All posts by Axel Howerton

Axel Howerton is a former entertainment journalist, and the author of the Arthur Ellis Award nominated detective caper "Hot Sinatra", the modern gothic fairytale "Furr", and the forthcoming "Wolf & Devil" urban fantasy series. His work, including short stories, columns, poetry and essays, have appeared the world over, in no fewer than five languages. Axel is the Prairies director of the Crime Writers of Canada, and a member of the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association, the Calgary Crime Writers, and the Kintsugi Poets. He is also the editor of the books "Death by Drive-In", "AB Negative", and "Tall Tales of the Weird West", and is the organizer behind one of Canada's first recurring "Noir At The Bar" events, #NoirBarYYC. Visit Axel online at www.axelhow.com to sign up for the GotHow? email list and receive free exclusive ebook collections, sneak peeks, and more.#AxelHow #GotHow
Writing

TROLL, OR DERBY?

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It’s not often that I post other people’s stuff on the ol’ website here, but today is a special exception. My dear pal and writin’ pardner, the indomitable RED TASH, is releasing her amazeballs new book TROLL OR DERBY today.

I was lucky enough to get a preview of this little number and, let me tell you, it rocks the fuckin’ socks, kids. Dark fantasy, mixed with Rock n’ Roll attitude, plenty of action, a little romance, a ton of excellent characters and some of the best descriptive, naturalistic prose you can get in modern literature. Well-written, devilishly addictive and sure to please.There’s a reason I’ve written a bunch of stuff with this lady. She is the real deal. 100% THE GOODS. Her first book, THIS BRILLIANT DARKNESS, is a wonder of contemporary storytelling. Required reading, my little droogie-droogies. TROLL OR DERBY is even more entrancing. So shag ass and get in on the madness. Roller girls, Trolls, black-winged Faerie badasses, armies of hungry sprites, rockin’ and rollin’ underground-a-paloozas, magical weaponry, mystical skates, ancient prophecies and evil incarnate, all flavoured with a distinctly Americana chili con queso awesome sauce.

PICK IT THE FUNK UP!

Writing

Ethel’s Lonely Chair

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The old lady is looking for her glasses. “Are they here? I swear I left them here. Where’s the chair? Did I leave them on the chair?”
They’re sitting in their usual spot, on top of her head, tangled in a sparse scrub of iron grey hair. Every time she finds them there, she tears them from her scalp, along with a tiny clump of hair. She winces, swears quietly, wedges them back across her pudgy nose. When she finds them, she will be depressed – heartbroken – at the state of her mental faculties.
She will moon for the days of her youth, realizing as she does that she has so few footsteps left to death. Then she faces the idea of eternal darkness. No more cats licking at her arthritic toes, no more Swanson frozen meat pies and homemade rhubarb soda on a Saturday night in front of Matlock reruns on Deja View. Her life is for nought. The meaning is gone. She has wasted an entire existence. She wonders how it ever came to this. Once, she remembers, she was a girl. She was a lovely girl, with long legs and a strong mind, a desirable bosom and an unerring sense of propriety. While all of the other girls were giving up their precious flowers in the backseats of rusted-out Chevy Novas, she was remaining pure, for the one, the only. Her prince never came.
She waited. She worked. She subsisted, but she never truly lived. All those summer sacrifices were for nothing. Now she stands, lonely, sad, and unable to stand for long periods of time. She stares at that crooked picture, and that solitary chair, beckoning her to cut it short. Take the easy way out. Let it end. Throw the rope and step up to the ceiling of your bitter reward.
He is waiting for her. Her Dark and Handsome Prince. She’s sure. Still so sure. So many other lives she’s been so happy to snuff out like so many withered candles. Some so young and trusting. Some as faded and worn as she. They all died. They all gave their blood and their lives and their screams for mercy and lenience. For what? He never came. Why would he come now? Who was she, to be so special as to catch the eye of The Maker? Maybe 50 years ago, 60 years? How long has it been since a man glanced her way with lust in his stare? Why would he come now, when she was old and broken and fat and confused. An old woman who used to be a force for the King of Kings, oh so ever long ago.
Now she knows there is no God, for her Satan never came courting, no matter how hard she tried.
Writing

Happy Bill & Ted Day, dudes!

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Greetings, my excellent friends. Today is June 9. Officially excellent BILL & TED DAY. Therefore, dudes, feast your eyes, pop open a pudding cup and get ready to learn about most excellent historical personages like Socrates Johnson, Maxine of Ark and… Abraham Lincoln.

Bill & Ted are totally the basis for our future society. I’m telling you it’s great here. The air is clean, the water’s clean, even the dirt, it’s clean. Bowling averages are way up, mini-golf scores are way down. And we will have more excellent water slides than any other planet we communicate with. In the spirit of the great ones, I say unto thee:

Be excellent to each other

and…

PARTY ON, DUDES!

And here is the most epic movie BILL & TED’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE in its entirety.