Brit Grit Alley features news and updates on what's happening down British crime fiction's booze and blood soaked alleyways.
Ey up! Down Brit Grit Alleya bit back, Darren Sant and Craig Douglas, the criminal masterminds behind the cracking NEAR TO THE KNUCKLEezine, announced that they will be publishing an anthology of gritty fiction very soon. The list of contributors is WELL TASTY: Gareth Spark, Micheal Monson, Aidan Thorn, Chris Leek, B.R. Stateham, Jim Spry, Walter Conley, David Barber, Tom Pitts, Allen Miles, Richard Godwin, Alan Griffiths, Brian Panowich, Ryan Sayles, Paul D. Brazill, GrahamSmith, Veronica Marie Lewis Shaw, Vic Errington, Pete Sortwell.
And they also had a competition to come up with a title for the antho. Well, it transpires that none other than Richard Godwin - author of Apostle Rising and Mr Glamour - has won the competition. And here -exclusive to Brit Grit Alley- is a preview of the cover of GLOVES OFF, which was designed by the very talented Steven Miscandlon, who also did the tasty cover forTRUE BRIT GRIT, amongst other gemsI reckon this is gong to be a KNOCKOUT collection of hard- hitting short stories - see what I did then?- so get your dole money saved up.
And while your waiting, why not pop over to the NEAR TO THE KNUCKLE website and have a gander at some of the stories over there?
And now, via Brit Grit king Charlie Williams, we have ROYSTON BLAKE'S SPECIAL NEEDS:
'One thing I noticed over the years is that folks reckon they knows me. All they gotta do is take one gander and they think they got us down. That’s that Royston Blake, I hears em say. He’s that feller. He’s that one with “special needs”.
Well, I’m here to piss on that bonfire.
So I hope they’m reading this.
First off, you can’t judge Royston Blake by appearances. To look at us, I’m Ivan Drago out of Rocky IV, but with the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger out of Commando. But I ain’t them. Aye, I’m well-knowed as the hardest pound-for-pound doorman in Mangel and I got a few moves with me fists, but it don’t mean I’m Ivan and Arnold, rolled into one. For starters I got a different hair colour, sort of halfway between the two of em. Plus I got a bust hooter, although it is busted in a way that makes us look like Elvis. But I ain’t Elvis neither. I had a go at singing in the bath once and I reckon I got a better voice than him, I honestly fucking do. Plus I ain’t fat like him. Other than them things, aye, I pretty much am Elvis. And Drago and Schwarzenegger.
Then there’s this “special needs” thing I hears em say about us. What folks – and it’s women I’m on about here – what they has got to understand is that my needs is just the same as the next feller’s. I ain’t into kinky. Just cos I’ve had fucking thousands of birds, don’t mean I’m bored of doing it the normal way. Down that alley behind Burt’s Caff is fine with me. Or in them bushes up top of Vomage Park. Or the baby-changing room down the dole centre – I tried all them places and I’m perfectly happy with em. So let’s get shet of this special needs wossname once and for all, eh? Then I’ll be able to try em with someone.
Oh aye, and the Writer has asked us to mention that there’s a new book out about me. It’s called Made of Stone. But it’s made of paper, not stone. And bits of dry sticks if you got the Kindle version. Plus they got an audio version, so you can get it on tapes or summat. It’s all about me and Jock the burger man, who used to flog em out of a van down by Rockefellers. Basically it’s about us trying to save the fucking planet, when it comes down to it. Mind you, fuck knows why the Writer gives a toss either way. It’s about me, not him.'
Well, I’m here to piss on that bonfire.
So I hope they’m reading this.
First off, you can’t judge Royston Blake by appearances. To look at us, I’m Ivan Drago out of Rocky IV, but with the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger out of Commando. But I ain’t them. Aye, I’m well-knowed as the hardest pound-for-pound doorman in Mangel and I got a few moves with me fists, but it don’t mean I’m Ivan and Arnold, rolled into one. For starters I got a different hair colour, sort of halfway between the two of em. Plus I got a bust hooter, although it is busted in a way that makes us look like Elvis. But I ain’t Elvis neither. I had a go at singing in the bath once and I reckon I got a better voice than him, I honestly fucking do. Plus I ain’t fat like him. Other than them things, aye, I pretty much am Elvis. And Drago and Schwarzenegger.
Then there’s this “special needs” thing I hears em say about us. What folks – and it’s women I’m on about here – what they has got to understand is that my needs is just the same as the next feller’s. I ain’t into kinky. Just cos I’ve had fucking thousands of birds, don’t mean I’m bored of doing it the normal way. Down that alley behind Burt’s Caff is fine with me. Or in them bushes up top of Vomage Park. Or the baby-changing room down the dole centre – I tried all them places and I’m perfectly happy with em. So let’s get shet of this special needs wossname once and for all, eh? Then I’ll be able to try em with someone.
Oh aye, and the Writer has asked us to mention that there’s a new book out about me. It’s called Made of Stone. But it’s made of paper, not stone. And bits of dry sticks if you got the Kindle version. Plus they got an audio version, so you can get it on tapes or summat. It’s all about me and Jock the burger man, who used to flog em out of a van down by Rockefellers. Basically it’s about us trying to save the fucking planet, when it comes down to it. Mind you, fuck knows why the Writer gives a toss either way. It’s about me, not him.'
There'll be more carrryings on down Brit Grit Alley next week.
Fanx Tara!
