Unaware that we already were living in Farenheit 451.
We had suddenly stepped into the world of 1984.
And so it appeared,
The number of the future.
As I have decided to focus on my daughters and my work in this shitty time, I am here to give a more professional, proper update on current and upcoming projects :
Confirmed for 2017 :
DOWN WITH THE UNDERDOGS, the second book in the D’Arcy Kennedy trilogy (following 2016’s GRAND TRUNK AND SHEARER is coming along very nicely and although we have not agreed, with Down and Out books, on a specific release date yet, I have my eyes on that Bouchercon Toronto date for a presentable product.
MONTREAL NOIR, the anthology, to be released by Brooklyn’s own Akashic Books has no official release date yet, but I’d be disappointed if it didn’t happen soon.
DANCING WITH A SWITCHBLADE will be my third collection of poetry. This one will have to go to November as priority has to go to DWTU.
Projects still in progress/negotiations :
My first full length movie script, POLY, is still under consideration by one of Montreal’s major film production company. Movie business is really slow when you have little to no contacts…I’d turn that fucker into a novel, but it’s hard to write a Franglais book about montreal’s bilingual street arts scene and make sense out of it…sometimes you have to tell a story visually, this is one of these times…we’ll see.
I have two, possibly 3 conferences to attend this year, it’s still early for those and will update as confirmations come in.
I will no longer be involved in the KILO graphic novel for personal and obvious reasons.
My playlist this week : Post Pop Depression, Crouching Dragon’s soundtrack and Velvet Revolver for some reason…
That’s it for now.
It had been too long and it was too late. We had been dragging it for a few months too many and I was just pissed. It had nothing to do with ordinary anger anymore; regular anger, common anger, every day anger anymore. It wasn’t you “were late in the cold” anger or even “screaming around in the kitchen” anger.
This was silent anger and it was probably even worse.
It was anger that settled deep Inside your chest. It was simmering, draining anger. Anger that settled down in your gut, and there was no way to get to it. It just say right there where it hurt for real. It settled down in your mind and in your soul, rotting you from the inside only to leave a pool of fucking shit right where it mattered the most.
And you feel it, you know it. You can’t shake it off. That shit is incrusted there so hard you can’t even speak about it anymore. That’s the kind of anger I was talking about.
It was the kind of anger shrinks all over the world made their fortunes on. But I was too poor for a shrink.
This one’s gonna have to stick around for a while.