I was invited by my friend and fellow author (and East Block Irregular), Marie Bilodeau to participate in a blog hop. I eagerly accepted because I have no common sense, and very little dignity. Situation normal where my dealings with Marie are concerned (though she did eat a bug for me so I suppose it balances out, but that’s another story).
Marie encouraged original responses to her questions, and even urged us to break the rules – but that simply wouldn’t do. After all, she tagged me as a spawn of the Elder gods, and when someone saddles you with a label like that, garden-variety madness simply isn’t going to cut it. No, she deserved the special reserve – that select variety of perverseness I stash away for those who are truly special. My connoisseurs, if you will.
Takes one to know one, I suppose. 😉
On to the questions!
1. What research would you conduct to write a scene in which squirrels become the sole proprietors of the Febreeze Empire?
Hold on. What do you mean, “in which the squirrels BECAME the sole proprietors”? They were always the sole proprietors, because the great progenitor, the Flying Ra’aki (May He glide forever!) ate a bad nut at the dawn of creation and vomited out the cosmos for the enjoyment of His children. He then horked out a shell fragment which became – as all right-thinking people know – the Febreeze Empire. The sacred texts of Ra’aki (May He glide forever!) say so.
Unless, of course, you have been reading the heretical works of Ch’p and Dhail. Please tell me you have not been doing so, Marie. Swear by the Holy Pouch, and by St. Bolwinkul, that you have not. I have no wish to call the Inquisitors…
You did, didn’t you?
2. If you could conjure one mythical creature to finish a book for you, which one would get to select the ending and why?
Well, that’s one’s obvious. I mean, seriously dudette, how long have you known me? It doesn’t matter which mythical creature I chose to end my book, because Great Cthulhu would just kick the door down, drink all my beer, rearrange the furniture in disturbing ways, and then screw my storyline six ways from Sunday. And I’d love it because I’d be huddled in the corner, giggling maniacally and singing “I Left My Hearts in R’lyeh”.
Wait a minute. That’s a normal Friday night…oh crap.
3. Bigfoot sex. Discuss.
Some people think I’m sexually repressed because I’m half-English, into sadism because I’m part-German, or into kink because I’m part-French. While it’s been years since I’ve wielded a riding crop or poured melted cheese into a [CENSORED] and lapped it up with a side helping of [CENSORED], I do keep an open mind about sexuality in general. Bigfoot sex is no exception. I believe that we should love all people equally, regardless of skin colour, height, weight, body shape, or hirsuiteness. Rather than hunt our primal brethren, or speculate wildly about them in checkout tabloids of dubious quality, we should accept and welcome them with all appendages. They probably know some damned good tricks, too. If I lived in the woods I’d want to make sex more interesting.
Bigfoot sex is actually an underlying theme in much of my writing. Give any of my works a serious read and you’ll see. I’ll wait.
“Go big or go home,” as they say…
4. What would you need to do to become the most prolific writer ever (can include crimes, questionable science and lack of morality)?
Funny you should ask that. I’ve placed a hit on Father Time and if Sweaty Pete is as good as my bookie says he is, I won’t have any worries about deadlines, scheduling or crap like that because the time-space vector will collapse. So if your clock stops, you can thank me.
5. Does Vogon poetry have artistic merit?
If you’d asked me that in my pre-writing days the answer would have been a resounding “NO!” Everyone has to start somewhere, and as much as I hate to admit it there was a period in my life (before I was “enhanced” by the Elder Gods) when I was obsessed with such trivial, boring things like logic. Fortunately, I am no longer so encumbered, and since becoming an author I have crossed the threshold into realms of abnormality that are beyond the wildest dreams of my younger, more human, self.
That being said, after reading the collected works of the great masters for the first time, and after the echoes of my final screams had subsided, I began to see that Vogon poetry possesses a unique, putty-like beauty which smells slightly of old, peaty cheese. Who knew that beauty could have a scent? I didn’t. But it does, and that revelation was wonderful on so many levels.
Vogon poetry is a valid art form. My grant application to the Canada Council for the Arts is forthcoming.
6. Shoggoths – Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral?
I really don’t know. I thought they were a type of fungus for the longest time, but when I grilled one up the other day it didn’t taste a thing like the portobello mushrooms I served at the last dinner party – not even with a generous helping of Worcestershire sauce. It didn’t taste like the guests, either, so that rules out animal as well. One thing I will say is that despite the fact that the buggers can change their shape at will and can pass through the tiniest cracks, shoggoth gunk really gets stuck between your teeth. I flossed for a good half-hour to get it all out.
Trust me on this one.
7. What are you working on right now?
Oh, if you must. I mainly write short stories, and as we speak I have six of them in various stages of editing, and another two being written – half of them are horror. I’m trying to branch out, but I think the tone of this post should give you an idea of where I am spiritually, genre-wise.
I’ve also got a YA novel on the go, and a couple of gaming modules in varying states of completion. I’d get a lot more done if it weren’t for reality.
Good thing I’ve got Cthulhu on speed dial…