Marius Trevelean's Blog, page 2

Tartare - Free Give-away - 25/08 - 27/08

TARTARE by M. Trevelean

A pitch-black satire that deals with addiction, societal norms, personal responsibility and tricky ethical questions like -  "Should I eat my Postman?"

FREE TO DOWNLOAD FROM AMAZON THIS HOLIDAY WEEKEND (25/08 - 27/08)


http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tartare-ebook/dp/B006F6FKI0/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t


Tartare by M. Trevelean - How far would you go to quit?

Fringe Cringe

Tourist – (Noun): A person who is travelling or visiting a place for pleasure.


I like being a tourist; I like travelling and visiting places for pleasure. I hate tourists. Yes, I am aware that makes me a hypocrite but I believe there is a distinct difference between my idea of tourism and what others may believe.

When I go travelling I try my upmost to respect the local cultures, to blend in, learn the local customs and to try my hardest to make the least impact I can on the local infrastructure and everyday life. Whether I always achieve that is open to debate, but at least I try.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no animosity to other nations and cultures, far from it (in fact I am very fond of certain foreigners living here) however there are those who seem to believe that life in Edinburgh during August enters some kind of suspended animation, where businesses close and that we all have the time to wander about town like extras from ‘Dawn of the Dead’.

Edinburgh is a beautiful city, full of history and culture, however it is also a very small city with tight streets and compact lanes. The Festival and Fringe Comedy spectacular attracts thousands of people from all over the world every year and most of them seem happy to stand about blocking every street, shop entrance, business premises and establishment as they check an oversized map to see where the castle is. (Hint: it’s the big castle-like structure on top of the volcanic crag in the city centre. You literally cannot miss it, unless you spend your entire time here staring at a map.)

‘Tourist Dodging’ becomes a seasonal sport in August. By the time the festival ends most residents have hips so supple they’d make Roger Milla jealous (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j78m7EArbY). Huge groups of rucksack wearing, camera-wielding bobble-heads walking sixteen abreast across the street at a pace that even slugs would call ‘laboured’ during rush hour. Trying to get anywhere quickly at the moment is nigh-on impossible.

Then there is just the plain inexplicable. Queuing for half an hour in line at the cash machine as a guy stares glassy-eyed at the strange hieroglyphics on the keypad. Correct me if I am wrong but the numbers 0-9 are the same in mainland Europe as they are here. You’d think some people were trying to crack into the Pentagon mainframe the amount of time it takes them to take cash out. It may be a small gripe but cumulatively over the course of this month alone it must have at least cost me a Sunday.

If you manage to negotiate the amalgous mass of human traffic then you run the gauntlet that is ‘crossing the street’. Between tourists playing chicken with the buses (a foolish game, buses rule the roads in Edinburgh and won’t stop for Alex Salmond never mind vacant Americans looking for Buckingham Palace) and the selective colour-blindness of most drivers – red means stop everywhere in the world apart from Edinburgh city centre it seems – it’s a miracle that there’s anyone left to attend any of the shows at the Fringe.

So please, by all means come to Edinburgh, enjoy the sights and the shows, laugh at the comedy, wonder at the street performers, but for the love of God get out of the way.

M.

To forgive.

So let's see you smile
'cause i'm not impressed with your loneliness
and it's been a while
since you forgave all your changes made
so let's count the miles together.

x

Broken

So let's see you smile
'cause i'm not impressed with your loneliness
and it's been a while
since you forgave all your changes made
so let's count the miles together.

x

Latest review for 'Tartare'.

Reviewed by Paul Fenton

Tartare tells the story of Edgar Ferrol, a smoker from Edinburgh who has decided to quit. The combination of the general smoking ban in the UK and the death-by-lung cancer of a family member is enough to push Edgar to toss the death sticks in the trash.

But is it enough to make him leave them there?

The craving for cigarettes is not something Edgar can easily shake, and he finds it affecting his mood, his sleep, his personal and work life. Then, one night out at dinner with colleagues, he mistakenly orders the steak tartare. Rather than admit his error, he eats it small bite by small bite and discovers that his cravings for cigarettes have abated. Raw meat, it seems, is the only thing capable of curing him of his addiction, and that soon becomes the only thing he can eat. Naturally he moves on from mince and steak to more uncommon delicacies, kidneys and liver and other rare cuts. Unfortunately for Edgar the effects wear off after a time, and he has to eat more frequently to quell his desire for cigarettes, and expand his palate to creatures not normally found in a butcher's display case, the fresher the better.

How far do things escalate? I don't want to spoil the fun for readers, but if you feel squeamish at the idea of carving fresh steaks off your pet kitty and picking your teeth with her tail bones, then you should probably stay away from this book. If you can cope with that, however, I strongly recommend you take a trip inside Edgar Ferrol's dark and fractured mind, and ride it right to the twisted (and wonderful) end.

It takes great skill to provide a first-person perspective on such a sick mind while still maintaining that thread of empathy, the leash the author tugs on to pull you along, and Trevelean pulls it off with almost uncanny ease. Edgar Ferrol might make me sick at times, but I'll still root for him to best his boss, to get the girl, and to get a good meal ... though not necessarily in that order.


Paul Fenton is the author of the hilarious 'Punchline' and his new work 'Cellar Door'.

A Cannibals Guide to Quitting Smoking.

                      FREE TO DOWNLOAD ON AMAZON 02/06 - 03/06

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http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tartare-ebook/dp/B006F6FKI0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338548591&sr=8-1


"Fair warning, it's not cosy, it's not cuddly, it'll send more sensitive souls running to the relative comfort of a night of Frankie Boyle stand-up." - Simon A. Foward


WARNING: QUITTING SMOKING CAN SERIOUSLY DAMAGE YOUR HEALTH

Downtime

My short story 'Downtime' has just placed third in the Multi-Story short fiction competition. Below you will find a link for the story itself.

http://www.multi-story.co.uk/winners-1500word3.html


And here are the judges comments:


3rd Prize - Downtime by M. Trevelean
Comments - The style is very spare and uses the present tense to convey a sense of tension and immediacy. The use of a countdown towards an event that is not obvious to the reader until the very end creates a sense of danger. The style is in harmony with the only character, about whom we are told very little except that he is a rich, risk-taking shit - which is all we need to know. This is very effectively done.
This is a dark story and its conclusion is open to interpretation. It isn’t clear if the underground room is a tomb or an engine by which the “hero” asserts the triumph of his will over Nature and his enemies. One suspects that both interpretations are true.
I chose this story for third prize for its general competence and I thought it original and provocatively ambiguous.

My Sweetshop Life

Flash fiction with a sweet tooth.



My Sweetshop Life


The illusion of choice. Sherbet Lemons, Pear Drops, Midget Gems, Cola Cubes, Pineapple Chunks, Sports Mixtures, Bon Bons, Wine Gums, Tom Thumb Drops, Pontefract Cakes, Sherbet Pips, Milk Bottles, Cola Bottles, Red and Black Berries, Flying Saucers, Blackjacks, Fruit Salad, Astro Belts, Jelly Beans, Flumps, Cough Candy, Mint Imperials, Pan Drops, Jelly Babies, Peanut Clusters, Chocolate Raisins, Yoghurt Gums, Liquorice Allsorts, American Hard Gums, Chocolate Peanuts, Foam shrimps, Sugar Mice, Salad Gums, Cherry Lips, Red Laces, Parma Violets, Cinder Toffee, Chocolate Limes, Cough Drops, Raisin Fudge, Butter Toffee, Aniseed Balls, Liquorice Comfits, Love Hearts, Sour Plums.
I'm not five. I'm not greedy. But too much choice is no choice at all. I can’t have a selection if I can only pick one. And if I can only pick one then I can’t pick any. That’s the problem. If I knew what I wanted before I saw the selection then it wouldn't be a problem, but confronted with a choice without time to consider all the options? What kind of choice is that? There's no kindly shopkeeper either, to point me in the right direction. So I believe I have no choice. I turn and leave the shop empty handed. Every time.

Either / Or

Knowledge is Power. Ignorance is Bliss. I think I fall somewhere in-between - I don't know enough to be powerful, yet I'm not ignorant enough to be blissful. Oh nuts!

The ‘Great’ Scottish Summer

As I write this I can hear the wind lashing torrential rain at the window, while I have the heating on to try and keep warm. It’s May in Scotland.
Scotland, as most people will be aware, is not known for its weather. The four seasons of the year tend to blend together to create one long ‘mono-season’ which, for sake of simplicity, we’ll call - ‘winter’.
The thing about the weather in Scotland is that it’s not necessarily that bad, it’s just not ever any good either. It doesn’t suffer from extreme cold, minus thirties or having six feet of snow eight months a year. Neither does it have blistering heat in the hundreds. What it does have is constant rain, drizzling, cold, grey, ever-present rain.
Atlantis is drier.
It’s the insipid dullness of it all that really affects people. In the winter it’s cold and dark, in the summer it’s cold and grey, in the winter it’s cold and dark, in the summer…well, you get the point. Scotland has a high suicide rate, which will come as no surprise to anyone who has ever visited during July, when there is a real risk of drowning (on the way to the pub).
It is painfully depressing for all inhabitants, having survived the long dark of winter, having not seen the sun for six months, to get to British summertime, only to find that it has been cancelled yet again in favour of a new season – ‘Diet Winter’ - all the rain of winter with none of the festivities.
So, next time you’re having a BBQ in the sunshine on a warm, balmy summer’s day, spare a thought for Scotland – whose inhabitants will be hard at work under the dark rain clouds.
Building an Ark.