Lurchers for Beginners: The Raw Truth

Dare you read about a mighty hound stalking and bringing down an innocent pork chop, in the thrilling life-or-death struggle that is the lot of the modern lurcher? Have you fed your lurcher too many sardines and then had to move house? Today, dear listener, we let you in on the secret of our amazing, unique dog feeding regimen – except that it’s neither amazing nor unique, it’s just raw feeding done without bothering to measure anything accurately enough.

It is the case that old greydog and his pups can occasionally be seen dining together on a mixture of bacon rind, out-of-date luncheon meat and leftovers. This is because greydog himself is a professional writer, and therefore shockingly poor. But we’ll pretend that doesn’t happen, and stick to what we officially do, in the ‘Raw Truth’ expose which follows…

Lurchers are funny things. Our current two are Scottish deerhound crosses, and some have said that deerhounds will starve themselves rather than eat something they don’t fancy. Our female, Chilli, is of that ilk, and turns her nose up if she’s had the same thing too many days running, or if it’s not exactly what she wants at the time. She is extremely fussy, and can even cross-question us over specific cuts. Too much fat on this meat, human servant-creature!

chilli looks shocked at being offered a badly cut steak

Django, on the other hand, is a complete gannet. He will reach up onto shelves to get a piece of dried up crusty bread, an empty yoghurt pot, or even a fork with a microgram of bolognese sauce on it. This tireless hunter has an impressive record of tracking down and killing innocent takeaway containers, margarine tubs and similar small creatures (our late Jade – a Bedlington cross – would be even more acrobatic and remove meat from the frying pan halfway through cooking).

django gets excited over being offered cardboard

But despite Django’s unfortunate habits, all our dogs are raw fed. And yes, we recognise that not every one can stomach (?) filling little tummies with such a diet; not all vets understand or like raw feeding; some people haven’t the facility to store sufficient meat or buy it cheaply enough, and occasionally a dog just doesn’t like it. We think it’s better for their health in the long run, and they love it, but it’s entirely up to you. Preaching can be a sure-fire way of turning some people off – so we don’t.

There are different schools of thought when it comes to raw feeding. We go for a straight forward approach – a range of meats, fish and organs (nothing to do with church services), and an adequate amount of bone. We don’t weigh anything, or keep any records. We feed the dogs like we bake cakes – by instinct and sometimes rather incompetently.

A typical meal, which we feed twice a day, will be a standard doggie bowl which contains:

  • A large heap of raw meat;
  • Bits of uncooked organs (see below) or fish, every other day;
  • Maybe a raw egg or a few scrapings from the human plates;
  • The guy who hammered on the door trying to sell us double-glazing.

Ignore that last line – he actually went on a really long holiday, and had such a nice time he’s never coming home. Just like we told the police.

If you’re feeding raw, it’s better not to overload on the cooked dinner remains, but the odd bit thrown in, or for a treat, is fine. Once a day, depending on the mix they had in their bowls, they get offered a separate bone, of which more later.

Although we’ve never tried one, there are commercial raw complete mixes available if you feel that everything which follows sounds messy and hard work (it’s not, especially, but we can see the appeal of pre-prepared packs).

raw feeding
happy raw-fed django and chilli

Note that our approach involves NO kibble, dried mix or biscuits except as rewards when out walking, or for good behaviour. Our dogs are very fond of Morrisons’ gravy bones, which they greet with ridiculous enthusiasm (we’re sure those things have some addictive drug in them). But you can buy dried liver strips, or make your own treats, if you don’t want to go there. The occasional treat biscuit makes no discernible difference when raw feeding, so we don’t sweat about it.

You could alternatively carry raw liver and chicken wings in your pocket, of course, but that plays hell with the dry-cleaning bills. It also makes people worry about the blood dripping from your jacket – which can be an advantage or a disadvantage, depending on how sociable you’re feeling.

IMPORTANT: We are not canine experts, vets or nutritional specialists – don’t take our word for anything. What follows is what we do, not what we say YOU should do. Look everything up at least twice from different sources; don’t always believe what you read on the Interweb; get advice from an actual vet, rescue or re-homing centre, whatever you feel you need.

So, what do we mean by these complicated technical words – meat, organs, bones? Do read on…

RAW FEEDING

1) MEAT

Meat enters the hovel in large quantities – ours would be an ideal household for disposing of dead gangsters, unwanted politicians  and other nuisances. The bulk of this meat is in the form of raw minced chicken, minced beef, minced pork, and when a story has sold, minced lamb. Unless you have one of those lurchers who starts taking against or reacting poorly to it, chicken mince is a reliable standard which is easily obtained in commercial quantities.

Once you have your basic range of raw meat, you can vary the mix that goes into the feeding bowls. It’s true that some dogs are committed plodders and want the same thing again and again, but the idea is to provide variety.

Meat doesn’t always have to be minced up, of course. Bargain cuts of all the above go down nicely – some fat is good, but try to keep the fat content down overall. And experiment – a raw chicken carcass makes a lovely toy, especially when you have visitors you don’t like. Or why not wait until someone calls round, and give your pup half a trimmed pig’s trotter to present to their new friend?

People ask if raw feeding is expensive. It’s not, really, but your economy is seriously helped if you have a large freezer. All the meats are cheaper frozen – we buy both frozen blocks* aimed at dog owners and cheap supermarket mega-packs of mince.

raw feeding
a frozen beef/chicken mix with some organ and bone content already in there (from they love it in the uk)

In addition, we haunt the supermarkets and buy heaps of anything raw and meat-shaped which is on offer or on its sell-by date. And thus we have strange conversations with check-out staff on why we have a trolley piled high with out-of-date pork. As greydog is a shambling old bearded wreck, most of them just assume he’s mad, and is making a modern sculpture out of rotting chops in his living room. Which saves time.

* There is one advantage to frozen meat blocks designed for dogs – many of them have a guaranteed bone content, which helps regularity (see also below).

2) ORGANS

The insides, innards – or as scientists call them, the icky bits – are Jolly Good for most dogs. They contain a number of vitamins and minerals that help keep up tip-top condition. However, you don’t want to overload your pup’s system with an excess of any one organ at a time. Variety, and not too much too often, is the key.

do NOT attempt to feed this organ to your lurchers, however hungry they are

Top of our own dogs’ Want List is raw heart, which they adore. It’s relatively cheap, and can be bought pre-chopped if you can’t be bothered to hack it up. Liver and kidneys are cool, except that some dogs are unenthusiastic when presented with their first raw ox liver (usually the cheapest form). It’s common to find that flash-frying liver, or dipping kidneys in boiling water for a moment, gets over the suspicious sniffing.

Tripe is also popular – green tripe is the best if you can get some. The white supermarket tripe has been boiled and bleached, so has lost a lot of its oomph, though there’s no harm in feeding it for a change. Go for chicken gizzards and anything else you can get hold of – experiment, and grab bargains.

We could go into some of the other organ meats, but then you might stop reading. We’re from Yorkshire, and grew up at a time when you could buy pressed cow udder to put in your sandwiches, so are not easily grossed-out.

3) FISH

Fish is Jolly Good (but only in moderation, as with organs) for the range of vitamins and healthy molecules. Django once ate a large raw fish-head quite happily, but we’ve never quite conquered our concerns about fish-bones. We supplement the usual meats now and then with a portion of anchovies, herring, mackerel etc, and white fish when it’s on offer – checking the larger fish for hazardous bones first*.  We find that overdosing on oily fish tends to promote noxious back passage explosions, and we don’t just mean gas. See http://greydogtales.com/blog/lurchers-beginners-12-poo/

People have two other reasonable concerns about feeding fish. One is parasites, and the simple answer to a lot of parasites is to freeze the fish for a couple of weeks before feeding – that deals with most of them. The other is toxins and preservatives – which can usually be managed by not feeding fish too often. Some fish, especially larger ones, accumulate toxins as they grow. Preservatives are added by the commercial food industry, and you can check the labels (if they’ve been honest).

* A non-raw alternative is just to give the pups a can of sardines or similar oily fish (canned in water) now and then as a treat.

lurchers raw feeding
a happy camper after his dinner

4) BONES

Here we’re going to say what works for us, because we’ve had plenty of discussions on the subject. A certain amount of bone in the diet keeps teeth healthy and bowel movements firm. One approach is to feed products with a stated bone content, as mentioned above. The other is to provide bones or a very bony piece of raw meat as an extra at some point in the day – in our case, in the evening to shut the mad puppies up for a while and let us watch television in peace.

The RAW bit is very important here. An uncooked chicken leg is a treat – a cooked chicken leg can be a serious choking hazard, as the bones become hard and brittle during cooking. Although less worrisome than splintery chicken, we use the same rule for things like meaty ribs these days, and give raw ribs, but not cooked ones.

this bone is not fresh enough

Nowadays we feed only lamb and pork bones. These are relatively easy for most dogs to crunch through, and are very popular. We don’t give our dogs large beef bones, whether raw or cooked, because they’re damned hard. Experiences vary, but we’ve come across three problems – the dog getting a tooth stuck in the bone; damage to the teeth, and too many large hard splinters being created.

On a separate note, quite a few of those big commercial pre-cooked bones seem rather stale and dubious to us. There’s no doubt that some big dogs absolutely love bought prepared beef bones and will easily go through a large marrowbone, so again, it’s up to you. A big part of having dogs is getting informed, making conscious decisions, and then observing carefully.

Pig trotters also work, cut in half, but we’ve found it’s best to cleaver off the hard nails at the end, which don’t seem to break down.

Whatever you give, make sure they have a bowl of fresh water to hand/paw, and try to keep an eye on them until they’re done. We usually pick up any small slivers and fragments left afterwards, to be safe.

5) NON-ANIMAL STUFF

Another huge area of debate. We’ve never seen any harm in putting things like a bit of grated carrot into the mix – a number of dogs like carrot, and we had one that would eat whole carrots. Peas are quite popular as well, and cooked sweet potato. People argue over whether or not dogs get vegetable matter from eating innards in the wild, and so on. We can’t be bothered to argue. Django likes the cooked potato that rolled onto the floor; Chilli doesn’t. Raw animal protein is still the largest part of their diet by far, every single meal, which is the point.

lurchers for beginners
django explores his greens

What really matters is to look up ANY fruit and veg you give your dogs beforehand, checking that there aren’t any compounds in them which would affect their kidneys and other organs. Fruit and vegetables (including nuts) are tricky little sods, and some naturally contain chemicals you do NOT want in your pup. Others are only safe if given in small quantities every so often. Onions are a good example of the latter. If you dog eats something from your plate that had onion in it, chances are it will have no effect whatsoever – it’s not one of those Omigod! foods. But consumption of too much onion, or onion too often, can be dangerous.

Incidentally, we’re not panicky folk. Dogs, like humans, are pretty resilient. Just err on the safe side – don’t live in paranoia – and get veterinary assistance if you’re worried about what your dog might have eaten.

Vegetarian note: Yes, it’s possible to bring up a dog on a vegetarian diet – but if you make your companion do this, you’d better be darned sure you’re providing all their essential requirements. Dogs are still primarily carnivores, and no, the physiology of dogs has not altered appreciably since their origins. Do eat veggie or vegan yourself by all means – we have long meat-free phases and are all for it, practically and philosophically – but please remember to put the dog’s needs before your personal beliefs. It doesn’t have the choices you have.

6) SAUSAGES

Finally, and of no real relevance, our dogs really do love raw sausages, as if they lived in one of those kids’ cartoons with an angry butcher running down the street. It wasn’t our idea, and we’re fairly sure there’s a lot of useless filler in most sausages, but hey, give a dog a break.

sausage dogs, hunting their natural prey

TRANSITION

Before we close, we should probably say something about transition from a cooked/processed diet to a raw one. We have successfully shifted an adult dog over from commercial processed food to an entirely raw diet, and she loved it. She experienced no ill effects whatsoever, and was probably perkier afterwards. But you should probably get advice, because it can be a big move for small tummies, and their digestive systems might be in flux for a while. Some recommend a one week to two week period where you gradually move the diet over, to allow for shifts in the digestive tract. There’s only so many times you want to buy a new living room carpet.


And that, best beloveds, is what happens chez greydogtales. Which may not be as amusing as usual, but life’s like that, and parts of it may have at least been informative. What do we know? We’re too busy herding lurchers…

A load of other Lurcher-y entries can be found by this Index Page, which is now conveniently out of date. A bit like us.

http://greydogtales.com/blog/lurchers-triumphant-secret-index/

Share this article with friends - or enemies...

CARNACKI’S VERDICT

A quick post to offer our dear listeners a free Carnacki tale written by crumbling greydog a while ago. Downloadable and all, designed with a cover and Author’s Note at the end, but only available for four days. The story in question, ‘A Dark Trade’, was written for Carnacki: The Lost Cases (Ulthar, 2016). It’s the first and only ‘traditional’ Carnacki story from me, despite what people think. And it at least has the virtue of being relatively short – a mere four or five thousand words.

Continue reading CARNACKI’S VERDICT

Share this article with friends - or enemies...

Fiddler’s Green

We had the pleasure of receiving a journal new to us last week – Fiddler’s Green Peculiar Parish Magazine, a beautiful thing unto itself – and felt inclined to say something about both the journal and the folklore behind the name. So we have, with mention of Fredrick Marryat, Neil Gaiman, sea shanties, irrelevant trivia and all. We’re like that – shameless.

fiddler's green

SIDENOTE: We should say that this particular parish magazine is stylish, informative and relevant, and thus utterly unlike those produced by our own Yorkshire parish of St. Botolph-in-the-Wolds – do not confuse the two.

It’s always important to go backwards, and so we start with answering the question you didn’t ask: What the heck is Fiddler’s Green? Well, dear listener, it is either a mythical location or a state of mind, or both, but don’t be put off. We shall explain… Continue reading Fiddler’s Green

Share this article with friends - or enemies...

Alas, Alack, Alarums And All New Stories

Today, quick extracts from a raft of new greydog stories coming out this year -this site has been far too quiet recently. We blame Mr John Linwood Grant, who has been neglecting his duties in favour of writing and editing stuff. Pure selfishness. Where are the tales of lurchers leaping and other riters riting? Or even artists arting?

We’d better provide a catch-up. In our last episode, Nurse Imelda had discovered that Brett’s half-brother, Dirk, had cut through the brake cables of all three orthopaedic surgeons, and made it look like the work of Imelda’s twin sister Maureen, whose affair with the hospital administrator Susan had caused so many arguments among the junior X-Ray staff…

No, all right. It’s just been work. Endless deleting of apostrophes in other people’s stories, and adding them to greydog’s own. Boring, you say – how are the little donkeys? Well, Django and Chilli are happy but older. This means that Django is slightly stiff after he’s been laid in the same odd position for ages, and Chilli can’t be arsed to go out if she doesn’t like the look of the weather. Walks are regular, but a touch slower (which suits ancient greydog, if not Herself, the much fitter Editor-in-Chief).

ghost dog reads ghost stuff

When not lurching, there has been writing. Lots of writing. The much expanded edition of JLG’s collection A Persistence of Geraniums, is now available in print (an e-format is under construction). This includes additional stories, a brand new cover created by the award-winning artist Alan M Clark and an additional interior illustration by Yves Tourigny, as well as Paul Boswell’s original interiors. Tales of murder, madness and the supernatural – and sometimes all three.

“Grant brings to mind P.G.Wodehouse gone hopelessly mad and hiding in a cupboard with a long sharp knife. Oh, and by the by, have you met Edwin Dry? No? Then you’ve not yet encountered one of the most ghastly characters in modern strange fiction.” Matthew M Bartlett, author of Creeping Waves

“A series of supernatural tales distinguished both by their elegance and by their wit.” John Langan, author of The Fisherman

“What stands out throughout is John Linwood Grant’s skill of description and humour. With a minimum of words he makes these characters alive. A passing mention of one item of clothing or a small but telling personality trait and somehow their essence is captured. Tales with dark edges and at times a dark humour to match.” Jackie Taylor, Folk Horror Revival


geraniums on amazon uk

geraniums on amazon us



The Chromatic Court anthology is also out now, edited by Pete Rawlik and including my novelette ‘Songs of the Burning Men’, a dark story of ochre fire and the Flanders trenches of the Great War.

the chromatic court on amazon


THINGS TO COME

So, here’s a taste of eight John Linwood Grant short stories and novelettes which should be coming soonish – details will follow, whether wanted or not. Hopefully the next greydogtales post will be about someone else…


THE YUGGOTH CLUB

No one talked about the Yuggoth Club. The club was tolerated as it didn’t get in anyone’s way or annoy the care home manager. Or cost anything. The Seaview Rest Home had a list of approved hobbies, which included crochet, knitting, and gin rummy. A book club wasn’t on the list.
It didn’t help that the group read little but works by H P Lovecraft, a name which the manager of the home regularly confused with pornographic movies from the seventies. “At their age,” she would mutter, before returning to her office to see which residents had the most ambiguous wills.
There were only three permanent members, and even they used the word ‘permanent’ with caution these days. There had been four of them up until a month ago, when Janet Fowles choked on a chicken nugget and had to be rushed up to Scarborough Hospital.
Janet, seventy eight years old, was not expected back, but the remaining members continued to meet twice a week in the old day room, a dumping ground with a cracked ceiling and one window blind hanging at a peculiar angle. All around lay a clutter of boxed incontinence pads, unfinished knitting and dead bees. They had comfy chairs which were no longer comfortable, and an orthopaedic seat which Marigold rather liked, despite the protruding bolts. “Frankenstein’s chair,” she would say repeatedly, and was ignored by all…


THOSE WHO STAY

The Langton Hotel is nowhere. Outdated and forgotten by most, it stands alone on a headland well away from the main roads, and its ornate, many-eyed face is set towards the North Sea, which does not care. There are no nearby services or delights for the tourists, no long sweet-sanded beaches, and the cliffs are stark, uninviting.

Even the bird-watchers avoid us. All we have here are gulls, grey-backed horrors which eye children and small dogs with the yellow gleam of hunger. They tear binoculars from people’s hands, stabbing at the leather straps with their beaks, and more appealing birds won’t come within the range of their patrols. The gulls have known the hotel for many generations, and it knows them, from the first fall of the egg out of an oily cloaca to the last flap of ragged wings.
Thus it was that the two women who appeared with the storms of autumn were unexpected. We hadn’t seen any new arrivals since Benedito, who was now our doorman, waiter and general factotum, came to us, at least a year ago…


ELK BOYS

Abbot’s Elk, when we arrived, was much as the gazeteer said – small and unimportant. I’d read up on it before I caught the train. It’s only oddity was the name, which had apparently been Abbot’s Encester until the seventeen eighties, when a number of carvings had been unearthed whilst a well was being dug. A few were crude stone figures – Neolithic – but some were carved from antlers and bone, and according to the book I had, rather fine examples. The Elk part had gradually replaced the Encester, the result of over-imaginative Victorian collectors. Those digging vicars have a lot to answer for.
Emilia was at the bar in the Grey Horse, which was old in a tired rather than historic way. When she saw me, she abandoned her gin and tonic to rush over and hug me.
“I have fragile ribs,” I said, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Let me get you a drink, Justin.”
I wanted to confirm the driver’s suspicions and have a campari, but I hated the stuff, so I paid him off and agreed to sample the wine list. The Puglian red turned out to be a surprise, in that they had it, and that it was drinkable. I’d expected the usual half-empty bottle of overpriced Nuits-Saint-Georges behind the pumps, so symbolic of the seventies.
“I think,” I said as we settled down in one corner of the room, “That you had better explain what this is all about.”

 


MARJORIE LEARNS TO FLY

The kitchen is so quiet now, with Kenneth and the others gone. So orderly. I play my fingers across the rack of spice jars, over the slight unevenness of the plastered walls, no longer marred by the clutter of calendars, photographs, and notes about the current contents of the freezer. Everything is as it should be, where it should be.
I think I shall make a cup of tea.
Warm the pot; switch off the kettle just before the water boils. Don’t want to drive all the oxygen out. Loose tea, never teabags. Oolong, woody but slightly sweet. Let it sit for seven or eight minutes, and then pour.
I add a dash of milk – not too much – and sip. Perfect.
This is how Marjorie likes it. She deserves this. She has plans, wonderful plans, and I am so very pleased to have her back…


THE WITCH OF PENDER

(Audio version)

“A long night coming,” said the Dark Man. He stood easy on the edge of a field, red earth between his toes as he sucked on a piece of sugarcane.
Mamma Lucy didn’t hold much with visions. And as visions went, this wasn’t greatly encouraging her. She didn’t recognize the place her left eye was seeing. A great field spread across the valley bottom, and that field was sown with fingers, knuckle-end in the deep soil. Most were black fingers, waving without a breeze, though here and there a white one grew. Some had cracked, hard-worked nails, and some had none at all. Near to where she stood, one finger had died where it was planted; a crow was tearing strips of rancid flesh from the small, pale bones.
“How long?”
The Dark Man pushed back his straw hat.
“Long as a mule kicks; long as cane is sweet.”
She reached across the floor of the lean-to shack and took up the largest candle, her grip marking the soft wax.
“Don’t you game me now, boy,” she said, a husky rattle in her throat. “This ain’t New Orleans, and I ain’t one of your mamaloi, Sant-eria ladies, liftin’ their skirts when you come callin’.”

mamma lucy, by yves tourigny

STRANGE PERFUMES OF A POLAR SUN

Now that the old water tank has gone, I have the whole attic space across two houses. Until the landlord who owns next door manages to sell it – or finds out that I’ve knocked through. I don’t expect either for a while. The housing market’s quite depressed, and these Victorian places need a lot of work.
The latest peaks have been difficult. I use Lovecraft’s book, of course, along with maps which I’ve annotated, and the satellite photos that Misha sends me. It’s getting more dangerous for her, she says. They’re talking about vetting the staff at the UN Antarctic Survey data-stream centre again, after someone leaked blurred footage of D732, the higher of the two most north-westerly mountains. UNAS is obsessed with secrecy.
Once I had downloaded Misha’s better definition photos of D732, I could see that there is surprisingly little erosion; the almost perfect clusters of stonework on the south face are astonishing, like cubes of sugars embedded near the tip of one of those old conical sugar-loaves. I used pumice stone to model the peak – I like the rough feel of pumice, the scrape against my skin. A hardened hacksaw blade and a set of files gave me reasonable results.
So that’s most of the north-west sector done. I think the Four are pleased…


RECORDS OF THE DEAD

Another fruitless morning.
In the afternoon, while my aunt sleeps, I go through the mail from the clipping agencies. An obituary covers the death of a man who once met the director Emile Casson, in California. That would be in nineteen twenty one, during Casson’s abortive attempt to get into the West Coast industry. I already have that documented. The Frenchman’s peripheral involvement in the communist movement, and his virtual blacklisting during the Red Scare, put paid to any plans. He came back to New York after three days.
The last envelope is from the Burgess Agency. It contains a photograph, and a handwritten note.
‘Mrs Westercott, this may interest you.’
The photograph shows a group of men in black suits, and a wreath of lilies in the background. A funeral, or a wake. I turn it over, and see names scrawled in pale ink. Teddy Fleming, Joseph Karowski, Manny Goldschein, and a couple I can’t read.
Joseph Karowski.
Oh my God.


IRON AND ANTHRACITE

With relief or with grumbles, the passengers went to find their places. For most, that meant the last car, a wooden affair with a cracked window and ‘Coloreds Only’ stenciled on the side. Mamma Lucy hitched herself up and sat with her carpet bag on her knees, opposite the father and daughter. The girl, maybe thirteen, smiled at her; the man nodded.
“You play?” Mamma Lucy tipped her head to the guitar case.
“My daddy showed me how to pick,” said the girl. “He’s a Piedmont bluesman.”
“Etta here’s a fine gee-tar girl. I’m no bluesman, jes’ a working man who can carry a tune.” He hesitated. “Boone Reid’s the name, ma’am.”
“Mamma Lucy does me well enough, Mr Boone Reid.”
He surveyed the faded floral dress, the moth-eaten carpet bag and the face in front of him. She knew that he was trying to look into her clouded left eye, make out the milk-and-honey strangeness of it, but without staring.
“You from Charlotte?” she asked.
“Used to be, once. Back to see kin, but we’re Virginia people these days.”
Mamma Lucy settled on the wooden seat, and closed her eyes. As the locomotive grabbed the rails to haul north, she took in the creak of the cars. She heard the guitar case open, and the first hesitant chords; the soft murmur of the young couple and the slow, heavy breath of the big man in the corner.
Her back was itching, and she had that feeling. Should have noticed before. Greensboro was a hundred miles along the track, and now she wondered if that was maybe a few miles too many…



And there’s been a lot of editing work. With the Hell’s Empire anthology delivered to the publisher, Ulthar, next urgent job is final touches for Their Coats All Red, from 18thWall. We’d decided to include some classic weird stories written in Empire times, to add historical contrast to the anthology, and we agreed those last month. Four less well-known stories which reflect the times, avoiding the more common jingoistic or dubious ones, and a couple at least may be surprises.

On the Occult Detective Quarterly front, we’re just putting together Issue Six, due out early Summer, and planning for issue Seven, due out in Autumn. Plus mending various hangovers from last year’s litany of disasters.

After that’s delivered, back to work on Sherlock Holmes & The Occult Detectives for Belanger Books – the stories are already coming in. Further along – Room Enough for Fear, plans for an anthology of classic haunted room tales, mentioned earlier in the year – some unmissable standards, of course, but also again some far less well-known inclusions.

Pity the poor writer/editor and his foolish ways.

NEXT TIME: Something completely different. Let’s get this show rolling again…

Share this article with friends - or enemies...

Literature, lurchers and life