3 Dec 2008

Self-trump blowage

For a bloke who keeps a blog, I've not been particularly good at reporting reviews of my stories. This could perhaps be due to me being a Kiwi. Oh, sure, we're quite happy to climb the tallest mountain or film the unfilmable. We just don't want to talk about it.

Anyhoo. In the spirit of self-trumpal blowage, some reviews:

Girlyjones at Not if You Were the Last Short Story on Earth found Apart to be
odd, quirky, bittersweet and touching.
Jim Steel at The Fix thought it
sensitive and engaging

John Ottinger III, also at The Fix said of Under Waves and Over:
poignant and emotionally powerful

OK I'm skipping over some criticisms as well, but these are not bad reviews. That's the other thing about kiwis - we're masters of understatement. When a kiwi tells you something's 'not bad', just go ahead and translate that to '!!!1ONE!OMG!LOL!YAY!'

Still though. Sensitive? Bittersweet? Poignant? There's obviously a problem here. Accordingly, I will attempt to ensure every story I write next year features a bare-chested barbarian, complete with sheepskin loincloth and battle axe. Not quite sure how I'm going to fit that into my gentle Austenesque pastoral* or my suburban noir. But barbarians will be the theme of 2009! Barbarians 2009! How do I get that made up as a bumper sticker?

This song is totally going into my writing playlist:

* something like this?

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, massive bare chest, tanned with the heat of the suns of the southlands, rugged loincloth, enormous axe, still stained red with the blood of his vanquished foes, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having killed ten thousand at a recent ball, then created a throne from their skulls, all the while mocking fate, the gods and the general lackluster state of the loincloth trade.

1 comment:

Diane Severson said...

Between you and Matt, I get my laughs for the day more often than not. Thanks