When a full moon fills the night sky, Private Investigator Roman Dalton becomes a werewolf and prowls The City‘s neon and blood soaked streets. There are six Roman Dalton Yarns written by Paul D. Brazill in this short collection.
Grab it from Amazon.com , Amazon.co.uk and the like.
When a full moon fills the night sky, Private Investigator Roman Dalton becomes a werewolf and prowls The City’s neon and blood-soaked streets. Based on characters created by Paul D. Brazill, Drunk on the Moon is an international collection of noir/horror stories brought to you from some of the world’s edgiest dark fiction writers. Contributors: Allan Leverone, K A Laity, B R Stateham, Julia Madeleine, Jason Michel, Richard Godwin, John Donald Carlucci, Katherine Tomlinson, Graham Wynd, Paul D. Brazill.
The Neon Moon is a collection of noir/ horror short stories based on Paul D. Brazill’s creation Roman Dalton – Werewolf PI.
Contributors are: Matt Hilton, Vincent Zandri, Ben Sobieck, Benoit Lelievre, JJ Toner, Veronica Marie Lewis – Shaw, Chris Rhatigan, Carrie Clevenger, Paul D. Brazill. Introduction: Richard Godwin.
5.0 out of 5 stars Brilliant and Dark
5.0 out of 5 stars Noir Fun with a Werewolf Detective
5.0 out of 5 stars A Howling Good Read!
5.0 out of 5 stars Both gruesome and awesome
THE LIBERATOR is on sale again.
A priest tracks down his kidnapped sister and finds her trapped in a nest of evil.
Van Helsing meets The Punisher in The Liberator, a hard-boiled noir/ horror short story from Paul D. Brazill creator of Roman Dalton – Werewolf PI.
After a brief hiatus THE GUMSHOE, AND OTHER BRIT GRIT YARNS is on sale once again.
The Gumshoe, and Other Brit Grit Yarns is a collection of gritty, violent and blackly comic short stories from Paul D. Brazill, author of Guns Of Brixton and Kill Me Quick!
‘Imagine if Frank from the British tv series “Shameless” were a down-on-his-luck private eye. In “The Gumshoe,” Brazill offers up a full helping of classic private eye fiction meets modern British punk-fueled humor. “The Gumshoe” is actually a series of vignettes rather than one long novella about a poor guy who wakes up on New Year’s Day with “a horrifying wail that skewered its way deep into [his] unconscious brain.” Of course, it was “Some twat, somewhere, was playing a U2 song over and over again.” And, then there’s the doorbell that doesn’t stop ringing “like a stiletto grinding through my brain,” our hero explains. This is truly the essence of a hangover. Because, well, you know, “In the real dark night of the soul, there was always some twat talking bollocks at three o’clock in the morning.” These are vignettes fueled by booze and violence and solid British noir humor. Amidst the hoods and the drunks and the fishnet stockings and the bloody lifeless bodies, there is some damn good writing. Filled with references to rock music like Keith Moon drum solos, this is a story that has to be read’
Here’s what he says: ‘The Gumshoe And Other Brit Yarns are like a line of literary tequila slammers giving you a moment of a thrill, lined with a touch of salt (each one prompts a mouth-tingling buzz then makes you splutter with laughter!)’
Read the rest of the review here.
‘In the neon-soaked, blood-spattered hell-hole they call The City, Roman Dalton struggles to fight the forces of darkness, even when he becomes a creature of the night. Werewolves, vampires, zombies: they’re all just amateurs when it come to the real menace who haunts the streets. Let Brazill take you on a grim dark journey to hell and back. Bring lots of whisky: it’s a rough ride.’ K A Laity, author of White Rabbit. Get the eBook from Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk etc. Or get the paperback here.
Graham Wynd takes a look at THE NEON MOON: A ROMAN DALTON ANTHOLOGY.
‘Another fistful of fun from Blackwitch Press. A bunch of terrific writers run away with Paul D. Brazill‘s werewolf detective Roman Dalton and the dark madness of The City.‘
Nigel Bird takes a gander at GUNS OF BRIXTON.
‘the observations are sharp and the characters create small nuclear explosions as they collide with each other.’
The sound was a horrifying wail that skewered its way deep into my unconscious brain until I awoke sharply – drowning in sweat, my heart smashing through my ribcage, my head about to burst.
Some twat, somewhere, was playing a U2 song over and over again, and all was far from friggin quiet on New Year’s Day, I can tell you.
I squeezed my eyes open and squinted until I saw the familiar sight of a fraying Mott The Hoople poster peeling from fuzzy, red-flock wallpaper. I was lying on a brown tweed sofa and tangled up in a tartan blanket that had seen better days. And nights.
I was home.
The air in the room was warm and soupy and I felt a wave of nausea pass over me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten. The dry heaves kicked in around six. A beat. I peeled my eyes open again. The aquarium bubbled and gurgled, bathing the room in a sickly green light. Sickly and yet soothing. I reminded myself that I really had to put some tropical fish in there, one day.
I edged onto my side and awkwardly kicked the blanket to the floor. I was fully clothed. My armpits were soaking. My fake Armani shirt was soggy. A sickly smell permeated my pores. The least said about my trousers the better.
Beside me was a sticky coffee table that was cluttered with the remnants of the previous night’s drinking. I picked up an open can of Stella Artois and shook it. It was more than half full. A result, then.
I slowly sipped its warm, flat contents until I started to get a glow on, like one of the kids in the old porridge adverts. Booze: central heating for drunks.
Bonzo, The Ledge, and their musically illiterate pals continued to strangle a cat in the flat next door and I knew that I was going to have to make a move soon, before my head went all Scanners. I finished the lager, edged myself up to a sitting position and picked up my glasses from the coffee table. One of the lenses was scratched but they weren’t broken. Another result.
The blinking, digital clock-radio that was plonked on top of the television set said that it was 3.15 but then, these days, it always did. Ever since I’d thrown it against the wall during a particularly grating late night phone-in show. In the real dark night of the soul, there was always some twat talking bollocks at three o’clock in the morning.
I’m tidying up Blackwitch Press at the moment and have put together a collection that includes The Gumshoe and a few other waifs and strays. The older books ‘Gumshoe’ and ‘Snapshots’ are no longer available although there are a few paperbacks floating around, it seems.
The Gumshoe, and Other Brit Grit Yarns is a collection of gritty, violent and blackly comic short stories and flash fiction from Paul D. Brazill, author of Guns Of Brixton.
The Beginning Of The End.
Life On Mars?
Thicker Than Blood
Seven Minutes To Midnight
Catch As Catch Can
The Hit Man & Her
The Sharpest Tools In The Box
Gareth And Fiona Go Abroad
A Big Payoff
Killing Mr Cornflakes
In The (Reservoir) Dog House
Over at Crimepieces, Sarah Ward says:
‘Collecting the stories around an overarching theme was an excellent idea for this book. It gave the collection a homogenous feel but allowed the writers to express their individual styles within the narratives. The stories are fairly short but many are powerful. And it’s allowed me to discover new writers I can’t wait to read more of.’
Read the rest here.
Some stuff to spend your Xmas dosh on.
My comic crime caper Guns Of Brixton (published by Caffeine Nights Publishing) is out NOW as a paperback and as an eBook. You can get it from from loads of places including Barnes & Noble, Caffeine Nights Publishing, WHSMITH, Waterstones, Foyles, Amazon and Amazon UK.
A foul-mouthed, violently comic crime caper, full of gaudy characters and dialogue sharp enough to shave with
When London gangster Mad Tony Cook gives aging thugs Big Jim and Kenny Rogan the simple task of collecting a briefcase from northern courier Half-Pint Harry he doesn’t suspect that the courier will end up dead in his lock-up, or that Kenny and Big Jim will then dress up in drag to rob a jeweler’s shop and lose the coveted briefcase. A fast-moving, wild, and hilarious search for the missing briefcase quickly ensues, with fatal consequences.
Published by Lite Editions. In snow smothered Warsaw, Luke Case, a boozy English hack with a dark secret, starts a dangerous affair with a gangster’s wife. Case escapes to the sweltering Spanish heat where he meets a colourful cast of characters, including a mysterious torch singer and a former East End villain with a criminal business proposition. In stormy Toulouse, he encounters a blast from the past that is positively seismic which forces him to return to England and confront his past. A Case Of Noir is a strong shot of international noir from Paul D. Brazill.
Exiles is a collection of 26 short stories, all featuring the common theme of ‘outsiders’. Dedicated to Jeff Luke and Colin Graham. All proceeds go to the Marfan Foundation, in aid of people suffering from Marfan syndrome. Contributors: Heath Lowrance, Colin Graham, K. A. Laity, Chris Rhatigan,Steven Porter, Patti Abbott, Ryan Sayles, Gareth Spark, Pamila Payne, Paul D. Brazill, Jason Michel,Carrie Clevenger, David Malcolm, Nick Sweeney, Sonia Kilvington, Rob Brunet,James A. Newman,Tess Makovesky, Chris Leek,McDroll,Renato Bratkovič,Walter Conley, Marietta Miles, Aidan Thorn, Benjamin Sobieck, Graham Wynd, Richard Godwin. Published by Blackwitch Press.
Back In 2012 I had the real pleasure of being at special guest at Crime Fiction – Here and There, Now and Then, an academic conference at the University Of Gdansk which was organised by Agnieszka Sienkiewicz-Charlish, M.A. and Urszula Elias, M.A. The Academic Advisor was Prof. David Malcolm, who has a story in Exiles: An Outsider Anthology.
Being an academic conference, a lot of it was way over my head but it was a very interesting and fun experience to be sure.
And they’ve done it again. I’ll be a guest along with K A Laity, Dr Rachel Franks and others:
11-13 September 2014
2nd International Postgraduate Conference
Department of English Language Cultures and Literatures, English Institute, Faculty of Languages of the University of Gdańsk
and the State School of Higher Professional Education in Elbląg
Call for Papers [DOC] [PDF] – CLOSED
Registration – CLOSED
Find out more about the conferences and the people involved here.
And check out the Facebook page.
I’m trying to remember where this story came from. I know the title came first, but not really because before that came William Blake and the Red Dragon, but before that came Springsteen and songs of escape, but even before that came cars.
I grew up in a factory town where automobiles were the trade. Most of my extended family worked for the auto industry in one way or another. The reality of the auto industry hasn’t matched the promise of its sleek machines for some time; the ruins of it still smoulder in the hometown I left long ago. But romance of the open road has fueled the dream of freedom for as long as I can remember.
I still feel it when I hit the highway. I spent so long afraid I would never escape that the sight of a road stretched out before me buoys my spirit in an instant. I’ll probably never completely get over the whisper that cajoles, ‘You could go anywhere, disappear, start again.’
My old red Honda makes an appearance in this story. Sixteen years I had that car, hundreds of thousands of miles I put on it. Living in the UK, I’m reminded again and again how people here have no concept of the size of the US: How the whole of this country could fit into just one of the medium-sized states. How you can still drive for hours without seeing another human being in some places, though it’s getting more difficult all the time. How states are as different as the countries of the EU, different worlds.
There’s an anonymity that all exiles know you can find in the darkened places where people drink and eat. Diners and pubs allow a certain camaraderie between strangers: brief, congenial, but definitely limited. But it’s good. Sometimes you have to be where nobody knows your name.
When you’re there in the dark corner, sipping your drink, look around. Under the brim of that hat may hide the eye of something extraordinary. Monster, magic, murder—maybe it depends on what you’re looking for. William Blake saw angels in his back garden as a child. Some people think that’s strange. Others long to find that magic. We read books for the same reason we take journeys: to see something new, to shake off the dust of the known and maybe, just maybe—to find the home that waits for us out there like a dream we can almost remember.
Bio: K. A. Laity is the award-winning author of White Rabbit, A Cut-Throat Business, Lush Situation, Owl Stretching, Unquiet Dreams, À la Mort Subite, The Claddagh Icon, Chastity Flame, Pelzmantel and Other Medieval Tales of Magic and Unikirja, as well as editor of Weird Noir, Noir Carnival and the forthcoming Drag Noir. With cartoonist Elena Steier she created the occult detective comic Jane Quiet. Her bibliography is chock full of short stories, humor pieces, plays and essays, both scholarly and popular. She spent the 2011-2012 academic year in Galway, Ireland where she was a Fulbright Fellow in digital humanities at NUIG. Dr. Laity has written on popular culture and social media for Ms., The Spectator and BitchBuzz, and teaches medieval literature, film, gender studies, New Media and popular culture at the College of Saint Rose. She divides her time between upstate New York and Dundee.