Matt JOnes’s Art Pass wallets are back in business with another collective of amazing artistic talent. Art Pass Series 4 artists included: Chu, Dave the Chimp, deadlemming, KozyNDan, Lunartik, Mr. Scruff, Niels de Jong, Sixxa, Sarah Anne Langton & Den Patrick, Suckadelic and a Special Edition Pass by Triclops Studios.

Art Passes are designed to be a ‘pop out and go’ style folded wallets for business, travel, credit cards, or even money. Each retails for £2.99 and will be available from each individual artist’s web stores or directly or from Lunartik’s web shop.

Lunartik Limited

And I’m totally lovin’ this as straight from his little ebook Mr Fizz gets to be a chum. Cool. Very sweet to see a design I’d drawn now on something other than a computer screen. Amazing to see a design I’d drawn actually with a practical application. Hugs All round.

If you’d a like a fat Fizz to help keep your cards safe you can pop one in your basket at Forbidden Planet or visit Mr Lunartik’s wonderful online store. And there’s more about The Fizzy Pop Vampire right here – should you wish to investigate further into his lemonade stealing doings – courtesy of creator Mr Den Patrick.

Once upon a day at work a conversation with Den Patrick went something thus….

I can illustrate your book.
You’ve never illustrated anything like it?
Nope.
And you don’t have the slightest clue what it is or how it works?
Nope.
Okay, good enough for me!

And so I acquired partial ownership of a fat vampire that steals lemonade. Cool. Given the large degree of trust just involved there I thought I’d better try and do something pretty damned spandy with the crayons.

Visualizing stuff from other people’s heads? Weird. People tend to have no preconceived idea of how their ideas should look until you’ve actually draw something. At this point they then inform you that it should be blue. The red you’ve chosen is entirely wrong. You are a spaz. So it’s always a bit nerve wracking drawing somebody else’s creation. But Den is patience personified to work with. And easily distracted by Iron Man if all else fails.

This is what the little guy originally started off looking like. I love the early 1960s work of Friz ‘Pink Panther’ Freleng. Which this borrows an awful lot from. It didn’t quiet work though. Too many folk with a copy of Illustrator can churn this stuff out. And I wanted something that looked as idiosyncratic as Mr Patrick’s fiendishly wonderful words.

Okaaaaaay. Back to pen and paper basics then. What would a vampire thingee that steals lemonade look like? Turns out, in my head, a kinda big, fat, sinister bat. A little Bauhaus. A little post Rudy Rucker visualization of time and dimensions. A little Yuko ‘Hello Kitty’ Shimizu and I’m good with the design. Thankfully Den was too. Major relief. No illustators were slapped during the making of this book.

So numerous cups of tea, much Moderat and many hours of marker pen fumes later and we have a book. Hard when you’re working full-time but, yeah, life sucks. Well, what do you do with it then? Seemingly spend hours of your life, that you’ll never get back, having publishers and agents tell you “they just love the book but not in the current climate/ it’s wonderful – maybe later in the year/ lovely concept but can we put you on a ‘possibles’ list?”. So never being somebody to let having no idea what I’m doing stop me I think the words ‘ebook’.

I then find out if you start saying the words ‘full colour picture book’ and ‘digital publishing’ in the same sentence to people they start muttering things like ‘difficult’ at you. Unlike a text based novel, picture books are a tricky beasty and require something called ‘fixed format publishing’. Well, unless you’re happy with the book looking like some vague aproxcimation of your original designs. I can’t even find anybody in the UK who’ll work with me on this so Mr Fizzy Pop Vampire goes to the US of A. A deal is struck with Publish Green. I’ll burn the photoshop midnight oil redesigning the entire book for the iPad/Phone. Publish Green will get it working as an ebook for Apple. Den will be superbly patient. Again.

Weeks pass but then an actual ebook arrives. Look at that! Exciting! I’m entranced that I can turn the pages on the iPad. Well, I’m easily pleased. But it’s pretty neat to see three coffee stained pages of Den’s copy, that were stuck to the front of my Mac for nearly a year, now appear as a shiny little digital publication.

One of the very few things that stuck in my head from art college was reading that Paul Klee said “Drawing is taking a line for a walk”. I love that. It always comes to mind when I’m wondering how to illustrate something. And hopefully, with Mr Fizz, I at least managed to take a small vampire for an wandering stroll.

Soooooo… Mr F P Vampire now safely has a little home at the Apple iBook Store. If you’d like one of your very own go take a look!

Yes, please. I would like to buy a small vampire for my i-thingees…
The Fizzy Pop Vampire – Den Patrick & Sarah Anne Langton
Thank you.

More of those peculiar words and further geeky doing from Den Patrick right here!

To me? An irresistible idea for an anthology as it offered a good excuse for wandering about the internet poking into demonic pacts, hellish secrets and Faustian goings on. Too many great things to try and write about. But how could you get yourself stuck with a demon? Was this necessarily a bad thing? And once you’d signed your life away how exactly would you go about trying to renege on the deal?

Enter Mrs Milton. As I’m pretty sure old ladies know far more than they ever let on… My small contribution the the Anachron Press ‘Day of Demons’ anthology.

A little excerpt…

The Devil and Mrs Milton

Would you like my life? The money. The connections. The trappings of wealth. The comforts of success. Would you take it if I offered? Snatch opportunity from my hands? In one small gesture have this to be yours?

Don’t be under any illusions. Don’t fail to see behind the shining veneer. This all came at a high price. A tithe paid in blood. And you should be very careful with whom you strike a bargain.

Nothing is a safe bet. And there’s sometimes a cost you don’t really want to pay.

I have an appointment this evening. A nefarious friend is intending to call. Balance on a debt that’s unavoidably due. Not anybody you’d like to meet. But stay and talk a while. I have a little time before he arrives.

The business deal. A social engagement. The relationship. The new enterprise. I have the magical gift of turning all to gold. Success always stands by my side. Doors that eternally open. My path invariably takes me towards greater rewards. Whatever journey I embark upon my providence is assured. I never put a foot wrong. Always safely walk between the paving cracks. I have insinuated myself into the most fortuitous relationship with life. Everything unfailingly falls my way. Life appears to love me. A prominent participant in all that is esteemed. But I’ve had a little help you see. An unfair advantage. A sleight of hand. A dirty secret. Something I’ve kept hidden from others in my world. Not that ever I asked for it. Nothing that I wanted. A node of success. Too big. Too close. A life that didn’t appear tangible to any who looked too intently. A legacy of my family for generations. A bargain made in my absence a long time ago.

Perhaps I should be resigned to my fate. A bit of North London Zen? I’ve had many long years to think about this day. Plotting. Planning. Secrets. My fetch has always stood close by. Watching from the sidelines. Expectantly eager in the corners of a room. She’s never been too distant. Always following in the backwash of my days. The street lights that dim as I approach. The hissing cat that will never sit by my side. The distant chime of bells as sleep pulls me down into fragmentary dreams. I discern my guest and his associates have tainted my life. Little reminders to ensure I don’t forget our deal. I fear that I burn a little too brightly in the more ethereal of places. But that was never of my choice. An attraction I never desired. And as the more esoteric of gentleman would point out (and I’m certain they speak truly) when you have no choice but to see them, then of course, they can see you.

I believe my guest is on his way. Twisting just out of perception. Signal to noise against the monochrome streets of a Camden winter’s day. Don’t feel obliged to wait with me. I’m sure anybody would understand should you leave. But company is pleasant. And I have a curious tale to tell.

And should you maybe wish to find out what exactly happens to the erstwhile Mrs Milton, along with eight other storming tales of demonic doings from Anachron Press, it’s all right here!

‘Deal’ by Karen Davies, ‘Inheritance’ by Phil Hickes, ‘Serpent’s Kiss’ by Krista Walsh, ‘Sam & The Spear’ by Gary Bonn. ‘Numen’ by V. Đ. Griesdoorn, ‘City of Light and Stone’ by Laura Diamond, ‘Cost of Glory’ by Edward Drake and ‘A Mother’s Love’ by James M. Mazzaro. All masterfully put together by editor Colin F. Barnes!

Day of Demons is a collection of powerful stories featuring the conflict of demons and humans over the course of a day.

Read how one woman’s inner-self awakens to unexpected and frightening consequences, or how a charismatic half-breed thief is forced to strike a deal with a pen-stealing imp. Read about a mother as she struggles to cope with a deadly, satanic bargain, and a sword-wielding anti-hero as he returns out of exile to face his demonic fate.

Nine stories, nine demons, nine authors. From fantasy, to horror, to contemporary fiction, this anthology will fright, delight and grip you with tales of daring-do, danger and of course — demons.

Anachron Press

Available right now at Amazon UK and Amazon US! Go take a look if you’d like some demonic tales to entertain. And who wouldn’t?

So with those thoughts I sat down to try and write a Dickensian tale for the wonderful ‘Pandemonium: Stories Of The Smoke’ anthology. A bit daunting for me as I’ve never written anything above a little flash fiction before but I love London. Her history has so many fascinating tales to tell. It would be nice to try and make a small contribution to those.

And after having “You’ve got to pick-a-pocket or two, boys…” stuck in my head for several days, spending a lot of enjoyable time reading about the dubious history of London graveyards and a near literary contextual faux pas involving me inadvertently writing about water pumps terrorizing the inhabitants of Soho – top editing save from Anne C. Perry – Mr Bullseye appeared.

A tiny little excerpt…

Bullseye

You can always get what you want. Enough money? The right contacts? Smart enough to read the City’s ebb and flow of dirty little connections? Yes? Then it’s yours.

Bullseye. Whatever you need. Mr Bullseye to you.

And that’s what I do. A very specialist service for a very select clientele. And if you don’t know how to find me, then you probably don’t need to. Though all you have to do is look in the right places. Nasty places though, mind. Places you don’t really want to go. The City knows how to find me. If you let her. She’s a little too shy to reveal her very darkest of secrets, but then she’s a lady. Always has been. Just show her a bit of respect and she’ll soon bring you down to find me, when there’s business to be done.

And I’ve always been a people person. Happy to help.

Walk behind Waterloo Station. The smell of electricity. The solidified grime of a thousand commutes home. Marsh Street. South of the river. A road that’s always been here. And South of the river was always a haven for the City’s basest of desires. Bear baiting. Brothels. Money laundering, Taverns. Visit the circus and get knifed for your gold buttons by some enterprising soul. From these streets seeps the legacy of an unsated need to indulge. Ingrained into the spiritual geography a formal dictum of rapacity. There’s always a price here for anything you’re selling. Always the ways and means to do business. Circumvent the faux respectability of the trader’s luncheon right here on the street.

For tomorrow? Well, that’ll cost you. But when do I not deliver?

And if you’d maybe like to read the rest you’ll be needing one of these tasty little items… ‘Pandemonium: Stories Of The Smoke’

Which gets you 15 more wondrous tales of London Town from Sarah Lotz, Archie Black, Aliette de Bodard, Alexis Kennedy, Esther Saxey, David Thomas Moore, Jonathan Green, Rebecca Levene, Jenni van der Merwe, Glen Mehn, Kaaron Warren, Michelle Goldsmith, James Wallis, Charles Dickens, Lavie Tidhar, David Thomas Moore and Adam Roberts.

Not only that… in true Dickensian style the anthology is beautifully illustrated by Gary Northfield and the whole smokin’ package put together by wonderful editors by Anne C. Perry and Jared Shurin from publishers Jurassic London!

Pandemonium: Stories of the Smoke brings you London as you’ve never seen it before – science fiction and fantasy in the great tradition of Charles Dickens.

Charles Dickens lived and breathed London in a way few authors ever have, before or since. In his fiction, his non-fiction, and even his own life, Dickens cast an extraordinary shadow over the city he so loved – so much so, indeed, that his name has become synonymous with a certain image of London. A London of terrible social inequality and matchless belief in the human potential; a London filled with the comic and the repulsive, the industrious and the feckless, the faithful and the faithless, the selfish and the selfless.

This London is at once an historical artifact and a living, breathing creature: the steaming, heaving, weeping, stinking, everlasting Smoke.

Jurassic London

Available right now at Amazon UK and Amazon US. Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing a few of the words.

Joss Whedon is our leader now? Yeah, I’m good with that. Pretty sure having Mr Whedon in charge of most things is a better bet.

Window display board designed for the Forbidden Planet Avengers movie/Joss Whedon promotion.

I thought I’d bend it a bit more.

I love wandering around London. Always the disturbing little alley you’ve never seen before. The hidden courtyard. The fragmentary glimpse of history from centuries ago. Fascinating. But I’m never convinced she’s the kindest of Mistresses…

Are You Listening?

The city isn’t a nice place. It has its dirty little secrets. When the city is sleeping it doesn’t have very sweet dreams.

Here’s an idea. Why don’t you look at the street you’re walking along? Look past the repetition of faceless office building and parasitic coffee shops. Take a look at its genesis. Take it from source. You barely even touch its history on your short walk to work but its history is there. Waiting to speak to you. You really think nothing seeps out through the paving stone cracks? Well think again.

The collective resonance of a thousand footfalls is remembered here. The city may be sleeping but the cumulative force of human actions shapes its dreaming thoughts. The city would like to speak to you. It doesn’t matter that you choose not to hear her. You don’t get to entirely tune out a thousand years of her assiduous listening.

The only problem is when you choose to reply.

Smart phones for stupid people. You’d think the banality of the human condition would all but kill anybody’s desire to listen in but the city is used to the platitudes of human interaction. The woman in the ironic t-shirt tweets the names of her fellow Southbank diners to the world as the Southwark boatmen had shouted the price of fresh whores across the Thames. Add a little passion and the cities all ears. Beneath the veneer of cheerful sociability she hears the grasping cries for attention. And remembers.

She always remembers.

The city remembered as a man fell to the gutter on Hercules Road. Stabbed for the price of a meal. The fourteenth of May 1802. She remembered as the outcast dead were buried at Cross Bones cemetery. Paupers and prostitutes. Winchester’s fair geese. 1603. Tourists walk the floors of the Imperial War Museum. Three hundred year ago you visited this building to be amused by the clinically insane. Conveniently Bedlam moved but did it really leave nothing behind?

You don’t think the city has something to say to you? It remembers nothing of these events? Of the plaintive mediocrity of human lives? Take a seat and watch. I can’t really advise it but then maybe you’d started to notice too. Hadn’t you realised you’d begun to watch every step? To circumvent the cracks in the paving stones?

You instinctively avoid waiting on a certain tube platform. Every time. Somebody always wants to start an argument. About anything. For no reason. You don’t want a drink with me? Why? Bitch. A scuffle about football. A relationship ends in screaming ignominy. But move one stop further down the line and you can peacefully wait among taciturn fellow travellers. Your friends advise that you really shouldn’t take that short cut home across the park but nothing, nothing at all unpleasant has ever happen there. The street behind the welcoming coffee shop is always home to a vagrant. The corner of the connecting alleyway always the scene of a traffic accident. Somebody always stands begging by the small shop that sells hardware. An old woman waits at the last bus stop. Every day. Every hour. You’ve never seen a bus arrive.

The house you used to live in never felt like home. A stranger’s rooms you shouldn’t be visiting. A dark hallway that left you grasping for a light switch. Friends who always prefer that you visit with them. Ikea pastels don’t seem to fix a clinging sadness on the stairwell. Another annex of the past that desires to tell you something. Just like you, nobody ever lives there very long. Always easier to say you need to move closer to work.

Start watching for the patterns. They’re barely hidden by the mundanity of your day- to-day life. Pick at a few corners and you’ll be surprised what’s underneath. You don’t need all the jigsaw pieces in place to see what the picture is. What happens on the city’s streets has always happened there. The foundations were laid centuries ago that dictate the behaviour of its fleeting human visitors. But once you’ve noticed, her subtle coercions are too difficult to ignore. All-pervasive. All-encompassing.

Now you’ve noticed the city, the city has noticed you.

She doesn’t have many people to talk to. Thousands lost in gym membership, being seen at the right places, networking a career move. Grimly keeping up the pretence of a happy, productive life is a full-time occupation. Drinks? Tuesday? The work was so inspirational. If you tell enough people you’re fascinating then you obviously are. It’s better if you shout. The city can only whisper to these preoccupied edges of perception, but if she finds somebody who’s listening you’ll have her undivided attention.

The Northbound journey towards the river produces nausea now. The horizon line reeling until you’re clear of the street. Walk to Westminster Pier and the stifling claustrophobia around the new hotel complex leaves you exhausted. Gasping for breath. The adrenaline-fuelled surge of fight or flight forces you from St George’s Park.

A plague cemetery. A railway for the dead. The grounds of an asylum until 1930. The Internet can tell you most things. It’s full of useful information.

Bet you wish you never started to listen.

You learn to plan your route around centuries of slumbering misery. The intonations are faithfully memorised for you to hear, in every step of your journey. You walk in a city that whispers of her ruin. It’s cadence seeps around the stone on which you walk. Only tragedy has happened here. Only tragedy will happen again.

Pick your way between the starvation and the cruelty. Quickly sidle past a house where murderous anger fills the air. Circumvent an unpleasant cross roads. Avoid a former workhouse behind the store façade of elegant clothes.

Now the city has your attention she wants to tell you all about her past. And you really don’t know how to stop listening.

Smart phones for stupid people. Maybe they’re just trying not to listen too.

Accessories are always important. And never more so than in combat situations. Make sure you don’t get caught short in the survival fashion stakes with only a pair of flip-flops to hand. Killer heels are always a must. (Colour optional.)

Made for the handy fount of all zombie survival skill knowledge and top armageddon
tips: ‘A Girls’ Guide To Surviving The Apocalypse‘.