All posts by greydogtales

John Linwood Grant writes occult detective and dark fantasy stories, in between running his beloved lurchers and baking far too many kinds of bread. Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.

A Ginger Horror: Jim McLeod Finds Out Where We Live

Today’s mega-interview is hard-hitting, includes some rude words, and is predominantly ginger. Yes, it’s Jim McLeod, taking a break from running that major horror fiction and film review site, Ginger Nuts of Horror, to bring joy and vitriol to our mild, puzzled lives.

Jim has many outstanding qualities – for example, he’s got a beard, and he comes from the well-known Yorkshire colony of Scottish-land (a little geography for our far-flung listeners). He’s also fun to know. Join us now and hear the truth about, uh, quite a lot of things…

Warning: There is a small amount of effing and jeffing involved. If you are a lurcher of a sensitive disposition, or a writer who thinks a spell-checker is the same as an editor, you might want to be prepared. The opinions expressed below belong to somebody, probably.

jim mcleod
a passing Scotsman, just as the sedative dart began to work

greydog: Welcome to greydogtales, Jim. We would say that it’s a great honour to have you here, but we’re dour Yorkshire folk and don’t believe in crawling.

What we do appreciate is you finding the time to join us, considering the amount of work you put into your site Ginger Nuts of Horror. So we want to look at that side of things first. For people who don’t know much about GNoH’s origins, how did it all start?

jim: Well that’s a story in itself. It all started six or seven years ago. I have no concept of time-frames – I ought to know because my daughter was just about to turn one year old. Yes I know I should know how old my daughter is and I’m a terrible parent, I’ll burn in hell, probably at the hand of my daughter Cthella.

So I was on a three month absence from work after getting my left wrist rebuilt. Apparently I had spent the previous seven years going around with a broken wrist and not realising it. I’m hard as hell, or as my wife says, stupid as hell for not going to the doctor earlier. And while mucking about on the internet I came across THE BRITISH HORROR NOVELS FORUM, a great message board that has sadly been killed off by Facebook. Inhabiting that space were such reprobates as William Meikle, Ian Woodhead, and a few other authors.

I can’t remember if it was Ian or William who suggested that I start interviewing authors on the forum. The interviews took a form of question and response on the forum and went on for as long as the natural discussion allowed. After a few weeks of doing this William suggested I started my own blog. It was supposed to be called THE GINGER NUTCASE OF HORROR as I am ginger, if you haven’t figured that out, and nutty about horror. However, thanks to being off my nuts on really strong prescription painkillers I registered the name as Ginger Nuts of Horror.

Looking back six or seven years later I would never have imagined that what started off as something to do while recovering from a major operation would have grown into one of the biggest horror review websites out there, let alone ever thinking that I would interview Joe Dante, Graham Masterton, Joe Hill, Simon Clarke, and numerous other heroes of mine. And never would have thought that it would take up so much of my life. I work night shifts, and on my day/nights off I get up at 4am just to keep up with the number of emails, reviews and interviews that I have to deal with.

jim mcleod ginger nuts of horror logo

greydog: We tend towards the weird, which often includes horror but which ranges across a lot of genres and interests. How do you set your own site’s boundaries? There must be areas which are too peripheral or too unpleasant for you to want to include – or is it case-by-case every time?

jim: It used to be easier when I was the only reviewer on the site, as I have a pretty strict and conservative set of values and morals. So the extreme side of horror was never going to be touched upon by myself, it’s just not my thing. Hell, I skip over any naughty business in horror books. But in more general terms I think horror is a pretty all-encompassing genre – you can go from the quiet end of the spectrum with the ghost stories of M R James, right up to the extreme end of the spectrum from the likes of Matt Shaw, but it can take in everything from Aliens, Bizarro, Terminator, serial killers, big hairy monsters and psycho clowns. To me horror is a feeling not a genre.

And now that we have a great team of reviewers I’m more open to cover the extreme side of it, mainly thanks to the contributions of Dawn Cano’s extreme horror fiction reviews and Alex Davis’ excellent extreme Horror column FILM GUTTER.

The rest of the spectrum is covered by Kit Power, George Illet Anderson, George Daniel Lea, Charlotte Bond, Duncan Ralston, and Kayleigh Marie Edwards, John Boden, plus Andrew Freudenberg and Adrian Shotbolt, who are taking the lead with the music side of the site.

I’m so lucky to have such strong team of reviewers, who are also a great bunch of guys and gals, ones I am proud to call friends.

greydog: We even know some of these terrifying people, but we wouldn’t dare let them loose on here. Despite that fact that you cover films, news, views and all sorts of horror-related matters, would we be right in saying that horror fiction, the written word, is still the heart of your work?

jim: It is and it isn’t. Personally I have become really disillusioned with the fiction side the genre. There seems to be a real sense of entitlement within the writer community these days. You know the sort, the ones who will spend all day posting that coffee writer meme, interspersed with whinging posts about bad reviews. They forget that writing is all about paying the dues – these are ones who slap a book together, think they can edit it themselves then slap it up on Amazon and wonder why they aren’t a best seller. It’s a rising problem and one that is really pissing me off. Christ, I’ve had death threats over book reviews.

And yet this has never happened from the film side of the genre, and you should read some of my film reviews, that’s where I really fly off the handle and let my piss and vinegar spurt forth with unfiltered glee.

Having said that it probably still is the heart of the site even if it feels a bit rotten at the moment.

greydog: Fortunately we don’t feel entitled. We just write the stuff and beg for as many cents a word as possible. Or free meaty bones and chicken carcasses. Now, we’re not going to ask how people can get a mention on GNoH. They should be able to work that out for themselves if they want to get on in the world (we know, we’re harsh). We’re more curious about what happens next. There are many published works with potential, or brilliant concepts, which aren’t quite there yet. How do you tackle reviewing those awkward animals?

jim: I always review with an honest and open mind. I try and not be mean with my reviews, but if the book/ film is crap the book/film is crap. And I don’t care who created it. There a number of sites out there who are either beholden to advertising revenue or some misbegotten notion that you can make a living out of reviewing horror, and they will give positive reviews to films and books just to keep on the good side of writers, agents and publicists. I don’t care about that. Hell, one of the big American publishers won’t send me books anymore after my damning review of a book from a BIG name in horror. I know I’ll never get an interview with the author now, but at least I know I told the truth about the book.

And before anyone says all reviewing is subjective, yes it is, but there is a line where subjectivity means nothing and something is just badly made.

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greydog: Last year a number of writers put together the book Jim McLeod Must Die as a tribute to you and your work with GNoH, but it must sometimes seem like a thankless task. You mentioned threats. Do you get much hassle from people believing they deserve your attention or applause?

jim: Oh god yes, I had to block two authors this month for constantly asking me when the review of their book was going up. If you submit a book or film to the site without reading the submission guidelines then it’s your own fault if you don’t understand that I don’t generally reply to submissions until the review is posted. I get over a hundred emails a day that actually require me to read them, I don’t have time to reply. And even if I do reply on submission it’s not a contract that I will actually review your book. Submitting a book or film to the site just means that we have added it to basically is a watch list. To put it in perspective the current list of books which have made it onto the review list sits at over 400 books. Even if all of the reviewers reviewed one book a week it would take us close to a year to clear the list. Which is a stupid thing to even consider.

Last year I ended up in hospital with blood poisoning, they reckon I was at six hours away from dying if I hadn’t gone into hospital, I posted a Facebook post after spending two days in hospital telling everyone what had happened and not worry about my Facebook silence. I got thousands of messages of support, but one tactless author, and I use that term loosely, actually sent me a message along these lines

I know you are in hospital, but I thought you might like to read my new novel and review it when you get out of hospital”

Seriously WTF? I really believe that at my funeral there will be a line of half arsed writers waiting to ask my family if there is an unposed review of their book on my hard drive. Fuck it, I bet you £1000 there will be some fucknut trying to get a review from beyond the grave with a Ouija board.

I have had death threats, idiot writers getting their fans to down vote my reviews on Amazon, threats against my family. And even some nut job writer sending me a letter written in their own blood. To be honest I find it all rather funny, that anyone could get so worked up about a genre where no one is ever going to be famous. There will never be another Stephen King, take the review and deal with it.

greydog: We would only ever write to you in someone else’s blood – we like to hang on to ours. As far as the range of your site goes, film is an area we avoid, maybe because it’s often even more subjective than fiction (and we don’t have enough time as it is). What slid you into that area – readership demand or something else?

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jim: It was purely a way of getting a bigger audience, plus a small pinch of being able to have a lot more fun with the reviews. I think films are easier to write bad reviews for. I can’t remember what film it was but my review of the film was a half-finished game of hangman, The answer to which was “HELL NO”.

The larger audience is also why we have broken out into music and now art. The horror fiction side of it is a small market. After a while you find you are just talking to the same crowd, and I want the effect of the reviews to reach as big an audience as possible. Not for some sad ego trip, but just so all of the great writers who I love can get that extra bit of exposure. The site has never been about me, that’s why I never put my name to any reviews I write.

greydog: While we have you, we also wanted to ask about small presses, because you’ve done a lot of work promoting books from them. It’s a subject we touch on here every so often. We still see them as the engines which drive a lot of unusual and innovative fiction to the marketplace. On the other hand, a number of writers now self-publish right from the start. Any thoughts?

jim: Self-publishing only works when the writer treats it as a professional project. And you can tell which writers do this. Anyone who thinks self publishing is easy or an excuse to not get a decent cover image, or even have another person edit your book, is on a road to nowhere. The small presses have changed over the years, especially here in the UK, where they seem to be more of a place for established writers to publish limited editions of their work. There are still some small presses publishing new writers, such as Horrific Tales, Boo Books, Pendragon Press and Nightwatch/Black Shuck books to name a few. But a lot of the more established ones are just publishing the same old names.

Which I can understand as the margins of profitability can all rest on the sale of one copy of a book. So I can get why they publish writers with a proven track base.

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greydog: Let’s turn more to Mr McLeod himself. Getting greydogtales together on time is often nightmarish, and yours is a much larger and more complex site. How do you juggle the site, work and life?

jim: By spending every waking minute working on it. I’m lucky in that I work nights and my usual shift pattern means I have a lot of free time without the kids. So as I said, on my nights off you will often see me get up at 4am just to clear the backlog. I’m lucky in that I can get by with very little sleep. However it has meant that a lot of my other hobbies have fallen by the wayside. This is the year that I am determined to get back on my mountain bike. You’ll notice a drop in posts/reviews from me when the schools are on holiday, as I would rather be out having fun with the family.

greydog: What’s a good day off, away from horror and GNoH?

jim: A good day off involves the family and a nice big hill to climb. I love getting out there with my kids and partner, whether it’s a day of hillwalking or a visit to a museum, it really doesn’t matter so long as I get to spend time with them.

introduced by jim, and not for the faint-hearted
introduced by jim, and not for the faint-hearted

greydog: There’s some strange stuff out there. Do you personally ever get grossed out by the books or films that you’re asked to consider?

jim: Not very often, even something like Martyrs. Watched that with very little emotional attachment, right up until they forced fed her with a spoon, the noise of the spoon or fork scrapping of her teeth, freaked me out. I don’t know what that says about me psychologically but that is about the only time a film has really grossed me out.

greydog: We were quite upset by the Ghost Rider films – but that was because they turned out to be crap. You’re pretty steeped in the field. Ever considered writing yourself?

jim: Never, I know I don’t have the skill to do it. I do not subscribe to the notion that everyone has a book in them, there are some writers out there who shouldn’t even write a shopping list let alone a novel.

Having said that I did start to write a story composed sole of phrases from that terrible Horror Writers phrasebook that was published last year. I posted it as a live writing experiment on facebook, but I sadly lost the original document before I could finish it. It was awesome if I say so myself. So if anyone happens to have a copy of the last update of it please send it over. i would love to finish it.

greydog: Call our hotline now if you know where Jim’s last update is. Every pound raised goes towards supporting a cranky old Yorkshireman and his dogs. And just to be mean, how about finishing with a bit of name-dropping. Who really does it for you as a reader, rather than as a reviewer/website supremo, at the moment?

jim: For me right now, it’s a mix of old favourites like Adam Nevill, Gary McMahon, William Meikle, John Llewellyn Probert, Sarah Pinborough, and Brian Keene. Mixed in with new writers like Kayleigh Marie Edwards, Kit Power, J.R. Park, Duncan Bradshaw, Lee Thompson, James Everington, Phil Sloman, Laura Mauro, VH Leslie (Laura & Victoria featured in our feature scary women again), Cate Gardener – the list goes on and on. I really think we are in a golden age of talent.

Greydog: Many thanks, and the very best for Ginger Nuts of Horror in the future.

Jim: Thanks for having me. I have had a blast taking part. It’s not often I get to be on the other side of the fence, it’s a lot more fun than my side.

And don’t forget that you can find a wealth of trivia, news and hard-hitting reviews every week here on Jim’s site:

ginger nuts of horror

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Remember, you can now buy the new John Linwood Grant bestseller, “A Study in Grey” (or Gray, if you’re American). We say bestseller, but that’s what you’re for, dear listeners. Link on the right-hand sidebar. Not that we’re begging or anything, but…

Next time on greydogtales: We interview Nicholas Cage to find out why, although we think he’s done some great stuff, a lot of his films are utter rubbish. No, we’re lying again. It’ll be dogs and the weird, with probably a tad less horror.

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Author Writes Book: No Comment from William Hope Hodgson

Yes, we has writted a book. And now we is supposed to tell you. Oh Gods, spare us! Self-promotion is far more tedious for the author than it is for you, dear listeners. “Look, I’m a bricklayer. I did bricks in a row.” “Yep, so you did.” “They is good bricks.” Etc. So today we offer you a free extract from House of Clay, the novel that started it all. At least that’s almost proper content.

and this is where it all ends up
and this is where it all ends up

If this makes no sense, then harken unto us, but only briefly. Four Tales of the Last Edwardian are now available for the discerning – including lurchers – to read. These are stories of psychic unease, period mysteries and underlying horror. They are moderately accurate in their historical setting (says we), and draw on William Hope Hodgson’s Carnacki the Ghostfinder for a degree of background. Occasionally they get real dark, but not always. If you like Sherlock Holmes, Edwardian horror, Carnacki, John Silence or classic ghost stories, you might enjoy them.

Three short stories are already free from Smashwords (see link on right-hand sidebar or go here The Last Edwardian), and are gaining 5 Star reviews on Goodreads from very kind people.

  1. The Intrusion – A tale of Mr Dry, the Deptford Assassin, and his first encounter with Carnacki’s successors.
  2. A Loss of Angels – In which alienist Dr Alice Urquhart is confronted with a killer who may or may not be insane.
  3. One Last Sarabande – A investigation by Henry and Abigail into strange disappearances around a Sussex village.
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the character people really want to see

And now comes the much more substantial novella  A Study in Grey, from 18th Wall Productions and available from them (in North America) or from Amazon UK and US. Here’s our own quick blurb:

“An Edwardian thriller, with a dark secret. The psychic Abigail Jessop and her companion Henry are drawn into a circle of seances and spies by a man who cannot afford a conscience – Captain Redvers Blake of British Military Intelligence. Assisted from the shadows by an ageing Sherlock Holmes, these three face an unknown foe and discover what lies behind the painted mask.”

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ninety nine pages of sheer… words

UK link to the right, North America links here:

science of deduction 4: a study in gray 18th wall

a study in gray amazon us

There, that’s got that over with. So, House of Clay. This novel was written many years ago, gained interest from a publisher and was then deemed too uncommercial to risk. So we abandoned it. The same thing happened with horse-riding after we fell on our headses rather painfully. During the intervening years, we lost the entire middle segment (of the novel, not the horse). Physically. It disappeared during moving house. Now that there is interest again, the whole thing needs rewriting, in effect. Pah!

Here’s an unpolished extract for fun…

Three of Carnacki’s circle have attended his funeral in Yorkshire. Carnacki is presumed dead, although the corpse is annoyingly absent. Henry Dodgson, accompanied by Abigail Jessop, endeavours to follow the dictates of Carnacki’s will. They are to make contact with a local psychic who dwells at Hathering, a house in the wilds and a place of which Dodgson has never heard, much to his puzzlement. Carnacki, it seems, had many secrets…

Quiet Beasts

The trap lurched on a pothole, and for a second I was thrown nearer to her than I had anticipated. My face inches from hers, her look pierced me with an intensity which I could scarcely bear, and a strange herbal scent prickled at my nostrils. Abigail’s eyes were an iridescent grey like burnished steel.

I regained my seat and covered up my discomfort by leafing through “The Keighley Courier”, until I found the report of yesterday’s funeral. There was a list of mourners, not difficult given the numbers, in which both my name and Arkright’s were spelled incorrectly, and then a curious entry on Carnacki himself, which I read out to her.

“Whilst he had not resided in this parish, the late Mr Carnacki was perhaps best known around Keighley and Ilkley for his sponsorship of the noted local medium, or “spirit channeller”, Miss Catherine Weatherhead of Hathering. This paper has in the past been convinced of the danger which such activities can pose to those of unsettled mind, and it is to be hoped that Hathering remains a respectable institution now that it is sadly no longer able to profit from the deceased’s patronage.”

“You knew nothing of this?” asked Abigail.

“Afraid not. It looks as if none of us knew him as well as we thought.”

“But were you never aware of his visits to Keighley?”

I thought back, remembering again those comfortable dinners at Cheyne Walk, evenings pottering through the library while Carnacki expounded on some principle or other and Arkright coughed out refutations. Carnacki had little patience for interruption, and always seemed to have directed the evening’s talk, whilst we had generally been tolerant to follow the flow.

“He may have mentioned the odd journey up north. Generally he seemed to visit Lancashire. Had some connections on the coast, I think.”

“And you never asked him about more personal things?” she persisted.

“I suppose not. Usually I was more interested in his latest case.”

It was strange to reflect again on those evenings in a different light, and I felt a sudden irritation. Carnacki had certainly known a considerable amount about me, personally and professionally, and yet he had never responded to such questions in return, always closing the conversation or bringing up another subject.

“Mr Dodgson?” she asked after a minute of silence. “Have you thought of something?”

“Hmm? No, I was just letting my mind wander.”

But the truth was that I had begun to confront an unwelcome fact – for all my bravado in the Clubs and in those circles at social gatherings, I had not known the Ghostfinder. I may have inhabited part of his world, and yes, I was one of only four who were permitted to learn of his latest exploits, but what did that amount to? Only distraction from the truth that my own life was a hollow thing with little purpose.

“I can’t answer any of these questions,” I said finally, watching the churned earth spatter up from the horse’s hooves and add further to the filth along the sides of the trap. “I’m not even sure that my presence at Cheyne Walk was based on anything other than that I amused him occasionally.”

“You amuse me, Mr Dodgson. That doesn’t seem so worthless an ability in times such as these.”

I thought that she toyed with me, but when I looked up, there was no trace of mockery. I smiled.

“Perhaps not. Look, I keep blowing hot and cold on this thing, damn me. I can’t imagine why Carnacki wanted us to check up on this Weatherhead woman, and it’s probably none of our business – some domestic problem of his.”

“Now you let your feelings speak. Whoever Carnacki was, a larger mystery is still at our doorstep. Don’t forget your letter, and that which accompanied it.”

“I don’t see that as anything to do with the Weatherheads. The old Ghostfinder was always following up leads, no matter how queer they seemed; he had some damned odd contacts. It wouldn’t surprise me if this is just another psychic crackpot.”

Abigail brushed her neck swiftly. Her cameo was there, almost hidden under a high lace collar. “Oh no – it’s more than that, believe me. Something watches us, or possibly just you, I don’t know. I hear the breath of it wheezing at our backs.”

I frowned, automatically reaching under my coat in case trouble was upon us. Even as my fingers touched the grip of my revolver, the trap jerked and slowed, the driver tugging on his reins.

“Whoa, y’buggers,” he muttered, and we creaked to a halt. Around us stood nothing but trees; the track had petered out completely.

“‘Atherin’.” he said, with no more feeling than when we had started our journey. We were at the end of a small lane between rows of decrepit trees. Polled once, they now sprouted a confusion of branches from the foreshortened ugliness of their trunks, branches which hung leafless and gaunt. The only signs of real vitality were the suckers which struggled up from their roots to challenge the crowns.

Beyond them, I could see an overgrown path through thicker foliage.

“Tha goes up theer.”

“We’ll want you back here by three,” I said, handing him the fare and a shilling beside. Understand?”

“Three. Aye.” The coins disappeared into his coat. I shook my head, and applied myself to the trail which Abigail had already begun to explore. As the trap rattled away behind us, I made my way to her side, cursing as cold mud squeezed its way over my boot top.

“They should sack the gardener, that’s all I can say.”

We wound our way through a tunnel of trees, the sunlight dripping through occasionally to highlight a lone cobble or the remnants of an ancient wall. The ground was rising under our feet, and I had almost relaxed into the walk when the path twisted to the east and we stepped out into a clearing.

“Good heavens.” I murmured. To either side of us stood two enormous, weathered stone lions, towering my own height and more above the leaf-carpeted path. Although patchworked with the grey and green of lichen, the tawny stone from which they had been carved gave them an uncomfortable semblance of life.

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“Impressive.” Abigail moved up to the statue on our right and gently laid her hand against its flank. Her eyes closed for a moment, and then sighed.

“What is it?” Peering beyond the lions, I could see an unkempt expanse of lawn which must surely belong to Hathering itself. Abigail let her hand slide away from the stone.

“Just something old , something watchful, Henry. But these fellows are too well set in their ways to care about small mysteries and our comings and goings.”

“I should think so.” I gestured to the grass beyond the last straggling trees. “‘Atherin'”

My imitation of the driver brought a faint smile to her lips.

“I hope, Mr Dodgson, that you don’t think yourself too far above the local people to have dealings with them?”

“It’s not their intellect which confounds me, but their vocabulary. I swear I never met a bunch so short on words.”

We stepped out into a place where the grey of November gave way to a more mellow autumnal pallet. A multitude of stacked chimneys rose beyond the tall hedge of beech at the end of the lawn. In five minutes we found ourselves before a house which, if not neglected, had certainly been allowed to slump into its dotage. I can best describe it by saying that it would not have looked out of place on the flyleaf of a Stoker novel, all brooding turret rooms and whatnot.

As to its age, I could not say, but ivy crawled around the portico and seemed to cling to every nook of the architect’s fancy until it fumbled for the eaves themselves. Some windows were entirely overgrown, and it would have needed radical surgery to uncover the true face of the building. It was easily twice the size of Cheyne Walk, itself no clerk’s lodgings, and regarded us with manifest disinterest.

“How do you feel about this, then?” I asked lightly. Abigail looked around to where we had emerged from the trees.

“The lions were silent.”

I bit off a humorous rejoinder, realising that she spoke in all seriousness. “Ah.”

It was time to knock on Hathering’s door.

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Subscribe to greydogtales or follow me, and you’ll be updated on Tales of the Last Edwardian news as we stagger along.

Next time on greydogtales: Longdogs, interviews, supernatural fiction, weird art – anything but my bloody book…

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Lurchers and a Sofa go to South America

Something for everyone today – which means everyone complaining at once. Life as a writer is such a social whirl – grand society balls, new racing cars to buy and ships to launch – that we’ve been forced into medley-mode. The End of Furniture as We Know It, some fabulous South American weird art, music from Italy and Things We’re Planning. It doesn’t get much more medley than that.

Just remember that you can’t get blood from a rolling stone when it’s headed for a mossy greenhouse with too many cooks in it…

by pablo burman
by pablo burman (see later below)

The End of Furniture as We Know It

Very occasionally people ask “Do you allow your dogs on the furniture?” Well, if we knew what the word ‘allow’ meant, we suppose we might think that one over. We’ve never had pets, as such, and no, we’re not trying to sound pretentious. Our dogs have always been companions with additional legs. They get to do mostly what they want, as long as it doesn’t cause too much mayhem.

The mayhem, sadly is growing. There is little doubt that the house needs a teensy bit of work on it. Plastic explosives and a pick-axe would probably improve the place. Two lively lurchers and an obstinate, incontinent labrador do not make for a spread in the Sunday Times. The latter does mean keeping a copy of the Times spread out for accidents, but that’s not quite the same.

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chillin’

Regular visitors will have seen photos of Django sprawled in his chair. What we dare not show you are the graphic pictures of what lies beneath, and the fact that he has systematically gutted it. Every day we force the stuffing back in, chuck a throw over it and pretend nothing has happened. He knows he shouldn’t do this. All we have to do is say “What are you doing, Django?” in a normal voice, and he looks suitably penitent, an effect somewhat spoiled by the cushion filling on his nose at the time.

Our females, on the other hand, have no shame. Twiglet determinedly licks, chews or scratches at anything she fancies. She actively likes poking her nose into things, and has done for 16 years. She has always pulled equipment out of electricians’ toolboxes, wallets out of handbags and shopping out of carrier bags.

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a twiglet

It’s a very bad case of ‘labrador mouth’, exemplified by her attempt to chew her way into a bottle of Drambuie some years ago. She’s trained in many other ways, but she is of a bloody-minded and unapologetic nature. Point out bad behaviour to her, and unlike dear Django, she looks directly at you with an expression which says “What’s it to you, flabby?” Physical removal of dog, furniture or object to another room is the only known remedy.

a gentleman of leisure
a gentleman of leisure

Chilli is quite responsive, but again, seems unashamed. If we mention that she isn’t supposed to un-stuff the sofa (her own preferred victim), she stops, but doesn’t look at all bothered. The sofa is a nesting area, and she doesn’t like some of the lumps in it. We’ve trying pointing out that many of these lumps are from her previous efforts, but that cuts no ice.

The end result is that this year you should make every effort to buy the writing we produce as soon as it comes out. Not because we’re greedy, no. It’s just that we have to get new furniture faster than the dogs can destroy it.

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South American Weird Art

The main mission of greydogtales is to introduce people to new stuff. We’ve said before that one great pleasure of the last year has been getting to know some vibrant and interesting writers and artists from South America, especially Argentina.

We did manage to interview the talented artist Sebastian Cabrol last autumn, and his terrific art occasionally illustrates our articles. We’ve also mentioned the work of the multi-skilled Diego Arandojo a number of times, along with coverage of artists such as Quique Alcatena and Santiago Caruso.

lafarium, from diego arandojo, with cover by sebastian cabrol
lafarium, from diego arandojo, with cover by sebastian cabrol

We want to do better this year. As a sign of this, Santiago Caruso is joining us in a few weeks for a full illustrated interview, which is exciting, and we’re going to work on some dedicated features.

Between the physical distance, our own dubious Spanish and so on, it’s harder than usual, but worth it. Today we’d like to mention a few more names, and maybe we’ll be able to give them proper coverage eventually. We also hope to have our friends Sebastian and Diego back with us again later on in the year.

pablo burman
pablo burman

This weekend’s pick for a mention is Pablo Burman. Pablo is a cartoonist, painter and comics artist whose work always catches the eye. Pablo produces a fantastic range of art:

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by pablo burman

 

by pablo burman
by pablo burman

And here are two other Argentinian talents in whom you might be interested:

Ziul Mitomante is a writer/editor at Mitomante and is behind some fascinating comics, with a different take on comics literature.

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demshab from mitomante

Hernan Gonzalez is a creator/editor at Buengustoediciones, and an illustrator who has also worked with Ziul and who produces some striking work.

mitomante and gonzalez
mitomante and gonzalez

Although the art is international, when it comes to books and comics the text of most of these is only in Spanish. Diego’s Lafarium site, however, does have an English version:

lafarium

As an extra, we’re just getting to know Carlos Duenas. Carlos is a director/cinematographer living in Ecuador who also has an interest in folklore and folk horror, so we hope to be talking to him about South American myths as well as his work.

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Things We’re Planning

The moveable feast, as always, keeps moving. Still somewhere in the pipeline are many great interviews for April and May:

Authors – Writer/editor Lynne Jamneck; fantasy author Joanne Hall; horror/weird writer Rich Hawkins; writer/artist Alan M Clark; SFF, occult and comics writer Mike Chinn, and more.

ArtistsSantiago Caruso, as above, and Richard Svensson, Norwegian fantasy and supernatural illustrator.

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richard svensson

Other features on the list include:

  • Sandra’s First Pony – the new Enid Blyton/Lovecraft story with Mary and Bottles the lurcher at school
  • Two Immortals: Torchwood and Roger Zelazny
  • Raw feeding and Your Lurcher (with explicit pictures of a chicken carcass, naturally)
  • H R Wakefield’s supernatural fiction – the impossible article started last December and still not finished
  • Nautical Weird – the wonderful world of aquatic superheroes
  • An illustrated guide to trying to walk your longdog

Remember, if you don’t like the above, we’ll only tell you more about our own writing, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?

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Two Fragments

Firstly, a mention of the music of the Italian dark ambient group, Nostalgia, because they have a whole album based on William Hope Hodgson’s The House on the Borderland. It’s creepy and it’s good.

And secondly, we featured writer/artist Raphael Ordonez last year (fractals and fantasies).

nightspore -mosses, ordonez
nightspore -mosses, ordonez

This year, Raphael’s blog/website Alone with Alone has included some fascinating articles on many aspects of strange and classic literature – C S Lewis, Edwin Abbott’s Flatland and geometry, Zardoz and the nature of ghosts. He’s also completing his next novel The King of Nightspore’s Crown. Go have a look!

alone with alone

by pablo burman
by pablo burman

Thank you, you’ve been a great audience… oh, everybody’s gone. Rats.

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Batman v Superman: Prawns of Justice

We don’t cover films on greydogtales. Nor do we do reviews. So here’s our review of the new film Batman versus Superman: Dawn of Justice, which we may or may not have seen. Warning: Probably contains serious spoilers. The way we do things, it’s hard to tell. Read this, and you’ll believe a bat can fly. What? They can already?

The movie is a bit dark, so we turned up the brightness. We cut out the moment where Jimmy Olsen’s secret wristwatch signal goes off in the men’s toilets, and three undercover cops grab him.

the hero they forgot (by alex ross)
the hero they forgot to include (by alex ross)

We liked the part where Perry Mason turns up as Clark Kent’s editor and then prosecutes the cub reporters for secretly causing the actress’s supposed suicide. Who would have thought that the poison was in her lipstick? But that would have made our review too long, and we cut that as well.

no, commissioner gordon, i'm afraid you've got the wrong number
no, commissioner gordon, i’m afraid you’ve got the wrong number

Here’s our view of the film. We may have been drunk at the time. We may even have been so sober that our eyes hurt and we made all this up…

(Opening montage – Christian Bale in a temper, destroys Metropolis; a woman runs across the screen in slow motion, wearing a very tight red Baywatch swimsuit and trying to find an invisible plane)

SCENE ONE: THE BATCAVE

Batman: I’m getting old and bitter, Alfred – I’m not the man I used to be.

Alfred (looking in bat-mirror): Neither of us are, sir. I’m sure I used to be in the Italian Job.

Batman: It’s Superman. He’s a threat to humanity with his powers, his intervention in our affairs and the villains he attracts.

Alfred (glancing at bat-car, bat-plane, exotic weaponry, souvenirs of insane bat-villains and man in black bat-outfit): Yes, sir. If only he were normal, like us.

Robin: Holy tragic imagery, Batman! Am I dead or what?

(Batman and Alfred wander off, ignoring plaintive whining about alternative plot-lines)

looks like the kerpowee! days are over, robin
looks like the kerpowee! days are over, robin

SCENE TWO: THE DAILY PLANET

Clark Kent: That Batman! He’s a threat to humanity with his powers, his intervention in our affairs and the villains he attracts.

Louis: Your glasses have melted again, Clark. Say, do I have a meaningful role in this one?

Clark: Something something something investigative journalism something.

Louis: Oh. I suppose I’d better go and expose the numerous villainies of a criminal mastermind. You know, the ones which inexplicably no one else has noticed. That Washington Post has really gone downhill since Watergate.

Clark: Good girl. Three sugars.

SCENE THREE: THE LEXCAVE

(During the Lexcorp Annual Bar-mitzvah, Eid celebration and fundraiser)

Lex Luthor: Zod, Zod, Zoddity-Zod.

Senator Finch: Not when we have guests, Lex.

Lex: But Superman is a threat to humanity with his-

Senator Finch: We’ve done that one.

Lex: Kryptonite. Fightnite. Bat of Gothamite. Can I borrow any DNA you happen to have lying around?

Senator Finch: I’ll get back to you on that.

Passing Antiques Dealer: Ooh look, a mainframe. Is that old?

(Exeunt Lex and Finch, pursued by tropes)

Antiques Dealer (who looks nothing like Wonder Woman, honestly): Hmm, computer files. Blessed Hera, Lex has a file on me. Shoe size is wrong though. And a file on Ambush Bug, Bouncing Boy and a guy who can speak to fish! What force could stop such a stupendous gathering of might?

Batman: I’ll have that file.

Antiques Dealer: OK. I didn’t copy it, either.

Batman: I trust you. Uh-oh, a vision.

Mysterious Time Traveller: Louis Lane something something something investigative journalism something. Future stuff.

Batman: No! Louis Lane crucial yet pointlessly endangered… it’s unthinkable. Must go and find loads of kryptonite.

Antiques Dealer: Of course you must, dear.

we're in the next movie, honest we are
we’re in the next movie, honest we are (cartoon network)

SCENE FOUR: US CAPITOL

Senator Finch: Are you now, or have you ever been, a communist?

Superman: I don’t think this is going to go well.

(Congress explodes; people die. Everyone who has been saved a zillion times by Superman decides that he stinks)

SCENE FIVE: THE BATCAVE

Batman: Now that I have a ton of this alien metal junk, I need to do something useful with it and go face Superman.

Alfred: Here, sir. Take this press-out cardboard battle armour from Boy’s Own Monthly (1947) and soak it in krypto-paste. That’ll be the ticket.

Batman: You Brits sure know how to kick ass.

Alfred: Arse, sir.

by fire-mask
by fire-mask

SCENE SIX: THE LEXCAVE

Lex: Got you now. Not only do I have your girlfriend, Superman, but I’ve captured Martha’s Vineyard and hidden it.

Superman: Noooo – I had a three-day break booked, as well. Shame the guy who speaks to fish wasn’t around. What do you want, you fiend with variable amounts of hair?

Lex: I want you to fight…. The Batman!

Superman: OK. You could have just asked, you know.

batman-superan-wonderwoman-critique
dawn of justice (copyright originator)

SCENE SEVEN: THE BIG BATTLE

Superman: I have a nagging feeling that I should reason with you. Cool spear, by the way.

Batman: Why don’t we have a doughnut together first?

Superman: If you want. What’s on this anyway? No, kryptonite sprinkles! (gasps, collapses).

Batman: Yes, the spear was a dummy. As are you. And now to-

Superman: Save… Martha’s Vineyard!

Batman: My God, I had a holiday there once. This must be Lex’s doing – he always hated Cape Cod.

(Lex, his plans unmasked, unleashes Doonesbury, a satirical monster who questions the relevance of superheroes in the post-modern world)

Antiques Dealer: Sorry I was late – couldn’t find the invisible plane.

(Omnes join forces to fight monster)

Batman: I’m beginning to regret using Alfred’s cardboard armour. Damn you, Boy’s Own Monthly!

Wonder Woman (for it is she): You boys and your toys! (checks magic lasso, bracelets, belt and invisible plane). Damn, it’s disappeared again.

Superman: I have a bad feeling about today.

Batman: Use this spear on the monster. I lied, it’s quite a nasty bit of weaponry. You’ll probably die in the process though, so if you want to think it over…

Doonesbury: Arghhh! Me have such a skin problem today. And double pink-eye. Me mad!

Superman (performs impromptu baton routine with kryptonite spear): Try scratching it with this. I’ll just get close enough so that if anything goes wrong, you can impale me.

Doonesbury: Sounds fair.

(Both are accordingly impaled)

sky-414199_960_720
that invisible plane in full detail

SCENE EIGHT: A POLICE CELL IN ARKANSAS

Lex: Sucker. Now that Superman is dead, the earth will be imperilled by hordes of powerful alien and/or mutant superbeings. Why this is in my interest I have no idea. I’m not a well man.

Batman: Rats! I mean, bats! No hair tonic for you, Luthor.

SCENE NINE: SMALLVILLE

(Sundry characters in dinner suits, polo outfits, safari suits – and anything else they can find which isn’t a superhero costume – gather for a funeral)

Bruce Wayne (who is really Batman!): I think I may have got this one wrong.

Antiques Dealer: You think?

Endearing Town Gravedigger: Funny that, ole Clark dying jes’ as that durn Superman done choked on his cornbread.

Lois: Yes, it’s, um, quite a coincidence.

Bruce: I’m going to contact those amazing folk on the computer file – Brasso Boy, Aquavit and the rest. They sound like they couldn’t fail against aliens and/or mutant superbeings. They’ll be called… the Just-In League and fight monstrous evil as long as it only threatens the United States mostly.

Antiques Dealer: Yeah, they sound…. Never mind.

Lois: I got a letter from Martha’s Vineyard. Apparently they want to propose to me.

(Exeunt all, with scriptwriters)

Clark Kent’s Grave: Are we there yet?

Supergirl-Melissa-Benoist-wallpapers-hd-1366X768-desktop-01-700x393

END

You may, of course, want to go and actually see this film – or the real one – to make up your own mind. Gal Gadot looks nice as the Antiques Dealer, though we would have liked to see her kick everyone’s butts and end up as Last Woman Standing. Maybe we’ll go and watch Supergirl again – we enjoyed some of that…

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