I was going to write a post introducing a list of the best micro novels currently in progress on the internet. These are works of fiction presented in tiny chunks of text via a micro-blogging platform such as Twitter or Facebook. A seemingly brilliant notion that panders to the world’s attention deficit disorder. No rambling monologues or indigestible diatribe. Just plot and dialogue in pieces so small even my father could digest them.
I googled around (I love a good googling on a Friday evening) but was unable to find anything appropriate. A few authors are releasing mini teaser series on facebook to get people hooked before sending them to Amazon but no purpose built micro novels. Fear not, oh reader with miniscule attention span, you can feed your peeny hunger pangs with the latest micro-blog-buster from the Penfold Crockett house of very small publications…
The Dead Monkey Society has just started on Facebook featuring the intrepid Sam Phoenix (I chose FB as the base platform so I can do some illustrations occasionally) you can also check updates on Twitter (@samuelphoenix).
If anybody knows any micro-novels currently in progress please leave a link in the comments below…
Living in the foothills of the Serra de Estrella in central Portugal is supposed to be an idyllic existence – stunning picture postcard scenery, perfect weather all enhanced by friendly and convivial neighbours. Aging donkeys retiring peacefully by the river, toothless old crones carrying bags of washing on their heads. Just the sound of birds in the trees, the river bubbling through the granite rocks and an old peasant man hacking up some phlegm on his way to market.
What I’ve experienced over the last 20 years certainly has included all of these elements but there are many other bitter tasting ingredients to spoil the taste of this delicious metaphor pie. I won’t get started on the hideous mouldy concrete building developments marring the countryside or the fact that it pisses down with rain for half of the year. I’ll stick to the continual theft of my belongings I’ve suffered whilst living here.
The most recent happened a few days ago whilst we were slumbering beneath a full and shining moon. Some thieving Gypsy bastards relieved my truck of a pair of brand new batteries. A relatively small haul but added to the several thousand euros worth of property that has already been stolen from me it begins to smart a tad. So the security upgrade will continue – more fences and gates. Cameras and alarms. It all just takes the shine away from this supposedly lustrous life.
I discussed the issue with my exceedingly wise mother:
“…maybe you could attach live electricity wires to the truck?”
“…a good idea Ma. But it would be terribly inconvenient to find a smouldering pikey stuck to it in the morning…”
Another creation from the Papersurfer-Pixar workshops. It’s a new technique recently developed called ‘dynamic retrographical inversion’.
This is achieved by painting a lovely picture, then rubbing it out again very carefully (whilst filming it with a camcorder) and then playing the footage backwards on a television whilst recording the screen with another camera.
There are are a few minor technical details that I won’t bore you with (like how you rub out paint one layer at a time without filming your own hand) needless to say it was very technical and required a large amount of being very boffiny. Please enjoy…
I didn’t surf today. Although I did make some tiny surfboards out of plywood. Not the same…
I bought a shortboard about three years ago – at the time I was surfing most weeks – I was in good shape and the purchase seemed to make sense. I used it a few times that summer – on bigger, hollower days. But on the whole it’s just been gathering dust in my bedroom as I’m sure many small pointy boards do…
I loved my shortboard. Apart from being red (and quite shiny) it reminded me that I had the capability to get into critical waves even if that skill is now slightly buried under some aquatic inactivity and a miniscule smattering of subcutaneous polyunsaturates. It’s like hanging onto a pair of old jeans that used to fit or never letting your gym membership expire even if the most exercise you get is lifting a gin and tonic to your mouth.
I caught a wave on Monday that shattered all expectations of a mediocre session – an overcrowded corner of Baleal concentrated by unfriendly winds on all other breaks. But as the sets drove through at high tide the inexperienced crowd was naturally culled by the incoming lines of swell – leaving a few of us to take the pick of the waves. After a couple of suicide drops into close outs I got lucky and scored a classic Cantinho left – a peeling wall that lifted to meet my board at the perfect speed to gouge bottom turns and hit the lip. A foot higher and I would have needed that small pointy thing that stands between my shirts…
So I shall be keeping my shortboard even if it just stands in my wardrobe for most of the year with my metaphorically tight jeans (my mythical gym membership card in the pocket) hanging over it…
…actually it’s a very short one. The film that is.
I cobbled together a short animation of my chubby, punk surfer from chapter 9 of Papersurfer. If you already have the book you can recreate this effect at home with a small pot of white paint, a sharp pair of scissors, some ordinary household bleach and a can of peaches.
The soundtrack I’ve chosen is ‘F-stop blues’. It was written by Jack Johnson during his filming of ‘September Sessions’ – a very excellent surf movie filmed in South East Asia. I chose it partly because I like the song and the film but mostly because I know several people who find Jack Johnson exceedingly annoying.
Of course I’ve never been one to follow advice (good or bad) so the possibility of me prattling on in a deranged manner with absolutely no discernible facts or points of interest eminating from this particular repository of minutia is, as always, quite high…
However, I would like to point out (assuming you got this far down the page before clicking ‘close’) that I am completely aware of the drudgery involved in trawling through blogs with endless monotribal effluential spoutings. So my advice to you (the reader of such floundering trivia, as proved by your continuing presence at this late point in the proceedings) is to go elsewhere for your internet based titillations. If, conversely, you love filling your capacious noggin with a wiffling load of random old nothingness – then by all means read this post as many times as you like.
Personally, I’m going for a lie down in a dark place…
Having spent several years floating around in the blogiverse one thing I can say is that if you haven’t got anything interesting to say then don’t say anything.
…I haven’t surfed at Cabedelo (Figueira de Foz) in a while. My lack of inertia since the winter months has been tough to shake and so has the additional layer of insulation I’ve been cultivating. The waves there are a bit punchier than most around the Peniche area so you need to be pretty fit to make the most of the better days. I timed the paddle out beautifully, the rip whisking me out back in a few moments. A short paddle across the bay led me straight into a perfect left. It was surf-video perfect, a clean long range swell groomed by the light offshore wind lifting up over the banks at just over head high. I was in just the right spot and the wave lifted the back of the board and threw me down the face into a deep bottom turn. After making some good speed mid face I raked out one more bottom turn and then lifted up and over the closing lip. It was the first ‘real’ wave of the year for me. It left me grinning and shaking as I paddled back out to sea…
What followed was a series of humbling events that involved an unexpected, much bigger set. Some underwater time. Lots of flailing and floundering. Some more underwater time. A bit more flailing and finally some nice relaxing ‘down time’ on the beach with just me, my thoughts and my crushed and fragile ego for company.
After a while I stood up (manfully) strode back into the sea (again in a manly way) and then repeated the last paragraph (not quite so manly at this point).
At which point I decided to focus carefully on the first paragraph and strode casually to the car – grinning once again. I then ate a large chocolate cake and drove home. Perfect.
I surfed today. For about 8 seconds. Which sometimes is just enough…
The snail (incidentally) has absolutely nothing to do with anything but could be misconstrued as representing the above post. In a loose metaphorical way.
