Your pal and mine, Mr. Jimmy Callaway is guest editing the 'Noir' issue of Black Heart magazine and looking for some flash fiction. I've never written flash. The shortest fiction piece I've clocked was a couple thousand words, (Viscosity - Out of the Gutter #6) and frankly, I'm not sure if I've got the chops to pull a good piece together, but I'm gonna try. So, give Jimmy a hand and make it the blackest damn issue they ever had.
Last night my wife asked me to read aloud so that she could go quickly to sleep. This always works. She rarely lasts a paragraph, but she'd expressly requested 'no disturbing stuff,' so I had to forgo Tony O'Neill's Sick City, (thank you Scott Montgomery for the rec) which is so enthusiastically twisted... I'm loving it. Anyhow, I picked up the title on top of my ARC TBR pile and started reading aloud. Two paragraphs later and she wasn't asleep. Two pages later and she still wasn't. Unfortunately, she was giggling. I read two whole chapters of that turkey to her before switching to the next title... This morning, I swear she held me in a higher regard, like 'Oh, I had no idea what you have to go through with all those free books they send you, poor baby.'
All of this to say - folks, I really appreciate the free books, I most sincerely do and I make every effort to give them a fair shake, but if you have sent me a book and not seen it mentioned a couple of weeks past it's publishing date, then for whatever reason, it just wasn't up my alley (unless you're John Rector and I swear, those books never arrived). I really don't want to be the guy ripping on your book in front of the whole blogosphere. You wrote a book, you're ahead of the curve. But it wasn't for me. Sorry. Plenty of big books weren't for me, so you're in good company. And I'm trying to get a novel published, so I understand how vulnerable you are, just, hey... thanks for the book, it wasn't for me. Let's leave it at that.
Now. You've cleared your calendar for Thursday night, right? You're coming to N@B at the Delmar Lounge at 7pm. I don't have to worry about you? You know that we've got Richard Thomas, the author of Transubstantiate and a moderator in Chuck Palahniuk's writer's workshop over at The Cult. And you know we've got Kyle Minor, the scribe of the friggin breakenest heartenest short stories you ever read at places like Plots With Guns, Surreal South or in his collection In the Devil's Territory? And you know we've got Anthony Neil Smith, the bold motherfucker who stepped up and helped give Noir at the Bar it's start two years ago? I know you know that. That's why, I know you'll be there.