Uno mas revisión cerveza, Por favor?

Just some quick news and an excerpt.

First very rough, very shaky draft of the new story is done. This one may or may not be the story I submit for inclusion in the forthcoming, as-yet-untitled, Penultimate Ditch Efforts anthology with messr’s Scott Phillips-eses…es…

I won’t go into too much detail, being that it’s still in the planning stages, but the book is shaping up to be a pretty cool idea and there are a lot of very talented people involved… least of which being myself. But I’m gonna give it the ol’ College drop-out try.

The basic ‘theme’ we’re working with is “Shitty Jobs” so I have a few ideas (read 7 – 2 with any immediate promise) but I’m going to focus on 2 of them and try to work them both up and see which one ‘the chief’ (original recipe Scott Phillips) enjoys more.

Here’s a tiny excerpt from the first draft of the first story.

Currently titled “The Demise Of Jock Durvil” :

 Whether it was the name or not, nobody can really be sure, but Jock Durvil was a grade-A peckerhead if ever there was one. His name was really Jacques, like French for Jack, but sometime after kindergarten, he just shifted to Jock and he became that guy. It wasn’t that he was really good at any of the sports he played, nor that he was even particularly athletic. He didn’t have any great talent or any kind of a mind for strategy; it wasn’t even a question of having charisma, or being a natural leader. What Jock had – the thing that made him the swaggering, meatheaded, overblown and supremely confident jackass that lived up to the stereotypes inherent to that name – was the need to be accepted at any cost. He would make his body suffer. He would work it to its limits. He would beat it into the ground. He would take hit after hit after hit after hit, and just keep getting up, and he would gladly be the one to take the signal to cripple an opposing player and give his team the edge. He took his orders and he did his job, no matter how ugly or vicious. If anything, he was a perfect soldier. ‘Yes Sir’, ‘No Sir’, Heel click and a goose-step salute. He would have made a fine Nazi. *

So stay tuned for more news on what shales in Axel-land, but keep in mind that I probably won;t post the whole story in any form on here until after one of them is picked for the collection.

*From The Demise Of Jock Durvil by A.R. Howerton