Notes from New Sodom

Meet the Scruffians, workhouse tykes and street arabs scrobbled by the Waiftaker General, dragged to the Institute and put to the Stamp that writes your very soul into your skin.

Meet the waifs of Ripper Vicky's Empire, Fixed forever as they are, never ageing, never starving, ever bouncing back to exactly how they were Fixed... the perfect child labour.

Meet the scamps and scrags, scallywags and scofflaws escaped from their chimney sweep and mill owner masters, hiding out in their rookery cribs, surviving as thieves and beggars... and fighting back.

This ebook contains the first half of the Fabbles: 1 print edition, "A Scruffian Christmas" and "The Beast of Buskerville."




Meet Flashjack the hellion and Puckerscruff the urchin; Squirlet Nicely and Vermintrude Toerag; Yapper, the Scruffian who learned to speak Dog; Whelp, the dog Fixed as a Scruffian; and Rake Jake Scallion, not a Scruffian, but the bestest mate any scruff ever had.

Meet Gobfabbler Halyard-Dunkling, Esquire, aka Gob, the fabbler of this here crib, fresh from his fabbles of Christmas spirit and canine spifflication in Fabbles: 0.5, here to tells yer, why, only the most important fabble of em all... the fabble of how the Scruffians took the Stamp!

This ebook contains the second half of the Fabbles: 1 print edition, "The Taking of the Stamp."

Labels: Jack and Puck, Publication news, scruffians

So I was watching the second season of Ripper Street t'other night, and it reminded me of that scene in season one where all the coppers sing "The Unfortunate Rake," which sadly isn't on YouTube, although if you need a reference this is:

Read more »

Labels: scruffian apocrypha, scruffians

A nice wee heads-up from Steve Berman at Lethe Press brings me this, to make my weekend:

The Arthurian legend of the Fisher King, the myth of Orpheus, Shakespeare’s Tempest, comic book superheroes, and Twilight are just a few of the tales that Duncan (Ink) deconstructs through a prism of queer sexuality, youthful rebellion, and rage against authority, in this thrilling, funny, and moving collection...

Labels: scruffians

UPDATE 2013年12月01日: FABBLES: 1 is now released. Fly and be free, little chapbook! Fly and be free!

Meet the Scruffians, workhouse tykes and street arabs scrobbled by the Waiftaker General, dragged to the Institute and put to the Stamp that writes your very soul into your skin.

Meet the waifs of Ripper Vicky's Empire, Fixed forever as they are, never ageing, never starving, ever bouncing back to exactly how they were Fixed... the perfect child labour.

Meet the scamps and scrags, scallywags and scofflaws escaped from their chimney sweep and mill owner masters, hiding out in their rookery cribs, surviving as thieves and beggars... and fighting back.

Meet Flashjack the hellion and Puckerscruff the urchin; Squirlet Nicely and Vermintrude Toerag; Yapper, the Scruffian who learned to speak Dog; Whelp, the dog Fixed as a Scruffian; and Rake Jake Scallion, not a Scruffian, but the bestest mate any scruff ever had.

Meet Gobfabbler Halyard-Dunkling, Esquire, aka Gob, the fabbler of this here crib, with his fabbles of Christmas spirit, canine spifflication, and why, only the most important fabble of em all... the fabble of how the Scruffians took the Stamp!

Just in time for Christmas, (leastways it should be if yer order sharpish,) a perfect wee stocking filler for friends and family. Buy one for yourself! Buy one for your mate! Buy one for your mate's small child and get them to read the first story aloud in their best Mockney accent as you all sit round the Yuletide fire! They won't be that scarred for life. And even if they are, it'll be scarred in a good way. Like if David Cronenberg remade Oliver! on a script from Clive Barker... and kept the songs. Which would be awesome, right?

Whe-e-e-e-ere is love? It's in the sausages, mate. Them sausages is made with oodles of love!


Q: SPECIFICS, MAN, SPECIFICS!

A: That's not really a queston, but OK, here's the skinny...

Labels: scruffians

What folks don't know these days is that aktcherly that Burl Ives song about Santy Claws coming to town... it were a rewrite of an older Scruffian song as weren't about Santy Claws at all. It were about Bold Nick Scantilaw, the Rake as all em groanhuff legends were based on. We used to sing it all through the streets, see, in the run-up to Christmas Eve, so's all em groanhuffs what owned Scruffian slaves would catch a snatch of it as they passed, only they'd turn and, why, it would just seem like some harmless nippers playing hopscotch, singing pattycake, pattycake, baker's man or somesuch. Strange, they'd think, but they must've been mistook, yeah?

So on they'd walk, but then they'd pass another waif, one what had a hoop and stick or summat, and he'd be singing it too. Leastways, that groanhuff would've sworn he was singing it, the moment before he whirls on the nipper to find him singing something else. Or just not there. We's good at vanishing sharpish, like. Squirlet's especially good at it, natch, even when's she's wearing the brightest red duffel coat.

Sometimes we'd pick one particular bastard, and we'd makes it so's he couldn't go nowhere in the whole city without hearing that song, or even just the tune of it whistled. Every day from the First of December. We used to drives em crazy, we did. And I mean proper Bedlam crazy. Oh, it were a right lark!

Anyways, here's that little song for yez. Best hope yer don't ever hears it sung, as that'll mean some crib has it in for yer, and has passed on yer partic'lars to Bold Nick Scantilaw. And the pressie he'll be bringing yer on Christmas Eve... well, it ain't like to be one as fills yer heart with joy so much as empties it of blood.

You better stay safe
You better not buy
A Scruffian waif
I'm telling you why
Scantilaw is coming to town

He's making a list
And checking it twice;
He's gonna find out
What buggers to slice
Scantilaw is coming to town

He'll shiv yer when yer sleeping
He'll bleed yer till yer dead
He'll dance a jig upon yer corpse
Till his coat is stained bright red!

O! You better stay safe!
You better not buy
A Scruffian waif
I'm telling you why
Scantilaw is coming to town
Scantilaw is coming to town

Labels: scruffian apocrypha, scruffians

I thought I'd give yez a wee glimpse at the interior of FABBLES: 1, the chapbook what I've made as a wee stocking filler for your very own self, your nearest and dearest, or sod it, anyone as ye might care to buy a pressie for this Chrimbo. Cause who don't love some bloodthirsty indestructible Victorian urchins?

So, here we gots the speshul edition's added extras: the as-yet-undecorated (verso) bookplate page, which yer Scruffian of choice shall be unleashed upon; and the facing (recto) page, with a wee illustration and the "Copy __ of 26" legend ("Speshul Edition" from copy 27 onward.)

These won't be in the trade edition, so if ye wants a one-of-a-kind copy, personalised to yourself or a friend from some scamp, scrag, scallywag or scofflaw, get yer order in--see here for details. And just to give yez a wee look-see at the rest of it, here's the title page and first page of the first story as a little taster.




So there ye go. And ye can't get more seasonal than this little heartwarming opening tale of waifs and wild ones, shivs and sausages. What better way to spend Christmas day than snuggled up with yer crib-mates, sipping eggnog laced with liquid ecstasy, whiles yer fabbler fibs yer a fabble of Scruffian adventurings, straight from the horse's mouth... or from Gob's gob, leastways?

Labels: scruffians

I got a wee parcel of SCRUFFIANS! ARCs through the post the other day. Lookit! Lookit! Ain't they pretty?

Labels: scruffians

UPDATE: Now available on Kindle edition. Click below:

Labels: Events, Publication news, scruffians

With the SCRUFFIANS! short story collection starting to really take its final shape now--that's the trade edition cover up there--the Lethe Press website has an audio version of "How a Scruffian Starts Their Story" as read by Matt Cresswell available for your enjoyment. Go. Listen. And if you like it, keep an eye out here for the ToC of the collection. Lethe Press being a gay spec fic press, the focus in the selection of stories is gay-themed, so it won't have every single Scruffian story in the one place, I'm afraid. Don't hate me. There's a brand new story in the trade edition, two in the deluxe! And looking at the material that didn't make the cut because of that focus, I'm thinking that a second collection might well be on the horizon if I can find a good home for it. Actually, it appears I have two themes--sex and death--so it might well be more of a companion collection than second collection.

Also, along similarly Scruffian lines, I can now announce that a contract's been signed for a Scruffians mythos novella with LA CASE books, to be published in ebook form in both Italian and English. At 14,400 words (yes, exactly 14,4000 words--4 acts of 9 passages of 4 panels of 100 words,) this meaty little motherfucker is, if I say it meself, a must-read for anyone who's into these stories. You've read the Victorian era tales, where the Waiftaker General and his stickmen are still Fixing urchins from the Institute? You've read the modern era tales, where the Scruffians themselves offer the Stamp to any strays as wants to join a crib? Well, this pint-sized punk-ass rollicking adventure (of a full novel, really, just Fixed in scampitude) is the story of the most pivotal event in Scruffian history. Why, it's only the most important fabble of all, ain't it! It's the fabble of "The Taking of the Stamp."

Nuff said.

Labels: scruffians

Ratatat Dan, the butcher's brat,
Give him a drum and a soldier's hat,
A Stamp and a shilling and half a cup.
We all fall down, but Dan gets up!

***

The cowboy was an Indian.
The princess was a knight.
The pirate and the ninja
Sailed a ship upon a kite.
The ship it had a tree as mast,
The tree it had a house.
The pilot was an astronaut
Who used to be a mouse.
One with his peepers open,
Four on the skive.
One Scruffian, two Scruffian,
Three, four, five!

***

What are Scruffians made of, made of?
What are Scruffians made of?
Knives and chains and elephants' brains
That's what Scruffians are made of.

***

Guinea for a gamin.
Tuppence for a tot.
Thruppence for a thump, sir.
Penny for your thoughts.

***

Girls and boys, come out to play,
The moon in the sky's as bright as day;
Leave yer supper, and leave yer sleep,
And follow the Scruffians into the street.
Come with a whoop, come with a call,
Come with a mischief or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A ha'penny roll will serve us all.
You nick milk, and I'll nick flour,
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

***

West of sunset, east of dawn
Where the hours fly,
Norther than the Pole Star,
Souther than the sky,
Hidden from the groanhuffs,
Hidden from their God,
Outside, inside,
In the Land of Nod.

***




It's a hard life being a Scruffian, eh?

Labels: scruffian apocrypha, scruffians

Slickspit Hamshankery (scrag)
Quippersnapper Wreathquiff (scallywag)
Straggler Bratsprat (scofflaw)
Wipeguddler Fitzgigglin-Chimpudence (scrag)
Rebelladonna Scrapegrace (scofflaw)
Tadpolka Cadgeskin (scamp)
Scally Ali Axinfreak (scallywag)
Squigglish Jesterfield (scamp)

Other than the first two, not sure where I'll use these, but it's always handy having em.

Labels: scruffian apocrypha, scruffians

UPDATE: NEW AND FORTHCOMING

The Story So Far

If you know the score, you can skip ahead to the New and Forthcoming heading. If not...

So I decided to try out an experiment in direct distribution: offer a story in pdf form to anyone who donated an amount at their discretion via PayPal; and should the story reach a target of two-thirds SFWA pro rates (five cents a word), said story would be put on general release for free download. That worked rather well, so I decided to try out a second stage: if the donations reached a secondary target of full pro-rates, I'd do the same for another story in the series. That worked too for a few stories... up until the last one

Anyways, we now have four stories available in various formats in this shared folder, direct links below:

Stories Available

"Scruffians Stamp"

• pdf
• pdb
• epub
• Word doc

"Jack Scallywag"

• pdf
• epub
• Word doc
• rtf

"How a Scruffian Starts Their Story"

• pdf
• Word doc
• rtf
• epub

"An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names"

• pdf
• Word doc
• epub

New and Forthcoming

So, the original Scruffians Project wound down with "The Beast of Buskerville" never quite making it to free release. I'm not perhaps the best self-promoter, and had other writing to be getting on with, so as the storybusking ran out of steam, I moved on. Fast-forward to 2013 though, and a few developments brought me back to the mythos. For my first short story collection, SCRUFFIANS!, Steve Berman at Lethe Press asked me for a few new stories, and the ones that popped into me noggin, why, blow me if they wasn't Scruffians stories. That's the first bit of news then: due out April 2014, along with a selection of stories outside the mythos, SCRUFFIANS! will contain the above stories and a wee scatter of fresh tales of these indestructible tykes.

But there's more! No sooner had I got those stories off to Steve than an offer came in from La Case Books, who were looking for a novella to publish in ebook form. And as luck would have it, from the get-go with this project there was a story brewing in the margins and interstices of these tales. With some set in the Victorian era, when the Institute was Fixing waifs with the Stamp, and some set in the modern era, when the Scruffians themselves have the Stamp, well, that makes for the story of the pivotal event in that history. Why, it's only the most importantest fabble EVER, innit? It's THE TAKING OF THE STAMP, available now on all major platforms.

And last but not least, what to do with the Scruffian stories there wasn't room for in the collection? How to get The Taking of the Stamp in dead tree form to those who were asking after it? How to set it up so that people could buy SCRUFFIANS! and not have to wait however long for the next collection in order to have the complete series to date? What to do with "The Beast of Buskerville," the last storybusked tale that never quite made it to free release, and "A Scruffian Christmas," which was released as a free gift only available to sponsors, in thanks for their support? The answer: FABBLES: 1, a chapbook containing "A Scruffian Christmas," "The Beast of Buskerville," and "The Taking of the Stamp," a perfect wee Christmas stocking-filler, which should be out on Lulu from the 1st December, 2013, and is available now for pre-order direct from Yourst Truly in a special edition--signed, lined & dated by meself, and decorated by the Scruffian of your choice. Click through for details.

So there we go. Feel free to download any of the stories linked above. If you like them, you'll be able to buy these and more in the collection from Lethe Press. And in the meantime, those of you with ereaders can buy "The Taking of a Stamp" at a bargain price of 2ドル.99 right now, and those of you who like the feel of a real book in your hand need look no further than FABBLES: 1.

A little taster of what's in store for you? Why, I'll even go beyond those stories linked above and give you the opening of "The Beast of Buskerville," to maybe whet your appetite.

Enjoy.

Labels: scruffians

Just a quickie to say "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names" is now available in epub format for anyone as wishes to donate. (If ye'd rather have that than the pdf, just do the Paypal thing then drop us an email saying so from the address attached to the account.) The story's not too far from the primary target now, so a few more donations might well put it online for one and all, but with the way donations have tailed off, I'll be surprised if it reaches the secondary target, to be honest. We shall see.

Meanwhile, I'm confused that people are confused by terms like "clunky" or "liquid" applied to prose.

Labels: scruffians

So I just sent out a wee bonus story, "A Scruffian Christmas," for anyone as has supported the Scruffians Project with donations up till now.First off then, this here's a heads-up to yez all, in case I missed anyone off the email. Give it a sensible time for any aetheric shenanigans as that email might get up to on its way, then if it still ain't through, drop us a line from whatever address yer Paypal is linked to, and I'll say "D'oh!" loudly to myself and fire a copy out to yer. Secondly, though...

Well, see, this story won't be going up for download, I'm afraid, as it's a pressie and all, but I'll be including new donors up till Hogmanay, so if yer donates for the current story, "An Alfabetcha of Scruffian Names," yer gets "A Scruffian Christmas" alongs with it yeah? But since it don't seem very Christmassy to make it all about the money, I figured in the spirit of the season, I'd allow for them as ain't got no dosh what they can afford to donate, and for them as would rather donate that dosh to a worthier cause than some scallywag fabbler like meself. Like a charity for littl'uns, eh? So, I reckons as anyone what gives summat on me Christmas List, gets a copy of "A Scruffian Christmas," yeah? That Christmas List being:

1. Guinness. Obviously yer has to be in Glasgow for this to work.
2. Linkage on yer blog / LiveJournal / Twitter / whatever. Don't need to be nothing special -- I ain't bribing yers for a rave review -- just enough to get the word out. Email or comment below to point us at it; and don't forget tell us where to send the story.
3. Terry's Chocolate Orange. Cause it ain't Christmas without a Terry's Chocolate Orange.
4. Guinness. What? I likes Guinness.
5. If yer can draw, why, an home-made virtual Christmas card, on a Scruffians theme, like -- that'd be peachy. We likes pictures, us Scruffians. Especially with us in em. Just stick it up on them interwebs or summat and send us a link.
   
6. If yer can write... well, ye've read at least the preview of the Alfabetcha, ain'tcha? So tell us your Scruffian name, and a little bit about yerself. Ye've gotta play the game right, thoughs -- one hundred words 'xactly, else the cracks in the pavement'll open up and the crackodiles as lives in em will get yer!
7. Guinness. What? I told yers I likes Guinness.
8. A Paypal donation to yours truly, for the Alfabetcha. Natch.
   
9. A donation to a charity as we thinks would be appropriate. Forward me that confirmation email thingy what they sends when yer donates to either Great Ormond Street Hospital or Barnardo's. The confirmation as I got through meself from GOSH didn't have no card details or nothing, so there shouldn't be no worries with privacy. Barnardo's ain't set up for me debit card, the silly sausages, so I can't check; but if there's any details as ye don't want me to see, just delete em.
   

Anyways, yer gets the idea, right? If yer going for the charity thing -- or ye wants to know where's to send the Chocolate Orange! -- ye'll find me email if yer clicks on the "view profile" link under me mugshot. And if yer skint as a scamp's knees in Summer, remember there's always 5 and 6. So yer can't draw or write for toffee? Well, it's the thought that counts, ain't it?

That's what Christmas is all about!

Labels: scruffians

Yes, that last wee reminder seems to have done the trick. Got the final few donations needed -- the last one just coming through five minutes ago -- to tip us past the 200ドル mark. Which means that "Jack Scallywag" is now available for free download too. So go, take, read, and hopefully enjoy. And, yes, there's another story all set to go. If folks who were waiting to try before they buy step up and push the donations up by another hundred bucks, I'll happily make it available, with the usual preview, of course. But, yeah, in the meantime, have some fiction free and gratis; and if ye do like it but ye can't afford to bung us some dosh for it, well, spreading the word is always appreciated too.

Labels: scruffians

Well, cool! Allowing for one pledge what ain't quite come through yet, but which is from someone as I know will be chucking the money in shortly, it appears as how "Scruffians Stamp" has made the pro-rates mark of 150ドル. Which means to things: 1) at least some folks will (can afford to) still throw some cash into the hat. (And those who maybe can't afford to contribute (and trust me, I know times is tight all round,) if you enjoy the story, you can always do yer bit by giving it a nod on yer blog, LiveJournal, Twitter or whatnot.) and 2) it's time to, as agreed, make another story available for all who donate from here on in.

Now, this one's chunkier, at about 6400 words. Actually if you exclude the titles, it's exactly 6400 words, same as "Scruffians Stamp" is exactly 3000 words. Cause those little sections are all 100 words exactly. No, don't ask me why I does it that way; buggered if I know, I just find that mad constraint somehow working for me. It's the same with "The Disappearance of James H__" and "The Toymaker's Grief". No, really, I don't know why. Some weird formalist impulse? Some poncy Oulipo malarkey? It just works for me, OK?

Anyways, at 5 cents per word that length works out at 320,ドル which is a substantial chunk of money, right? So, I reckon for the moment, I'll stick with the approach adopted with "Scruffians Stamp," setting the initial target at two-thirds pro-rates. In other words, if donations reach 207,ドル this story goes up on a fileshare site, for all to download. In the meantime, all those who donate will get a pdf sent through to them toot sweet. I've got to admit, I'm not at all sure the higher target will be reached, given the fact that I'm not expecting contributors of larger sums for "Scruffians Stamp" to repeat those sort of donations. But part of what I'm curious here is to see the limits of this sort of approach. So sod it; let's give it a shot, eh, and see what does happen?

So what's this story? Why, this is only the tale of "Jack Scallywag", the finest Scruffian what ever lived. EVER! But rather than blathering about it, as before, here's the opening as a wee taster:

Jack Scallywag

Hal Duncan

Ace Jack, King Jack, Queen Jack, Fool.

Poor widow's son got beans for a bull.

How many beans did the Scruffian get?

One, two, three, four, you are het!

In Which Our Hero is Interduced

Once upon a time, there were a poor widow's son what lived out in the forest with his mum. He didn't have nothing to his name -- couldn't have nothing to his name on account of he didn't have a name. See, his mum were so awful sad at her husband's death, all's she ever called him from the day he was born was Poor Dear. You want fed again, she'd say, Poor Dear? How'd you get the busted lip today, she'd say, Poor Dear. The other boys calls you a bastard, do they, she'd say, Poor Dear? Yer don't say?

•

Mostly though, what the other boys called him -- what everyone in the village called him -- was Parish Fool. Cause his mum didn't have no money to dress him in aught but a suit of rags, stitched up from scraps of handmedowns and castoffs what had been worn to nothing and chucked away. A right motley it was, in every sodding shade under the sun. Every shade what's been faded and filthed to a shade of dirt and dust, that is. So they calls him the Parish Fool for it, shouts, Where's yer bells? and, Tell us a joke! Fucking cunts.

•

But we don't call him Poor Dear or Parish Fool, us Scruffians. Don't call him none of those names the groanhuffs use in their stories about him neither. Cause what do groanhuffs know? All's they've done is heard our tales and passed em along in a game of Chinese Whispers, getting em all mixed up, like. Peer-a-Door and Pierce-a-Veil, they calls him! Dozy twats. Still, we gots to call him summat. Hero needs a name, don't he? So we Scruffians calls him Jack, cause that were a word for any Scruffian-to-be in those days.

•

Anyways, one day, Jack's out poaching rabbits in the wild woods when these knights ride up, all grand on their gallopers, armour gleaming in the sunlight. Jack, he ain't been schooled, so he don't rightly know what an angel is, but he's seen pictures and carvings in the church, right? Fine looking fellers with breastplates and helmets, swords and shields, you know? So Jack, he falls to his knees, thinking it's Judgement Day itself, praying for mercy. Course, the knights all have a right good laugh at that. No, says they, we're knights, lad, noble-born but mortal as you.

In Which Our Hero Aspires to Greatness

Huh? You hush yourself, scrag. Yeah, course I'm leaving bits out. These is fresh Fixed scamps, and they ain't in need of hearing things what they won't understand. So let's not confuse em with details about where the knights was headed and how's they'd decided to have some fun on the way. Besides, it messes up the story if you starts bringing in crusades and pogroms and Jack's mum getting -- whassat? A pogrom? Well... it's sort of... a monster they had in them days. Yeah, a bit like a dragon. See?Just lemme tell it simple, like, eh? Right then...

•

Jack, he ogles these mortals. If knights look so grand, says he, by buggery, he'll be a knight himself. The nobs near split their sides, them being nobs and all. Parish Fool, says they, there's squires and serfs, and you're no squire. Bollocks to you, says Jack. Off into town he skips. I'm gonna be a knight, says he. Parish Fool, says everyone, there's knights and knaves, and you're no knight. Fuck you, says Jack. Off to his mum he skips. I'm gonna be a knight, says he. Poor dear, says she, there's paladins and peasants, and -- Whatever, says Jack.

•

No, Jack won't have nobody tell him what he can't ever be, even if he weren't born with a silver spoon in one end and an Harley Street hooter up the other. He ain't secretly a prince, ain't got no sword what was his father's. And he ain't gonna make much of a knight without a sword and such. But Jack ain't bovvered. Come morning he sneaks out, whiles his mum's snoring off last night's gin, with a pot for an helmet, a stick for sword, and his trusty old slingshot. Bollocks to them all, he thinks. I'll show em.

•

Now, being a Scruffian at heart, even if he ain't Fixed yet, Jack ain't the most responsible type, so thieving a horse does strike him as an obvious option. But being a Scruffian at heart, he ain't the most reputable type neither, so it also strikes him as all the groanhuffs in the town would likely finger him straight off. And he's been near enough hanged for an apple, never mind an horse. So, no, he reckons, he'll have to get it legit, like. But it ain't like his dear drunk mum'll miss the old bull in the meadow, eh?

************

And so it goes. So, yeah, chuck whatever you feel comfortable with my way, and I'll chuck yer a copy of the pdf with the full tale of Jack Scallywag. And we shall see how it pans out this time.

Labels: scruffians

Yep, it looks like the experiment was a success. As of today the total donations reached 69,ドル which my currency converter widget tells me is 109ドル. So we've hit the hundred dollars mark I was aiming for, and that means "Scruffians Stamp" is now available to everyone. There's the original pdf and, courtesy of Meika Samorzewski and Eric Rosenfield, it's also available in pdb and epub formats. Of course, just cause you don't have to donate now, don't mean I won't appreciate it; and if we break the 150ドル mark that basically means the story's made pro rates. Which is a definite plus point when it comes to how much I wanna try this again. In fact, I'm reckoning that might be a good Stage Two in the experiment. So, yeah, let's say if donations reach 150,ドル I'll go for it again. Brand new story -- pdf or doc -- to all what donates, and if donations hit a decent target it goes up on a fileshare site for free download.

Cause at the moment I am interested in repeating the experiment. The results have been quite interesting -- with some rather chunky donations pushing the total up a good way towards the target (and you know who you are, and I bless you indeed, you fine folks.) Actually, even those smaller amounts donated were pretty generous for a single short story, I'd say. So, I'll be curious as to how a second such release works out, as and when I give it a go. Is it the sort of thing that only works as a one-off now and then on the basis of generosity more than anything else? Or can you make it work regularly as long as you're producing the goods?

I know I do kinda like the idea. It seems kinda old school, like being a storyteller on the streets, a spinner of tall tales sitting in the agora with a bowl in front of them. Actually, it feels sorta appropriate to a story about Scruffians what survives by thieving and begging and general low cunning. I'm sorely tempted to just do this with Scruffians stories on principle. Makes me feel right Scruffian meself, see, telling lies for a living. And while it'd be nice to just do the literary busking and trust folk to throw some dosh in the hat, this has worked substantially better than just chucking the work up for download and inviting donations on the honour system (as I tried with "Die, Vampire, Die!").

So, a huge thanks to those who've donated. Bless yez all, each and every one of yez.

Labels: scruffians

OK, so I thought in the interest of subsidising my eating hobby, I'd experiment with this online direct publication malarkey, straight from me to yerself. Like, invite the whole Paypal donations thing via the button to the left there, in exchange for a previously unpublished 3000 word short story (hot off the press, in fact,) to be made available for download when (or maybe if) donations reach a certain amount. What's a fair amount? is of course the Big Question. Well, it's an experiment, so I'm not going to ask for pro rates of five cents per word (which'd work out at 150ドル); instead I reckoned I'd knock it down to, say, a straight hundred.

Feels a little like sticking yer balls on the block, to be honest, cause my natural paranoia and pessimism scoffs at the idea of getting enough folks willing to chuck a buck or two my way for this to work; but hey ho, I'm hungry, so it's worth a shot. And in case it doesn't work out, I don't wanna stiff them what's donated, leave em with sod all. So instead, I'm reckoning that anyone who donates gets a nice pdf of the story sent directly to them. How does that sound?

So what's the story? Well, it's called "Scruffians Stamp," and it seems to be one of about a dozen sparking off the basic idea what's eating my mind at the moment. Did it as a reading at the Merchant City Festival on Saturday there and it seemed to go down a treat. Trust me, ye'll like it. Anyhoo, with a good few stories all shouting to be written around this theme, (fuck, there might even be a novel formulating,) if this direct release malarkey works there may well be more where this comes from. We shall see.

As a taster then, here's the opening two sections:

0

Orphans, foundlings, latchkey kids. Urchins, changelings, live-by-wits. Rascals, scallywags, ruffians, scamps. Scoundrels, hellions, Scruffians STAMP!

From his seat on the bench, the Scruffian who didn't know he was a Scruffian yet, who didn't even quite know what a Scruffian was, watched the other kids in the park, half-wishing he was like them, with their homes and happy families -- well, families, at least -- and half-hoping he would never be like them, never. Soon they'd all be going home to their tea, though they probably called it dinner. He wasn't going home to neither, not ever, not likely.


Orphans, foundlings, latchkey kids. Urchins, changelings, live-by-wits. Rascals, scallywags, ruffians, scamps. Scoundrels, hellions, Scruffians STAMP!

They were playing hopscotch, boys and girls together, which was a bit strange cause hopscotch was really a girl's game, he'd always thought, and none of the boys looked like sissies. Not that looking like a sissy meant you was one, or that not looking like a sissy meant you wasn't one. The Scruffian, who wasn't really a Scruffian yet, just on his way to it, knew that.

He shivered in his thin red windbreaker, which wasn't anything in this kind of weather.


Orphans, foundlings, latchkey kids. Urchins, changelings, live-by-wits. Rascals, scallywags, ruffians, scamps. Scoundrels, hellions, Scruffians STAMP!

With the last word the girl or boy playing hopscotch would come down hard with both feet, and the rest would all stamp a foot. Made it all like some... war-dance. Weird. And some of them was a bit old for hopscotch surely.

Orphans, foundlings, latchkey kids. Urchins, changelings, live-by-wits.

They all had such sharp looks on their thin faces too.

Rascals, scallywags, ruffians, scamps. Scoundrels, hellions, Scruffians STAMP!

And they was all looking at him on that last word.


1

Orphan was the first Scruffian, they says. See, he had the sweetest voice ever heard, did Orphan; so sweet it was, there's many as think he must have come from Heaven. Well, he was found as a babe, abandoned on a mountainside. Would have been left there too if it weren't for the fact that even his crying was like music. The shepherd that found him, he was flat astounded, took the lad home just so's he could sit there listening to him... bawling and bawling. Why, that's bloody beautiful, the shepherd thought. And did fuck all to soothe him.


Weren't long before the lad started singing. And how! When he sang a sad song, that's what made the willow tree weep, and when he sang a happy song, why, even the stones would dance. So naturally the groanhuffs all wanted him singing at their funerals and weddings. No matter how he felt. Sing us a sad song, they'd say, even if he was happy. Or sing us a happy song, they'd say, even if he was sad. And because the foundling didn't have no-one as truly cared for him, they'd just clip his ear if he says no.


You was in one of those foster homes before you run away, right? I've heard what goes on in some of those places, from the telly, from the news. And I remember me own days in the workhouse. I'll tell you this: I don't know if it really happened the way the stories tell it, but even if it didn't, it did, I'll bet. If you see what I mean. Even if Orphan's story was just made-up to fill in what none of us know, it's not a fucking lie the way that pixie dust and pirates bollocks is.


And on it goes from there.

So, yeah, if ye like the looks of it, punt a few bucks my way and you get a shiny pdf of the full thing. And if enough of yez do it, why, it goes up on the interwebs for one and all. And needless to say, any spreading of the word will be much appreciated.

Labels: scruffians