Ira, author of Welcome to the Multiverse (Sorry for the inconvenience), has been busy lately being interviewed by various bloggers. Occasionally they ask sensible questions, even less occasionally he gives sensible answers. Well, what did you expect?
You can read them for yourself:
here on Mia Darien’s website From Mia’s Desk;
here on Debra L. Martin and David W. Small’s website Two Ends of the Pen;
here on the I Read Indie blog; and
here on the Books & Writing blog.
Update: And now also here on Hilary Lesch’s Novel d’Tales blog
I got the letter this morning from one of the big five. This is the ms they accepted.
To Kill a Mockingbird
Machine wash at 40 degrees on a fast spin. Wash separately. Iron.
It’s going to be published as a children’s book next year. They want me to pad it out a bit but essentially they are raving about the idea. This they love – my two fingered salute to them I sent out believing I was about to be turned off for being a crashing failure. My stories of The Amazing Arctic Sinking Man, OAP Extraction, Finn with a fish swimming in his eye, locusts and rusting submarines, paper bullion – all rejected for this. Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 8 : To Kill a Mockingbird”
Mr Cricklewood ran his fingers over the paper. Raising the letter to his nose he breathed in and let the smell transport him to bluebells, birdsong, young love.
Sighing he replaced the letter in the envelope, slipped it back with the others. Around him: panelled walls, a stained glass window showing a picture of a mockingbird, oak spindles of a staircase that once led him to her embrace. It was time, he thought.
He walked over to the writing desk.
His old fingers creaked and clicked as he sealed each letter with wax, the smell filling his nostrils. When each was dry he lifted it to his lips, kissed it, said goodbye. Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 7 : OAP Extraction”
He was watching Master Chef when it appeared over his retina. At first his brain miscalculated and inserted the angel fish into the programme, where it swam through the steaming crust of the Mockingbird pie. Then after a moment the fish popped out of the screen and passed through the wall into the hallway.
Finn blinked and rubbed his eyes, looked at his watch. It was late. He really should get to bed earlier. He turned off the TV and sighing got to his feet. As he did the image of the fish appeared again: flickering with the beat of his eyelids.
He tried closing his eyes but the fish was still there floating in a sea of blackness. It turned, swam towards him and disappeared. Finn slapped his hand over his eyes, stumbled and knocked over the cans of beer at his feet. Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 6 : Is That a Fish in Your Eye?”
No-one would believe him but Albert Mockingbird had discovered the elusive Hawking Particles whilst visiting his great aunt at Scunthorpe. He’d spotted them next to her bed floating with her false teeth. He could recall the precise eureka moment with clarity as he’d picked up the glass, noticed the unusual weight to it, and swallowed the fluid – his aunt’s teeth bumping off his shoulder and falling onto the paisley carpet.
Of course he had known he couldn’t risk staying there a moment longer, the Bureau for Scientific Discoveries had been following him for months and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him in order to assign the discovery to one of their paying clients. Scribbling a note, he left without waking his aunt and headed for the airport intent on smuggling them through customs.
His boss at CERN had smiled when he confided in him the day after and he was retired off: a carriage clock the answer to his breakdown. So sad after a life-time’s work, they had said. Albert knew though. He could feel them buzzing around his body like fire flies. Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 5 : The Amazing Arctic Sinking Man”
Her chest rises and falls marking out time with the movement of air, muscle: the unbidden will to live. Before her the door is bricked in, the window boarded and sealed, the old lime wall drunk on carbon dioxide. Around her the stillness of the air, the silence of dust suspended, waiting to fall. Her wrists, bound, are chaffed. Her lips, red, are dry, cracked.
She remembers sunshine, laughter, the free fall of play.
Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 4 : The Locust Wife”
High above the barricade a flock of mockingbirds marked out a halo to the urban sprawl. Ripples of static on two-way radios mingled with the hum of traffic circling the cordoned off area. Then silence for a moment as everything was sucked in: like the sea retreating before a tsunami.
A manhole cover with the impression of a tree vibrated as the wall of sound radiated out from the explosion. Pieces of metal, bricks and plaster followed and blasted through police cars. A man fell, his foot severed, part of it next to him, part of it rammed up into his thigh.
Shouts, sirens, a billow of smoke and dust obscuring carnage.
Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 3 : Paper Bullion”
The thud is the first thing I hear as my ‘system reboots’ – although I prefer to say as I wake up – although of course not out aloud, no need to call undue attention to myself.
Downstairs the white A4 envelope with my handwriting on it is lying at 62 degrees to the edge of the welcome mat. I pick it up, rip it open, read the standard rejection letter.
Dear Android Writer CSG1002
Thank you for your submission of your novel To Kill A Bird. Whilst we found much to admire in your story, I’m afraid it’s just not for us. We only take a few novels on each year and we really have to fall in love with it to take it on, although another publisher may think differently about your work.
Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 2 : To Kill a Bird”
I walk towards the white door. Around its edges light bleeds into the darkness. All is silent apart from the hum of the fridge. I open it and like water from a burst dam light escapes and floods the twilight edges of the kitchen.
Cold air fills my nostrils as I look inside.
Reaching in, I pick up a bottle of oil. I need to quench my thirst. Put out the fire at the back of my servos. I try to slot into order the sequence of events: the book deal that appeared and then winked away like a dying star, the white gloves and the brick through Amazon’s window; my novel lying in the shop front in a bed of glass.
I can feel the oil inside me anointing me, I remember being born: my creator. Continue reading “An Android Wakes Part 1 : My Fridge Hums”