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  • Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry
    Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry
    by Craig Terlson

    A collection of short stories where the humour runs dark and the slipstream bubbles up.

     

    ...imagine if Raymond Carver called up George Saunders and Joe Lansdale, and they all went drinking with Neil Gaiman.

  • Correction Line
    Correction Line
    by Craig Terlson

    “… it's clear that Terlson is way ahead of the curve in terms of crafting an engaging premise that reaches for elevated territory and reinvents enduring archetypes of action and suspense.”  J. Schoenfelder


    "Sometimes brutal, often demanding and always complex, this novel will repay the reader who likes their assumptions challenged and is happy to walk away from a book with minor questions unanswered but the big ones definitely dealt with! It’s likely to satisfy those who enjoy Hammet and/or Philip K Dick and who like their fiction very noir indeed."   Kay Sexton

     

    "I love a novel that you can't put down, and this is one of them."  L. Cihlar

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Sunday
Jun092013

The Days are Numbered

Another excerpt from a story from the upcoming Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry.

I admit to having a fascination with obsessive characters - or maybe that should be obsession. In this story, Judd, sees a certain number (with some biblical, ominous overtones) a few too many times.

This was published a few years back by Cezanne's Carrot (a very funky literary journal).

 

The Days are Numbered

Tell me this: who needs six tubes of lip balm? A half a dozen cans of tuna, yeah, on sale, okay—and buying six disposable razors, sure—Judd knew how fast those got used. Still, that didn't explain the sixer of lip balm. Judd shuffled forward a few steps in the express lane. The woman with the six pink Lady Shick razors looked about fifty. Nice complexion at her age. Her lips seemed normal. It was a very dry city, but if someone goes through that much lip balm, they've got a problem.


She lumbered through the checkout chute and headed to the glass doors. Judd thought he heard her mutter something before the doors slid open. The rubber track whirred and brought his six hot dog buns and eight smokies to the checker. She plucked them, scanned them, BEEEP, and told him his total, in one simultaneous moment.


"Six dollars and sixty-six cents."

"Excuse me?"

"Your total, six-sixty–"

"Oh, right." He didn't want her to say it again. "Sorry."

Outside the supermarket, he wondered why the checker didn't comment on the bill. It probably didn’t register. All day long she reads numbers off her screen, like she’s naming the shoppers. The thin woman, with the Häagen-Dazs and Diet Coke, she's 7.87—the old man, with the veal cutlets and Frenchs mustard, he's 9.20—the kid with the greasy hair, baggy pants and watermelon Hubba Bubba, he's .96. And on and on. So what if she named him that number with the biblical, heavy metal connotation. No big deal.

At his car, Judd was still thinking about the lip balm. A gust blew through the parking lot and cooled the beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. As he pulled out, he said, "Six cans of tuna, six razors and six tubes of Lypsol." Then he laughed. “Groceries of the beast.”

Saturday
Jun082013

The Ethical List

I have just now compiled the final list of stories for Ethical Apsects of Animal Husbandry.
14 tales in total (something I like about the word "tales", especially for this group of stories.)

It's a combination of longer stories, shorter ones, and a few flashes thrown in for good measure. Some of been published, some have never seen the light of day – all have a touch of the comic, with a measure of darkness. True, my humour can lean toward the dark. I've also included Samurai Bluegrass (published in Carve magazine), since its tone fits the theme, however it is more dramatic than most.

I will continue to post excerpts - and hope to have a sneak peek at the cover soon – and a bit more about the stories in a post to come.

 

Here is the list:

De-Organization of Bob

Prophet

The Days are Numbered

Shuffle

Overexposed

Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry

Samurai Bluegrass

Broomstick Limbo

We're here For You

Cappy

Jacob's Butter

Before We Were Anybody

Homage

Subject: Time

Monday
Jun032013

The De-organization of Bob

Another story excerpt from the upcoming collection. This one, well, it's weird, funny, and dark - wait, I think I might have said that for the others ones as well.

A story situated in an Office-like environment (as in, the TV show - though, this was written before that became popular). Two co-workers decided to make a wager that one of them can make our hero, Bob, the nicest most bestest worker in the whole joint, basically go apeshit.

Did I mention, it was a bit dark?

Look for Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry this summer.

 

            The De-Organization of Bob

 

            As it happened, Dave was just roaming around the office when he spied the open document on Bob's über-organized desktop. Dave's own desktop was littered with icons of past reports, unremembered downloads, aliases for files that didn't exist; in short, it was chaos. A single row of icons ran along the right side of Bob's perfectly centered document. Dave thought of white picket fences bordering groomed yards. Then he thought of his own rat's nest of a yard and reached over to Bob's keyboard. He deftly hit the "apple-a" and "delete". He imagined he heard a whoosh and quickly peered around to see if Bob had returned from coffee. He hit "save" before he sauntered away. He whistled as he walked.

            He was still whistling when he brushed against Bob leaving the coffee room.

            "Dave." Bob nodded.

            Dave whistled a hello. Garth had his feet up on the table. In one hand he held a half eaten cruller, the other held a folded newspaper.

            "Say, Dave, you're a smart guy," Garth gave the paper a snap, " what's a eight letter word for evil?"

            "Sinister."

            Garth took a huge bite out of the donut. "Hey, that fits." He sprayed crumbs as he talked. Dave started to whistle again. "What's with you?"

            "Sshh." Dave held a finger to his lips. He walked over and opened the door a crack. He turned back to Garth and grinned. "Wait for it."

            Garth raised an eyebrow.

            "What? OH NO!"

            Dave chuckled.

            "What'd you do to Bob now?" Garth asked.

            "Not much. He picked a lousy font for such an important report." Dave took a dark chocolate donut out of the box. "The asshole probably had it backed up in four different places anyway. I think the guy organizes his pencil shavings."

            "He's a hard worker."

            "Hard worker my ass. He's got to be the luckiest s.o.b. I've ever met. Always at the right place, right time. Remember the efficiency reports? He came in first because his files were all in perfect hierarchal order. I heard he got a fat bonus. And the power surge last month? Who had everything right up until that morning's work neatly stashed in 100 gig porta-drive?" Dave got up from his chair and walked to the vending machine. He pushed BLACK and then slammed the button for sugar repeatedly. A cardboard cup dropped, followed by a clump of sugar and a thin stream of jet-black coffee.

            "How can you drink that vile stuff?" Garth asked.

            "I'll tell you this much, if Mr. Perfect Putz lost a few files he'd be scrambling."

            "I dunno, Bob's a pretty solid guy."

            "Oh you think so? He didn't seem so solid a few minutes ago. I'd like to see what'd happen if a few more files went missing. Two weeks and he'd be crazy as a shit-house rat."

            "He'd recover. I'd bet on it," said Garth.

            And so the wager was set.

            Dave and Garth often had little side bets going on behind their co-worker's backs. They had polls on who would get fired next; who would file for divorce after getting caught in the utility closet with which secretary; who would go ape-shit and take everyone out with an automatic (thankfully that had yet to happen – though Dave said Bob could be the first).

            For the next few days, whenever Bob went to the bathroom or for coffee, Dave slipped into his cubicle. He'd delete whatever was on the screen, but after Bob started closing and saving everything, Dave had to go for the harddrive. He trashed the ones that looked like reports – he dumped Excel four different times. But Bob always had back-ups. In fact, except for the first day when they'd heard him from the coffee room, Bob said very little about the missing files. One day, out of frustration, Dave swiped all of Bob's pens.

            Dave's cubicle was across from Bob's and he had a little mirror that if angled right gave him a clear view of Bob. Bob returned from the bathroom looking clean and shiny.  Dave watched him sit down and immediately start typing. He didn't even notice the missing pens.

            Later, in the coffee room, Dave told Garth they had to turn up the heat.

            "You're the guy losing the bet. I told you Bob was solid," said Garth.

            "I'm giving him a virus. Something nasty," said Dave.

            "He works on a Mac. They're next to impossible to infect."

            "I know a guy."

 

Monday
May272013

We're Here for You

 

In about a month, give or take, I will be releasing my short story collection, Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry. Leading up to that time, I am going to post some opening excerpts from the stories.

This story was published a few years back (have to look that up), and gives a window into the life of a returns clerk. Reading it again, I can see the George Saunders' influence - which is kind of funny, as I had not read him yet. Damn Saunders was influencing me from the future.

 

We're Here for You

Here I am coming to work just like regular and I'm told that they're moving me down to returns. Just like that. I sit down at my desk, then, I stand up from my desk. They give me some long-winded explanation about why I'd fit in better down there (I only followed some of it).

"Clive, go down there."

That's all I heard, like they were giving a dog a command.

Down there is right. They should have gave me a trident and a cape. I swear that wall is sweating. And weren't three of those fluorescents working when I came this morning?

I get no orientation, no phase-in time, not even a manual or a memo or something. Just plunked behind a desk, behind a window, behind a squarespace on the floor with a big "X", next to a sign that says, "Stand here for Service." Every few minutes a person with a problem appears on the X.

 

Now, I do know that the best thing to do, in these situations, is to listen. I guess that's why they put me down here, I know listening is important. Whether someone has a crisis of faith, a marital dispute, or a dented can of cream corn that's not marked down – wait, does that make sense? It doesn't matter – you have to listen. Isn't that what Job's friends did, for what… seven days? Who's got time for that? And didn't they turn on him like thrice-wrong weathermen? Still, the point is to listen. Like I am listening to this rather large fellow in the checked shirt.

"So, you agree then?"

Oh, I see by his quizzical look that it's time to give a response. "Yes, indeed."

"That you're an idiot?"

"Well, yes, in those terms... quite." There. That should satisfy him. I'm not sure what he's referring to, but that seems an eloquent response for any answer. What he's rambling on about now? His face is turning the colour of those undercooked beets she served me last night. Okay, he seems to be done now.

"Sir, you've left your," I look down at the metal box with the springs spilling out the side, "uh… device. What would you –"

"Shove it!"

I'm getting a lot of that this morning. What's his problem? I told him we'd give him a refund, didn't I? How in the world am I supposed to remember everything when people ramble on at such length? I've got a lot on my mind. I feel a bit trapped down here too, maybe that's why they needed the replacement. How long before I can get a break?

Oh-oh, here's another one. I better pay attention.

"It burnt my tarts."

I nod my head and smile. I am just not getting it.

"Sorry, your what?" I express as much sincerity and empathy as I know possible. But, still, there she goes. She's a roundish woman, carrying a bag that is sure to give her shoulder problems somewhere down the line. She's saying something about how it was supposed to toast things and make a ding and how she bought some frozen raspberry tarts and the dinger didn't ding and, holy crap, am I supposed to listen to all of this?

Don't these people know what I have on my plate these days? 

 

Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry - out this summer on Amazon.

Friday
May242013

Surprise promo - Correction Line

Well, the way it worked - 

I was unaware that Correction Line was still in the KDP program (kindle direct publishing) - checking around on my amazon site, I noticed that it was still in it, for two more days. I had not expected to put the novel up for free again, but figured the last two days of the program, what the heck.

Not really a mistake on my part (though, I thought I had not renewed) - but you, faithful reader, win.

Pick it up for free, today and tomorrow.

Correction Line

And if you do, I'd love to know what you think. Better yet, post a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

Happy weekend reading.

(Oh, and stay tuned next week for another excerpt from my upcoming s.s. collection, Ethical Aspects of Animal Husbandry).