Books I’ve Published – 2013

I already have these books listed on My Book Shelf page, but most of you folks don’t visit that (the numbers don’t lie), so I figured I’d do something I rarely do these days, and actually post a link farm. I apologize for those hoping for a new, proper post from me, but I’m a little out of sorts and not feeling too chatty. Included with these links are the brief summaries I wrote for these books a week or two ago:

A series of short stories and novellas about spies, sultans, genies, detectives, bad angels, a man’s best friend, the God of Squirrels, Christmas dinner for two, thieves, sorceresses, lost children, working while you sleep, writer’s block, soul-eating vampires, and a giant squid.

TERMINAL MONDAY: a Dream of New York City
A man meets an old girlfriend who convinces him to return to novel writing, but not before his wife leaves him, he gets his old band back together, and suffers a nervous breakdown.

TERMINAL MONDAY: Under Observation
A man has a mental breakdown and wakes up to find himself under observation in a New York City hospital.

ASHES: Infinite Redress
A scientist becomes infected by a space-borne virus that contains the soul of an alien missionary who bonds with her and draws her into solving the mystery of how the aliens all died.

A knight falls in love with a young woman designated to be sacrificed to a mystical dragon, and undertakes a quest to learn how to defeat the dragon and break the centuries-old pact.

LINKTALES volume one
(excerpts from The Dark Guild) A series of mysterious events lead to the old city of Londonis being invaded by soul-eating vampires.

You know what I’m asking you to do. Please. Thank you.


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You Never Give Me Your Money… You Only Give Me Your Funny Paper


I write fiction. You can find it in the following places:

I do Graphic Design, cartooning and painting. You can see a gallery of some of my work here:

I also also make music. You can hear it here:

and you can buy some of it here:

I can be followed on many social networks. I don’t have a Foursquare account or an Instagram account, but I subscribe to just about everything else. I don’t IM much anymore, so don’t ask.

I post these things for you because I am told people don’t like using mouse buttons. This is alien to me, but I don’t want to alienate any of you aliens, so voilá. Don’t say I never did anything for you. And don’t say I don’t do anything for you now. I already know that.


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Just For The Record…

…That meeting I mentioned wanting/needing to take?

Is later this morning.

Send those warm vibes, folks. A lot rides on this.

Book still isn’t finished. *sigh*

Tin Spirits’ new album is wonderful. Get it.

Oh yeah, and another rough idea of what I’m doing with those canvases, once I get the proper drawings done:
Zoe Quadriptych 2014 - Plan 001b
Paintings by the late Edward Hopper; photographs by me.

More to come. Thanks for reading. Seeya later.


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It’s A Sin That Somehow, Light Is Changing To Shadow

Okay, quick one, because I’m trying to plan something out for the first quadriptych of a series of Hopperesque panorama paintings to be done in 2015, featuring my perennial super heroine, Zoe:
Zoe Quadriptych 2014 - Plan 001a

I’m also trying to finish the book, RETURN TRIP:
tAD2L - Return Trip - Ch 33 - 2104 12 16

And I think that about covers it. That’s my day more or less decided. Not feeling the force yet, but I may also take a trip downtown to request that our good Councillor (if he’s there today) commit to our PBW2_2015 process. We’ll see.

Thank you for reading. More soon.


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Very Quick Thingamy

Feeling like I’ve had a major root canal without anesthesia.

Going to take a much-needed PB planning break and finish proofing the novel before completing it (which will require another proof reading, but hey, what else have I got but time?).

This coffee is broken.

Maybe I should get back to work, before I start ranting.

Have a good day.


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Every Secret That I Hide Keeps Me Locked Up Deep Inside

Been a busy few weeks trying to get PBW2_2015 up and running. Jury’s still out as to whether we’ll be permitted to run our process this year. Meetings with NAs are happening, but I also need to book a meeting with our Ward 2 Councillor, and his right hand Office Admin recently assured one of the Community Animators that our Councillor is booked solid through the New Year. That could put our schedule back at least one critical month of outreach and team training, if we can’t get meetings with him and with the Ward 2 Community Council ASAP. We can push things back by a week or two, but if we lose the rest of December to inaction, and have to wait until after the (currently unscheduled; soon…) W2CC Meeting, then January could be a bust, and our proposed February Launch Party may be pushed back. Every delay will hurt us.

I have to be pragmatic and not ask too much of too many, and the plan does have room built in for making significant changes, but those changes need to be drafted and approved sooner rather than later, so everyone who is volunteering time helping to organize meetings and information sessions can and will be able to get onboard as early as possible. And though we’re feeling really good about the process we’ve got in store, it could still die on the vine if our Councillor doesn’t like our plans enough to give us the go-ahead. There are things we can do in the meantime, and things we can do in any case, but one million dollars of ARSCR Fund money only happens at the Councillor’s discretion.

We currently need access to an operating budget (I’m currently preparing the list of ‘office’ expenses we know we’ll absolutely need financing for almost immediately, and throughout the year), and we need the assurance of our Councillor that we will be permitted to run the PBW2 process for Ward 2 to allocate ARSCR Funds for 2016. We also want to open the discussion of what our Councillor needs to see from us before he’ll go to bat for monies that aren’t tied to the ARSCR Fund and its ‘hard infrastructure’ limitations. We know the hard reality of what we’re asking for, but we also know that residential will can help a Councillor make things happen over a shorter time that can affect real change faster than any other process in representational democracy. It’s probably the best feature of our current system: Councillors as community troubleshooters.

I don’t want to abuse our special relationship with the Councillor, who has been pretty understanding, all things considered. But we need to eventually make changes to PBW2 that will truly help ward residents, and help them to realize their own potential both as citizens and as civic engagement advocates. I’m so sure we can help make these changes reality, but it takes forward thinking, courage and determination to make these things happen, both from the residents and volunteers, and from our political leaders as well.

A day may come when the relationship between City Staff and residents will be a more direct and responsive one, where Councillors will act more as facilitators than as career politicians, but our current reality is, we have ideas and contacts and public good will that can achieve goals that City Staff are perhaps unable to achieve on their own, siloed as they are in City Culture and the million and one process rules they have to be mindful of every day. We as residents have a greater awareness of what needs to be done, because we live in our neighbourhoods and speak to our friends across the city on a daily basis, where City Staff have to work by long game plans that may or may not be relevant by the time they are ready to implement the changes requested through official channels years or even decades earlier.

I’ve been thinking about this stuff for too long, it seems.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to find time, energy and inspiration to do some paintings and finish my novel. We’ll see if today’s communications resolves the last of my immediate concerns and permits me to take some time off this week/month to focus on creative work (and the holidays, of course). Getting our house in order has cost me more time than I care to admit. PBW2 has been limping along behind the scenes for over a year, powered almost entirely by hope and passion, both of which have been in short supply just lately. One way or another, I’ll know what I’m doing for the rest of the year by the end of the month… or perhaps even by the end of the day. Such an inauspicious day for such important matters to be decided. We shall see.

Enough cryptic stuff. Progress report:
Still one and a half chapters out from the end of RETURN TRIP
Still four composition drawings away from painting the canvases I just bought last month.
Still waiting for the operation on my elbow, to recover the sensation in my left hand and get back to work on STEEP INCLINATIONS.
Still don’t have the right contacts to get a show in one of our downtown galleries to show my work of the last year. I hope to have another show’s worth of pieces for next winter, but the real crowds will be here for the summer Pan Am Games, and I hope to be showing somewhere nice by then.
Still need to get the infographics ready for the information sessions of the next month.
Still need to buy new shoes. Maybe get a haircut, too. Most people prefer giving money to short-haired people, it seems. What’s that about, anyway? My hair doesn’t spend money.
Still need to do the dishes. That will happen soon.
Still need to get something out for dinner.
Still need to sell some books. Probably need to order some printed copies for friends who offered to buy signed copies.
Still have about ten buttons left to sell. Original art, folks. It doesn’t come any cheaper at this quality level. Acrylic abstract expression. NOBODY does this like I do. Genuine wearable artwork.

Have to get ready to leave. Catch up with you again soon. Thank you for reading.


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Limbo Station – December 2014

So, I have received an irregular number of visitors tot he website to watch the Dave Gregory video from Cherry Red. This is a nice thing.

But there is a whole website of stuff here, and links to other things I do as well. I write novels, paint paintings, draw cartoons, write songs, and do commercial graphic design.

I’d post a link farm, but I have a lot of work to do on my PBW2 2015 pitch package. So I’m just going to invite you to check out the website and see if anything strikes your fancy. I’m not as fine a musician as Dave Gregory, and I don’t have any best sellers or such, but I’m pretty good at what I do, if I do say so myself (well, my songs are a bit dodgy, but that’s more a matter of them being self-produced and a little under rehearsed than anything else).

Anyway, thanks for the attention.


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It’s Always Been the Same…. It’s Just A Complicated Game

So I was watching a brilliantly charming interview with Dave Gregory, the former lead guitarist and multi-instrumental guy in XTC, who has been lately working in a couple of newer bands, Big Big Train (whom some of you may have noticed I’m a massive fan of), and a band I haven’t heard as much of, called Tin Spirits. The interview has some Tin Spirits music tacked on at the end, and it’s pretty awesome. Go check it out:

And that’s pretty much all I’ve got for today. I’m listening to old XTC and prepping infographics for PBW2. Good times. Coffee? Yes, please!

Hope you’re having a great weekend, folks. Stay warm.


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Dream Line

On a night flight
I’ve got all the best reasons
For turning back.

But she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone
And so I’m going
Down to the place of dreams
To put it to rest.

We never really had a chance
All her demons kept me in check.

To the Dream Line
We assemble your purpose for you
We’ve got endless lines of dreamers
All looking for a chance
And we’ll sell you anything
Teach you to sing and dance
On the Dream Line.

I remember
Those nights in college
Staying up chasing our passions
Til the dawn.

But they’re gone, they’re gone, they’re gone
And I keep going
Trying to rekindle the flames
Of a burned out dream.

I never really knew where I was going
So it’s no surprise I never got anywhere.

To the Dream Line
We built it wholesale for folks like you
Just jump in the nearest line
And rock side to side
As the line slowly advances
Out of sight
On the Dream Line.


No one really knew where he was going
No one ever knows where they’re going.

To the Dream Line
We’ve got the full product line in stock
Just waiting for you
We’ve got rivers of artificial foods
And synthetic clothes
And you’ll only know what’s real
By which way the wind blows
When you’re on the Dream Line.


© 2014 Lee Edward McIlmoyle
for Philosophical Clown Tales
from the upcoming People’s Republic of Limbo album, “The Dead of Winter”

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The More Things Change, The More Things Change

So I think we’ve just about got the new process for PBW2 2015 hashed out. Just got to do some fine detail stuff and get things like Operating budget and administrative staff sorted out. I can keep receipts with the best of them, and I do know my way around a spreadsheet, but I think our little team is going to need someone with superlative office keeping skills, and also someone who has truly great people skills. We have some of that on staff already, but our best candidates haven’t come forward, and probably won’t because of time crunch and familial considerations. PB is its own reward, most days, but it DOES tend to ask too much of its volunteer base, on the whole. I’m guilty as charged of it myself. My standards are perhaps too high, but I try to make allowances for people with lives… including my wife.

That’s really all I’ve got for today. Tomorrow I go to talk to a surgeon about my ulnar nerve entrapment. Expect a huge post on the weekend, or perhaps on Monday. Thanks for reading.


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I Got What You Need What I Got What You Need What I Got What You Need What I Got!

Okay, so I’ve been preoccupied. News flash, right? So let me explain.

First up, I’ve been run down and tired after short bursts of activity, presumably from the pneumonia. So I’ll be calling my doctor today to see if it’s clearing up or getting worse. Could just be it’s all in my head.

Second, I’ve been working on a newish hybrid process for PBW2_2015. Or I should say, I worked out a preliminary plan already, and also held an informal workshop meeting of interested PBHamOnt staffers to discuss and polish it up for public consumption. I think it went about as well as could be expected. Some holes were made, some decompression was injected into the mix, and copious notes were taken, so hopefully we’ll have PBW2_2015 Process v2.0 sorted out and ratified some time this week. But there IS a crunch to get something up and running for a bunch of meetings we want to take with NAs and such to get whatever endorsement we can before kicking it out to the ward as a whole. Hopefully we’ll also speak with the Councillor soon about our plans, but we don’t want to go to him with half a proposal and lose his interest, so we’re getting all of our ducks in a row first. Regardless of all that, we’re moving forward. PBW2_2015 is in motion. We just need to get some support to make it more than a planning team.

Third, I haven’t had much luck finishing RETURN TRIP. I’m still one and one half chapters from the end zone, but it feels like the longest mile. So much has to happen, and I’ve barely wrapped my head around it all. Plus, I’m reviewing the previous chapters to see if I injected enough arc points into the series of loosely-connected short stories that make up the second act.

Fourth, I have a lot of paintings in the planning stages, and by a lot I mean a LOT. But what I haven’t has is time or energy to get them done. We shall see.

Fifth, the only music I’m really working on right now is Drake’s Progress, which is pretty much up for grabs, because Drake is already starting to mess with it. We’ll see if a second iteration comes of it, or if I have to pare him back and teach him some new riffs to make a new song from first.

And that’s all I’ve got for today. Thanks for reading.


PS: Some unfinished work:

Posted in Art, Books of Limbo, Canadian Music, Graphic Design, Hamilton, Music, Ontario, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, Tarot Series, The New Hamilton, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Unfinished Business

So I know have four blank 12″x36″ canvasses to work out the beginnings of a new series on. The thing is, I also have one 12″x12″ canvas and one 12″x24″ canvas in that pile as well. The latter comes from a set of two that I have had for several months now. One of those two is three-quarters covered in paint, in semi-random strokes that evoke but don’t complete an image I have decided is part of the Tarot series:
005 interlude Tower Day 2 Tower stage 1 sml
As you can see, the process so far has been relatively simple, and the results reflect that. It was an incidental image that I’ve been trying to refine, to little success. I may have to do a very involved drawing based on this composition and use the twin canvas to repaint it, before destroying or gessoing over this one, because I just can’t seem to get past this image enough to complete it properly. I keep thinking it will make an excellent representational image, and I can’t seem to reconcile myself to the notion that the Tarot series might benefit from being more abstract, because Tarot is so very specific and representational in its nature, even when it dabbles in more ‘modern’ (ie 20th Century or later) art styles, like the Crowley (Thoth) deck.

I want to get some creative work done today, but I suspect I have chores and such to attend to instead, especially since Dawn intends to prepare a turkey for American Thanksgiving today.

We vent winter coat shopping yesterday, and Dawn wound up with something that will be warm but that she really doesn’t like, so she’s pretty unhappy, especially because it was so expensive. Plus sized women’s clothing is insanely overpriced for the considerably shoddy design work and colour choices bigger women have to endure. It’s a miracle I got my wife out of that shop with a coat at all, but I now regret the whole exercise. At times like this, I truly wish I were working more often in design, so I could make enough money on a regular basis to take care of Dawn’s shopping needs before the stock in every plus size shop is so depleted that she winds up with some hideous mess of cheap fabric. I really needed to get her another long wool coat months ago, instead of the trouble we had ordering from Land’s End and finding their stock was too low to get her the correct size. It’s heartbreaking to see Dawn wrestle with the relentless reminders that, as a big girl, she doesn’t deserve good clothing. I’ve gained a fair bit of weight over the years myself, so I understand to some degree, but I can at least still find some things in my size, though not as easily or as cheaply as I used to. Dawn’s double depression makes all such attempts upsetting. The fashion industry pisses me off to no end. I’ve long had girl friends and girlfriends who struggled with their body image, but when an entire industry actively discriminates against you for not being average, you have to question what we as humans are really doing.

Anyway, I got a pretty good coat, which I will probably model during the next big snow storm.

Hope everyone is having a good day, especially if they are having a birthday today. Mine isn’t until Boxing Day. 44. I have a bad feeling about 44.

Thank you for reading.


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Oh Please Don’t Ask Me How I Feel… I Feel Fine

Wrote up a manifesto for creating a new process for PBW2 in 2015. It’s hald manifesto, half actual plan. I haven’t spelled out the timeline in absolute dates yet, but if the gang likes the basic structure, and we can get the Councillor’s approval and support, we’ll start setting things up and firming up details ahead of a January campaign launch.

That is, if there are no serious objections. This is a tough room I’ve brought together. I expect good ideas, but I also expect there to be strong criticisms of my ideas.

Not actively writing the novel I started this month. Wasn’t expecting opposition from my wife to starting it. Haven’t been able to look at it the same since. So I’ve gone back and tried to finish Act 2 of THE APPROXIMATE DISTANCE TO LIMBO (aka Return Trip). It’s coming so slowly, it hurts. No real time to write, and I’ve been reluctant to dig in. *sigh*

Steep Inclinations will have to wait until some time in the New Year, as far as I can tell. No band to speak of, so I really am treating this as the last Etcetera Thesis project. It’s not so much a determination to leave as a realisation that I’m the only one still here. Time to go.

Maybe form a new band some time in the new year. Or maybe 2016. We’ll see if I make it that far.

The StinZine (issue #005) is at the printers.

Started four newish paintings, but I’m already thinking I want to start a new series, using some canvases I’ve had laying around for another project I’ve elected to abandon, simply because n o one really wants or needs me to do that one, now. Thinking of picking up one or two more 12″x36″ canvases and doing either an upright polyptych or one continuous horizontal strip, featuring Zoe in ashcan style paintings a la Edward Hopper, but in her own world. I had been thinking of paying a more direct homage to Hopper, who has been a quiet influence of mine, but I don’t want to hue too close, as his legacy has become a little strip mined in recent years. I just want to capture the feel of his work using a teenaged Zoe doing her best impression of 40/50s starlets in interesting locations doing cool cinematic things. If that works out, I may try her out doing some Muchaesque things next year. those will be larger canvases. Something in four or five foot lengths. I’ve been keeping Zoe mostly to myself for too long.

Becky (aka Baby Cat) is extremely miserable, thanks to the introduction of Stevie (aka Little One), who is an irrepressible sweetheart with an all-consuming need for love and attention, and a refusal to accept no… for long.

And Lucky (aka Panther)… well, I still miss him. A lot. Dawn and I don’t talk about our boy too often, but we both miss him. He was utterly unique, and though Becky and Stevie have been working around the clock to fill his space, they’re not really anything like him.

This was a photo I took of him just a few short days before he died. He was perfectly content just to be with us in those last days. He was at his most curious, most affectionate, most friendly.
My Poor Boy

Thank you for reading. I’ll try to have more for tomorrow.


Posted in Art, Books, cats, Design, Etcetera Thesis Music, Graphic Design, Music, my wife, One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, Steep Inclinations, Writing | Leave a comment

Abstract Art on Panorama

I’d do a big show and tell piece about this, but all of these pieces are for sale, and I’d very much like to have a chat with any gallery owner or curator who might be interested in putting on a show some time int he next 12 months. Currently priced at insanely reasonable rates, I’d like to kick it up a notch and perhaps make some money for a pleasing change.


I can be reached via email, comment, or possibly phone, though I’d appreciate an email instead, as I’m ignoring long distance calls at present.


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Getting Artsy


The Deeper Crimson King

Good night.


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So Let’s Go and Drink To the Death of a Clown

Okay, I’m experiencing some difficulty due to a chest cold that has morphed into a touch of pneumonia. This is not a sympathy plea. Just keeping you updated. I have horse pills for it. Week’s worth. Fun, wow.

Big PB meeting at City Hall tonight. I need a shower and shave.

Reading through RETURN TRIP (act two of TAD2L). It needs tweaking here and there, and there is something still missing from the stories I have so far. Not enough through line, and possibly not enough hints about Richard’s progression. There’s a whole piece there that needs to make itself apparent by the time the final chapter plays out, and I’m not sure I’ve got a handle on that. It’ll come, but I really hoped it would come before now, so I could release the book at the end of the month. Might have to revise my release date yet again. Sorry about that.

I have a cartoon on the drawing table that needs inking and colouring. Need it and one more article. This would all be done if I hadn’t gotten sick and missed my deadline to interview Maggie as planned. Now Maggie is too busy, and I am waiting for Katherine to get an interview from another neighbourhood personage. I can’t do anything to speed that up, but I may have to fill the space and let her interview be moved to February. We’re running out of time.

I haven’t named the new series of paintings I am contemplating, though I vaguely recall suggesting I had an idea about that last week. All I know is it’s about conveying form and narrative using raw colour. Not sure how I’ll do it. My first attempt was a fail, and I gessoed over the mess. Still haven’t started my second attempt. Soon.

Amanda Palmer’s first book has been out for a week. I still don’t own a copy, but I will. You should, too. Go get it.

My guitar student is going to be getting his own guitar for Christmas. I am hoping he will practice enough to get comfortable with playing on his own, without me guiding him every step of the way. I like teaching and what it’s done for my own playing and practice schedule, but I do want to put myself out of a job, eventually. I tend to think self-education is the best method of learning to play and write music. I can’t really impart a conservatory-type education, but I can at least get my student ready for whatever other teachers he may or may not interact with in the future. I very much want him to keep playing and progressing, and I’m not so sure how much I can show him before I’ll be holding him back with my own limitations as a player.

When he DOES eventually leave my tutelage, I think I may take on other students, though. Teaching is good for discipline. The money is kind of negligible, but the effort to improve enough to keep ahead of your student is invaluable.

Soon. Ask if you’re wondering about something specific. I’ll update as I can.

Thanks for reading.


Posted in Books of Limbo, Ebooks, Editing, Hamilton, Health, Music, One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, StinZine, The Art of Asking, The New Hamilton, Writing | Tagged | Leave a comment

Some Are Born To Run, Some Are Born To Fly

So, it’s after 4 AM, and I’m sitting up early (been up since 3) listening to very old Yes demos for an album that never happened, wondering if there isn’t a way I can patch it together into a demo album and suggest to them that they should really revisit them and make a proper album out of the lot. I mean, it’s all material from that late 70s period where they more or less petered out until Jon and Rick abandoned ship and left Steve, Chris and Alan to salvage and reconstitute with the Buggles. Personally, I think the material as it has been released on various compilations and extended reissues is basically stillborn, but I do wonder if a little creative dissection and recombination wouldn’t make a handful of really good songs or even epic compositions. They’d probably run screaming from the concept, but there are some nice moments in the pile, except that they really do need tweaking and re-recording, because many of the performances are tired and fumbling, particularly in the vocal department.

I should be writing fiction. I have more or less abandoned the new book idea (THE CONSTANT SEA OF NIGHT) for the time being, because I just don’t think I can generate enough righteous indignation to defend my right to write it when I have so much other incomplete material waiting in the wings. Perhaps in a few months, after I get THE APPROXIMATE DISTANCE TO LIMBO out the door. So much to write, and there never seems to be time for any of it anymore. Perhaps if I had found time to work on PAsSAGE TO BUJAH, I wouldn’t be writing this paragraph.

Cats seem to have settled down. I might go back to bed shortly. Or maybe, I’ll just play with these songs a bit more and see if there isn’t a better sequence for them.

So many other projects waiting for me to make time for them. Soon… oh soon, the light.


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Here Is Here – an excerpt from Return Trip (TAD2L Act 2)

NOTE: Before we start, I just want to say that I based this story very, VERY loosely on biographical information about two great songwriters who used to work together in a band most folks have heard of. I took great liberties in telling this story, which, though based in part on their storied history together, is not in any way actually based on the gentlemen in question (both of whom are still alive as of this writing). So please, take this story in the spirit it is intended; a story of redemption for an aging rocker. In no uncertain terms must you regard this in any way as factual.

Thank you. Now, on with the show (and oh Lord, please Lord, don’t let the curtain fall).


Chapter 31: Here Is Here

Roger Bergeron sat quietly, eyes closed, arms resting on the arms of his authentic Le Corbusier black leather club chair.

On the antique end table beside it sat a tumbler full of very expensive forty-three year old single malt scotch. Less than seven hundred and fifty bottles of it were made. He’d bought it on a dare from his old song writing partner, Rik Baker, the day they dissolved their partnership. The deal was, if he ever changed his mind about things, he’d crack open this bottle of scotch and invite Rik over to have a drink, and they’d talk it over and see if there were enough good feelings left to have a reunion.

The funny thing was, the scotch was bottled in 1964, but he didn’t really think of it that way. ‘64 was the year he’d ‘turned pro’, heading off to London with his first band, The Highlights, featuring Rik on a Vox Continental and him on his first Rickenbacker 360; the one that got stolen after the Birmingham show in ‘72. They wrote hundreds of tunes together in hotels, bars and buses, on stage, back stage, in the loo, and in girls’ bedrooms between shags.

They’d written a song together on a piece of paper spread across the bare arse of a bird in Ohio who insisted she was eighteen, but turned out to be a few years shy of the mark when the sheriff came around looking for her the next morning. The song had never been a big hit, but he still played it whenever he was in Ohio, just in case she was in the audience, wondering if he remembered her. He didn’t, really. He just remembered she’d been very sweet and very pretty, and had a very round bottom for her age. He’d have forgotten her name entirely if they hadn’t titled it “Megan”. He was pretty sure that had been her name, anyway.

Rik had been his partner through a lot of shit: three bands, twenty-seven albums, two marriages apiece, and one comeback in the 90s.

But Roger had never really forgiven him for sleeping with Tess. He didn’t know why it had mattered so much to him, then or now. They’d shared more women than he’d had years with Tess, and she had already been looking for an excuse to leave by then. She’d never really forgiven him after the death of their son, Jason, when he served in Iraq. She was convinced their son wouldn’t have joined and died if Roger had stayed home with them more often when he was a boy. Roger had told her repeatedly that it was bullshit, even as she walked out the door. But in his heart of hearts, he didn’t know if she had been wrong or right.

Jay would have been forty-three years old today. Maybe that was what had Roger in such a foul mood. No friends. No wife. No family. No partner. No band.

No plans.

No music.

No future.

Bone dry.

He’d been on the wagon for a handful of years now, which had been part of what drove him and Rik apart. Rik was a heavy drinker, and liked to take a swing at you if you pissed him off after a few whiskeys. Fun guy, but a mean drunk.

Or was that himself he was thinking of?

He sipped the scotch. Strong, but smooth and dry, the way most single malts over fifteen tasted, but with a hint of vanilla. He realized he probably would never taste a scotch like this again. He hadn’t actually thought he would open the bottle. Never thought he’d taste it. He hadn’t really bought it for drinking. He’d thought there was still time.

On the finely polished arts and crafts table a couple short feet in front of him sat the remains of an open letter. Who sends letters anymore? Government offices, barristers, and old men like him. And Rik.

In this case, it was a letter from Rik, sent by his daughter, Aislynn. Cancer. Of course it was cancer. It was always fucking cancer these days. In this day, when people were still terrified of ebola and HIV and Lupus, old has-been rock stars like him always died of some form of cancer. Well, at least, that’s what the prognosis was. Rik had decided not to wait. Aislynn had added a note that he’d ended up drinking an obscene amount of that damned sambuca and getting up on his grand piano and dancing on it until he had a heart attack and fell off and cracked his skull open and broke his fool neck on those fucking hardwood floors he’d been so fussy about all those years ago.

So. No reunion, then. Roger hadn’t been thinking of one, actually. But with one thing and another, it might have been the thing to save him. He had sunken pretty deep into mortgage and credit debt, in recent years, financing his last three albums. They had been great albums. Sadly, they weren’t what kids bought anymore. His loyal audiences had continued to buy his albums pretty faithfully, but they were of course getting old and dying off, and fewer and fewer of those lovely young women with the nice round bottoms and the impossibly gravity-defying breasts, or even their spotty boyfriends, came to the shows or bought the albums any more.

People didn’t care about living rock stars any more. They revered the dead ones. They poured over their wikipedia pages, longer than an encyclopedia or magazine article, with twice as many misquotes and false attributions, but somehow more true, more real than the living, breathing artist themselves.

He didn’t receive emails from fans very often any more. He maintained a rather slow chat forum to discuss old albums. He had a Twitter account. His publicist also encouraged him to do things like Facebook and Instagram, but he didn’t enjoy shooting pictures of his flaccid prick for internet consumption, and since nothing else happened around here but him wanking to tastefully directed lesbian pornography, there really wasn’t anything else to post about.

He hadn’t had a hit song in so long, he’d almost completely forgotten what it felt like. The rush of vindication. The certainty that you could do it again and again, building the signal between yourself and your audience until nothing could be heard but pure signal.

He took the iPhone out of his pocket and opened the Twitter app. Apps. There was an app for almost anything. There was even an app for searching the internet for suicide instructions, as it turned out. Who would have thought?

The instruction on how to buy, maintain and operate a military issue war-era rifle were pretty straightforward. He hadn’t actually needed to go out and buy one, or even order one. Fortunately, this was England, where heroes from the World Wars had brought home trophies from the war. The trick for him had been figuring out how to get the gun rehabilitated without tipping off the authorities, who took a dim view of firearms in Great Britain.

He hadn’t thought, when he started repairing the gun using internet videos, that he would eventually actually find a use for the thing. It had been his father’s, along with his old trunks and boots and memoirs from the war. As it so happened, he had also squirreled away a few firearms and a lovely Lee-Enfield Rifle No. 4 Mk. 1. Some of them were still in service, so finding parts hadn’t been terribly difficult, even for an amateur like himself.

If you’d asked him at the time, he probably simply would have said he was trying to commune with his late father, who had never really understood his obsession with music or his unwillingness to enter the military, as had been his family’s tradition for generations. It had been the first time in decades that men had not been required to report for National Service, and he had joined his first serious band, and wasn’t about to give up his dream of being the next George Harrison, the next Eric Clapton, the next Jimi Hendrix.

It had been 1969. He was going to be a great. By the late 60s, it was all starting to come together for him. The new band was called The Liquid Light Brigade, and they were incredible. He and Rik auditioned the band, and they started writing great songs together, and were set to be the next Cream, the next Led Zeppelin, the next
well, next, anyway.

And then the band fragmented. The manager had been a crook, and the band split right down the middle, with the drummer, singer and bassist leaving to form their own band under his management, and leaving him and Rik holding the bag, and carrying the debts as well. They folded the band and started over with a new drummer and bassist, taking turns handling the vocals themselves, which worked out better, since they were the songwriters.

That band had been called Balance, and they became everything the old band hadn’t been, including famous. The 70s was one long party. He’d almost forgotten how many songs they’d actually written, both together and apart. It must have been… seventy? Ninety? No! They’d recorded three albums in two years in 70 and 71 alone! Another album a year for the next eight years, including the double album in ’74.

And then the 80s. They’d almost fucking had it in the 80s, but they pulled out of it. Took a mountain of cocaine and no small amount of help from incoming and outgoing band members, but they’d made it out relatively unscathed.

But by the 90s, the jig was up. He and Rik had been fighting like rabid dogs at that point, and neither could agree anymore who had written what, and the lawyers were brought in and they quietly stopped working and dug into their separate camps. Took fifteen years of fucking lawyers and the heroin death of Peter Emmond, the bassist/vocalist who really brought them back to life in the late 70s while punk was laying their colleagues to waste, to make them see they were being assholes. But by then, it was too late. The damage done. Neither was writing in his weight class any more. The wives were gone. The children grown up. The lawyers were gone. But they just couldn’t stand to look at each other any more. So they bought the bottle, shook hands, and said goodbye.

Roger took the iPhone, looked at his twitter feed, and typed out “Going to see an old friend about a bottle of whisky he left behind. #RikBaker #WhiteBowmore” and hit enter.
He set the iPhone down on the end table beside him, picked up the glass of scotch, fired back the whole two fingers, nearly choked on the heat, squinted and slowly breathed in, and then reached to the left and got a firm grip on the Enfield rifle. He brought it around to rest between his legs, and was just about to lean forward when the familiar ping of a return tweet.

He decided to ignore it, but in a few more seconds, another ping came, and then another. That probably constituted the most tweets he’d had in weeks, so he figured he’d take one last look, just for the fuck of it.

“HippySteveDavies @BalanceRog Please, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, stop.”

“HippySteveDavies @BalanceRog Are you still there? Please answer. My daughter needs your help.”

“HippySteveDavies @BalanceRog Please.”

Roger squinted. Frowned. Snarled for a moment. Fucking asshole thought he understood? Thought using his daughter was going to change his mind? He’d show the wanker a thing or two about playing with people’s emotions.

“BalanceRog @HippySteveDavies What’s the problem? If your daughter needs me, why doesn’t she…” he thought of writing something rude. But he decided it might be taking things too far, especially if… oh god, don’t let it be some sick kid. Fuck. He started rewriting the tweet.

“BalanceRog @HippySteveDavies How can I help?”

“HippySteveDavies @BalanceRog May I call you?”

Roger considered, and then figured, what the fuck difference did it make, if he got one last phone call before he offed himself? Fuck it.

“BalanceRog @HippySteveDavies Will DM you the number.”

“HippySteveDavies @BalanceRog No need. I have your mobile number. Meant to call before. My Jamie is very ill.”

Fuck, he thought. Sick kid. Probably his biggest fan. Old guy probably turned her on to his music a couple of years ago, and now it was all she was living for.

The problem for Roger was, he couldn’t stand to think of little kids suffering.

“BalanceRog @HippySteveDavies I’m waiting.”

Several agonizing seconds later, his mobile started vibrating. He thought about ignoring it, but visions of sick children danced in his head.


“Roger? This is Steve. Can we talk?”

“Sure. What can I help you with?”

“It’s my daughter. She needs your help.”

“What can I do for your daughter? I’m not precisely known for my healing powers.”

“No, it’s not like that. Not quite, anyway. See, my daughter Jamie is very ill, as I said, but I meant she’s not well in the head. She’s in the hospital right now. She tried to kill herself when she learned that Rik had died.”

Well, fuckadoodle. What could he say to that?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Roger offered lamely. “I hope she’s alright now.”

“Well, she pulled through, but they have her under observation. The thing is, I saw her yesterday, and she told me to keep an eye on you. She told me about the bottle. She told me about the rifle. She told me things I couldn’t believe. And then I saw your tweet, and I realized she was right. It is true, isn’t it?”

Roger thought about lying, but realized he was in the wrong frame of mind for playing nice.

“The scotch is sitting beside me. The rifle is in front of me. I got the letter from Rik’s daughter. It’s been so long since I’ve seen either of them… she must be… going on twenty, I suppose.”

“Like my girl,“ Steve replied. “Jamie’s nineteen. She’s intelligent, sensitive. Beautiful. She’s talented. She plays cello like you wouldn’t believe. She’s a virtuoso. I guess I didn’t realize she was also suicidal until we had to take her to the hospital.”

Roger was confused, and starting to get upset.

“Please pardon my frankness, Steve, but what does your gifted daughter’s suicide attempt over Rik’s death have to do with me? She does know we haven’t exactly been close these past couple decades, right?”

“Oh, I get that. We used to tease each other about how much she revered you. And when Rik died and this happened, I thought I’d been wrong about her feelings for you all along. But when I saw her in the hospital, she seemed glad that she had failed, and that nothing bad had happened to you. It gave her the strength to pull through. She explained that she didn’t want to live to see that you’d killed yourself over this. I don’t want to sound ridiculous, and I know how it must sound, but my little girl seems to have fallen in love with you.”

“That’s… ridiculous. She doesn’t know me. She has no idea what kind of a man I am.”

“What? The girls? The wives? She knows all about that stuff. She has every book ever written about you guys. She knows your life stories verbatim.”

“Jamie Davies? Why have I never even heard of her?”

“No no, not Davies. She took her mother’s name, after Lena died. Jamie’s last name is De Witt.”

Roger thought hard for a few seconds.

“Wait! I do know that name! She’s a forumite. She’s a singer… wait, I have her EP here somewhere. I remember, she’s quite good. I even started a Soundcloud account for her. Wait, she’s got my email. We’ve talked. Why didn’t she just contact me herself?”

“I… it’s tricky being a father… knowing when to let go and trust the world with your child… She thinks… well, I know she loves you. I don’t think she believes you can love her the way she loves you.”

“That’s probably true,” Roger confessed. “I like her a lot, but I don’t really know her that well. She’s very sweet and quite gifted, as well, but I’m too old to fall in love with young girls, especially over the internet.”

“I think we both know that. But what I think is, she might pull through… you know, get her head together, if you’d come see her. Talk to her. Explain what’s been going on. Not to lie to her or anything. Just to reassure her that you’re not going to, you know, die.”

“Well, we all have to go sometime,” Roger sighed.

“True, but we don’t all have the luxury of sitting at home with a bottle of whisky and a gun.”

“Is that really fair, Steve?”

“No, it’s probably not, but I have my daughter to think about. Maybe you need someone to think about, too. Some of us have other people to live for. Do you have children?”

“I had a son, once. I might have others, but no one’s come forward… I’m not really father material. There really isn’t anybody like that in my life, Steve.”

“Let Jamie be a reason to live. I’m ready to share her with you, if you think you can do that.”

“I don’t…” Roger started to say, but Steve cut him off.

“Come see her. It would mean the world to her, and maybe you and I can sit and have a few drinks and talk about life and loves lost and see if we don’t have more in common than you might think. I don’t have any expensive scotch. Best I can do is a fifteen year old bottle of the Glen Livet, but I’m willing to crack it open if you’d care to join me.”

Roger sat quietly, trying to marshall his thoughts. He felt strange. Not quite maudlin. He felt… wet. He was crying. What the fuck? Why was he crying?

“Roger?” the iphone asked. “Are you still there?”

He put it back to his ear and said, “Yeah yeah. Still here. Listen, Steve, don’t worry about the scotch. I’ve got a pretty good bottle right here I can bring over for the occasion. What say you give me directions and we’ll go see how Jamie is doing?”

© 2014 Lee Edward McIlmoyle

Posted in Books of Limbo, Writing | Tagged | Leave a comment

What’s Going On

Haven’t been posting much in the past few days. Sorry about that.

I’ve been working on the latest issue of StinZine (issue #005, for those keeping score). It’s almost done. I’ll be showing off the full thing in a few weeks, but until then, here are some teasers from previous stages:

Dawn’s Preliminary Sketch for the Cover:

My Preliminary Logo Design for Dawn’s cover:

The Production Teasers:

Been trying to figure out what I’m able to spend time working on right now. I started a novel, but it’s stillborn, and I need to do a serious rewrite if I want to revive it. Problem is, Dawn isn’t crazy about me doing a NaNoWriMo novel to achieve this. She knows she doesn’t need to ask permission to do anything she wants to do, but she doesn’t like NaNoWriMo, and she doesn’t like being neglected while I write novels. She also worries about my mental state during activities like these. I worry about hers, too, but more when she’s NOT working than when she is. I guess it’s different when you’re Bipolar. It’s frustrating, but there doesn’t seem to be an answer for it. Either I put up and shut up, or risk losing the only person who really loves me. Life.

So, Balla Khee may have to wait until I can prove I’m not insane, so I can get clearance to write her story.

Meanwhile, I’m also attempting two new large(r) scale canvas paintings, and if those go well, I will do another short series of small-to-medium pieces on canvas board, and then maybe buy a properly large canvas or panel (something like 30″x60″ or thereabouts; maybe a full five feet square) and do something monumental. What I really want to do is lay down or surround myself with a series of four square panels, or eight 2:1 rectangular panels, throw LOTS of paint, and assemble the results together on one large wall, like a sort of fold-out macro canvas. I can’t tell you how strong that urge is. I feel like that idea is going to be one of the big ones.

I also still have the plan to do a Choose Your Own Layers series, by painting a series of layers on plastic sheets and scanning them for a digital presentation, but also just assembling the results ins oem fashion so that folks who want to experience the kind of thing I do when I make this stuff can flip and rearrange layers and maybe even sections of layers to assemble their own painting. I really want to do the digital version, like an app for a travelling interactive museum, but I don’t think it will be seen as real art (yet) unless I have physical versions in large scale for people to mess with and put on their walls.

Oooooh… there’s an idea… paint strip-sized canvases or strip panels (something like 1’x8′) and let people assemble their own wall/hall-length collages, either continuously or in sections, like fake French windows.

I’ve just been wondering if it’s possible for me to develop a set of impasto techniques that doesn’t require a splatter box, and to be honest, I’m starting to think I can’t do it without paint flinging at some stage, so I’m trying to work out the logistics of building a new splatter box as a sort of plastic tent in the corner of the apartment for a few days. Dawn will probably flip, but I really don’t see another way to do it properly without anointing the entire apartment in rainbow-coloured cumshot.

I may just lay down some unstretched canvas I still have, or stretch it over my old printer’s screen frame (currently in storage), and do some good old fashioned drip painting. It’s not as sexy as hurling paint at upright canvases and boards, but then, the last series was also painted with the canvases and panels laying down… just inside a box, where I could throw paint safely. I’d simply go out and buy another box set-up like the last one, but I need a bigger box for the larger canvases and panels I have in mind.

The last series was all about reinventing space. This series will be more about reinventing form. Again, abstract, but different from the previous series, which impressed a fair number of people, but not enough to buy. I’ve been looking at other, slightly more successful abstract artists around these parts, and while I don’t want to steal their gig, it occurs to me that my works are pretty intense and oppressive, and if I start working in larger sizes, that might magnify, rather than diffuse, if I keep laying it on in the fashion I have been.

So there you have it. Stuff is still happening. Not as much as I’d like, but we’re getting there.

Oh, great. The kitten just knocked the water bowl off the shelf onto Dawn’s keyboard and mouse. If they don’t dry out shortly, I can see what my day is going to consist of. *sigh* Ah well. Anyway, Here’s the current setup:

And finally, here’s where the painting is today:
Yes, I’m starting over. *sigh*

Time to get back to work. Thanks for reading.


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Before My Eyes

Been sick as a dog. Still not over it, but there’s work to do. Here’s what I’ve spent the last day or so working on:

Yup, it’s the latest StinZine, for which I’m handling the layout duties again. This one doesn’t have any new drawings from me, although it has a great cover illustration from my lovely wife, artist Dawn DSKI McIlmoyle. I recycled a couple of older cartoon drawings from previous Zoe Christmas cards. I’m under orders not to draw a new Zoe cartoon. I WAS going to draw a staff cartoon (in tacky Christmas sweaters), but I’ve been too ill to do any serious caricature work, which takes a little out of me. I also owe an interview with Maggie, who is a fascinating woman, so not exactly a hardship, but time and opportunity have been scarce. Plus, #ChestMuckPlague2014, y’know?

The new novel is SO not getting written at the moment. I’m falling way behind, and the fact is, I’m not so sure I’ll be catching up, because the StinZine needs doing first, and I’ve got other dramas to manage, too, including but not exclusively the delays in paying the rent and bills, owing to a very opportunistic parasite organism called Total Credit Recovery, which dipped into our joint bank account and scooped out our rent payment for the old VISA debt.

My so-called foray into local politics has been less than visible of late. I’m not sure what’s on the horizon for PBW2, as Councillor Jason Farr has been a bit of a blur since about a few weeks before his (successful) reelection campaign. Now, I don’t expect actually expect or demand updates from Jay, but I can’t tell the PB faithful what sort of PB we’re going to have in the new year, and the gang and I have determined that we need to get the new programme up and running ASAP if we want PBW2_2015 to run smoother and be more successful than PBW2_2014 ended up being. We lost approximately 50% of our participation, and I chalk that all up to visibility. PBW2_2013 was a success in part because it was amazingly high profile for a pilot project, thanks in no small part to the persistence and hard work of Norman Kearney. This year, we hired two wonderful ladies to fill his shoes, but I think even Karen and Nathalie would privately agree that 2014 was a lot bumpier than it needed to be. I knew from the start that it would be an uphill battle to recover the momentum, goodwill and support of the ward after the incidental press dramas of 2013. That was my biggest goal for 2014: find a friendly new face for PB to rekindle the flame with. Sadly, it’s a slow burner, it seems, so more work needs to be done, and time is of the essence.

The biggest problem for me right now, aside from #ChestMuckPlague2014, is that there is no practical network connecting all of the various PB volunteers, so I can tap into it and keep everyone up to date and on point. I suppose that is sort of my job, but that also requires City (aka Adam Watson/Al Dore/Ryan Leverton)’s cooperation, and as well, the good will of the PB faithful. Many of the people currently involved in getting the PBW2_2013 proposals breaking ground haven’t even met me, so they don’t know me from Cap’n Ahab, and with this chest cold, I haven’t exactly been able to make house calls. Dave Stephens has been more hands on than I have, and he has only been able to update me infrequently at best.

So, I managed to inadvertently alienate someone I had up until recently considered a friend, because her working relationship with another friend had turned sour, and she believed that I had sided with him in the matter. The truth is, I did like his project plan a bit better than hers, but it really wasn’t a matter of choosing the better project; J’s plan was on paper (I never saw M’s plan) and had been explained to me in much greater detail, so I understood it and could see how it could be done.

As well, most of the information I had received was of a project that was proceeding as agreed upon by the two proponents… until it stopped working, for whatever reasons. However, as complimentary/competing artistic visions go, I wasn’t actually that interested/invested, which I now see was a mistake. I should have taken a more proactive hand in things much, much sooner to make sure M’s vision was maintained and realized as best as possible, before the confusion and hurt feelings crept in and the working relationship broke down. If the team had reached to to me sooner, I might have seen it coming in time, but as it was, no one thought to involve me until it started breaking down.

I really just wanted to help the two parties get their project done before the frost came. I also didn’t want to believe M would jettison all of the progress they’d made if she didn’t feel she was realizing her (changing?) artistic vision. So, when things did break down, and getting them to work together proved unlikely, I stepped in to help effect the separation, so they could both get back to work and contribute the most good to PB before the year was out.

Sadly, it hasn’t turned out as well as I’d hoped, as neither seems to be getting anything done at present. J’s contribution to the Cultural Garden project at Bayfront met with similar artistic frisson with their designer, who it seems wanted more solid black granite than J could provide, so he has moved on, taking his granite with him (again). Meanwhile, M’s garden is looking pretty rough, as it hasn’t progressed significantly in weeks.

As communications, such as they were, have completely broken down between M and I, I now have no idea when she will recommence work, although it seems fairly obvious that work can’t continue until spring, because it’s probably going to start snowing any day now. All I know for certain is, more help is needed on the Shamrock Park Spiral Garden site, and I genuinely hope M gets the help she needs. I believe the City should be pitching in with that, and Dave is looking into getting more funding so M’s plan can be more fully developed and properly implemented, most probably in the new year.

My list of PBW2_2013 updates is almost complete. I’m just waiting for a little more information, which I may have to go hound a few people for, if I can just stay focussed long enough to write a few emails, amidst the chaos that is my life right now. Then I’ll send it out to Jay and the PB faithful, and start promoting the successes and solving the problems with the proposals in progress.

Anyway, that’s pretty much all I’ve got right now. I’m gonna start work on a couple of new abstract paintings sometime in the next week or so. I’ll try to document their creation as best I can.

Time to put some thought into making breakfast and getting dressed. Thanks for reading.


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Broken Bowls and Barely Beginnings

I was woken up in the early hours of morning (approximately 3 AM) to a noise that turned out to be the crashing of a collection of Emily Carr painting prints in a wooden case AND an entire bowl of mini chocolate bars in a white ceramic bowl to the floor. The bowl, as the title implies, is now broken, so I was on my knees in the early hours of morning picking up the shards of white glass out of the cheap shag carpet, before Dawn or I eviscerated ourselves.

Mischief managed, I made some Neo Citran for cold and flu, and sipped away while I contemplated the incomplete plot synopsis of my latest project, which, as forewarned, is entirely unrelated to Richard Burley, and is only theoretically related to one of my other play sets, the world of Link: Constellation and Dreamtropolis Fallen. It’s going to be a novel called The Constant Sea of Night. You can see the barest beginnings of it over HERE. I still haven’t actually started writing it, let alone plotted it sufficiently, but I devised a simplified book cover mock up, which is really just a placeholder until I do the real cover, which may happen some time in December or January, when I have more time. Here’s the placeholder cover:

I am still sick as a dog, and I still have StinZine stuff to do, but I am going to work in about 3000 words a day if I can, to complete the novel by the end fo the month, thus meeting the NaNoWriMo requirements, AND having a completed first draft to play with as the snow falls in… well, apparently it snowed a tiny bit last night when I wasn’t looking, but I kinda suspected it was, because aside from the usual rude biological functions I was contending with, I was also bone-rattlingly cold. The windows are now closed, so I am beginning to feel a wee bit more human, but I assure you, it has gone from about two weeks of autumn to the first days of winter, just as the prognosticators forewarned, myself among them.

So I gave Dawn the thumbs up to order her new coat, on sale for about $140 USD. After customs fees but also after a discount coupon she dug up, it actually came to something more like $130 CAD, so good stuff for us. She has completed a commission for a book cover she hopes to get paid for shortly, so that should cover that.

As I said earlier, and repeat often, like a mantra or a chant for the dead, I am sick. Today it’s runny nose and body aches, as well as the usual chest congestion and sore throat (most likely from the constant flow of mucus and phlegm). At least it hasn’t backed up into my ears the way it does for poor Dawn, who is also struggling with illness.

I have purchased two somewhat large blank canvases. 24″x30″ each. I have a plan that involves painting them together in various configurations, with these implements called brushes and knives, which I am told traditional (re: REAL) artists use instead of their hands, which are my preferred implements of paint distribution, at least when I am doing abstracts. So yes, two more abstracts, and these ones will be on a slightly larger scale than that last series. As they WILL be painted together, the net result will be a two-panel piece of either 48″x30″ or 60″x24″, depending on what the customer eventually decides is the most pleasing arrangement.

I’m moving into another phase where I want my work to be more interactive. Interactive abstraction isn’t a school yet, but I’ve been dabbling with it since 1992, and I aim to make it happen again, probably in 2015, when I hope to purchase some materials to make it possible for the viewer to safely rearrange the layers of each painting to the variation/configuration they like best. Those pieces are going to be my next abstract series, which I will probably generate fifteen to twenty new pieces for (enough for a showing), all on wood panel with layers of hinged or flexible plastic film. It requires a durability I haven’t seen yet, but I’m reasonably confident it exists. If it proves to be too expensive for me to do in 2015, I’ll put it off until I can get an alternate source of funding.

Speaking of funding, the remaining fourteen buttons are now at Mars Mart/Village Market and Gifts. They are now retailing for $15.00 CAD. I told you the price would go up. For those that have forgotten, they look like this:

All other projects are temporarily on hold, until I’m feeling better and can ramp up production on the important stuff, like the huge number of novels and songs and game modules I have to finish.

Okay, I think that covers things for today. Thank you for reading. Stay warm. Have a great weekend.


Posted in Art, Art For Sale, Dreamtropolis Fallen, Games, LinkTales, No Sleep, One a Day, Writing | Tagged | Leave a comment

Chest Muck Plague 2014

I’m dying. That is all.


Posted in Health, One a Day | Tagged | Leave a comment