You Might Be A Fascist Dictator if...

1. You wear peaked caps and aviator sunglasses with a regularity above that which is currently considered excessive.
2. Bono organises charity concerts for your population whilst never actually setting foot in your country.
3. You own at last one gold-plated firearm.
4. The official currency of your country is unknown.
5. Dirk Pitt has killed you at least once.
6. Your first name is also a military rank.
7. There exists a preponderance of statues of yourself in your country.
8. You have released a book which every single person in your country has bought.
9. You own some form of Citroen.
10. You look good in Khaki.

It's A Thanksgivin' Hootenanny!

Today is the American holiday of Thanksgiving, so if you're wondering why all of your favorite websites haven't been updated in the middle of the week, that'll be why.
But what, really, is thanksgiving? As a holiday, it can be hard for those portions of the world who aren't America* to comprehend a holiday that doesn't involve the birth/death of a deity or monarch/despot, or a horse race. This shouldn't be a stumbling block, as Thanksgiving is really quite easy to get your head around. All it requires is a little knowledge of American history, like what I have got.

Thanksgiving: In the Olden Days some people from Europe with funny hats discovered America. Though many people with funny hats had discovered it beforehand (Phoencians, Egyptians, Romans, Vikings, Basques and the Irish) they didn't count. The native Americans, or Injuns, did not appreciate the intrusion and tried to Sioux them, but their hats were only made of feathers so this didn't count. As the native Americans were displaced by the new native Americans they began to have reservations. Unfortunately the new native Americans had even bigger hats by then and they all got shot by John Wayne. Four-score and seven years ago everyone started driving Cadillacs and were pretty happy, so they decided to give thanks by walking on the moon. They asked George Washington to have a lie down and he chopped down a cherry tree with Abraham Lincoln. That is why every November they carve shit into pumpkins.

*Basically, the Communists and the British Empire.

On Pulp

I love pulp fiction. I recently read Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep", and my literary horizons have been astoundingly increased by the discovery of Robert E Howard's "Conan" stories (not to mention Solomon Kane and Sailor Steve Costigan). The only problem is of course that the Golden Age of Pulp is well behind us. I still pick up Asimovs' Magazine when I see it, and I've read my was through a few of the paperback westerns from the newsagents, but otherwise i've had to rely on comics to give me that good old short-story, punchy plot, hard-edged fiction that I crave.
However (and I guess you've been thinking since the start that there was always going to be a 'however' coming up somewhere) today I found in my local newsagents a small a5 chapbook (some a4 sheets stapled on the fold line) of about 60 pages or so. It was called "After The World: Killable Hours", and across the top of the cover was emblazoned the motto 'All-New Australian Pulp'.
I bought a copy. It turned out to be quite a well-written piece about the inevitable zombpocalypse* occurring in Melbourne, and a young lawyer who gets caught up in it all. I'm quite taken with it, and from the looks of things it's going to be the first in a series novellas all set in the same universe, but otherwise not linked. There's no word yet on when the next installments will be out, but if it follows the procedure set out by Black House's earlier release "The Dark Detective" comics it should appear monthly.
It only cost me $5, it's a good story and it's a change to help both Australian writers and a new Australian publishing company. I can't think of anything more worthwhile to get behind.

*yes, its a word.

Crikey O'Trousers

Bloody hell. It's been longer than simply ages since I updated this rotten thing. You'd think I were dead or something, judging from the smell. So, long story short, there is no story. I'm just here because i'm feeling guilty about not supplying my legions of fan with any new material, and thus am forced to do one of those tricky (and slightly nauseating) actual blog posts about life. My life, to be precise, because I can't think of anyone else's worth a damn at the moment.
So, to recap the events of the last few weeks:
Stories published: 3. Surprisingly good, if I say so myself. Harper-Collins may not be beating a path to my door, but other people are. Two stories being published in a South Australian crime anthology (despite one being set in rural Pomgolia and the other in Paris, Frograq); and one being published in an English humour anthology (despite being set in Straya). Go figure.
Competitions won: Sort-of, a bit. I ended up coming second in this year's Burnside Literary Awards for a story about Robin Hood. This marked my first attempt at writing something arty-farty in order to please judges and it worked a fair-to-middling treat. The fact that it was peer-judged by Malcolm Walker (of The Stone Crown fame and all-round jolly nice chap) was a pleasant bonus.
Novels published: 0. A dissapointment on this score. However, the relentlessly-commercial "Shannon Stone" vampire opus is currently being read by Curtis Brown, and hope springs eternal. I saw a pig flying the other day, so it all bodes well.

A Public Service Announcement

Due to poor planning Movember has been shifted into early 2010, where this time it will be known as Mobruary. Thank you.