the m john harrison blog

Category: unforthcoming work

self promotion

In this new story I address the usual themes. People sit on sofas, staring ahead; while at the edges of the room things shift inconclusively from one state to another. They may be real, they may be not. Meanwhile, in another part of the small Midlands village, Ms Suihne the plump medium who runs the hat shop believes she is changing into a bird &, to the accompaniment of rough music, jumps off the roof. Another party is engaged in a relationship with three empty sacks arranged on a pole in his living room. At one point, things will turn sexual. All this might or might not be happening, or somebody might be telling it as a story to someone else, who is not listening. To sum up, the impossibility of knowing other people; or, really, anything. If you like the sound of it, click through to the usual outlets. Or you can catch me reading it from the hill on Barnes Common, most Wednesdays. There’s a review up at Wild Eyed Visionaries & obviously I’ll be tweeting.

the lives of the aunt

Visitors from the future or past, from somewhere that was never quite here. A street full of people staring into corners or up at high windows. Is there something special about the town, he asked one afternoon. Well I’ve always liked it, dear, she said. No he said, he meant was there something different about it to other towns. Of course there’s nothing different, dear. The job. The maps. The seance: his notes, a warning. Old postcards & local histories. Some kind of light gentle rain on things. A pier, sand, the smell of the wind. Faded shops and offices. Don’t plan for this. Fluid but plain transitions. Fluid but plain writing. No “truth” except in rendering scenes. No commentary in the voice. I’m telling you a story about aunts here. Aunts & motorcycles, the tall boy I wanted to be. But it never gets told. It’s the least-told story I have but I keep telling it day after day.