The truth is that my books are about things that interest me. I can only get so interested in current and historical insanity before my attention quite rightly wanders away. Stupidity isn’t my favorite subject, and I have better things to do with my time than contribute to it. I also feel the need to inflict a book excerpt or several on people,therefore this blog.
Hence also a large number of books. The Threat-Hamster series is set in eternity, with infinite subject matter. So there. That gives me a lot of space to wander around and explore ideas. The other books are my takes on various subjects, including experience. This appeals to my dictatorial streak. It’s also the basis of an idea I’ve been thinking about for a while; a horror story based on a world run by writers.
I will say that if anyone has 1% of the fun reading these books that I had writing them, they’re a good deal, even at these prices. My books, if purchased in sufficient quantities, can be used to build shanty towns, and other infrastructure as required.
A word of caution at this point – Some of these books are carnivorous. You’ll know which ones after the first few fatalities. They’ve even been known to bring down water buffalo. Not easy to do in Sydney, but they really put in a lot of effort. Just distract them with a steak or a salesperson, and they’ll be OK indoors.
Ads book excerpt:
DJ: That’s what a really crappy CD being thrown through a window sounds like in Spring. Stick around for the other seasons. Now, we have a caller. That’s interesting, because we despise talkback people and usually chop them up and sell them to people who hate goldfish…. What’s the problem, mate, missing arse, face unfortunately situated on head, nostrils need mowing…?
Voice: I’m Bruce? All of the above, in a way? I’m trying to find Our Nigel? I rang you because he likes to listen to people yelling? He’s English? He went out for a sandwich and we never saw him again? Ooh I’m worried? Weren’t you ever worried? You should be, I saw your photo in the paper? Who does your hair, Arnotts?
DJ: Yeah…. it’s the Ginger Nut In Denial Look…. Takes hours…. He’s a Pom, and you’re trying to find him? Doesn’t sound very likely. What does he look like, and why? Have you seen any suspicious sandwiches?
Bruce (warmly, like a railway station late train announcement in love) He’s getting pattern baldness, and he’s skinny except for his beer gut? He has this big nose and it’s always red…or green? You could try vaccination for the hair?
The Threat-Hamster Papers book excerpt:
He got a computer and started writing biographies of hamburgers that sailed the seven seas looking for livers. He wrote terrible indictments of heartless mayonnaise that forsook poor little hamburgers on their wedding night. He became addicted to ketchup. The staff found it necessary to restrain him from breaking out and attacking the onion patch outside his window.
He was eventually cured.
Sarketiste, in its wisdom, found a Grown from Vienna with experience in Hamburger Trauma. This Grown had the bedside manner of a dentist with a backhoe. Its name was Dessicata Arschwunder.
“Ach, der kleine narr has eaten off zer Feral Burger, ja? Ve shall haf to try zer Aversion Derapy mit der Grosses Osterreicher Plunger und der Sennapods den Krieg und der Burger-Abwehr Ethik.”
Filth was Plunged, fed Sennapods and shown photos and videos of hamburgers in unethical situations. Burgers pursuing lives of dissolute immorality. Burgers with a passion for flan pastry. Burgers hiding in meringues. Burgers becoming property developers. Burgers lurking in cups of tea. Burgers as corporate vermin.
(Excuse my pidgin German. The trouble is that it looks so much more authentic this way.)
Mimbly Tales book excerpt:
The Great Priest eventually subsided, after taxing the limited patience of the Celts further than would ever be safe under ordinary circumstances. They wanted to hear O’Neill refute this tonnage of golden manure, and they were sure the Crow and the Horse were there for a reason.
O’Neill was brief. He was brief largely because he’d been watching the Crow, which hadn’t moved since it arrived on the edge of the stage. The Horse was also quite still.
“Thank you, Great Priest, for that revealing speech.” Any irony was lost on the Roman, who had only now noticed the Crow. It seemed to be a very large bird, and it was looking at him intently.
“As I understand it, one difference between our beliefs is that we can see our gods, while yours defies vision. Is that correct?”
“His body is gold, and all gold is his life. My chair is his vehicle, made of his flesh on this world.” He managed to miss the remark about being able to see gods, while not answering the question, either. Good technique.
This didn’t appear to surprise O’Neill.
“So if we see gold, we see in part your Golden God?”
“Gold is truly a precious and incorruptible metal, yet it may be worked, may it not?”
“To meet the inscrutable purposes of the God, it may.”
“You will have noticed that there is a large Crow perched on the stage. In our belief it is the emissary of the goddess, Macha.”
The priest smiled indulgently. He didn’t know how to smile any other way. He then realized that there was, actually, something odd about a crow which had evidently come to listen to a spiritual debate.
Wanderlaugh book excerpt
A starving man looks for a piano. A loving woman reads a book. A lonely, thoughtful, child finds a place. An idea sneaks into a painting for safety. A cold wind warms a wandering mind. Depth of mind searches for depth of soul. A song travels through history, un-aged. Somewhere in every musical instrument is a meaningful God. In the storms of the languages is something called Love. In the unspeakable fury of life is the incredible strength of Truth.
No tear ever says enough. Death never kills anything. The passage of time is just a version of what can be. It’s never the whole story. Without light, darkness is meaningless, a mere absence. With light, darkness adds to it. Life never confines itself. Ideas breed thoughts like bacteria, and thoughts breed ideas like elephants.
What is the scale of being? How big is reality? Why is a beautiful woman blinding? What does it mean, that emotions can be more real than solid objects? What does a child mean? Who’s braver, the artist or the art? Why is playing music so much like flying?
Laughter destroys the most pretentious of fools. Laughter creates life. To laugh is to live. Love and laughter are inseparable. Truth and laughter are good friends. No theory is immune to either. No misery survives a real laugh.
Wander on, my Wanderlaugh.
…You can see why these books would want to go out and hunt things. Next logical step, really. The most accurate character description of me (that I know of) is that I sell these books to actual people. Ethics? I’m a writer! What would I do with an ethic, take it for walks?
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