It’s with great pleasure and excitement that we welcome you to our midsummer edition – our only issue for a few months yet.
The Jeweller of Second-hand Roe
The bijouterie was a family affair. Three sons kept supplies and deliveries constant. Olivier, the oldest, drove the anonymous covered cart. The giant Thibault acted as loader…
Shadows in the House of Lights
It's the long traveled deep wheeled road that got me here. Near darkness followed like a spell, and the outlined view was found the old house with yellow lit windows,…
Random House (THIS IS A DEATH SENTENCE)
It started ordinarily enough, with a phone call. I have an old-fashioned phone, plastic, with a dial, which is attached to the wall in my kitchen with a cord. Though most of…
I am the last of the bell ringers….
You focused your attention (and your hope) on a girl named Zelda
and would hang around with her every chance you got.
She was perfect—
way to the left—
a socialist in fact.
“Anxious about how [my novel, Crandolin] would be received? Once one is dead, one can stop being reckless. Until that time, limiting oneself to doing the expected is a horror scenario too terrifying for me to watch, let alone live in.” We speak to the Australian author Anna Tambour about the struggles of being a true original, what drives her to keep creating, and the challenges of being a full-time writer.
In a Schlock first, author Anna Tambour and the magazine’s co-editor Teodor Reljic talk shop about their latest novels: in Tambour’s case, the sophomore release Crandolin, and Reljic’s debut novel, Two.
This month Marco goes full Godzilla, and in between doing monster noises and stomping around the office he got to write about not one, not two but THREE Godzilla films from recent years. Also featured are Transistor, a selection of TV work by one Masaaki Yuasa, a chapbook by Schlock-featured writer Angela Slatter and a local artist by the name of Fastidju. Oh, and some guys are remaking the intro to Ghost in the Shell? Crazy!
Smiling, he remembered the baseball card he had of Kingston that he carried in his back pocket for almost a year until it started to fall apart from all the times he took it out to look at and show friends. Briefly he closed his eyes, picturing Kingston kneeling in the card in front of a batting cage with the handle of his coal black 36-ounce bat tucked under his chin. Even then he looked as intense and menacing as he did when stepped into the batter’s box.
It’s with great satisfaction that we bring you this issue, a special one in many ways because it serves as something of a culmination of what we’ve aspired to achieve so far. In the spirit of collaboration – as well as working hand-in-hand with creatives striving to offer striking and original material – we end our temporary ‘partnership’ with Chômu Press this month with two stories by writers from their stable.
The coyote is smart. He has studied his prey, watched and followed the roadrunner through Arizona, Mexico, Texas and back, although man-made geographic distinctions mean nothing to him. Sometimes he feels he’ll never catch it, that he wouldn’t even know what to do if he did. But then God’s love overwhelms him, and though the coyote is too ignorant to recognize it, its effects are visceral.
It’s to do with the world in the wall. Before we moved to Pittsburgh we lived in Reading, this was when I was four or five, and my bed was up against a big white wall. I was always afraid to sleep by myself so I kept going into my parents’ room and trying to sleep with them. I don’t know why I was afraid but…one night I had a dream, or maybe it really happened, I don’t know…