Hal Duncan's Blog, page 25

LAST MINUTE CHANGE

The Universal are apparently lousy fucking cancelling fuckers.The Eschaton has been relocated to McPhabbs.

Rapture Party

Yes, THE.... Sodomite Hal Duncan!! shall be turning 40 on the 21st October, which is also, according to Harold Camping the END OF THE WORLD. Coincidence or Coming-of-Age? Providence or prophecy fulfilled in the ascension of The Antichrist Himself? Me, I can neither confirm nor deny that my mother's name is indeed Rosemary, or that my true name is in fact that adopted in loving tribute by the

Awesome

I ARE THE CHAMPION

So last night's Literary Death Match was a total blast. I headed through early with Paul Cockburn to avoid Scotrail's peak hour price hike, which meant time for a couple of pints in a pub round the corner, before grabbing another pint and a snack to line the stomach in the Voodoo Rooms. Where I met the charming Vikki Reilly, who was organising the Edinburgh event, and the equally charming Todd

Maybe the Twain Shall Meet After All

By way of Nick Mamatas here's a link to an article about "literary" writers turning to "genre" fiction that, for a change, doesn't make me want to stick knitting needles up my nose and jiggle them until my prefrontal cortex dribbles out my nostrils:

Once upon a time, genre was treated as almost a different industry from literary fiction, ignored by critics, sneered at by literary writers,

Literary Death Match

Anyone who isn't all Edinburghed out after the Fringe: I'll be through on the 6th of September in the Voodoo Rooms for Literary Death Match. Which is to say, I'll be going mano-a-mano against another writer (Doug Johnstone, Sophie Cooke or Katerina Vasiliou), slugging it out in the medium of spoken word, hoping to make it to the decider round which, by the sounds of it, could be anything from a

From Xenophon

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A scene:
The floor now, all our hands, the cups -- all clean.

With garland blooms one servant crowns our heads;
The other passes perfume dish of myrrh.

With mixing bowl, the jar sits, wine honey-sweet
As its aroma, blossoms, in our midst.

Frankincense also scents the room, and see:
Springwater for the wine, fresh, pure and cold,

New Notes from New Sodom Column

You may have heard of the UK lawsuit where a judge just awarded £65,000 to a writer wronged by a review. Long story short, Sarah Thornton's book, Seven Days in the Art World, was reviewed in the Daily Torygraph by Lynn Barber, one of the people she interviewed for it. In her takedown of the book, Barber explicitly said she couldn't trust Thornton's claims regarding her rigorous research. Why

Beyond Sehnsucht and Saudade

Over at The Mumpsimus, Matt Cheney links to an article of his on the 25th anniversary of the movie, Stand By Me. He writes of how no film "had ever seemed more real to [him], more true, more beautiful," recalls listening to the soundtrack and his dad's old 45s from the same era, muses on how the death of River Phoenix now shades the ending, on the "naked artificiality" he appreciates now in a

What I Did at the Weekend

On Saturday I had a book launch!



I read my book! I did out loud though, or it would have been boring for everyone else.



I gesticulated! Usually more wildly than that. That might have been the "being fellated" gesticulation during "Sonnets for Kouroi Old and New."



People listened! I took my jacket off cause it was hot cause there was so many people listening!



They didn't have to listen