Sunday used to be the day LS maintained radio-silence. Well not any longer baby. We sexed up Sunday weeks ago. Anything goes on a Sunday. Well almost. Witness In Conversation with…and Editor Picks and now something outrageously entitled A Writing Piece.
A Writing Piece indeed!
Imagine how long we sat around in blue-sky think-tank style working parties debating the ins and outs of various off-the-wall titles before arriving at that humdinger.
Sunday – A Writing Piece – Tobias Haglund.
But first, Story of the Week. No. A different first before that.
The week that was, began incredibly, yet again, on Monday.
Tobias Haglund’s Spring-Summer Diary featured a family of raccoons, some pies and a woman trapped in an abusive relationship. Not the easiest of reads but worth the effort.
LS newcomer Jack Coey delivered tragic tales and death-bed recollections in his meticulously crafted back and forth across the generations, Do Us Part.
Welcome Jack and let’s hope you hang around and it’s merely ‘au revoir’ for now…
Hell knows how Mr. Frederick K. Foote thinks up stories such as his sensationally irreverent satire Interview with Lucifer. Cheers Fred! I had a devil of a time sleeping after this one.
Thursday we met simple, lovable Stumpy. At last some respite from doom, gloom and heavyweight material. No actually. Diane Dickson helped herself and us to more tragedy and unpleasantness than you can shake a stick at. Nice one Diane but…it’s Friday! Yeah! The weekend! Yeah! Not a fallen angel in sight. Not a bit of it.
Old Nick pitched up on the west coast of Scotland on this occasion. In Hugh Cron’s backyard to be precise. What the devil the Devil thought he was doing in a sortie north of the border in Mr Cron’s satirical saga The Devil Went Down to Ayrshire, heaven only knows and yet.
And yet, legend has it that when three Literally Stories authors go head to head…to head, with only the width of a lightweight fag paper separating them in their tumultuous battle to be triumphant in the battle to be named ‘head hobbit of the week’ in a battle scene not even the combined imaginations of Tolkien and Peter Jackson could imagine, a certain hack-writer will run clean out of his tiresome battle superlatives.
Hint: To propel the mustard coloured bar from left to right along the mucky sagey green track and clean off the screen into the vase your mother-in-law gave you for Christmas in 1983 and your partner won’t let you lob in the Oxfam charity bag despite the fact they hate it, too, place a left-click in one of the tiny off-white moon shaped discs below>>>>