Mr. Bolero is a compilation of urban-bizarre short stories, which has some linkage to the previously published "Cannibal vs Ah Long and Other Bloody Stories" compilation of short stories.
Each story will be accompanied by my own personal illustration depicting the image of the story.
WHY SHOULD YOU SUPPORT THE PROJECT?
So that you get to read excellent but disturbing short stories similar to having a short film in your head.
I am looking at approximately $1700.00 for the publication of 1000 units/books. The costing for each book will be roughly $2.00. This will include the printing and the cover art design.
I am a closet writer, having had the following works published:
a. Silverfish New Writing 2. A short story: "Pieces";
b. Silverfish: 24 Malaysian short stories: "Pieces";
c. Storm Publishing: "Cannibal vs Ah Long and other Bloody Stories";
d. Esquire Malaysia January 2012 short story: "Respect".
I am influenced by a multitude of genres, ranging from horror to espionage to drama. When you read my stuff, you'll know you've read my stuff. If you know what I mean.
But apart from that, this is a great way for you to:
a. Support a homegrown, local writer and help him attain international recognition and possible world domination (in the literary world lah)!
b. Enjoy a delicious chill in the middle of the afternoon with this collection of creepy stories!
c. Have a direct link with the writer (me!) if you have any issues or questions with any of the stories! You can even show off to your pals that you're chummy with a celebrated writer!; and
d. Be part of literary history by contributing towards the creation of a book!
You can also follow my writings at here
UPDATE # 1 Aug 31, 2012
I am super thrilled to have met the desired sum needed to publish the book because now I know its going to be delivered to the whole world! So a million thanks riding on a million smiles to you beautiful people who has pledged, so far!
I'm waist deep in completing the remaining stories in this collection. Its hard work, squeezing out ideas, but hey its my labour of love and I love it! For those who pledged; your personalised copies will be crafted and spirited over to your doorstep as per the estimated deadlines. For those who have yet to pledge - do so and get yourself an advance copy of the book because you know you need something to read in between those moments of your life; something creepy, something different, something you may want to avert your eyes away from but you can't help but look again.
Below are some excerpts from Mr. Bolero just for you lovely pitchers. Until my next update, keep checking me out!
EXCERPTS - Mr. Bolero and Other Machete-Related Stories
Number One - Mr.Bolero
"Miss Beverly Kum appeared shortly after wearing a short housedress, and smelling of scented orange. Mr. Bolero stood up, and reached into his right pocket. Miss Beverly Kum reached behind her and grabbed the handle of the machete.
"Hello soul mate," Miss Beverly Kum whispered in Mr. Bolero's ear. The balisong was expertly swished open and placed razor side along the nape of her neck and the machete was pointed up straight beneath his throat. Both of them giggled.
"I stole your Mickey Mouse," Mr. Bolero said.
"I just had your car stolen," Miss Beverly Kum said.
"Nice," he said.
Number Two - Paula
Blood scares people; pain kicks in shortly after; that's a fact. When he poked his head through the door, I reached out and clipped off his left ear, it fell to the floor with a 'plop'. It took him the whole of three seconds to realize what he'd lost. He grabbed the bloody stump where his ear was, felt the open softness of where his ear used to be and brought up something liquid to his nose to sniff, confirmed by the dim light of the landing what it was he was looking at was blood. That three seconds was sufficient for me shift from one side of the door to the other, where I kicked the door sharply against the side of his face. The axe fell from his hand with a loud thump. Paula turned in her sleep. I picked up the axe, raised my leg, placed my foot against his mid-section and kicked him back against his other two accomplices, at the same time pulling the door shut behind me. Paula did not need to see the subsequent carnage.
Number Three - Yes
"That's what I call a good start." He reached behind him and pulled out a foot long machete. "I can't decide if I want to slit your throat or hack your head off. Which would you prefer?" he asked. His hair was still in place, complementing his neat blue polo shirt and pressed pair of tanned chinos. I kept quiet. I was too stunned to think of anything except the incredible possibility of immediate death.
"I'll go with the hacking. It's more visually stirring," he said finally. He raised his arm and stretched it all the way behind him to get the most out of the loaded swing. And then the machete came down but at an odd angle with his hand still attached to it; it dropped to the floor with a wet thud. Both of us stared at the stump, three inches below his right shoulder. Mokhtar the overweight Malay man emerged from behind Anton wielding an even bigger machete. He looked calm and slightly pissed off. Anton turned around to face him.
Number Four - My Life in a Book
The words on the blue and shiny book read: "This Is You: Your Life". Intrigued, I picked it up and thumbed to page one where it read: "This is you, you're intrigued by this book and so you've picked it up to turn to page one. You've just spent three hours lounging in this bookshop hoping to find a compelling book worthy of your precious thirty bucks. You're wearing a white cotton shirt with pale green army fatigues. You think you look cool. Right now you're wondering who the hell wrote this and would about now ... turn over the book to check out the author." Which was true, I did turn the book over to see who wrote the book. There was no name. I flipped back to page one. "You're confused now. No author. No names." I was actually wearing a white cotton shirt with pale green army fatigues, and I did spend three hours lounging in the bookshop. And yes, I did think I looked cool. A little disturbed, I placed the book back on the shelve and took it back almost immediately. Instead of going for page one, I ran ahead and reached page ninety-nine. "You've just skipped ninety-eight pages of your life. I suggest you return to page one and start again. Then the remainder of this page will mean something to you, seriously." I did as the book suggested and started again at the middle of page one. "Good," it read, "you want to know the sequence of your life. Now stay with me, will you?"