The First Interview: Mo

I thought I would start with Mo, anyway, since he seemed to be the mystery that everyone was really interested in; and from how my dad describes him, he was really the smartest out of the gang, so his perspective on Howie is probably the most interesting. I’m trying not to project and turn this into fiction, but I want to make a brutally honest and comprehensive account of Howard Kessler—through the eyes of his childhood friends—as I can.

Mo is also the one that no one knows how to get in touch with.

Spending Less On Christmas Presents

 image source

Hello. It’s me again. The non-fiction one with the weekly money-saving column.

As far as possible, buy Christmas presents from shops that give reward cards, loyalty discount vouchers, and two-for-one offers etc. You will get a lot more for your money because this is the only time of year you’ll have the need to buy several presents all at once.

Notes from the concrete mixer

-why I write what I write the way I write -

Look, folks, I am in full knowledge I am a lay preacher addressing the Lateran Council here, and am not at all sure I should be doing this. Still, the neck enters the noose now. Please be gentle with me.

If you go to Youtube, and search for “Jeff Porcaro and Rosanna“, you get to see the master as he explains how he did Rosanna’s wonderful drums. It’s worth checking out; as you may know, he was one of the truly great drummers. He says straight out, “I stole this beat from Bernard Purdie, and this beat I stole from John Bonham, and then I added my own kind of Bo Diddley shuffle backbeat.” So even the greatest of drummers liberate beats from others and cook up his own variant that is both new and ages old.

Candles

As he fired into life the little nightlight looked up to the two candles standing tall on either side of him. He instinctively knew that they were his parents.

His father – broad, angular, strong. A steady flame, softly illuminating all around him, revealing his calm, proud nature. A gentle giant, thought the young nightlight, immediately admiring him.

His mother – tall, sleek, elegant. Her own flame, more susceptible to the capricious whims of the breeze, casting flickering shadows on the walls, reflecting a more sensitive and excitable character.

The nightlight suddenly felt a strong surge of love for these two fiery guardians and his flame burnt just that little bit brighter for it.

Hijabaholic

Sunlight spangled off windows. As far as the eye could see, cars stretched out toward the skyline, nestled between strings of traffic lights like a tessellation. Chloe squinted toward the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building trying to figure out which was which. Then the signal changed. She crossed Northern Boulevard and walked up Broadway.

When she found Steinway, she felt accomplished. As she walked, the smell of roasting nuts converged with the more uncomfortable smells cooking on the pavement. Chloe turned into a shop for the sake of air conditioning, browsed through bins of discount high heels, and thought of her roommates. It was only a week until classes began and she still hadn’t met them. She knew only that their names were Bisma and Naina. In all her years in Missouri, she had never met a Bisma or a Naina.

Donald Barthelme goes to church, 2nd floor.

 [BEGINNING NOTE: The only two things Barthelme ever loved about churches: the Dominance and the architecture.]

 

…I sit on the bus, near the back. There’s only one person behind me, but she isn’t looking my way so I put my head against the window and think of the thing ahead of me, the thing I’m sending myself into, the people I don’t like.

 The bus stops. The window shoves me in the head.

North Point. Grubby buildings flanking one long road.

Some people get off. The bus goes on.

 …them…they’ll smell me out straight away, they’ll be waiting, not even drinking, and they’ll say hey, how’s it going, but really they’ll be wanting to get down to it, to the divide, the thing between us…the fight…

 The bus stops again. Outside there’s the green and white of the Hang Seng bank. Two old hags are standing next to it.

Let’s Get Together and Feel All Write

Collaboration and crowdsourcing. The stimulating and sinister sides of the writer’s social media toolbox

 
Crowdsourcing is a hot topic right now. And if not right now, then it will be very soon when Neil Gaiman’s crowdsourcing twitter project takes off. It started when ad companies started asking members of the public for ideas instead of ad execs. And other high-profile projects seem to be doing a similar thing: Anthony Gormley’s Fourth Platform in Trafalgar Square, for example. Trinny and Susannah’s enormous naked sculpture. World of Warcraft and I Love Bees. Spencer Tunick assembling people on the stairs of Selfridges and getting them to undress. And all of it seems to have its roots in flashmobbing, and the We-Think collaborative mentality of the Net. Right?
Wrong. Collaboration is a buzzword right now. And hurrah for that. Crowds are cool. The collective brain sees things the individual cannot. But. But but but but but…

Free Novels by Year Zero Writers

In the twitter spirit of #givingdaysoftheweekfunnynames November will see Year Zero Writers running First Chapter Friday. There are already three novels by Year Zero Writers, available in ebook and paperback form. On December 1^st there will be four more. So we’re using the Fridays in November to give people the chance to get to know the novels better. Starting with the ones already out there. And don’t forget ALL THREE NOVELS ARE FREE IN ALL EBOOK FORMATS, and whilst we’d love you to buy the paperbacks, most of all we just want you to read our books.

Today, in the three preceding posts, you’ll find a brief synopsis and the opening chapter of our three current novels. Over the next three weeks we’ll introduce you to the next four (don’t worry, we’ll figure the maths).

Benny Platonov by Oli Johns

Benny Platonov will save the eight hundred and fifty-seven homeless of Hong Kong. But first he has to know them, get close to them, connect with them. He has to sit with them in his box. Can he?

READ CHAPTER ONE OF BENNY PLATONOV BELOW
Download the whole novel FREE here
buy it here

Songs from the Other Side of the Wall by Dan Holloway

The day the Berlin Wall came down, Jennifer returned to England, leaving her week-old daughter, Szandi, to grow up on a Hungarian vineyard with 300 years of history. Now 18, Szandi is part of Budapest’s cosmopolitan art scene, sharing a flat and a bohemian lifestyle with her lover and fellow sculptress, Yang. She has finally found her place in the world. Then a letter arrives that threatens everything, and forces her to choose once and for all: between the past and the present; between East and West; between her family and her lover.

READ CHAPTER ONE OF SONGS FORM THEOTHER SIDE OF THE WALL BELOW

download the whole novel FREE here

buy it here