Emer Martin, my good friend of many years and fantastic writer/painter/film producer (plus, the BEST reader I have ever seen) tagged me in "The Blog Hop" which seems to be identical to the "Next Big Thing" about which I posted earlier after John F.D. Taff tagged me.
I am supposed to tag some other writers in turn, and I will get to this shortly. I'm just swamped, man at this moment . . .
This time I will talk about the same work as last time-- a novella that will be published along with two novellas by Aaron J. French and Adam P. Lewis. Because I am finishing the 1st draft of it today, rather than answer the ten questions properly, I will do what I want and post some snippets selected randomly from the text. That will probably also let you know if you'd be interested or not in it:
What is the working title of your next book?
SCISSORS SELDOM COME
Where did the idea come from for the book?
Just as what begins on earth goes nowhere, so what starts in heaven goes to earth; for earth is heaven’s nowhere.
What genre does your book fall under?
The figure was too monstrous for men and too much of a man for the truly monstrous—yet he held onto his tiny dignity, like a mouse keeps his tail, behind him, keeping him upright and balanced.
What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a
movie rendition?
He had the suspicious anonymity of mail-order dildo packaging.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Out there beyond the thin asylum walls, men and mercury alike
were freezing solid, snowfall breaking obscene records. In the cities, whores and cut-throats traipsed like angels over tree-tops bridged by icebroken boughs.
Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Far too much is made of faces, and especially eyes, which, if only because they are built without blueprint or communally understood purpose,
lack the meaning and informative nature of windows. The human face is a
dead-end, painted into a theatrical illusion of expansive road. Look away from
conjuring tricks; turn your face from the face if you would learn that time is
of the putrescence.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
Even natural forces, classified inviolate, impervious to disease, are tainted with the same failures characterizing the organic kingdom. For example, who can deny that the wind that combs the wheat and the haircut, tambourinates the leaves of the trees is an epileptic phenomenon?
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
IMPOSSIBLE really means: “I AM POSSIBLE”. You might say, but you’re just foolin’ with words. “I A-M” is not “I-M”, it only sounds like it. But consider this: Does an accordion look like music, or does it sound like it? Does a fiddle look like an accordion? Does a fiddle look like music? Not until they are played right. What I’m doing here is playing the IMPOSSIBLE the way it should be, so you can hear the music of the truth.
Who or what inspired you to write this book?
His fingernails were long, curved and indurate as obstetric specula, caked with sediments human, canine, and porcine; red ribbons of flesh tied round each as though it had ten things to remember. The hair on its head was grotesquely extended in every direction and seemed to hover over him like a
saint with a dense cloud of flies for halo.
What else about the book might pique the reader’s
interest?
Well, he started trying other things. In his ears, I mean. The fingers weren’t enough to keep out the loud noise only he could hear. He put sticks in there, forced in slugs with spoon handles. Eventually he moved on to screwdrivers.
He’s dead these days.
