I steal words. To order. In, out, no-one gets hurt, see? The dog? Rip your throat out as soon as look at you. Don't mess with him.
You want words? I got 'em. Sentences? Plenty. If you fancy similes and metaphors I can rustle up words what'll run around in your brain like cows in a storm. Manuscripts? I got. Lots. Scripts? Same. Smart-arse dialogue? Ditto. Literary fiction? Nah - I got some standards. All other genres, fine, whatever you like - you're paying. Or you will if you don't want me dog tearing inter you. He just about ate the camera, the little bleeder.
What you want to know his name for, then? He's a dog, innit. He don't care about nothing but food, catching stuff and other dog's arses. Fine, if you must know, it's Spud. Like them missiles, eh. Chuck a ball and he goes flying through the air like a spud rocket.
Right. Are we doing business or what?
Read the summaries below or check the links above for samples, a bunch of lies I tell people about myself, or some bad advice on my Writing Hell blog.
The Pricking of Thumbs is the novel I'm writing now. I've got the first few chapters up so go and have a look. It's the story of the lowliest young member of an evil circus freak show, travelling through future Europe, who wants nothing more than to escape. Unfortunately, the poor sod's destiny is to be King of the Freaks, and the more who want to stop him reaching that goal, the more he fights back. Some geezers will do anything for love. Did I mention he was a murderer? Terrible profession for a protagonist, I know, but it's no good complaining to me about it - I only write the stuff.
The Pyrate's Sonne is genius. A bit too much swearing - a feck of a lot of swearing to be honest - and everyone's racist, plus the hero is a wanted criminal, and the bloke who's chasing him is a certified hero who's completely evil, but otherwise the whole thing's bleedin' genius. Just watch out for the cabin boy. He ain't. And speak nice when you meet Molly or she'll deck you. And don't go taking offence just 'cause some of the characters think Jews eat babies and the Irish are an inferior race. PC hadn't been invented in the 17th century. Anyway, the whole thing goes on for about 100,000 words and isn't published yet. Read the first few chapters and we'll talk.
The Children's Guide to Death is the worst-named book ever. It's a bunch of creepy stories written by... well I won't give the game away, but there's some really horrible stuff in it. It's definitely not for kiddies and most definitely isn't a guide to anything. Don't let children anywhere near this or they'll need rubber sheets and counseling. I edited the thing, but you'll see I'm not responsible for most of it in case you're think of suing me for mental trauma or whatever. Anyway, the whole thing comes in around the forty thousand word mark so I can do you a good price for it. Have a read and your people can talk to my people, right?
Strange Water is about a bunch of idiots who come together and basically try to save the galaxy - this spiral arm at least. Wendy's the sensible one, except she's half-blind and always losing her glasses. George, on the other hand, isn't sensible. He has anger management issues and he's also a hunchback, but don't go saying it to his face or yours'll come out looking like pizza. Mind you, Baba Yaga is the one to look out for. Being a Russian witch, she's got anger management issues five hundred years old. Force of nature is Baba Yaga, and letting her loose in this century is stupidity I can only describe with words I haven't been paid for yet. Charles is the biggest idiot in the book but you have to give him credit seeing how he created the universe and life on Earth. And, no, he's not bleedin' God. That's a stupid idea. Charles is... well I won't go spoiling things but you'll see what a tosser he is. Anyway, it's about 106,000 words long so pound for pound that's good value. Have a read and give me a call with yer best offer.
Curly Bill and The Sea of Death is about... well, Curly Bill and the Sea of Death. Curly Bill is a big streak of trouble who shouldn't be in a book for primary-school kids, let alone be looking after his three nephews who didn't do anything wrong except lose their mothers in a car crash. The Sea of Death is a large body of water of the dangerous variety, in this instance Lake Eyre, which is mostly never there except when it is, and, for the ignorant, is the size of a large European country. It's also in the one spot a lake isn't supposed to be - in the middle of the desert, in the middle of Australia. Curly Bill, his nephews, Jess the dog, and Maria Von Trapp get swept there in a flood and, if that wasn't enough trouble, run into some bad sorts. It's also about how Curly Bill - who I think I mentioned shouldn't be foster-dad to anyone - ends up managing not to kill any of his nephews and somehow finds True Love with... well, I won't give it all away, but there's smugglers, wild animals, terrible parenting from Bill, a Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle and a yacht that goes where no yacht has gone before.
Curriculum Vitae: I've done some bad stuff in my time but I've only had one night in jail so that'll tell you I'm not completely stupid. I write scripts for the telly - soap opera and kid's stuff - but I used to have proper jobs once. Quite a few. At various times I sewed up machete wounds, delivered babies and held the hands of dying men, women and children. I also worked on a prawn trawler, had some bloody early mornings on farms, and I'm still suffering various ailments from working in factories that thought Health and Safety was a new boy-band. Recreationally I haven't been that bright. I've fallen off quite a few motorcycles and several mountains - I still got bits of me I can stick pins in and not feel it because of the frost-bite - and I scuba dived in sinkholes to depths not recommended for anyone wanting to stay alive. Interests: art, music and science - I'm a bleedin' renaissance man, innit. Married, on the run, in a Scottish snowstorm. Currently doing time in a small village on a lake writing like there was money in it. Come to think of it, perhaps I am completely stupid. For more lies about me, see the links above.
Image above is Jose Guadalupe Posada's famous "Calavera oaxaqueña".
What you want to know his name for, then? He's a dog, innit. He don't care about nothing but food, catching stuff and other dog's arses. Fine, if you must know, it's Spud. Like them missiles, eh. Chuck a ball and he goes flying through the air like a spud rocket.
Right. Are we doing business or what?
Read the summaries below or check the links above for samples, a bunch of lies I tell people about myself, or some bad advice on my Writing Hell blog.
The Pricking of Thumbs is the novel I'm writing now. I've got the first few chapters up so go and have a look. It's the story of the lowliest young member of an evil circus freak show, travelling through future Europe, who wants nothing more than to escape. Unfortunately, the poor sod's destiny is to be King of the Freaks, and the more who want to stop him reaching that goal, the more he fights back. Some geezers will do anything for love. Did I mention he was a murderer? Terrible profession for a protagonist, I know, but it's no good complaining to me about it - I only write the stuff.
The Pyrate's Sonne is genius. A bit too much swearing - a feck of a lot of swearing to be honest - and everyone's racist, plus the hero is a wanted criminal, and the bloke who's chasing him is a certified hero who's completely evil, but otherwise the whole thing's bleedin' genius. Just watch out for the cabin boy. He ain't. And speak nice when you meet Molly or she'll deck you. And don't go taking offence just 'cause some of the characters think Jews eat babies and the Irish are an inferior race. PC hadn't been invented in the 17th century. Anyway, the whole thing goes on for about 100,000 words and isn't published yet. Read the first few chapters and we'll talk.
The Children's Guide to Death is the worst-named book ever. It's a bunch of creepy stories written by... well I won't give the game away, but there's some really horrible stuff in it. It's definitely not for kiddies and most definitely isn't a guide to anything. Don't let children anywhere near this or they'll need rubber sheets and counseling. I edited the thing, but you'll see I'm not responsible for most of it in case you're think of suing me for mental trauma or whatever. Anyway, the whole thing comes in around the forty thousand word mark so I can do you a good price for it. Have a read and your people can talk to my people, right?
Strange Water is about a bunch of idiots who come together and basically try to save the galaxy - this spiral arm at least. Wendy's the sensible one, except she's half-blind and always losing her glasses. George, on the other hand, isn't sensible. He has anger management issues and he's also a hunchback, but don't go saying it to his face or yours'll come out looking like pizza. Mind you, Baba Yaga is the one to look out for. Being a Russian witch, she's got anger management issues five hundred years old. Force of nature is Baba Yaga, and letting her loose in this century is stupidity I can only describe with words I haven't been paid for yet. Charles is the biggest idiot in the book but you have to give him credit seeing how he created the universe and life on Earth. And, no, he's not bleedin' God. That's a stupid idea. Charles is... well I won't go spoiling things but you'll see what a tosser he is. Anyway, it's about 106,000 words long so pound for pound that's good value. Have a read and give me a call with yer best offer.
Curly Bill and The Sea of Death is about... well, Curly Bill and the Sea of Death. Curly Bill is a big streak of trouble who shouldn't be in a book for primary-school kids, let alone be looking after his three nephews who didn't do anything wrong except lose their mothers in a car crash. The Sea of Death is a large body of water of the dangerous variety, in this instance Lake Eyre, which is mostly never there except when it is, and, for the ignorant, is the size of a large European country. It's also in the one spot a lake isn't supposed to be - in the middle of the desert, in the middle of Australia. Curly Bill, his nephews, Jess the dog, and Maria Von Trapp get swept there in a flood and, if that wasn't enough trouble, run into some bad sorts. It's also about how Curly Bill - who I think I mentioned shouldn't be foster-dad to anyone - ends up managing not to kill any of his nephews and somehow finds True Love with... well, I won't give it all away, but there's smugglers, wild animals, terrible parenting from Bill, a Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle and a yacht that goes where no yacht has gone before.
Curriculum Vitae: I've done some bad stuff in my time but I've only had one night in jail so that'll tell you I'm not completely stupid. I write scripts for the telly - soap opera and kid's stuff - but I used to have proper jobs once. Quite a few. At various times I sewed up machete wounds, delivered babies and held the hands of dying men, women and children. I also worked on a prawn trawler, had some bloody early mornings on farms, and I'm still suffering various ailments from working in factories that thought Health and Safety was a new boy-band. Recreationally I haven't been that bright. I've fallen off quite a few motorcycles and several mountains - I still got bits of me I can stick pins in and not feel it because of the frost-bite - and I scuba dived in sinkholes to depths not recommended for anyone wanting to stay alive. Interests: art, music and science - I'm a bleedin' renaissance man, innit. Married, on the run, in a Scottish snowstorm. Currently doing time in a small village on a lake writing like there was money in it. Come to think of it, perhaps I am completely stupid. For more lies about me, see the links above.
Image above is Jose Guadalupe Posada's famous "Calavera oaxaqueña".
