Last week I stood up in a pub and talked for ten minutes about a psychotic cat funeral. Poor fictional Sammy, taken before his time - the unwitting catalyst for a coup led by the Women's Institute. Just to clarify - this was Rattle Tales, and I had been asked to read my story: Now Look What You Did, which is currently out on submission, shipping for a home.
I think I'm into this live reading thang, scary though it is. And I never realised what a joy it is to hear stories read aloud - in the space of an evening we were taken on ghost hunts, to post-apocalyptic underwater worlds, into the study of Einstein and his cat, to a menagerie in the tower of London, a bus bombing, the cockpit of a plane, and into the head of a teenage girl who missed a devastating trauma by a bare inch.
The night was held at The Brunswick in Hove, where the Troll's Pantry creates burgers which are the closest thing to orgasmic food I've ever put in my mouth. Like, seriously. Bacon chilli jam, y'all.
Next: Grit Lit in December, I hope.