Eel Pie Island Eel Pie Co.

First, a bit from draft 2:

James F.X. “Nuts” Adams sat on the pier waiting for the eel trawler to come in from the river. He drummed his fingers on the weather-worn wood. It hadn’t been varnished in a while. The splinter under his fingernail could attest to that. He’d just have to go ahead and add ‘re-varnish the pier’ to the chore list back at the eelhouse.

The eelhouse sat up on the hill behind him. EEL PIE ISLAND EEL PIE Co., read the old company sign. (Great granddad must have really strained himself, coming up with that name.) Like the pier, the sign was in dire need of re-varnishing. The whole building was. For that matter, so was everything else in London that had survived the Blitz. It wasn’t quite like that over on the Continent. Mom and dad liked to blame the weather for this, though what a bunch of clouds could have to do with it was beyond Nuts. He preferred to chalk it up to some sort of original sin unique to the English.

It smelled like woodsmoke and eels, inside the eelhouse. Frozen eel, dried eel, eel guts that could probably have been taken out back a little while ago. Empty fish tanks, about half of them shattered, adorned the walls. Eel pies baked in the wood-fired ovens. Nuts, Kate, and Blake sat by a hearth. They were wrapped in blankets and had their hands out to the glowing coals. Kate was still wringing out her hair and drinking brandy. Blake was coughing up river water and Nuts was shivering. Every so often, Kate would add a sentence or two to her story.

The front room of the eelhouse wasn’t a dining room, not quite. It had tables and chairs, yeah, but also a cash register and some supplies hidden poorly under sackcloth. The Co. wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction, but they got visitors from time to time, and it was nice to have a little place for them to sit. A small rack of pamphlets graced the wall by the door and a corkboard with assorted pictures hung from another.

Nuts and Cornelius and Kate sat at one of the tables. They had a little radio plugged in on the next table over. There was an eel pie, one of the big ones, steaming at the table with the radio, and Nuts and Cornelius had slices on plates in front of them. Kate said she wasn’t hungry.

Second, a friend of mine did some drawings!

Here they are, with and without some Instagram filters.

Greetings, Juicers!

Major^4 here. TaMara informs me that I’ll be mentioned in today’s Authors In Our Midst post. How exciting!

First, I’d like to say that I was insanely busy for the months of February and March with various real-world distractions, so I apologize for not being present on the previous threads. And of course you should all check out the wonderful Becoming Phoebe by one of our own (Kirkus review here).

Anywho, I’ve got a few stories floating around on this blog, but the one that ended up taking off in my head is the one that TaMara (hopefully) linked to, the one where the fish disappear, which you can find here. If you’re already there, hi! This is the rough/first draft of a novel-length story I’m working on. Suggestions most definitely welcome. Since it’s rough, I’ve taken a throw-it-at-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks approach in some of the chapters, so apologies in advance if some of it is crap. Enjoy!

(I’ll be out and about for a bit, so I’m posting this now.)


Samwise Gamgee is not amused

And uh, here’s a picture of my cat having had enough of my shit.




The Fish Meta: Gavriel Vartanian

So Gavriel was always supposed to be a throwaway character but I ended up falling in love with writing him. I’m trying to keep him not too much in the spotlight–more like Hubertus Bigend in the Gibson novels, if you’ve read those.

Anyway, I got a great discount on a commission for a line-drawing of a character (via and decided to go with Gavriel. Here he is:

Gavriel (1)

I love it.

Greetings and Salutations

I’ve decided to start blogging again. My therapist recommended it, to be honest. I find writing to be therapeutic, even if nobody reads it. I’d be nice if you did, though.

I can’t use my real name or anything approaching it since it’s fairly unique, so I went with “I’m just this guy, you know?” for now. That is (as we all know) a reference to Douglas Adams. The media was interviewing the psychologist of the President of the Galaxy and all he really had to say was “well, he’s just this guy, you know?” Wonderful author, that Adams. Don’t smoke, kids. It killed him.

I figure I’ll try to do some trenchant political analysis, scientific musings, and a little bit of fiction. I’ve got two short story ideas kicking around, a Master’s of Science, and a hell of a lot of opinions, so I anticipate that the blog will be well-fed. I may do personal mental health updates as well, if for no reason other than to have a personal chronicle of said.

Hope anybody that might be reading this sticks around!


I am and shall always remain your most faithful and obedient servant,