Fame.mp3

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, taking photos, ‘No one reads my blog anyway,’ and she laughed like I was joking.

My God, how is it almost May?

Well, a lot’s happened since I last posted here. The Omicron variant kicked our booster shots in the teeth, then all the armchair epidemiologists became experts in Russian/Ukrainian relations and the Tories ramped their brand up to 11, lying under oath and smirking at our grief.

Keep it light, Parlett. This is supposed to be an advertisement.

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Monsters #1 | Prologue. Part One. | Eighties racist hatred.

I’ve ummed and ahhed about whether or not to upload this as is or to just re-record it, but I’m thinking I’m happy with what this is – my first attempt at a reading from ‘Monsters.’

My concerns are that it’s rough as all fuck and hardly up to the quality of an audiobook, but then even the act of doing something – even if it may be futile – is still very good for your mental health.

Continue reading “Monsters #1 | Prologue. Part One. | Eighties racist hatred.”

Without Form and Void | Chapter 2 ‘Blue Green Rock’ | Audiobook

So I thought I’d have a go at this audiobook lark since authors are apparently supposed to play an active role in the promotion of their own work.

I’m considering recording the whole novel but as the rest of the story follows a more traditional narrative written from a woman’s perspective it might sound a bit odd drawled through a shit beard. This chapter here is more a fever dream anyway but what the hell, it’ll give people an idea of what to expect.

I’ve got a good feeling though. I mean it’s this kind of hands-on, can-do attitude that may actually sell a few more goddamn books. If, however, it doesn’t I may actually just rent a caravan on the shores of Loch Ness instead and skag mah wee heid into oblivion before going monster hunting with rocks in my pockets.*

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Eight Stories in an Evening

I asked friends to give me a word each so I could build a story from three. It just seemed like a good idea because wine and I’m not saying these wee tales are any good but they made me feel good writing them and that was lovely, thank you. Written in six hours or so, so go easy.

 

SLUG SUGAR SWEAT

They called it a slug, you know, that round that goes in the gun or whatever. I called it a bullet and they all sniggered, sniggered at how I held it, how the sweat poured down my face as I aimed the cursed thing.

One thing’s for damned sure – ain’t no one gonna be callin’ me sugar no more.

 

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