A Scruffian Christmas Carol 4

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

Gobfabbler on Black Friday

Back in em bad old days, our Black Friday was when's the scrufftraders'd do their rounds, end of every week, looking to make a pretty profit off the poor as was starving and on the edge of being turfed out on the streets. Ain't that much different now, I suppose; it's still the merchants and masters rooking the desperate for all's they got, in coin or credit. And the rest of us, beggars and buskers and outright burglarisers, cause sod it, we's only stealing back what they stole from us, eh?

Guinea for a gamin, that were the going rate. Give me a child until he is seven, so they says, and I'll give yer an indentured worker what's Fixed in his hunger and misery, and like to do anything for whatever sorry scraps yer throws at him. If them fuckers still had the Stamp, like as not all yer Walmart workers would be scofflaw slaves, they would, chained behind their counters and with a cattle-prod at their back to make em smile ever-so-politely and tells yer to have a nice day. Healthcare? Oh, we'll Fix yer right up, they'd say. Food stamps? Oh, we'll give yer Stamps alright! The way they treats their so-called human resources, ain't no question as they'd still be trading us in chains if only they could get away with it.

And oh how them groanhuffs would slaver at the store doors, and rush inside to squall and scrabble in greed, to snaffle up the scamps and scrags at bargain bin prices! Black Friday, eh? Day after Thanksgiving. They oughts to celebrate Fucksgiving, them American groanhuffs. Like, one day a year all em groanhuffs as has already sorta sold their own kiddies in a way, sold em for a song as sounds good but ain't got an ounce of truth in it, one day a year them groanhuffs could actually give a fuck. And maybes even not go right back, the next day, to hoarding all em fucks, keeping all em fucks to themselves.

That's the thing about fucks. They ain't worth nuffink if yer don't gives em. Ain't worth fuck all.

In Other News...

RHAPSODY: NOTES ON STRANGE FICTIONS, my non-fiction book exploring strange fiction, its culture and nature, will be coming out from Lethe Press in April next year. If you've been reading this blog over the years, if you followed my Notes from New Sodom columns over at Boomtron, you'll have some idea what to expect, but don't be looking for a simple collection of accreted essay material. I've gathered together the core of those writings and reworked the material pretty damn thoroughly in best literary cubist manner. There's the figurative sociography, for want of a better term, of the SF Café. And there's the literary theory of narrative modalities, my unified field theory of genre, to all intents and purposes. But I'm out to make this as bugfuck mentalist fierce as VELLUM and INK. Think Disch meets Delany in a dark alley and shit gets real. Keep your eyes peeled here for a peachy cover to be unveiled.

Meanwhile...

ERRATA is now available not just in the print edition of the chapbook but also on Kindle Direct, from the UK store and the US store and most any of the stores there are, I believe. (Sorry, I'm too lazy to link them all.)

Collecting for the first time, and revising for this edition, all four stories in the Errata sequence-"The City of Rotted Names," "The Prince of End Times," "The Whenever at the City's Heart," & "The Tower of Morning's Bones"-this chapbook is a cubist collage of wordplay and worldblazing, a mosaic narrative of the battle for the city of the soul. Here, fans of Vellum & Ink can delve deeper into the mythos of The Book of All Hours, while new readers will find a stand-alone story, a wild ride into the world of a work described as "the Guernica of genre fiction."

I've set the MatchBook thingy on, so anyone who bought the paper edition from Amazon should theoretically be able to buy the ebook for free. If this does/doesn't work for you, do let me know. I'm not sure if I've got it set up right, so it'd be good to know either way. If you bought it direct via Lulu, send me a proof of purchase, and I'll send you through an epub.

ESCAPE FROM HELL! will be on a Kindle Countdown Deal from midnight tonight (i.e. the 30th November) until the 7th December, with a hefty price reduction. I forget exactly how hefty, duh, and can't seem to check it on Amazon, so I'll update later with the details. But it's fricking cheap. Again, you can get it from the UK store and the US store.

A hitman, a hooker, a homosexual kid, and a hobo suicide make the ultimate prison break...escape from Hell itself! But when news of their attempted escape gets out, the souls of the damned are transformed into a rioting mob, and all Hell truly does break loose. It's Escape from New York meets Jacob's Ladder, by one of fantasy's rising stars.

Enjoy.

A Scruffian Christmas Carol 3

Only two days till FABBLES: 1 is officially launched in trade edition, with copies going live on Lulu and hopefully available to buy at my reading at The Old Hairdresser's on Sunday 1st December. There will definitely be copies of Caledonia Dreamin' there for sale on the merchandise table--they just arrived today--but I'm on tenterhooks waiting to see if the Lulu order makes it here in time. I have me doubts, but fingers crossed.

But hey, even if you can't nab yourself a copy of the chapbook there, you'll get to hear me read "A Scruffian Christmas," and them scruffs do make for a good fabble to listen to, if do say so meself. So come along and hear me channel Gobfabbler in a sweet wee seasonal tale of sausages and shivs. Also on the bill: Alexander Abraham; Stephen Goodall; Craig Collins; and of course, headlining, Caledonia Dreamin's very own Douglas Thompson.

In the meantime, we're down to single figures on the lettered copies of the speshul edition. And if the Lulu order for the first batch of those arrives in time, while the order for the trade edition doesn't, if letters whatever through to Z are still unsold by Sunday, I might well take the spares with me (along with crayons, glitter and glue) in lieu of the trade edition. So while the speshul edition will still be available for Johnny-come-latelys, if you do fancy the extra wee bit of collectibility that comes of getting one of the very first run of 26, hot off the press, get yer order in now.

Anyhoo, so's this post isn't entirely a BUY MAH BOOK shill , here's another wee Christmas carol, Scruffian style, for your enjoyment. Sing along if you know the tune.

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter
Not so long ago.

Sticks and stones can't hurt us
Nor grub sustain;
From our woes we'll flee away
When we breaks our chains.
In the bleak midwinter
Shines a Scruffian crib
Safety from the stickmen,
Sausages and shivs.

Enough for us what masters
Worked night and day,
A bottleful of gin
A sip for every stray;
Enough for us what groanhuffs
Stamped to do their chores,
The scamps and scrags them bastards
Fixed forevermore.

Hellions and urchins
Gathers round the waif;
Scallywags and scofflaws
Throngs to keep yer safe,
Harking to the fabbler
Fabbling his fib.
In the bleak midwinter,
Welcomes to the crib.

What can we gives yer?
Not a bleeding lot.
If Mary had a little lamb
She'd be in the pot.
If we was all la-di-da,
We'd have such a spread.
So what can we gives yer?
Here's the bastard's head.

A Scruffian Christmas Carol 2

I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas Day in the morning.

And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas Day in the morning?

A host of Scruffians off for sale,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
A host of Scruffians off for sale,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Pray, whither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Pray, whither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas Day in the morning?

O they sailed for the colonies,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
O they sailed for the colonies,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

And all the auctioneers shall sing,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the auctioneers shall sing,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

And all the whips and chains shall sting,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the whips and chains shall sting,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Then let us rise and slit their throats,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Then let us rise and slit their throats,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Scruffians Celebrate With Ice Cream

And afters, Vermintrude gots us all ice cream! Give us some bleeding ice cream, says she, or I'll cut yer knackers off! That's her in front, the littl'un. Yer don't wants to know what she's saying to that groanhuff on the left, the one what doesn't have his hands tied behind his back.

A Scruffian Christmas Carol

Away in a sewer, no crib for his bed
The little scamp Icksquick laid down his sweet head
The rats in the brickwork looked down on his plight
The little scamp Icksquick asleep in the shite

The rodents are squeaking, the scamp he awakes
But Icksquick's a Scruffian, no crying He makes
He digs out a morsel to feed to his chums
A ratcatcher's hand what is missing its thumb

Be near me, sweet Icksquick, them rats squeaks to say
Close by me forever, and feed me I pray
Feed all the dear rats, till we're plump as can be
And when you are hungry, then we will feed thee.

FABBLES: 1... A Wee Sneaky Peek

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?

Another Reading, 1st December

With the inaugural Speculative Bookshop event. See here

Event #1 - suggested donation £3

Our first ever event. Come on down to the Old Hairdressers on Sunday 1st December, 6:30 p.m. to eleven(ish), and check out some local writers and distros.

Be amazed. Be nice. Buy stuff.

Here's what's happening...

Alexander Abraham

A reading by the lesser spotted Southside Kiwi. Normally to be found in the poetry section - Alex will be turning his talents to spec fiction and no doubt dazzling us all with his lyrical ways.

http://dystope19.blogspot.co.uk/

Stephen Goodall

Edinburgh based comic artist and writer Stephen Goodall will be reading from his latest project. Previous delights include; the ongoing series IMR (“The Institute of Marine Research”).

Check out his work here: http://sdfgoodall.com/imr/

Craig Collins

Craig is a comic writer and purveyor of surreal horror and gruesome gaggery, and the co-creator of experimental and unconventional comics including “Roachwell”, ”Crawl Hole”, “Metradome” and “Haunted Bowels”.

Have a butcher’s here: http://craig-collins.blogspot.co.uk/

Hal Duncan

If you're reading this, you already know my bio, right? Anyhoo, yeah, I'll be on the bill, doing my reading thang. Come and enjoy!

Douglas Thompson

Glasgow born writer Douglas Thompson has a veritable raft of publications under his belt. Bursting off the starting blocks in 1989 with the Herald/Grolsh Award for best new writing, here’s how he describes his work;

“My writing seeks to defy traditional genre boundaries, but includes elements of Literary, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Supernatural, thus is generally called “Slipstream”. Usually my own starting point however is simply the “Surreal”, i.e. a fiction that seeks to acknowledge the central role of the subconscious mind (dreams and fears) as the powerhouse of all imaginative and creative thought. “

Peruse at your pleasure here: http://douglasthompson.wordpress.com/

And if that wasn't enough to tempt you through the door we'll be hosting a few distros too.

Strange Vice - http://www.strangevice.co.uk/

The Final Comedown (zines) - http://thefinalcomedown.wordpress.com/zines-and-tapes/

The Speculative Bookshop - http://thespeculativebookshop.wordpress.com/