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almost here...

we're only one week away from the launch of tricky + conversion, my new book featuring a novella and a screenplay in one convenient volume. the book will be available starting wednesday, april 1st from the more like space bookstore. i thought i'd continue the countdown with a little excerpt from tricky to pique your interest [i hope]:

*

Against all the warnings of his body, he struggled into a sitting position and smiled at her. One of those sheepish smiles where you know you’ve done something wrong, but you want that person to like you in spite of it. He covered part of his face with his hand, trying to limit his exposure to the sun, which made her smile again.

“What kind of drugs were you on?”

“I’m not on drugs. I was just drunk.”

“Alcohol is a drug.”

She had him there. For her, there was little distinction between being drunk and being flipped out on PCP and, truth be told, he couldn’t be entirely sure that alcohol was the only thing he had consumed, just that it was the only thing he remembered consuming. He pulled a little closer to her, hauling himself along the grass like a clumsy snake. She didn’t make an attempt to move away, but just watched him struggle with movement, observing his eyes resting on her, the only part of him that was completely still. 

“I lost my friends. We were out together and somehow I got separated.”

She looked at him not exactly with sympathy, but with curiosity. She told him later that he had been the only person she had ever met from whom she had no idea what to expect. And perhaps that is what had made him attractive. Her whole life, she had been sheltered and guided and sure of what to do. She was aware that there were people who did drugs and ignored the word of God and who didn’t care about their fellow man and who lived with people they never married, but she had never wondered about what those people were really like. Until that moment. 

Jared felt something. He knew she didn’t exactly trust him, but he could tell that she didn’t hate him and that she wanted him to keep talking. So he kept talking, because that much he was pretty good at, even while poisonously hung over. He started telling her about how he had ended up on the lawn, but realised he couldn’t remember that much of it. She found that fascinating, the idea that he couldn’t remember what had happened to him the night before, that a period of time could simply be snatched away from you like that. He tried to explain to her what a hangover felt like, but, since he thought that he might actually like to see what she was like when drunk, he played its horrors down to a minimum. It wasn’t so bad. You just woke up confused some times.

*

of course, that's just a small part of what happens, but if you think you'd like to know more, you'll be able to in just a week's time.

p.s. :: will there ever be a wednesday? yes, yes. i said that world wide wednesdays would return this week and they will. but a little late, which isn't that unusual. i'm having a bit of a time keeping up with everything lately. i'm thankful i can remember my name although, truth be told, there are certain times of day when i might have to think about it. 

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long suffering

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so i tried writing something about just a part of it: the media coverage or the entertainment industry or the politicians or …

jihadvertising?

i keep seeing this ad for tictac candies:



am i the only one who finds the suicide bomber clown at the end a little unnerving? all the nice natural things like the bunny and the [extinct] woolly mammoth and the fruit get devoured by a trying-to-appear-nonthreatening-but-obviously-psychotic clown who then blows himself up. congratulations, tictac, i think this ad has landed you on about a dozen watch lists.

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