Smoke Em If You Got Em

Yeah, I know it’s been a while since I blogged. I’ve been up against it of late. This is largely my own fault as I tend to follow a writing process that consists of several weeks of intense planning (procrastination) followed by a brief period of blind panic and actual writing when I realize the deadline is only two days away.

In between times I’ve been working with Ryan Sayles on putting together a collection of my short fiction. The result of this madness will be unleashed on an unsuspecting world in the next month or so and just to whet your appetite here’s a sneaky peak at the awesome cover, designed by Kit Foster.

SMOKE EM IF YOU GOT EM includes eighteen tales filled with loners, losers, cheap women and cheaper liquor. You know how I roll. But this isn’t just a case of grabbing everything from my hard drive and dumping it into a book. Ryan and I thought long and hard about the feel and content of the collection. I wanted SMOKE EM to provide new readers with a good introduction to my work and I also wanted to give the select few that have actually heard of me something new to chew on. I think it will do just that—at least I hope it will.

Westbound and Down

One Eye Frigga, the original Shotgun Honey is here to mark my return to the pages of crime fiction's coolest hangout. I’m back for my third go around at SGH with a brand new story, “Westbound and Down.” As always, many thanks to Ron Earl and the team for letting me lower the tone once again. This could well be the only story of mine to appear online this year, so make the most of it!
I hope you’ll take the time to stop by and give it a read and maybe drop me a comment if you feel so inclined.

 

A 2013 Selfie

2013 has been a pretty good year for me. I wanted to do more, but real life kind of got in the way of fiction. Ah well, there's always next year. I would just like to say a big thank you to all the good people who spent their hard earned cash on one or more of these books. It's okay if you didn't, I still love you, just not quite as much.

Happy holidays folks!

Demonic Visions: 50 Horror Tales

This baby hit the virtual bookshelves earlier in the week, but it kind of got buried in all the excitement surrounding the launch of RELOADED. I’m stoked to have a little flash fiction story in DEMONIC VISIONS. Horror is a genre I have written in before, but not for a few years. What attracted me to this anthology was editor, Chris Robertson’s cool idea of gathering a group of authors together to produce not one book but a whole series. Volume one of DEMONIC VISIONS features tales of cannibalism, murderous underworlds, zombie carnage, portals to alternate dimensions, and a whole host of other scary shit that will have you checking under the bed and sleeping with the light on. It’s out now on Kindle and will be on Kobo and Nook shortly. The paperback should be out in a couple of weeks.  
Amazon US     Amazon UK

Nebraska - A Short Story by Chris Leek

About a year ago, Downer Magazine published a story of mine called Nebraska. Downer was a cool market that provided a home for some great flash fiction. Unfortunately it went the way of so many small literary e-zines and burned out in February this year. Nebraska is not my usual blood and guts crime stuff, it has a little more to say. I liked the story when I wrote it and reading it back now, I still do. So to preserve it for posterity and really just for my own indulgence, here it is. I have resisted the powerful urge to take the red editing pen to it and I have let it stand, warts and all. Who knows, maybe someone will dig it.

 

 

Nebraska

Hicky Thomas was always ragging on me, mostly I ignored him, but when he said my daddy was in Vietnam murdering babies, I kinda flipped. I'd never hit anyone before, not like I meant it. He was a year older than me and nearly a foot taller, but it turns out I was a natural.

It was like my fists worked all on their own, moving with a slick speed I never knew they had. Splitting lip, cracking bone, leaving Hicky in a pummelled mess on the lunch room floor. I felt fear mixed in with the anger and above them both, a crazy exhilaration. I'd never felt anything like the thrill I got from that flurry of punches.
 

Principal Howard tore a strip off me, said all farm kids were nothing but trouble and suspended me for two straight weeks. When my mother had finished her second cherry brandy and was over the worst of the shock, she grounded me, most probably for life. Worse than that, she insisted I had to go apologize to Hicky. My Uncle T-Bone, he flat out refused any part of it, said a boy had a right to defend his family honor. But momma kept on at him, knowing that sooner or later he'd cave and agree to drive us to town.

#

 

The dented Ford pick up looked furtive and uneasy, idling rough, among the sleek, modern sedans that lined Hicky's street. Uncle T stayed in the truck, keeping the motor running and the heater on high. Momma, wrapped up against the chill in her Sunday coat, marched me up the path of an expensive looking house. You could see the pool in back, covered over for winter. She straightened me up, took a deep breath and pressed the bell.

Musical chimes drifted back from somewhere inside and after what seemed like an age, Hicky came to the door, flanked by his expensive looking folks. All three of them stood waiting, expectant like, looking at Momma and me like we was nothing.

Momma jabbed me with an elbow and I started off saying how sorry I was, which I wasn't. Them words were the ones Momma wrote on the back of a hand bill and made me learn. When I was done, Hicky gave me the finger, but nobody saw him do it. Mister Thomas shook his head and went on at momma about how damn lucky she was that he hadn't called the law on me. If it was possible to die of shame, my mother would have done it right there on the front step. Her cheeks flushed a rich shade of pink and she examined her good shoes, mumbling more apologizes. I felt worse for her than anything. 

Except for Uncle T, whistling, tuneless through his dentures, we made the journey home in silence. Momma gazed intently out the window, like she'd found a sudden and all consuming interest in the railroad tracks, which kept pace along the highway. I rode bitch, sitting in between them on the sagging bench seat and watched empty Pabst cans chase one another around my feet. 

#

I came out on the back porch, and shivered at the breeze tugging on my shirt. Snow Geese filled the sky, silhouetted by a low riding sun, dipping fast behind the frozen stalks of last year's harvest. Uncle T was in the door yard, oiling a toothy bow saw and listening to KAAQ.  A sermon of country and religion; distilled with static and preached through the cracked Bakelite of an old Sears. T-Bone was never much for church. He told me once, God was behind most of the calamities in his life, said he still hoped to meet him one day though. I think maybe he's looking to get even.

“Uncle T, momma says, if you're goin' drinking at the Hanger, could you stop by the store for baking soda.” I called over, the words fogging out in front of my face.

He looked up at me and grinned, crooked teeth showing through the salt and pepper stubble that bristled along his jaw.

“Why don't you go get it yourself?” He said, knowing full well I was still grounded.

“Just 'cause.” I said and kicked at a left over seed potato, sending it bouncing off towards the chicken coop.

“Come here son.”

Ice had crept up the worn boards of the porch, covering them with a sheen of prickly frost. I half-slid, half-walked across them and picked my way, carefully down the steps.

“Rich folks like that Thomas crowd, they all think their shit don't stink.” He said, shaking out a bent Pall Mall from the crushed pack in his hip pocket.

I didn't say it, but I thought even supposing it did stink, Hicky couldn't of smelt it, not with his nose all busted.

“Don't pay no mind to what that boy says. Your daddy's serving his country, fighting them Commies for the President. You should be damn proud of him. If he were here, he'd tell ya he was proud of you too, understand?”

“Yes sir.” I said, not really understanding any of it; just wishing dad was here. Momma said he was in a place called Kay-song; I looked for hours, but I couldn't find it on no map.

“Go on now, get inside and help your mother. I got me a shoppin' list, beer and baking soda.” He said, mussing my hair.

#

I stood listening to the sound of the Ford's whipped motor, growing smaller in the gathering dusk, and wondered why Mister Johnson had never asked Hicky's dad to go fight them Commies.

 

Zelmer Pulp - Keep watching the skies

Citizens of Earth, the countdown has begun for a full on assault of the Sci-Fi genre by ZELMER PULP.

All the stories for our next release: HEY, THAT ROBOT ATE MY BABY! Have been turned in and as we speak they are being formatted for world domination.

It's an ambitious book for us, and we think it can hold its own with anything out there. So look out for it later this month, and don't say we didn't warn you. This ain't your daddy's science fiction. Here are some teasers, just to get you in the mood.

GEEK SQUAD 2.0  by Brian Panowich - In the 60’s and 70’s they did it with a bullet. In the 80’s and 90’s they did it with the media, but today if you want someone dead, it’s as easy as a Google search. The Geek Squad, bringing assassination to the modern age, but still can’t get dates for the prom.

WHEREVER THE LIGHT ENDS by Ryan Sayles - In 1947, twin sisters disappear from the face of the Earth during the most horrific experience of their lives. Later they are found, and they have new parents, new scars and a desire for a new life. When they die in 2012, shut-ins and with no family and no friends, the results of that one disappearance mark the end for mankind.

THIS PROTEAN LOVE by Isaac Kirkman - Adelita Salazar, the last living border agent of her precinct patrols the Tierras Oscuras, the Dark Lands, in search of her missing brother, encountering killers, and refugees, human, and machine in a futuristic world where the nature of reality is as uncertain as her future.

TIMEJACKED: THE RAND PARADOX by Chuck Regan - In the 24th Century, the ultimate form of vanity is to create a personal alternate Earth timeline. Chlör Byzantine, a B-Grade web celebrity, travels to 1957 to stop Ayn Rand from ruining the future... but she is ready and waiting for him.

THE WHORES OF GOD by Chris Leek - Earth in the 22nd Century is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there; the moral majority has taken a stand and if you want your kicks in 2132 you have to go off-world to get them. In the international waters of deep space everything is available, for a price. Jensen Corduroy is on a mission to get laid, but the Reverend Ellroy has a much higher purpose, he is on a mission from God.

In the meantime go and ‘Like’ us on Facebook to keep your finger on the Zelmer pulse:  ZELMER PULP

Roadkill Review: Post Office by Charles Bukowski

I used to work in a warehouse unloading shipping containers. When you cut off the seal and open them up you are faced with a 7’ x 7’ wall of cartons that stretches back 40 feet. It was freezing cold in winter, hot as a whore’s crotch in summer and back breaking all year round.

Anyone who has made minimum wage in a similar fashion will immediately identify with the dead end grind of Bukowski’s semi-autobiographical protagonist, Henry Chinaski.

Chinaski is a low life loser working a menial day job to support his hobbies of beer, broads and racetracks. He hates his job, his co-workers and at times himself.  

Post Office is a story about life or maybe existence would be a better word.  Chuck Palahniuk summed it up: “We all work jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need.”

I really can’t make up my mind about Bukowski; for me he falls somewhere between working class anti-hero and self centered arrogant. I guess that’s part of his charm, or lack of it depending on your point of view. He certainly does the down beat humor and fuck-you narrative better than most; he should, arguably he was the one who invented it.  

Post Office was Bukowski’s first novel and as such it is a little loose and it lacks the depth of his more engaging later works like Ham on Rye. But if you like your characters down and dirty and your prose spare and raw then this is a novel worthy of your time.

Saddle Up

Evening Ma’am *tips hat*

Well, today sees my debut in the wonderful world of western fiction. I grew up on a full fat diet old western movies, they were my mom’s favorites and both Clint and The Duke loomed large in my childhood. So when Shotgun Honey guru and all round good guy Ron Earl Phillips mentioned he was setting up The Big Adios, my first thought was hell yes I want some of that. My next thought was can I actually write a western? I had never tried before so there was only one way to find out.

The end result is a story called ‘Seeds’ it’s a mean tale of blood and revenge (aren’t they always).  I was stoked when Ron accepted it for publication and I was over the moon when I found out that Zelmer crew mate, Chuck Regan was doing the artwork to go along with my story. I can tell you that Chuck’s art is seriously awesome; but I leave it up to you to decide about my words.  

The Big Adios is a new site and it needs your support, so get along there and read, comment and if you feel like slinging a few words yourself, submit.

Seeds – The Big Adios    

Roadkill Review: Brown’s Requiem by James Ellroy.

Everybody knows James Ellroy right? His L.A. Quartet provides the hard-boiled benchmark that defines a genre for many. Even if you haven’t read him, you will at least be aware of the movie L.A. Confidential, based on his novel of the same name.

This work pre-dates that movie by some sixteen years and is in fact Ellroy’s first novel.  Set in contemporary Los Angeles it follows the trials and tribulations of a hard bitten PI, Fritz Brown in his attempt to unravel a complicated case of arson and blackmail.  These old school noir staples are put to good use by an emerging Ellroy and the same wonderful spare prose and clipped dialogue that mark his later works are here in spades.

Brown’s Requiem was written by a man still honing his craft. If you look carefully you will see it in the plot, which at times seems jumbled and is prone to wander. There is a lot of the author’s own life mixed in here too; his love of golf and classical music are to the fore throughout and it can feel a little like you are being force fed with Ellroy’s self indulgence. That said this is still James Ellroy and Brown’s Requiem is a novel worthy of his name.

If you only plan on reading one Ellroy book then it’s hard to look past the big four. Choose The Black Delilah of my personal favorite The Big Nowhere. But if you want an enjoyable and interesting look at how he came to write them, start here.

On The Grift

I have finally broken my on-line duck for 2013 with a different kind of bird.

My story ‘Pigeon’ is up at Grift Magazine today. This is  the first flash piece I have had up in a while and it was a lot of fun to write.  

A few years back I spent some time in Northern Nevada. The casinos in places like Winnemucca and Elko are a world away from the glamour of the Vegas strip. But the gambling is just as intense, maybe even more so. ‘Pigeon’ is a story about winners and losers and those that get caught on the wrong side of that line.

Many thanks to John Kenyon for giving it a home, or should that be a loft.

Check it out and drop a comment to let me know what you think.
Grift: Pigeon by Chris Leek

 

The 7-7-7 Meme

I got tagged on Facebook by Mike Monson and Ryan Sayles with the latest writer’s meme that’s doing the rounds.

The rules are: go to either page 7 or 77 of your manuscript. Count down 7 lines and then copy the next 7 lines to your Facebook status. Well, okay I did all that so I figured I might as well post it here as well. I hope you dig it.

…The rain was shot through with flecks of snow that turned pink in the bubble gum glow of strip club neon.  I dodged behind a checker cab and took shelter in the doorway of a Laundromat. Inside was a large woman dressed in sweat pants and a crop T that would have been too tight on someone half her size. She sat eating raw cookie dough and watching her clothes turn with a thousand yard stare that I recognized from the fox holes of Vietnam. A yellowing sign on the wall above her machine proclaimed, ’24/7 - we’re always open.’ Somehow I doubt this was what Sinatra had in mind when he was singing about the city that never sleeps…

 

That's an excerpt from a story provisionally titled ‘Exit Wounds'.  It has been a work in progress for a while now. I can’t help it; I’m easily distracted by shiny things. I also have a shit load of other stuff that’s just way more pressing, but maybe this one will see the light of day at some point.

 

To keep this going I tagged a few of the Brit Grit boys: Darren Sant, Paul D. Brazill, Nigel Bird and Gareth Spark.  So if you’re on the FB thingy keep a look out.

A Short Review of the Reviews

Since I landed the gig at Out of the Gutter all of my book reviews have headed that way. This is mainly due to the fact that my week doesn’t usually allow the time needed to read two books. I want to change that, make more time for reading and start posting some reviews back here again, perhaps take a look at some books which don’t fit in with the Gutter’s style. 

My OOTG reviews tend to focus on emerging and independent authors as I feel these are the guys and girls who can make best use of the platform. I’m a writer and I know how tough it is to get the word out there. Established authors don’t need a half-assed critic like me to blow literary smoke up their ass, they already have the platform  that comes from a five book deal with a major. That said, another thing I'd like to do is pass comment on some of those bigger guns from time to time.  So keep a look out for that kind of thing here and remember to check the Gutter on Tuesdays for my weekly slice of the crime stuff. (You can find those crime reviews just by clicking the linky thing to the right).

 

Show Some Respect

Here’s a first look at Eric Beetner’s superb cover for the new All Due Respect anthology. This bad boy is going to hit the shelves in a few weeks time. I'll be posting further details, including the full line up shortly. I'll also be explaining why your life is not complete until you own a copy. 

A Legend is Born

 

Back in the hedonistic days of 2012 Ryan Sayles and Brian Panowich were writers who plied their trade in the gritty world of noir. All that changed one bourbon soaked evening when they struck upon the idea of writing some shit about zombies instead. They enlisted the mighty talents of Chuck Regan and Zelmer Pulp was born.

Zelmer Pulp's first release, C’mon And Do The Apocalypse, Volume 1 hit the street around the same time as the Mayans lost count and has to date earned several (mostly) rave reviews and some discount coupons for dry cleaning.

Not satisfied with this seemingly unmatchable success the trio pushed on and sort out the suave and sophisticated Isaac Kirkman for his incredible writing ability and to help them get girls. When I mentioned that I still had the photos of Ryan and the chinchilla I too was invited aboard.

Now we few, we happy few, we band of brothers are working our fingers to the bone in basements, trailer parks and dry out centers across the globe to bring you the very last word in Sci-fi , Hey! That Robot Ate My Baby, Volume 1.

At Zelmer Pulp we set out to provide you with the very best in retro-futuristic, pulp hero, dark crime, monster noir, and neoclassical post-apocalyptic multi-generation uber-exploitive psychodrama. We also do seasonal recipe books.

So tell your friends there’s a new sheriff in town and make sure you like us on Facebook because we're all really needy and just wanna be adored.

Click here to Visit Zelmer Pulp on Facebook and keep watching the skies people.


Buy from Amazon



So this is 2013 AKA The brochure looks nice.

The New Year is upon us and with it comes renewed hope in the belief that this year might not suck as hard as the last. Who knows maybe this one won’t.

I’m not big on resolutions; they usually involve something called willpower and concentrate solely on removing some form of enjoyment from your life.

Plans however, those I like. Plans are fluid; you can change them as you go along and adapt them as things change around you.

I’ve got plans for 2013; some of are already in motion. First up I can tell you that I will have new stories appearing in four anthologies this year. The first one likely to hit the shelves is Chris Rhatigan’s All Due Respect, which includes my story ‘The Honeymooners’. I’ve recently seen the full line up and I can tell you it’s awesome. The guys at Near to the Knuckle have also put together a stellar cast for their very first anthology. Daz and Craig were some of the first guys to take a chance on me and publish my work. I’m honored to have my story ‘Brothers under the Bridge’ included in their debut anthology, which is penciled in for a February release. There are two more a little further down the line that I will dish the dirt on at a later date.

Other writing projects are also moving on a pace. You can expect to see me back in the gutter at the Flash Fiction Offensive with my story ‘Pigeon’. I will also be donning my spurs and six gun at Ron Earl Phillips new western fiction zine The Big Adios. I’m a big fan of the western and was delighted to make the cut with my first ever attempt at writing one. I have a feeling I will be trying my hand at some more stories in this genre.

The most exciting news will unfortunately have to remain largely under wraps for now. Okay, I can give you a little. Isaac Kirkman and I have been asked to join Ryan Sayles, Brian Panowich and Chuck Regan on the Zelmar Pulp crew for their next project; all I can tell you is that it will blow your mind, rock your world and leave your breath tasting minty fresh.

Welcome to the brave new world of 2013 people. Let’s hope it’s a good one.

Making The Cut

First up; Happy New Year!

I thought it would be best to start 2013 as I mean to go on, so here is the first 'Me' post of the new year. 



When the alcohol haze of midnight celebrations had cleared a little I was delighted to find that two of my short stories had been included in the ‘best of 2012 online’ lists from the inscrutable Paul D Brazill and the enigmatic Mike Monson.

Paul picked my story ‘Redheaded Woman’, which first appeared at The Flash Fiction Offensive and subsequently in the new anthology Out Of The Gutter 8.
Five you Can't Miss from 2012 - Paul D Brazill

Mike plumped for ‘Party Favors’, which was published at Spintingler Magazine, back in the summer. Special Short Stories I read This Year - Mike Monson

Thanks guys I’m honored to have made the cut.

So that was 2012 then?

It’s the end of the world year as we know it and actually now I think about it, yes I do feel fine. 2012 hasn’t been an easy ride for several reasons; the economy for one, that's spent the last 12 months resolutely entrenched in the toilet, which in turn has left me clinging to the wreckage of my day job, but like the Boss says: you got to learn to live with what you can’t rise above, so screw all that. 2012 has also been pretty awesome.

Roll back one year to the 20th December 2011. That was the day I got an e-mail from a guy named Larry Green, he's the editor of an online zine called Death Head Grin. Back in the September I had sent him a short story called Wetwork, like the other stories I was touting around at that time it had already been rejected by several other places, so I couldn’t quite believe it when Larry told me he dug the story and he was going to publish it. That was the first piece of fiction I ever had accepted for publication. Those of you who write will know how that felt. For those of you who don’t, try to imagine a lottery win and an orgasm rolled into one. You’re a good man Larry Green.

Roll forwards again to today, one year on and I’ve had 18 short stories published, one even made the cut for the new Out of the Gutter 8 print / e-book anthology (I may have mentioned that once or twice recently).  I’ve also got myself a regular writing gig, reviewing more talented folk’s stuff at the Out of the Gutter website. All that counts as awesome in my book, but what has really made this year for me is the help, support and above all the friendship of the people I’ve met in the crime / noir writing community.  I’m sorely tempted to name the names, but you guys know who you are right? Well you all have my sincere thanks.  

I know that my writing won’t pay the rent or make a damn of difference in the grand scheme of things, but it makes me happy and if once in a while I write something that makes somebody who reads it happy too, I’ll take that.

Happy Christmas Y’all.

More Hot Naked Chicks

 

Here’s a heads up for the Luddites, the Amish and all lovers of the long-lost analog world. If you find yourself yearning for that near forgotten thrill of reading words on actual paper, then you can rejoice in the knowledge that Out of the Gutter 8 can now be purchased or purloined in print.

This rare treat can even be had here in little old England, Scotland too I would imagine, although I’m not so sure about Wales. Go get some Gutter Love: OOTG8 

Incidentally the hand is this shot belongs my friend and co-conspirator, Chris DeWildt. His story alone is worth the price of admission.

Hot Naked Chicks

Now that I have your attention, here’s something for all you crime fiction types to get your panties in a bunch about.

That’s right Out of the Gutter 8 has landed. This fine work of bad-ass fiction has been lovingly crafted, cajoled and generally beaten into submission by those stand up citizens at OOTG: Court Merrigan, Matt Louis, Joe Clifford and Tom Pitts.

This is undoubtedly a book that will change your life for the better; a stone cold killer, jammed with down and dirty treats from the following kings and queens of cool:  Matthew C Funk, Les Edgerton, Jen Conely, Ryan Sayles, Chris DeWildt, Issac Hayes, Mike Monson, Richie Naravez, T. Fox Durham, Nicola Murphy, Dana C. Kabel, Michael Bracken, David James Keaton, David Corbett and Todd Mohar. Hell, they even made room for a little something by some dude called Chris Leek, but don’t let that put you off.

The e-book is available right now at an Amazon near you; print will follow hot on its heels in the next day or so. Trust me you need this book, it’s the one everybody at school is going to be talking about and you don’t want to be ‘that guy’ now do you?

Go and buy one for yourself, then buy another copy and slip it into Grandma’s stocking. It is Christmas after all.

Order from Amazon UK
Order from Amazon.com

The Rumble in the Dumpster - Sayles Vs. Leek

Today my friend is an auspicious day in the life of yours truly, for I have been granted an audience with the Legend that is Ryan ‘The Walnuts’ Sayles. Yes brothers and sisters rejoice in the knowledge that my life is now complete and join me in the spare parts and broken hearts of my Noir Affliction.

 

Some people are born great; others have greatness thrust upon them and then there are those of us who just make it up as we go along: Chris Leek: a review by Ryan Sayles