and more here.

Full Of Crow Poetry Hour. Weekly, Sunday evenings at 10:00 p.m. Contact: Lynn Alexander, host. llalexander@ymail.com

Pop over and have a gander, eh?

Win a Signed 'First Edition' Hardback copy of SLASH AND BURN

Matt Hilton's Dead Men's Dust was one the most enjoyable books I read last year and I'm looking forward to the follow up JUDGEMENT AND WRATH.

Well, I see that Mr. Prolific has already finished number three of the JOE HUNTER books!

SLASH AND BURN goes on sale in April and Matt is hosting a short story competition where you can Win a Signed 'First Edition' Hardback copy of SLASH AND BURN

Pop over to MATT HILTON THRILLS for the details.

The Brown Leather Jacket at Pulp Metal Magazine

And more twoddle from me here at PULP METAL MAGAZINE

... I didn't say that that, did I?

New stuff coming soon at PMM!

Vintage Hardboiled Reads

AUGUST WEST is, it seems, the brains behind

VINTAGE HARDBOILED READS

It's a great looking blog which I used to follow and then lost track of.

Pop over- it's a classy joint.

The Circle Of Friends Awards

That nice Helen Ginger at the blog Straight From Hel was

kind enough to give a a Circle Of Friends Award.

And so, I'll also give this award to a few of my online cronies.

1. CORMAC BROWN

2. Sandra Seamans

3. Alan Griffiths

4. Michael J Solender

5. Lee Hughes

The 'rules' are that THEY have to pass it on to five of their pals.

So- as McCloud used to say- There' Y'go!

CRIMEFACTORY is LIVE

CRIMEFACTORY is the hip new crime ezine created by Cameron Ashley, Keith Rawson and Liam Jose.

The first issue is up NOW and has contributions from Ken Bruen, Adrian McKinty, Hilary Davidson, Gordon Harries and MORE. It looks fantastic so get over there!

WARSAW GHOSTS is at A TWIST OF NOIR

If you pop over to A Twist Of Noir you'll find my story WARSAW GHOSTS which was previously at the Shoots & Vines Print Quarterly. I think it makes a great deal of sense for it to be at ATON.

Friday's Forgotten Music: The Post Punk Peter Hamill - Richard Sanderson

Forgotten Music: Richard Sanderson - The Post Punk Peter Hamill

In his introduction to his very good Postpunksampler 2, the legendary Julian Cope says tells this story:

‘In 1979, a smart, cool-looking guy called Richard Sanderson came backstage after a (Teardrop Explodes) Middlesborough show and gave me a bedroom recording of his quartet Drop. In his manner, style and quiet confidence, Richard was the Peter Hammill of Post-Punk; anguished, lean and nobly Norman. I loved every song on the tape and played it to Bill Drummond and Dave Balfe (of Zoo Records) , who rejected it outright for being too much like ‘The Teardrops and the Fall’.

So, who was the ‘Peter Hammill of Post-Punk’?

His bio says this: Richard Sanderson was born in 1960. He is originally from Middlesbrough in the North East of England, but has lived in London for 24 years.

After a background in punk and post-punk groups he shifted into experimental music. Playing electronics, toys and squeezebox, he has recorded and performed with many left-field musicians. He was a director of London Musicians Collective for 10 years, and ran several clubs promoting experimental and improvised music such as "The Club Room", "Baggage Reclaim", "Western Civilisation" and "Scaledown".

In 2005 he joined Blackheath Morris Men as a dancer. In July 2005, together with Neil Denny, Richard created the 'rationalist' radio show Little Atoms.

In 2009 he left the world of paid employment in the music business, and scaled down his other activities to look after his two young children. He has been married to Ruth for 15 years.

His regular blog is Baggage Reclaim

And what of Richard's legendary band Drop?

Richard says: ‘Drop coalesced out of my first punk band, The Silencers, and by the end of 1978, the steady line-up was-

Richard Sanderson - Vocals/Guitar
Neil Jones- Keyboards
Chris Oberon - Bass
Andy Kiss – Drums

Listen to the music that Julian Cope raved about here:

I've know Richard Sanderson for over thirty years. I first met him in a pub in Stockton when he was in DROP and I've been a friend and fan since then. I was even in a couple of bands with Richard- Halcyon Days and Oceans 11.

Richard has now also released an MP3 compilation of some of his songs from 1978 -2009. One of the songs is Oceans 11's 'I Guess I'm Sentimental' which was one of their better tunes. There's also some other cracking stuff there including Drop's French Windows which was covered by Julian Cope's brother's band.

Click HERE for the track listing and download details at Richard's blog BAGGAGE RECLAIM.

There’s more to The Weird & Not Very Frightening World Of Richard Sanderson than this but it’ll get you started.

For MORE Forgotten Music AND Books, pop over to the ever wonderful PATTINASE

NOIR*ARAMA - AT THE BIJOU

NOIR*ARAMA AT THE BIJOU

AT THE BIJOU is the brainchild of Absolutely-Kate Pilarcik.

Kate is a distinctive writer well known to anyone who has wandered over to SIX SENTENCES. She is also the the mastermind behind Harbinger*33 the forthcoming anthology featuring writers and artists such as Eric Beetner, Jodi MacArtur and even me.

AT THE BIJOU features writing from the Harbinger* 33 crew and MORE!

Right now you can find a NOIR*ARAMA double DOUBLE bill featuring stories from

Anthony Venutolo, Absolutely*Kate, Kevin Michaels & me.

(My story IN THE DOGHOUSE is the only story that I've written in 'American' BTW.')

There's a lot of top writing AT THE BIJOU and links to some of the writers' other work.
So pop into the Bijou, you're sure to find something you'll like here:

Howl: Dark Tales of the Feral and Infernal -SUBMISSIONS OPEN

Howl: Dark Tales of the Feral and Infernal is an anthology from Lame Goat Press. Lots of fine writers are involved -including Jason, Michel, Lee Hughes, Erin Cole and ME!Editor Mark Crittenden is still open for submissions.

Details are HERE

Old Dogs by Donna Moore

At the weekend I finished Donna Moore's Old Dogs and what a joy it is. Think of a sweary The Lavender Hill Mob mixed with Tarentino. Sort of. A hoot of a caper novel, Old Dogs BITES!

Synopsis.

OLD DOGS by Donna Moore is a crime caper set in Glasgow. It features two septuagenarian ex-hookers turned con artists who decide to steal a pair of golden, jewel-encrusted Shih Tzu dogs from a museum. Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones after the dogs, everyone wants to get their hands on the precious artifacts – including the elderly ladies’ dodgy chauffeur who wants in on the action, a pair of Glasgow neds who want to buy their own pub, an out of work insomniac bent on revenge, and an innocent young Scottish islander who wants the dogs returned to the Buddhist monastery they came from. Oh, and there’s an Australian hitman after the elderly con artists. After hours on a Saturday night turns out to be the museum’s busiest time. Burglary, kidnapping, murder and some very bad decisions.

Here's what the big kids say :

"Like the perfect heist, Donna Moore's screwball caper is slick, audacious and hugely rewarding."—Chris Ewan, author of The Good Theif's Guide to Paris

"Roll out the awards shelf, Donna is going to grab them all."—Ken Bruen, award-winning author of London Boulevard

Nick Quantrill - Broken Dreams. The North Will Rise Again.

Broken Dreams by Nick Quantrill

This is a cracking book. It's the story of a man- Joe Geraghty- and a city - Hull- that have taken many a good kicking and are trying to get back on their feet. Realistic and romantic - in a Strummer way - it takes you by the lapels and drags you along from the beginning to the end. It's the story of a Private Investigator following a muddy and bloodstained trail through a battle scarred Northern city.

Synopsis:

Joe Geraghty, Private Investigator, is used to struggling from one case to the next, barely making the rent on his small office in the Old Town of Hull.

Invited by a local businessman to investigate a member of his staff’s absenteeism, it’s the kind of surveillance work that Geraghty and his small team have performed countless times. When Jennifer Murdoch is found bleeding to death in her bed, Geraghty quickly finds himself trapped in the middle of a police investigation which stretches back to the days when the city had a thriving fishing industry.

As the woman’s tangled private life begins to unravel, the trail leads Geraghty to local gangster-turned-respectable businessman, Frank Salford, a man with a significant stake in the city’s regeneration plans. Still haunted by the death of his wife in a house fire, it seems the people with the answers Geraghty wants are the police and Salford, both of whom want his co-operation for their own ends. With everything at stake, some would go to any length to get what they want, Geraghty included.

Broken Dreams will be published by Caffeine Nights in March 2010.


'This book looks Hull, smells Hull, sounds Hull, and maybe even tastes Hull'

Nick's Website - Hull Crime Scene - is here

Book contest at Nicole Hadaway's blog.

Nicole Hadaway is running a contest over on her site from Jan 15th until Jan 29th - the prize is Dwayne Kavanagh's A Child's Wound.

Contestants need to email Nicole at mirandadandridge@yahoo.com with their answer to this question:
What's your favorite serial killer movie?

Details are here:

http://www.nicole-hadaway.blogspot.com

Sounds pretty easy, eh?

disenthralled ISSUE #4

Yep, the new disenthralled is up with stories by Michael J Solender, Mark Joseph Kiewlak, Townsend Walker, Nora Ibsen, offbeatjim, Brittany Wallace, Robert Crisman, Michael D. Brown, AJ Dresser, Mary Mills, Richard Godwin.

Photography is by the brilliant Kristin Fouquet. It's a classy joint so no jeans or work boots.

Frank Duffy/ Steve Jensen NEWS!

Latest news at Frank Duffy and Steve Jensen's THE JOURNAL

Frank Duffy’s Not Yet Players will be featured in Black Ink Horror’s illustrated hardcover edition.

Steve Jensen’s The Poison of a Smile has a book trailer

Steve’s short story Josephine’s Celebration is online at Dead Lines

Frank Duffy’s The Caretakers has been accepted for Fantastic Horror Magazine.

For more information and links go here

Steve recently interviewed Frank here.

Amazing! 100 Followers!

This blog - which came from another blog that I started just over a year ago, so I could comment on stories I found on the web- now has an AMAZING ONE HUNDRED FOLLOWERS. Follower one hundred is the enigmatic Smokey! Ta to Smokey and everyone for hanging around.

Dave 'Killer' Zeltserman - An Interview.

This month sees the publication of the brilliant KILLER by Dave Zeltserman.

In Killer, Leonard March walks free from jail after fourteen years' hard time served after turning state's witness against his Mafia boss Salvatore Lombard. Killer is the third part of Zeltserman's "man-out-of-prison" trilogy – the other two being Small Crimes and Pariah- and it’s a hell of a read.

Look what the big kids say:

‘Killer is a major novel of crime and likely the book that will win Dave Zeltserman a much wider audience.’ Ed Gorman

‘To put it simply, Killer is a brilliant character study that will rip the literary rug right out from under the reader's tightly-curled toes.’ Corey Wilde, The Drowning Machine.

"With graphic imagery and exciting twists, this novel is impossible to put down and has a surprising ending. A brilliant read." The Aberdeen Press and Journal

Dave was kind enough to answer a few of my questions about Killer and his writing in general.

PDB: Dave, in twenty five words or less, can you pitch me your new novel KILLER?

Dave: A meditative look into the mind of a killer.

PDB: Small Crimes, Pariah and Killer all have protagonists who are very bad men that have done some very bad things. Doesn't this go against the mandates of creative writing classes in that the 'heroes' of those books aren't sympathetic?

Dave: I think most readers are going to find Leonard March, the protagonist of Killer, a sympathetic character, at least through most of the book. Yeah, he was a hit man, but he leaves prison as little more than a toothless old wolf howling at the moon. He's got all these forces working against him, and he's introspective as he tries to figure out how he got to where he is.

Kyle Nevin, my protagonist from Pariah, is a different beast entirely. Kyle is a force of nature, and like of forces of nature--hurricanes, tidal waves, volcanoes--it can be fascinating to see the destruction that he brings those unfortunates that get in his way.

Just as noir masters like James M. Cain and Jim Thompson could keep readers fascinated watching their noir protagonists inevitable descent into hell, I think the same is true with Kyle, except I think even more so given his utterly destructive and unrepentant nature.

PDB: Is the location of Killer an important part of the story?

Dave : Most of Killer takes place around Boston, but not really in it, with areas like Waltham, Revere and Winthrop taking center stage, but the flavor of these areas are important to the story and atmosphere. Boston is much more important to Pariah as a lot of South Boston mob lore is worked into the novel.

PDB: You once said that writing Small Crimes was a very 'instinctive' thing? What did you mean by that?

Dave: At some point the subconscious taking over, and adding strong thematic elements that weren't planned, or necessarily intended at an intellectual level but worked their way into the book regardless.

Let me give you a more concrete example with Killer. Killer is written as alternating present and past chapters. Before I started writing I had the present chapters outlined at a very detailed level, but I was going to wring it with the past chapters, and make each one Leonard committing one of his mob hits.

At some point that changed without any real planning, and instead the past chapters ended up having a strong arc of their own, and connecting to the present chapters in ways I hadn't anticipated.

PDB: Has your writing process changed over the years?

Dave: Not really. I still write very detailed outlines before starting. I still find myself deviating from these outlines as the book becomes something organic--a living thing so to speak. But while new and unexpected plot threads and characters are born, I always end up working my way back to the original outline.

I tend to struggle with my 1000 to 1500 words a day like I've always have, and then go on a blind writing fury when I get within 7000 or so words of the ends, finishing those in one sitting. The only real change is I'm closer to the mark now when I finish.

My earlier books needed far more revising--Pariah and Killer and others needed very little revising from their first drafts.

PDB: What's in the pipeline for Dave Zeltserman in 2010?

Dave: Other than Killer, I have two more novels and a bunch of short stories.

Outsourced is a different kind of crime novel than my 'man out of prison' novels. In this one a group of desperate software engineers come up with a brilliant plan to rob a bank with things not quite working out as planned. Think Ocean’s 11 and Falling Down, which not too surprisingly, John Tomko, who was a producer on both those movies, is involved in the film development of this, which has been optioned by Impact Pictures and Constantin Film.

The Caretaker of Lorne Field is not crime, and I think is a book that is really going to surprise readers who've gotten to know my crime fiction. The basic premise of this is that a field has been weeded for over 400 years by a succession of caretakers, with the mythology being if the field isn't weeded, the world will end. Now in the present day, the current Caretaker believes this myth but finds that most of the people in his small town no longer do, and his job becomes increasingly more difficult. A balancing act is performed through the book on whether he's crazy or knows something nobody else does.

As far as short stories, Julius Katz and Archie will live on in Ellery Queen, and I also have stories in the next Thuglit anthology and Damn Near Dead 2

Dave Zeltserman's website is here

His blog - SMALL CRIMES - is here

Killer will be available from Amazon

The first chapter of his unpublished novel Vampire Crimes is here

Colin Graham at On The Wing

On The Wing is a non fiction site from FULL OF CROW. The editor is Michael J Solender of NOT fame ( MJS has a great NEW story at A TWIST OF NOIR BTW). Pop over there to read a fascinating article from Our Man In Belgrade, Colin Graham...

Independence in the Balkans? Colin Graham Sheds Light on Strange Actions of Late.'

Well worth a look!

#fridayflash/ Guest Blogger: Erin Cole - Sweet Darkness

Sweet Darkness

by Erin Cole

As soon as the front door closes, our lips lock in a wet fury. I reach to unbutton my shirt, but he forces my arms against the wall, pinning me at the wrists.

“Stop,” he hushes.

His mouth is hot on my neck, biting and sucking and his hands weave fistfuls of my hair like chains of gold. I push against him, but his broad stature absorbs my strength. I know he likes it, so much that he rips my shirt open, hungry and determined with palms full of flesh and fingers seeking damp warmth beneath my skirt. Desire burgeons and soon he takes me hard and deep in the hallway of his apartment.

The heat inside him crests and suddenly, he grabs my throat, blocking air from my lungs and blood to my brain. A surge of panic drowns me with horror, for I’m the one who labeled him potentially dangerous—

“His fists are quick to clench.”

“Do you want him on the security floor?”

“We have no choice. Double his medication.”

Strong hands tighten around my throat, but in the black of his eyes, I see a gentle flame. With breath desperately absent, sensations swell inside me, intoxicating my perceptions in a velvet numbness. I can’t help but give in to the pleasure, the sweet darkness.

Drifting into a reverie state, I picture him taking my hand and leading me to his lithium park where I comfort him, assuring his troubled, schizophrenic mind that everything is all right. I sit on top of his lap and hold his face, telling him,

“No one is chasing you. You are safe.”

“You don’t know her.”

“Please take your medicine, Jonathan.”

“Do you love me, Jess?”

“Yes…no matter the risks.”

Or insanity. I’ve studied his charts, the abnormalities in his cerebral tissues, but love pays no heed to medical analysis—or romantic regulations—and I let him have all of me.

Crisp acoustics return, reverberating with a kaleidoscope of light. I wake with a jolt on the floor of his apartment to another voice, the sharp timbre of an angry woman.

“Who’s crazy now, Jonathan?” Madness wavers a brand-new gun in her hand.

“Please, Eli don’t...,” but my lover falls to the floor in a fan of blood.

I lunge, but too slow to escape the path of her jealous vengeance, the target of her bullets. I drop beside him in tremors of violent pain, revolted over my gross error—his stalker was real.

I braid my fingers in his, feeling them pulse in mine…a glint of hope, but the velvet numbness returns and sweet darkness veils me once again.

© 2009 Erin Cole

BIO: Residing in Portland Oregon, Erin Cole lives with her husband and three children. She is working to publish her mystery novel, Unearthing Jev, and has started the sequel, Wicked Tempest, on accident. When she isn't writing, she is thinking about writing and when she isn't thinking about writing, she is either in a chocolate-induced coma or is experimenting with sensory deprivation. She blogs at Listen to the Voices.

Clarity Of Night short fiction contest

Yesterday, I sent off my entry to the CLARITY OF NIGHT "Silhouette" Short Fiction Contest

Jason Evans is the mastermind behind this and previous CON contests. It's produced some cracking stuff from writers like Sandra Seamans, Cormac Brown and oodles of others.



Here's the deal :

' Using the photograph for inspiration, compose a short fiction (or poetry) piece of no more than 250 words in any genre or style. Send your entry to me by email at jevanswriter at yahoo dot com before 11:00 p.m., Wednesday, January 13th (Eastern Time, United States). I'd prefer attachments formatted in Microsoft Word (please see the format request below), but if you have something more exotic, you can paste the text into the body of an email (no docx formats, please). Each entry will be posted and indexed.

Now for the goodies. The following prizes are up for grabs:

* 1st Place: $50 Amazon gift certificate
* 2nd Place: $30 Amazon gift certificate
* 3rd Place: $25 Amazon gift certificate
* 4th Place: $20 Amazon gift certificate
* 5th Place: $15 Amazon gift certificate
* Readers' Choice Award 1st Place: $25 Amazon Gift certificate


But this is about more than prizes. I hope you take advantage of the opportunity to meet and interact with your fellow writers. Our different perspectives, styles, and skills shine when we all start at the same place. It's a great opportunity to learn from each other.

Rules:

1. 250 words maximum.
2. Titles are optional, but encouraged. Titles do not count toward your word count.
3. One entry per person.
4. Any genre or style is welcome. If you choose to submit poetry, you must have narrative movement within the poem if you wish to compete with the prose pieces for the prizes.
5. The copyright remains with you, the author; however, you grant me worldwide first electronic publishing rights to post your entry on this blog indefinitely.
6. Judging will be conducted by me, Jason Evans. For an explanation of the judging criteria and scoring system, see A Note on Judging. You can also read the winning entries from past contests.
7. Please provide a name for your byline. If you have a website or a blog, I'd be happy to link your site to your byline. If you don't have a website or blog, feel free to include a short bio. A bio does not count towards your word count.
8. At the close of the contest, I will give the date and time for the announcement of winners.
9. After the winners are announced, I will post what I liked most about each entry in the comments.
10. The Readers' Choice Award is awarded by vote of the contest participants. The entry with the highest number of votes wins. The rules for this portion of the contest will be posted after the entry period closes.
11. Public critiques in comments are encouraged, but must remain respectful. I reserve the right to delete comments and ban participants who do not abide by the collegial spirit of Clarity of Night contests.
12. For prior contests and their results, see the links on the sidebar.


Format Request:
These are not rules, and I will not reject an entry which does not conform, but if you follow them, my work in running the contest is much less. For that, I will be eternally grateful!

1. Single space lines, and double space paragraph breaks.
2. No tabs or indents for new paragraphs.
3. If you have italics in your text, please code it for html by putting a begin italics code <> where it starts and an end italics code < /i > where it ends.
4. Although it's rarely used, handle bold <>< /b > and underline <>< /u > the same way.
5. Write your title at the top of the document left justified in title case (first letters capitalized). On the next line write your byline left justified (example, by Jason Evans). Add two blank lines, then begin your story.


Welcome to this latest contest! Entries will be posted starting January 6th.

Help spread the word!'

Can't say fairer than that, can you? My story, The Last Supper, is here.

Strangers On a Blog - Nicole Hadaway and I swap blogs.

So, the fab horror writer Nicole Hadaway had this idea :

' Criss cross. That's what I thought of when I suggested to Paul that we swap blogs for one day this year. Just like in that Hitchcock movie, Strangers On a Train. I'd do his, and he'd do mine. Blog, that is -- not murders!'

So how could I refuse!

Below is Nicole's excellent story NEW YEAR'S TOAST and my little tale - New Year's Revolution - is here:

Guest Blogger: Nicole Hadaway - New Year's Toast

CHAPTER 16 – NEW YEAR’S TOAST by Nicole Hadaway

Neil walked down the cold, damp London streets. It was shortly after three in the morning, on what was now, officially, January 1, 1945. You couldn’t tell, really, that the New Year had been celebrated at all. Morale was rather low in London after nearly five years of air raids, bombings, evacuations and blackouts. Neil himself had finished his shift at the air raid siren station and was now headed to his mate Mark’s place for a subdued celebration. He couldn’t wait to get a taste of the black market whiskey that Mark had managed to get, for his hands were nearly frozen; this entire winter it had been so very cold.

So Neil walked along the deserted streets lined by terraced houses, thankful that the moon was still bright enough so he could find his way around without tripping over too many curbs or bumping into lampposts. It was bad enough that he’d had to serve as an air raid warden, but the fact that they gave him the night shift for that night was just intolerable. Though when he thought about it, a few scraped knees and cold fingers was a small price to pay for having escaped an entire war of army duty.

He’d been lucky that the injury on his right hand, received when, at the age of five, he’d stuck them in the meat freezer at the same time the butcher had decided to close the case, thus chopping off three fingers, had been his ticket out of serving in the army. He couldn’t very well shoot a gun with only two fingers on his dominant hand. Britain had still made him ‘do his part’ by manning the air raid sirens. God, the noise those things made; even though he wore earplugs, he didn’t think his hearing would ever be the same. Still, better than being a corpse on a Normandy beach, like his brother.

Neil pushed the glum thoughts about his brother from his mind by looking around at his surroundings. He’d left the part of the neighborhood where houses and apartments abounded, and now entered the warehouse district. To fill the silence, which only made him think of his brother more, Neil started to whistle, concentrating on the tune.

As he sucked in a breath to start another verse, he heard the flutter of wings behind him, like a bird or maybe a bat, which was odd, as there was nothing to attract birds on this street in London. There were no trees or fences for them to perch on, just the unlit streetlamps, like the one he’d just bumped into, and the warehouses that kept wartime supplies, such as the plethora of gas masks that all London citizens carried, even the babies. When he thought about it, the warehouses were probably perfect places for bats to nest in. Yep, that had to be it.

Neil mused on how he’d never seen a bat before, and he wondered if perhaps they minded flying about in such cold weather. He thought about turning on his lamp; the cowl over the top of it made the light shine downward, so it shouldn’t attract too much attention. Then he remembered that bats might be attracted to light, and he didn’t want the bat to get caught in his hair. He’d heard that bats could be awfully nasty if they flew in your hair – they got caught in it so badly that the only way to get them out was to shave your hair off. He had a bad enough time with women as it was; he didn’t need to be bald as well.

The fluttering over him stopped, and Neil heard what he thought was a low, soft thud! behind him. He turned around, partly out of curiosity and partly out of fear – did something just knock the bat out of the sky, why would it drop to the ground like that? Switching on his handheld lamp, Neil slowly, cautiously looked behind him.

There was no bird or bat, but a man, standing about ten yards away from Neil, well out of the glow of the lamp. In the moonlight, however, Neil could make out the man’s features; he was tall, with curly, dark brown hair, and light, piercing blue eyes that Neil could see as if they were only a foot in front of him in full lamplight. The oddest thing was that the man was standing with his hands on his hips, watching Neil, nonchalantly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. They stood like that for a few moments, staring at each other, until the man smiled, and started to laugh, slightly throwing back his head at whatever he found amusing.

Neil was worried. The war and the bombings had chased most of the crazies out of London, but this one must have stayed on for some reason. So he turned back and started walking briskly, hoping that Mark had left his door unlocked. Neil hadn’t bothered to turn off his lamp, let them fine me if they want; even better, I’d welcome a bobby right now to keep that nutter away from me. Mark’s small apartment was above a warehouse at the end of the street, about fifty yards from where Neil was now. He was thankful that he didn’t have too far to go to get away from the crazy bloke and out of the cold, which was hurting his throat and lungs as he sucked in air.

Neil hadn’t traveled very far before his breathing, heavier now from his increased pace, hurt too much, he slowed down. Forcing himself to breathe quietly, Neil listened for any sounds coming from behind him. Nothing. The absence of noise made him hope that he was no longer being followed. Neil chanced a look behind him, shining his light broadly around, and saw with relief that the crazy man was gone. Probably gone back into the warehouse or something, he reassured himself. As he turned his head back towards Mark’s apartment, a dense fog rolled past him. He coughed for a few minutes, thinking it was odd that the fog had suddenly appeared like this, out of nowhere, in the middle of these warehouses. But that’s London for you.

The fog cleared, and Neil could see ahead of him. An icy frisson of fear ran from the tip of his head, down to the bowels of his stomach. The crazy bloke was now in front of him, leaning against a building wall between Neil and the safety of Mark’s place. The man’s casual air was gone. He suddenly stood up straight in one movement, which was very strange because he hadn’t even bent his body. It was as if invisible wires had pulled him into a standing position. Then the man started walking towards him as if he expected Neil to just stand there and wait for him.

There was no way Neil was going to get messed with tonight. He hadn’t made it this far through the war, with its air raids, rations, and the threat of Nazi invasions, only to meet his end at the hands of some crazy on a back street of London. No sir, not tonight, especially not on New Year’s Day.

Neil dropped his lamp, and then made two moves simultaneously. He turned to run – he was a pretty fast runner, and had kept in shape. He also pulled out his pocketknife and opened up the blade. He didn’t want to get into a fight; it had been ages since he’d been in one, and with his right hand he was well aware of his handicap. However, just in case…

Neil’s foot had barely touched the pavement when he was stopped dead in his tracks again, as there was now another man, one who seemed to have been standing behind him this whole time. A blond man this time, with pale skin, yet very dark, almost black eyes. A Nazi – oh my God, they’ve made it here! he thought in a panic. Before he could think of his next move, the man opened his mouth and, speaking English without any accent asked, “Hey Cray – how much longer? Daylight’s not too far away.”

“Awww, Denny, relax! They’re on double daylight savings time here,” an amused voice called out from behind Neil.

Neil heard a whoosh of air and before he could turn around, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned towards the hand on his shoulder, and found himself staring into pale blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to bore into Neil, forcing him to drop the knife, which he’d been holding out, poised to strike. The man reached over with his other hand and took the knife, tossing it to the side, saying, “You won’t be needing this, friend and we’ve our own ways of getting your flesh and blood.”

Neil knew he should have been afraid – he was afraid – but he couldn’t move; for some reason, he was rooted to his spot. One part of his brain screamed fight, fight, fight!, but the rest just wouldn’t allow it. Maybe it was because he knew the man was strong and he could feel that his shoulder might break from the crazy man’s grip.

It did break. Neil heard a loud snap! and felt the pain shoot forth from his shoulder down his arm and across his chest. Through the pain, he thought he heard someone say, “Sorry chum, but I like it when the marrow gets into the blood, with the adrenaline. Makes it tastier.”

Neil tried to scream, but something was at his throat, almost strangling him. He felt the fire of his shoulder meld with the burning at his throat. All he could do was look up at the bright light of the moon as its white aura quickly engulfed his entire body.

Bio:

Nicole Hadaway used to work as a lawyer, but now she only writes about such things as bloodsuckers and deals with the devil (sorry! she couldn't resist a lawyer joke there!). After having lived in such varied places as Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C., Louisiana and even Monaco, she now makes her home in Texas. Her first novel, Release, was published in September 2009 and features vampires in a World War II setting. If you'd like to read more about her, you can go to her blog here:

http://nicole-hadaway.blogspot.com/

The Last Shot Is The Deepest is at Darkest Before The Dawn

If you pop over to Darkest Before The Dawn you'll find my story The Last Shot Is The Deepest. It's one of a few stories that I've written about under worked Private Investigator Peter Ord. Other Peter Ord stories will appear in print in Harbinger *33 and Radgepacket 4.

I've noticed a couple of typos in there and hope Aldo can sort them out! However, hope you enjoy it!

http://www.darkestbeforedawn.net/?q=node/64

Guest Blogger: Jim Wisneski - TWELVE

TWELVE

by

Jim Wisneski

When Joe turned to leave the small, dim lit room, he knew he had about three steps until a bullet would tear apart his back. Even though he knew it, he still had to turn around and walk. Maybe it was the years of being in the business, but Joe swore he could hear the gun rubbing against the soft inside pocket of the other man’s jacket as it was being pulled out.

Joe simply let his knees give out so the first bullet would go by him. It hit a picture and sent glass and tiny wood splinters into the air. Before Joe could reach his gun and counter shoot, he sensed the man was going to fire again. Sometimes in these tense situations, people would freeze up if they missed. It wasn’t like the movies where triggers were easy to pull. Joe had nothing against this man and this man had nothing against Joe; they were just both doing a job. It sometimes took people hours to prepare to take that one shot and when they miss, it confuses them. Especially since Joe dropped before the shot, giving away that he knew it was coming.

But this guy, he must have watched too many of those gangster movies. His finger was like a magnet against the trigger.

Joe launched himself forward. The second shot missed. He threw himself up with his hands and sprinted behind a pillar in the room as shot three flew by and shot four hit the post. The post shook and the wood seemed to moan in pain.

Chances were the guy was just taking shots, hoping to get lucky with one of them. If he had to go back to Mr. Ronald without finishing a job, he’d get killed. On the spot. No questions asked.

The same didn’t hold true for Joe since he was the one who was supposed to be pinched off.

Joe was amazed at the stupidity of his boss, Mr. Ronald. Heistin’, robbin’, murderin’, pinchin’ – whatever anyone wanted to call it – there was a simple rule or question to ask before completing a job. . . “what’s in it for me?”

If the answer is nothing, it was pretty much given that you're going to get whacked. Joe knew that better than anyone; he had sent plenty of guys on jobs that had no point other than the person never coming back. So when Mr. Ronald asked Joe to deliver a briefcase to this guy in a dark room at the end of town, he was concerned.

When Mr. Ronald told Joe he wasn't allowed to see the contents of the briefcase, and when he said it, he looked away while shaking his ice cubes in his drink, Joe knew he was being set up.

Joe wasn't afraid of death or dying, he knew his time would come. He was thrown back as to why Mr. Ronald was going to pinch him off. Sure, Joe was in his forties, but age doesn't dictate capabilities. Joe had just proved it by dodging bullets from this guys gun. The guy Mr. Ronald was paying to whack Joe.

Joe knew how to play the game. One, never ask questions. Two, never turn around - just assume. If you ask questions, you die. If you turn around, you've wasted your one second of free time to move from the bullet. And if the bullet wasn't from behind, by the time you turned back around, the bullet would be eating your heart. And if there was no bullet at all, front or back, you were just too damn paranoid to be heisting.

In Joe's case, he risked turning because he knew this guy was an amateur. An amateur with terrible aim. Joe took a small handgun from his waste band and shot three random shots. He was hoping to scare the guy and get him to run out of the room and leave.

Instead, the guy returned with another shot into the wooden post.

Joe turned to his right and dove forward. He heard the pop of the gun and closed his eyes hoping he wouldn't feel that terrible burning sting of a bullet. He ended up landing behind a couch. Two more shots hit the couch. Puffs of cotton shot into the air. Joe raised his gun and shot three times. He heard the guy move and then heard him yell.

A fake yell.

The guy dropped to his knees with an overzealous thud and he hit his gun a few times off the floor.

Just like the movies.

Joe was pissed now. This wasn't a movie, this was real life. And if this guy was going to replace him on Mr. Ronald's crew, it was nothing more than an insult.

Joe reached behind and felt something. Soft. Cushiony. He slowly lifted it into the air so it would appear like he was standing up. As soon as the not-so-dead guy caught a glimpse, he'd start shooting again. The pillow didn't even make it a quarter of the way above the back of the couch and it went flying out of Joe's hands as three bullets took it for a ride.

Taking a chance, Joe jumped up and shot three times at the man. He was able to roll out of the way and under a table. Joe took another shot at the floor - who knows, maybe it'd be like the movies and the bullet would somehow bounce and hit the guy. No such luck.

Joe stepped over the couch with ease keeping his eyes at the table. He could see the guy's shadow huddled under it. He slowly moved left and was hoping to get around the table and shoot the guy in the back. Let him see what it's like.

Before he could move to the end of the couch, Joe saw a shaky, silver gun move out from underneath the table.

Joe smiled. The guy had no idea what he was doing. Joe reached to the end of the table and pulled the lamp shade off the lamp on the end table. He moved with precision and stealth. He kept his legs locked and made sure they didn't move. The guy under the table was looking for sound or movement. Joe tossed the lamp shade to his right and it hit the floor with a soft sound. The guy under the table pulled the trigger and Joe ran and circled the table.

He reached under the table and shot two times. Then he felt something that made him shiver. Something metal touching his neck. Then he heard the sound of someone laughing. He turned and was face to face with the guy and looking at the tip of the gun. The guy smiled and let out a long, well deserved sigh. Joe at that point had decided maybe it was time to retire. And in his business, retirement meant death. He had been around death since he was a kid - most of it not natural death - so it did not bother him that this guy was going to shoot him. It didn't bother him that he didn't know the guys name. It did bother him that he'd take to his grave a wondering of why Mr. Ronald pinched him off.

The best kills were the ones without words. They just happened. Again, unlike the movies.

Joe watched as the gun shook in the guy's hand. He was afraid to pull the trigger. He hesitated because he knew that a flick of his finger would take Joe's head and make it mush. That hesitation allowed Joe to raise his gun.

Two guns. Two different men.

Joe didn't want to stand there and take forever to pull the trigger like they did in the movies. There wasn't time for it. He pulled the trigger without blinking and without remorse.

Click.

Joe felt his face lose all color. His mind began to take an imaginary crayon and draw back his steps from first shot to last. Twelve shots. Twelve bullets. None left. He thought about the last two shots under the table that hit nothing but floor. Those could have been the two bullets buried in this guy's chest right now.

Joe closed his eyes and waited for the bullet. Instead, he heard a click.

Opening his eyes, Joe saw the guys face. It was white. Empty.

The guy looked like he was in deep thought. Joe knew the look. He was planning. He was going to make Joe a counter offer. An offer to truce and go after Mr. Ronald for setting them up. Of course he'd say the word 'them' because he wouldn't want Joe to know the offer was only so Joe didn't kill him and because the guy had no other way to kill Joe.

While the guy was thinking, Joe pulled a second hand gun from his waistband and shot the guy three times in the chest. The guy fell slow with his face still in a thinking pose.

Joe stuck both guns back into his waistband and started to leave when the briefcase caught his eye. It was against the rules to look, but since Joe was supposed to be dead, what did it matter? Joe opened the case and saw it was packed with cash.

Joe closed the briefcase, turned and saluted the fresh corpse, and left. He estimated at least a hundred thousand in the case which would give him plenty of time to figure something out. Or maybe load up on bullets for a little pre-retirement rampage.

Short bio: Visit Jim's writers blog at www.writersnwriters.blogspot.com - visit his personal blog at www.wizworld.wordpress.com - and visit his podcasting blog to hear some of his stories, novellas, and novels at www.jimcast.wordpress.com. Jim writes short stories, novellas, novels, and poetry. . . and music. Listen to some of his new songs at www.1album1month.wordpress.com. When he isn't writing, he is thinking about writing.