Mlaz Corbier lives in the North of The Neatherlands where he mocks the burghers and laughs at the peasants. He writes fairystories, fables and other tales, using antic characters, paronomasias, and an inimitable argot to cross literary boundaries and shatter literatory beliefs. In his spare time, Mlaz grows beards and appears on the Booked Podcast where two blokes tell you what to read.

(Last update on 08/05/2012)

Saga of the Naughty Bits:

2. “THE HORNY MAN & HIS GOAT” in ManArchy Magazine

1. “JUST ANOTHER DR DUNSHINE PATIENT” in ManArchy Magazine

Other Mlazterpieces:

4. “THE FIRST LIFE & DEATH OF CATBOY” in Thunderdome Magazine

3. “THE BOY WHAT WAS CALLED UP TO NO GOOD” in Hogglepot Journal

2. “THE KING OF STONE” in Troubadour 21

1. “PELA’S” in Pela Via

#. “JIMMY VIPER & THE WEREWOMAN”

Miscellanea:

2. Talking Warmed & Bound and Jimmy Viper on Booked Podcast

1. Writers' Banquet: an interview by Craig Wallwork

The following is an excerpt from VHS, a literary novel by Pablo D’Stair being released in various e-formats, absolutely free-of-charge (and in limited edition print-editions-by-part through giveaways). Information on the project, including links to what is currently available, can be found here and here.

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"Sculpture"

About when I crossed the street by the empty lot where there used to be a building where I’d taken piano lessons as a child, some woman accosted me, having mistaken me for some sculptor they’d heard giving a lecture sometime almost a month previous. I did my best to assure her I was not only not the sculptor she was thinking of, but not any sculptor and that I had, in fact, “no interest in sculpture whatsoever in any style or medium” but this just got her to soften her mood and she wanted to sell me on the merits of sculpture. To begin, she related a story of how when she was young, an adolescent, she’d been in a rather bad way due to traumas at home she only vaguely went into the details of, and that she had used to roam the streets, even getting involved in some illegal and some illicit things, but then one evening she had come upon a very small “museum of sculpture”, an independently run, non-affiliated place, the works on display those of some half dozen lesser known local sculptures, and she’d struck up quite a rapport with the older fellow who supervised the place—such a rapport, in fact, that she was allowed free admission and even began (without wage) working for the place, cleaning the sculptures and chatting it up with the few people who might happen in on any given day. So, she got a real appreciation for “what sculpture was”—something she had never considered and felt a lot more people (meaning me) still didn’t, that people (especially me, I could tell by the dryness of the tone she addressed me with) thought of sculpture as “nothing really” and so didn’t give it any thought.

“That about sums it up for me,” I said, kind of with some purposeful aggression, but the woman was so into her evangelizing she thought this dismissive remark was meant as affectionate and told me she could lend me a good book of photographs of sculpture—before I could mock that, she admitted it was hardly a substitute for seeing actual sculpture.

To throw her off, I said “Wait, what word are you saying? Sculpture?”

“Yes.”

“Sculpture?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then I haven’t really been following you. I thought you said Scripture—like holy texts and all of it. I thought that’s what you were talking about, but I’m afraid now I’ve really lost all interest and actually I think you purposefully muddled the pronunciation to confuse me, having marked me as the sort of person with a real religious bent. You’re a bitch for that, out and out, and now I don’t even understand the story you spent all that time telling.”

Not much of a reaction after all of that, her eyes darted through a bit of thought and then she started all over with “No, no. Sculpture. Sculpture. When I was young I had a lot of trouble at home and so used to get into trouble until I found a small Sculpture—Sclup Ture—museum, that was the gist of my story.”

“Hey, maybe if you give me some cigarettes I’ll keep listening to you, what about it?”

She only had two cigarettes left, so I made a face like “wouldn’t it be better to give me both, because otherwise I wouldn’t get to hear much of her story” and she silently accepted this, let me have the pack and started talking. I interrupted her as often as I could by snapping my fingers and with great pretended fascination repeating this word and that word and I even told her on a few occasion to “repeat that, what a wonderful way of putting something, Jesus, you know how to talk” even though she only used rudimentary phrase work and very run of the mill metaphors on the few occasion metaphors came into it. By the time I left, she hadn’t even finished vaguely explaining her home life and I was going to turn around and yell something at her to drive home the fact I’d been belittling her outrageously the whole time but figured I didn’t need to go that far, just walked until I got into the lobby of a building between a Driving Academy and a medical supply store to warm up.

This is a guest post by Caleb J Ross as part of his Stranger Will Tour for Strange Blog Tour. He will be guest-posting beginning with the release of his novel Stranger Will in March 2011 to the release of his second novel, I Didn’t Mean to Be Kevin and novella, As a Machine and Parts, in November 2011. If you have connections to a lit blog of any type, professional journal or personal site, please contact him. To be a groupie and follow this tour, subscribe to the Caleb J Ross blog RSS feed. Follow him on Twitter: @calebjross.com and friend him on Facebook.

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As much as I enjoy putting forth an infinitely open-minded persona, especially regarding things I haven’t personally experienced, I shamefully keep certain cynicisms hidden away. That changes right now. The fact is, I have a tendency to pre-judge things, books included, based not on measurable, empirical data, but on hearsay and totally irrational skepticism. I pride myself in knowing more about the book industry than the next guy, and with so much going on at any given moment, judgments must be made lacking that all-important personal experience. I don’t like it, but until someone can cram more hours into the day, I’m left offering ill-informed opinions.

Sometimes, though, when I do decide to tackle a book I’ve prejudged, I am amazed to the level of embarrassment. Here are a few instances.

So you date cheerleaders and play American football…fuck you.

These books I avoided because I resented their runaway popularity. I can be an unfair hipster at times, meaning if almost everyone loves something, I approach with an even greater level of skepticism. My rationale being that the particular object’s popularity must be a result of playing to the lowest common denominator.

The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown

A lot of writers I run with may find this surprising, but I really enjoyed The DaVinci Code. As I’ve argued elsewhere, and will continue to argue, the writing here is atrocious, but the story is definitely engaging.

Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced pre-release book fanfare quite like with Freedom. Sure, Freedom didn’t have midnight release parties like the Harry Potter series, but in the world of hi-brow fiction, Freedom is as close as a book gets to Pottermania.

Not another free book

These books I wanted to hate simply because they were given to me for free as review copies over at OWC. Try to understand the position I am in, here. I’ve got a stack of books I really want to read, and then a stack I have agreed to read, but am not terribly excited for. This latter stack of books is filled with titles and authors I’ve never heard of, so I have no point of reference from which to be excited. Historically, these books usually disappoint. But two titles stick out as outliers.

Bliss, Inc. by Ron Burch

A conceptual story with hints of Jose Saramago. What more could be said? Read my review at OWC.

Exit Wounds by Kevin Finn

I am not that into poetry. I respect it, but I often simply don’t like it. Exit Wounds is an exception. Read my review at OWC.

So you’re a cheerleader who wants to date me…I’m scared

Perhaps in contrast to the greatest common denominator fault mentioned above, sometimes books practically defy a reader to understand them. Convoluted language may be the issue or, as in the cases below, translation, unfamiliar form, and lack of historical context may also contribute to my cynicism.

Inferno by Dante

Book one of Dante’s Divine Comedy is by far the best. While it still remains fairly inaccessible to my peon brain, I managed to pull enough from this book to feel as though I didn’t waste my time. That’s a win, I say.

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

My biggest let down with this book was not knowing that Chaucer never actually finished it. So, when I got to the “end,” I was understandably perturbed.

[photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jamelah/]