MONET'S SAMURAI PAINTING.

Mrs Monet posed for this image. In recreating the man in blue, I learned a lot about flattening the drawing. My version of the character is distorted to take account of the elimination of detail.

   That removal of detail is in line with the plot of the story, JAPANESE MONSTERS. Coming to an Amazon near you soon.
   Though Wataru starts as Samurai he soon finds events stripping him of that status, and he wanders Japan much as waves move aimlessly.

VAMPIRES.

Still plugging my work on a weekly basis until I run out of items to plug. Then I should publish JAPANESE MONSTERS. With illustrations. Actually, why not throw in a sample here...



   That image is after Monet. The character depicted is Wataru the Wave-Man. More on him later. For now, here is the weekly plug for a book you can check out on Amazon...

FICTION FACTORY. Welcome to my mini-self-publishing imprint for short stories running around 30,000 words. These stories are not collected or bundled with other tales. If you buy WITCHES, you won’t suffer disappointment in later life by finding WITCHES reheated for a collection called TALES TO IMPRESS PALAEONTOLOGISTS. Be thankful for that small mercy.

VAMPIRES.

Crashing parties used to amuse Vance. He hurled himself into a world of no commitments. When the synthetic blonde offered more of the same, guided by brusque phone texts, he didn’t see the harm in another meaningless fling.

“Rule 1. If I text and you are busy, that’s fine. The rule runs in both directions. No pestering.”

He was okay with that.

“Rule 2. We never attend social functions. I don’t do weddings, though I will crash parties.”

Suited him, just fine.

“Rule 3. No gifts.”

Saved money.

“Five rules. Rule 4. If we see each other with strangers, no questions. No introductions to family, friends, neighbours, colleagues, serial killers…”

Vance had no problem with the fifth rule. He thought his problems began next day.

There, in red lipstick, she’d left a mirror message.

WIPE THIS OFF. STICK TO THE RULES. SEE YOURSELF OUT.

The bar? Reasonable. Didn’t try too hard to be trendy. He knew no one here – not on a Wednesday night. Vance watered at the venue on the odd weekend. Open the door on a world without strings. In.

Scene. The jet minx in front of him shook hailstones from her bobbed coiffure. Melting pellets bounced off his heavy coat. By contrast, she appeared to be wearing a black plastic bag for no protection from the night.

He eyed her tight black jeans. Painted on. Sheathed legs stopped at bare ankles and shiny stab-me black shoes. Hang about…

37,000 words, plus notes.

 

WEREWOLVES.

The countdown to publication is rumbling on. What am I hoping to publish next? This...

   Though not in that form. I will plug the updated cover nearer the day. Right now I am typing this on my internet-connected computer. Ah, luxury. I write on a computer that has no links to the world-wide drain on authorly time.
   So expect to see a slightly more Japanese version of the above cover.
   Meanwhile, counting down to publication, I am plugging my published works. Here you go...

FICTION FACTORY. Welcome to my mini-self-publishing imprint for short stories running around 30,000 words. These stories are not collected or bundled with other tales. If you buy WITCHES, you won’t suffer disappointment in later life by finding WITCHES reheated for a collection called TALES TO IMPRESS PALAEONTOLOGISTS. Be thankful for that small mercy.

WEREWOLVES.

Two men died. The third man faded. SHE spoke to the police. The police looked into that connection. Nothing connected. Trailing over old ground, cold ground, SHE thinks SHE’s on the right track. The trouble with following tracks? Sometimes you meet trains coming the other way.

SHE has little to go on but instinct and a curiosity that’s already killed the cat. On this mad little adventure into the unknown, it’s the dog SHE should worry about. No full moon. Little sign of silver bullets. Maria Ouspenskaya checked out of that hotel a long time ago.

Follow in the footsteps of two, or three, dead men. Take a walk into the alleys just off Maldine Square. Ignore the café chatter. Find your way to that place, where the brass dragon shakes two silver bells as you tumble through the door. Take a look around. See what you can find. Be wary of anything that finds you.

39,000 words, plus notes.