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Marcin

Jul 162012
 

1) Euro 2012 is sadly over, leaving me in that terrible several-week gap before more football invades and leaves my wife gibbering with the realization that there is always more football.

2) You may have surmised, from that coy insertion of the word ‘wife’, that I am now married! It’s true! I’m like some sort of adult.

3) An interview with me recently went up on the Akamai Reader, so check it out here and have a look at the site.

4) My next book, A Century of Swollen Clouds, is in beta reads right now and heading to edits soon, which leaves me more or less on track for the end-of-July/beginning-of-August release date I’d figured on. A sneak preview will be coming within a week or so, but for now, know that it has airships and fighting monks and all sorts of metaphysical hijinx!

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 Posted by at 12:48 pm
Jun 082012
 

The Euro 2012 football tournament is now officially on, and here I am watching what will no doubt be a completely non-thrilling game between two non-titans of anti-football! Go, Poland! If nothing else, you have to finish higher than the other Slavs.

In other news, some of the coverage in the run-up to this tournament has been annoying. In particular, I’m not terribly fond of the number of words wasted on talk about neo-Nazi movements in Poland the Ukraine. Not that those don’t exist (they do, and they’re a problem), but because they fit rather too neatly into the standard narrative that Eastern Europe is in some way less civilized than the lofty European West. I won’t pretend Poland isn’t a political mess in many exciting ways, but fascism really isn’t one of them. Wake me when people call for a boycott of the London olympics because of the BNP.

All that said, a public service announcement to my countrymen: If you are a Polish neo-nazi, you are solidly in the running for Earth’s Dumbest Motherfucker. Learn to history.

(Also, LEWANDOWSKI!)

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 Posted by at 4:18 pm
Apr 262012
 

When the Haversham sun grinds to a halt before dawn, Daniel (or David) Squeak expects that he and his fellow sunwell workers are in for an awful day. What he doesn’t expect is that a furious foreman will be the very least of his problems. One gear turns another, and Squeak finds himself injured, sacked from the only work he’s ever known, and afraid for his very life.

The mysterious Sir Nicholas offers Squeak a way out of his predicament, but this knight is no saint. As Sir Nicholas slides around the pawns and bishops of a decades-old plot, it’s Squeak who finds himself in motion: from sunwell to manor, from soot-stained Haversham to wealthy Rawlish, and even to the deadly jungles of the surface.

Workhouse lads are resourceful. Everybody knows that. But the bloody alleys of Haversham are not nearly as dangerous as the glittering avenues of King’s Court.

~

The Whitechapel Gambit is now available in Kindle format at Amazon. It will be relaunched in other formats in three months’ time.

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 Posted by at 12:14 pm
Feb 132012
 

Super Bowl Sunday has come and gone, and thus do I return to my between-seasons blissful ignorance of the TV commercial world (at least, inasmuch as it’s possible to escape from the bloody things).

Y’see, by and large, I hate commercials. It’s not because I take exception to materialism, and it’s not because I’ve seen how the sausage is made. I’d like to pretend that it is, and perhaps in my wiser moments that’s even true. Mostly, though, I don’t like them because they’re badly written. Sure, once in a while you get a triumph of absurdism (“I’m on a horse!”), but even those brief flashes of glory must fade when, inevitably, the joke overstays its welcome, when there are spin-offs and copies and homages and the Old Spice Guy locks himself up in a dingy apartment wailing for somebody, anybody to make it stop.

Anyway. This isn’t a post about Super Bowl commercials and the silly fervour that accompanies them. We don’t get those here in Canada. The magic of simulcast ensures something shittier still: even during the last game of the season, we’re subjected to the same fucking Miller Light spots that have run all year long.

See, the people who buy up commercial slots during football games ply their trade along two very simple axioms:

1) Football is watched almost exclusively by men.
2) Men are desperately insecure.

Nothing else explains the sheer tidal wave of real-men-drive-these, with their burly farmboys and their stump-pulls and their pick-up trucks being dropped from great heights so that one might admire the inventor of shock absorbers. Real men, like real trucks, drink gasoline for breakfast and sweat flame.

Now, we city folk will never measure up to the lumberjack demographic, man-wise. The closest we get are plaid-beard hipsters, and I’m reliably informed that one can’t ‘man up’ in skinny jeans. Thankfully, the powers that be haven’t forgotten to offer up a hierarchy of masculinity for the urban jackass demographic. They did it, as such things are traditionally done, by way of beer commercial.

You’ve seen these, I imagine, if you’ve had the misfortune of passing by a TV lately. Group of friends out at a bar. One of them is asked what beer he’d like, and he says, paraphrased: “All you have is Miller, Bud and Coors? Man, give me whatever. It’s all the same shit.”

But our hero’s perceptiveness is not to be rewarded. “Come back when you order a real man’s beer!” says our hot bartendress, and we pan down, and our hero is wearing a dress or carrying a purse or stroking a poodle or some shit. Grow a pair, am I right?

Miller Light. The light beer for MEN! (Roar!)

But I’m not going to dwell on the misogyny (well, maybe a little) or the batshit proposition that one’s choice in wheat juice is in some way cosmically relevant. See, what got me about these commercials is that they’re a sort of tiny heresy. In the world of Sponsoria, men don’t drink light beer in the first place! I mean, we’ve known that for years, haven’t we? Is there anything less manly than calorie counting? Why not just … oh, right, you’re already wearing a skirt, Mr. I’ll-drink-whatever.

Once upon a time, Miller would have laughed at us for ordering light beer, but now it wants to sell light beer. So it goes. But what’s interesting is that they’re attempting to sell said light beer using the exact methodology of shame by which they tried to unsell it in years past.

It’s confusing. Appealing to a mythologized masculinity to sell light beer doesn’t seem like a marketing slam dunk. It’s not part of the language of crisp and clean, ice-brewed and triple-filtered.

And then I realized what’s happening here. It’s a simple political principle: attack where you’re weakest. If voters are concerned about your stance on puppy-eating, you don’t deny eating puppies and you certainly don’t try to start a national discourse on their nutritional value. You accuse the other guy of eating kittens.

Miller are so terrified that we’ll remember that light beer is weak and womanish that they came right out and accused us of wearing pink bows in our hair. And we have that insecurity to thank for what is almost certainly the most misogynistic, crass and insipid marketing campaign I’ve seen in years.

Bravo?

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 Posted by at 11:42 am
Jan 172012
 

Better late than never.

This year’s goals, short and sweet:

1) Four novels, one per quarter. I don’t yet know which four (apart from the next, of course, which should be ready around April), but I’m sure all that will be nice and clear when I actually sit down to write them.

2) Get married.

Here’s to a happy 2012!

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 Posted by at 5:19 pm
Dec 222011
 


War has returned to conquered Ekka. At its heart, a sorcerer promises victory and, at last, freedom from oppression. All he asks in return is a throne.

Hidden in the salt marsh, a banned cult hatches its own plots. Gemeti, daughter of a dying priestess, has few allies. If she is to a win a throne of her own, she will need support from all the wrong people.

Rimush has good reason to distrust Ekka’s would-be liberator. His own hands are not so clean. If he is to blunt war’s blade, he must journey into the very heart of the invader’s empire, and convince the sun not to rise.

Ekka’s future hangs in the balance. War has returned.

When on High is available in Kindle format at Amazon, and in other formats through Smashwords.

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 Posted by at 11:27 pm
Dec 172011
 

When on High has run into a few proofreading delays (December, alas, is an awful month for getting things done), but even so, it should probably be ready within a week. Fingers crossed.

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 Posted by at 11:59 am
Dec 012011
 

E-fiction Dec

And happy December issue of e-fiction magazine. Short stories, poetry, and all with a December-appropriate family theme. Read it for free at efictionmag.com, or subscribe to have it delivered directly to your e-reader.

Why should you do this thing? Because there’s a story in there by me, that’s why! (And, lest I sound crass, you can read stories by many other writers as well).

And with that, I leave you to your egg nog, winter beer, and – for those so inclined – those waxy chocolates that pop out of advent calendars.

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 Posted by at 1:24 pm
Nov 082011
 

As of yesterday, Nov 7th, we’re at about 25k words and have finished a first draft of a YA novel that I’d started work on a few months back. No time for editing, and no rest for the wicked. Back into the fray we go.

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 Posted by at 11:46 am
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