December 8th, 2007


sometimes they come back...part two

The Darwin story continues get get more and more bizarre. Mrs Darwin, who apparently is now closeted in Florida with a number of national newspaper reporters, is now saying that her husband turned up, dishevelled and bearded, on her doorstep a year after he disappeared, and for the next three years proceeded to live there in secret.

Edit: Mr Darwin has now been charged with making an untrue statement to procure a passport, and obtaining a money transfer by deception in relation to life insurance. Two counts of fraud, basically. If they seem strange charges, it's because by law British police can keep suspects for only a short period of time before they have to charge them (unless you're accused of terrorist offences, in which case the period is longer and will get longer still if the government has anything to do with it) or let them go. I suspect Mr Darwin's window of custody was about to run out and they charged him with these two crimes in order to hold him for longer. No doubt further charges will follow.
  • Current Music
    rain on the skylight
Slow Loris

i can has anthology?

It looks as though I'm going to have to venture into the Little Room With All The Boxes and try to find my editor's hat again. I spoke with the publisher of Pendragon Books yesterday evening and he says he's willing to go ahead with New Writings In The Fantastic 2, the little brother of the mighty New Writings In The Fantastic, edited by our very own realthog. But don't rush out to your bookshops just yet; it won't be coming out until the second half of 2009. Which means there's still two years for me to completely kark the whole thing up.

Those of you who know the sad saga of Strange Pleasures and its untimely demise just as, I thought, it was beginning to pick up a head of steam, will know how happy I am about this latest development. Those of you who know the sad saga will also know just how unutterably poor an editor I am, so the happiness is tinged with a little apprehension.

Ever since The Publisher Who Must Not Be Named slam-dunked Strange Pleasures there's been a folder sitting on my desktop. It's labelled SP6 and it contains twenty-two short stories by people who decided to trust me to put their work out there and every time I've booted up the PC or the laptop it's been sitting there looking at me accusingly. Time to put that right. Oh yes.
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    porcupine tree