Tonight's post will be brief, as I'm busy reading Rhian's post-apocalyptic lesbian gang novel. Man, this stuff is foxy--wait 'til you see what they're getting up to in their caves! It is just TOO HOT FOR BANTAM DELL!
Meanwhile, I bring you news of a new magazine called Murdaland. It is, apparently, a haven for literary crime fiction, and its web site is lovingly embedded with scary noises. A colleague of mine gave me a copy of the first issue, and although I haven't read the whole thing, it seems pretty damned good so far.
Crime fiction lives and dies by the opening line, so let's see where we stand with Murdaland #1...
Rolo Diez: "Night falls and there's nowhere to go."
Anthony Neil Smith: "I wanted to plan the coolest funeral ever for my girlfriend."
Kaili Van Waiveren: "Meatball opens the door holding a knife."
J. D. Rhoades: "These days, they mostly used the backhoe."
Tristan Davies: "In the course of my job, I sometimes wear a Boy Scout uniform."
Who the hell are these people, and where have they been all my life? (To be fair, I have met Tristan Davies, but this is the first thing of his I've read.) It's funny, there are established literary writers here (Mary Gaitskill and Richard Bausch), but they resist the temptation to start off with a corker...as much as I admire them, I'll be reading their stories last. Fast and lurid wins the race.
Go subscribe to this thing--its editors should be rewarded.