Old Big-Ed

If he scoops the Big One on April 29th, Declan Hughes (right) will be forever known in these here parts as Mr Ed. For lo! It has come to pass, and not a moment too soon, that the Venerable Other Declan has been nominated for an Edgar in the Best Novel category, for last year’s Ed Loy tale, THE PRICE OF BLOOD (aka THE DYING BREED). Naturally, being a work-shy slug-a-bed, I haven’t read any of the other novels nominated, but I have read THE PRICE OF BLOOD and it’ll be a fine, fine novel indeed that pips it at the post by a short head (the novel deals in part with the murky world of Irish horse-racing, see).
  Dec was kind enough to ring yours truly yesterday afternoon with the hot-off-the-presses news, to give me the scoop, but unfortunately I was here all day yesterday, and not so concerned with books and stuff. Thankfully, Lilyput is on the mend and coming back to herself again, and thanks to everyone who has been in touch offering their best wishes.
  Elsewhere in the Edgars, Siobhan Dowd’s BOG CHILD has been nominated in the Juvenile section, while Martin McDonagh has been nominated for Best Motion Picture Screenplay, for In Bruges.
  Incidentally, Dec Hughes’ fourth Ed Loy offering, ALL THE DEAD VOICES, will be released in June. Quoth Dec:

Ed Loy is hired by the beautiful Anne Fogarty to find the man who killed her father fifteen years ago: it could be a gangland IRA boss, it could be a property developer with Sinn Fein and government connections, it could be semi-reformed gangster George Halligan. Plunged into a murky world of post-peace process evasions and half-truths where no-one is who he appears to be, Loy eventually finds himself digging his own grave on a deserted farm in the dead of night, his options dwindled to nothing more than the fight for mere survival.

  I’m betting he makes it …

I’m Leaving On A Jet Plane ...

“All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go
I’m standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breaking, it’s early morn
The taxi’s waiting, he’s blowing his horn
Already I’m so lonesome I could die …

Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane
Don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh baby, I hate to go …”

 There’s only one downside to this John and Dec’s Most Excellent Adventure road-trip malarkey, and it’s the ‘already I’m so lonesome I could die’ bit – I’ll badly miss the Princess Lilyput while I’m away jollying it up pretending to be a writer, there’s no two ways about it. But I guess it just has to be done, and hopefully she’ll still be saying “Da-da-da” and looking for lots of hugs when I stagger back into Dublin in the wake of the Bouchercon festivities …
  Anyhoos, I’ll be up-up-and-away to Toronto tomorrow lunchtime, and even though John and I intend to blog the road-trip, I’ve no idea how practical that idea is, or how regular the posts will be. We’ll see how it goes … Bear with me; regular service will be resumed all too soon.
  All that’s left to say is thanks a million to everyone who’s contributed to putting me in the position whereby I can fly off on a road-trip through New England promoting our humble tome THE BIG O. It’s a cliché, I know, but it’s true that the people you meet on the journey are far more important than the destination itself. And if the quality of folk I’ve met over the last 18 months are anything to go by, I’m honestly hoping I never actually make it to that destination. Peace, people.

999: The Mark Of The Feast

Yep, it’s ‘Post # 999’ for Crime Always Pays. I don’t know about you, but that one caught me broadside and shivered me timbers when I realised how much time I’ve been spending on ye olde blogge. If every post is only 200 words long (and most of them are at least that), and bearing in mind that my novels come in around the 75,000-word mark, I’d have had the best part of three novels written for the same amount of time and effort invested over the last 18 months. A scary thought …
  Mind you, I don’t begrudge a second of it. It’s been terrific fun, I’ve met a veritable horde of brilliant people, and CAP has put me in regular touch with some of the best writers of their generation. Nice. And not only that, but Crime Always Pays has taken our humble tome THE BIG O from its lowly status as a co-published novel with the tiny but perfectly formed Hag’s Head Press in Ireland to within two weeks of a hardcover release in the U.S. courtesy of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
  Anyhoos, to celebrate the impendingness of both CAP’s one thousandth post and THE BIG O’s release in the U.S., I’m running a BIG O-style ‘Best Things In Life Are Free … Books’ competition this week. And not only that, I’m tossing in a copy of EIGHTBALL BOOGIE to boot. First, the blurb elves, aka THE BIG O’s back-cover big-ups:

“Declan Burke’s THE BIG O is one of the sharpest, wittiest, and most unusual Irish crime novels of recent years.” – John Connolly, author of THE UNQUIET

“Declan Burke’s THE BIG O has everything you want in a crime novel: machine-gun dialogue, unforgettable characters, and a wicked plot. Think George V. Higgins in Ireland on speed.” – Jason Starr, author of THE FOLLOWER

“No such thing as coincidence! Don’t tell that to the glorious band of cast-offs and misfits that populate the pages of Declan Burke’s uncanny THE BIG O. With a deft touch, Burke pulls together a cross-genre plot that’s part hard-boiled caper, part thriller, part classic noir, and flat out fun. From first page to last, THE BIG O grabs hold and won’t let go.” – Reed Farrel Coleman, author of THE JAMES DEANS

“It’s hard to praise THE BIG O highly enough. Excellent writing, great characters, superb storytelling – all played out at a ferocious tempo. By turns it’s dark, funny, moving, brutal, tender and twisted. A book that makes one hell of an impact. More Declan Burke, please.” – Allan Guthrie, author of SAVAGE NIGHT

“Declan Burke’s crime writing is fast, furious, and funny, but this is more than just genre fiction: Burke is a high satirist in the tradition of Waugh and Kingsley Amis, and his stories pulse with all the contradictions of contemporary Ireland. Burke has a deep respect for and understand of the classic traditions of the hardboiled school but he never forgets that his first duty is to give us a damn good read.” – Adrian McKinty, author of THE BLOOMSDAY DEAD

  So there you have it. To be in with a chance of winning one of three copies of THE BIG O and EIGHTBALL BOOGIE, just answer the following question. Exactly how cute is the Princess Lilyput (right)?

(a) Cute;
(b) Very cute;
(c) Wow, she’s gorgeous;
(d) Hey Dec, that’s a good-looking child – are you sure she’s yours?

  Answers via the comment box, including an email contact address that uses (at) rather than @ to confuse the spam munchkins, before noon on Tuesday, September 16. Et bon chance, mes amis …

For Whom The Bell’s Palsy Tolls

It’s been a busy-busy-busy week for your genial host (right), folks, what with everyday life cranking up a couple of notches, the Electric Picnic gig to prepare for, and Princess Lilyput’s christening to come on Sunday, so apologies for the go-slow on ye olde blogging in the last few days. I’ve also been feeling exhausted, which I put down to the frantic schedule and burning the candle at both ends, but it appears there’s a more sinister reason.
  For lo! I toddled along to the doctor yesterday complaining that my devastating blend of windswept, rugged handsomeness and winsome boyish charm were being undermined a tad by the fact that, during the week, I’d developed a smile akin to that of The Joker. The diagnosis? Bell’s Palsy.
  Now, I don’t know about you, but the word ‘palsy’ gives me the shivering fits. According to the Doc, it’s a relatively common condition caused by the inflammation of a facial nerve, which results in semi-paralysis of the facial muscles. It’s an ‘idiopathic’ condition, meaning that they have no idea why it flares up, and it’s generally a temporary one, providing you diagnose and treat it early enough. So that’s me on a course of steroids for the next week or so, and I’ll probably have to get some physiotherapy on the affected muscles too.
  Bummer, huh? Still, at least it’s not a mini-stroke, which was my first reaction when I caught myself yawning in the mirror. And I’m in good company. Ever wonder where George Clooney’s cute sloppy smile comes from? Yep, it’s Bell’s Palsy. Now all I have to do is get myself properly handsome, steal some talent, become a multi-millionaire and squire half the world’s starlets around the planet, and George and I can hang out on set swapping ‘palsy pals’ gags while the Coen Brothers rush about trying to make THE BIG O as good as George and I deserve.
  It’s only a matter of time, people. You have been warned …

Four Readings And A Christening

It’s a busy time at Chez Grand Viz, folks. Princess Lilyput (right) will be christened this coming Sunday, and has insisted her minions rush about “just, like, doing stuff” between now and then, and loath we are to disobey. We’re looking forward to it, though. I remain unconvinced about the religious / spiritual aspect of the ceremony, but I’m loving the idea of officially introducing the little girl to our extended families, our friends and the community at large. A manly tear may well be shed …
  Before we get to Sunday, however, there’s Saturday’s Electric Picnic gig to be negotiated, during which yours truly will be chairing a panel on Irish crime fiction in the company of Declan Hughes, Julie Parsons and Brian McGilloway. I’ll be doing a follow-up post in the aftermath, so if there’s any questions you ever wanted to ask of any of the trio, now would be a good time to let me know.
  The weekend after that is the crime writing series as part of the Books 2008 festival, where I’ll be participating on two panels in the company of John Connolly, Dec Hughes, Tana French, Gene Kerrigan, Ruth Dudley Edwards, Brian McGilloway, Arlene Hunt, and sundry other ne’er-do-wells from the Irish crime writing scene. It should be a blast, not least because blogger non pareil Peter Rozovsky is travelling to Ireland to take a gander at the Irish crime writer in its native habitat, and may even consent to partake in a ceremonial dry sherry to mark the occasion.
  Once the dust settles on that particular Donnybrook, there’s a two-week run-in to the official publication of THE BIG O in North America, during which I’ll be typing my delicate little fingers down to stumps in a bid to secure as much coverage for our humble tome as is humanly possible. Any and all offers of even a single atom of publicity oxygen will be very gratefully received. Your reward will be in Heaven. Peace, out.

“Annnnnnnnnd … We’re Back.”

Good news and bad news, people. That we’re back, of course, is the bad news. The good news, however, is that there was something of a coup d’etat while the Grand Viz was away on holiday, and Princess Lilyput (pictured above, grovelling minions just out of picture) is now running the show here at Crime Always Pays Towers. There’ll be changes, apparently, and as most of them will be imposed by the necessity for more Lily-time, they’ll be fairly drastic.
  The first is that the new national anthem is Three Gypsies Are We, and if that doesn’t sound familiar it’s because the Princess commissioned it from the Court Composer Elf only last Monday as the royal cortege wound its way through the West Country towards Dartmoor. Sung to a light, Gilbert & Sullivan-ish operetta air, the anthem runneth thusly:

Three gypsies are we /
Off to see the sea /
To seeeeeeee what we can see /
Where shall we go? /
Nobody knows /
Oooonnnnly we three gypsies.

  A modest piece, it’s true, but the Princess seems to like it. There’s no need to stand, by the way; she’s a fairly easygoing tyrant.
  It’s good to be back, people. Even if I have been deposed …

“No, I’M Donald Westlake, And My Wife Is Too.”

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: “The Grand Vizier would have it be known that he is abandoning his beautiful wife and child, Mrs Grand Viz and the Princess Lilyput (right), the heartless bugger. A temporary measure, the separation will nonetheless last the entire weekend, the duration of which the Grand Viz will spend in the Gomorrah-style flesh-pit of Bristol at the Crime Fest with all the other heartless buggers who have abandoned their families for the sake of crime fiction.
  “Once there, of course, all those wonderful writers, bloggers, readers, editors, publishers and publicists the Grand Viz has met through Crime Always Pays will very quickly realise that dropping by the blog to catch up for five minutes on a daily basis is really as much as any sentient human being can stick of him. Still, it can’t be Mills and Boon every day, right?
  “Anyhoo, given that the Grand Viz will be away, the elves will party hearty all weekend, turning CAP Towers into a Bond villain’s lair stocked to the rafters with supermodels with a PhD in titillation. Belly-dancing dwarves, nose-ning, sequins and a large vat of our Patented Elf-Wonking Juice™ are also likely to feature heavily.
  “As a result, the Crime Always Pays blog will only be updated in the very unlikely event that the Grand Viz comes first in the Last Laugh Award by means other than (a) foul or (b) alphabetical. To wit:

The Last Laugh Award nominees:
Declan Burke, THE BIG O (Hag’s Head Press)
Ruth Dudley Edwards, MURDERING AMERICANS (Poisoned Pen Press UK)
Chris Ewan, THE GOOD THIEF’S GUIDE TO AMSTERDAM (Long Barn Books)
Alan Guthrie, HARD MAN (Polygon)
Deanna Raybourn, SILENT IN THE GRAVE (MIRA Books)
Mike Ripley, ANGEL’S SHARE (Alison & Busby)
L. C. Tyler, THE HERRING SELLER’S APPRENTICE (Macmillan New Writing)
Donald Westlake, WHAT’S SO FUNNY? (Quercus)

  “Of course, once it’s announced that Donald Westlake won’t be turning up to collect his gong in person, who’s to say who did what to who and how in the ensuing stampede to the podium to swipe his award? Dignity schmignity, eh?
  “And now, if you don’t mind, I have a small tumbler of Patented Elf-Wonking Juice™ awaiting my tender ministrations. Peace, out.”

What Lilyput Did Next # 306: Erm, She Scarpered

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: “It is with great sadness that we announce this to be the final ‘Princess Lilyput’ post on Crime Always Pays. The Grand Vizier, need it be said, had been growing increasingly agitated over the last number of weeks that Lilyput was hogging all his limelight, and has finally stepped in to proclaim a moratorium on Lilyput pics and vids. The bugger. Anyhoo, as a compromise that might go some way to disguising the fact that he is a heartless cad who’s only in it for the money, the Grand Viz has agreed to Lilyput having her own blog, and to host a link to said interweb malarkey on the top left of CAP. Which leads us to the pics below, the first of which was taken when the Grand Viz broke the bad news to a stunned Lilyput …



“… and the second, one quick-change later, when she realised she was finally free of that dozy old curmudgeon who keeps singing the poxy songs.


Quoth Lily:

“Boopy-doop!”

“So there you have it: Princess Lilyput gets her own blog. It’s called Lilyput’s World. It’s guaranteed Grand Vizier-free. What more could you ask for? Be beautiful, people.”

What Lilyput Did Next # 204: Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright …

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: Herewith, and by popular demand (or least the occasional demand from Granny Viz, Ms Witch and Princess Witch) be the Princess Lilyput’s latest outing, this time playing with the disturbingly psychedelic Tiger-Lily, who may or may not be prompted to join the general revelry by the Grand Viz (just out of picture). Those with a delicate sensibility be warned: all goes swimmingly until the last third or so, when Lilyput appears to be afflicted by what might politely be described as ‘nappy issues’. Roll it there, Collette …

What Lilyput Did Next: The Peachy Pumpkin Dumplin’ Interlude

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: Princess Lilyput made her debut at the renowned beauty spot Glendalough yesterday, with the Grand Vizier among her entourage on pack-mule duties, there to be serenaded (see above) with the latest ditty to be penned by CAP Towers’ resident Composer Elf, ‘Peachy Pumpkin Dumplin’’. Sung to the tune of ‘She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain’, the lyrics runneth thusly:

Peachy Pumpkin Dumplin’
“You’re a peachy pumpkin dumplin’ / Yes you are /
You’re a peachy pumpkin dumplin’ / Yes you are /
You’re a peachy pumpkin dumplin’ / A peachy pumpkin dumplin’ /
You’re a peachy pumpkin’ dumplin’ / Boopy-doop!”
(© Composer Elf, 2008)

The Princess is partial to ye olde ‘boopy-doops’, see …

What Lilyput Did Next # 203

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: Princess Lilyput has become a very popular girl indeed ever since her video debuted on the interweb, making the acquaintance of a veritable zoo of little friends. Here’s Lilyput with her pink-spotted tiger, Tiger-Lily (natch) …



… and Sheepy the Lamb, who appears to be suffering, sadly, from a rare form of Mauve Disease …



… and the Grand Vizier’s favourite, Fiver the Rabbit, with whom Lilyput appears to be well pleased, to put it mildly.



Incidentally, while we’re on the subject of the Grand Vizier, Princess Lilyput and unforgivable soppiness, kudos to the sharp-eyed folk at Repforce Ireland, who sent us a copy of THINGS TO DO NOW THAT YOU’RE … A DAD. Quoth the blurb elves:

Suddenly, after all the waiting – juggling excitement, fear, pride and trepidation – the big word arrives. “Congratulations! You are the proud father of ...” It is possibly the biggest news you’ll ever receive. Most of us drop our chins to our chests and think, “What do I do now?” Some reach for cigars, others make calls on mobile phones, others faint ... throw up ... cry...! run away ... There are as many reactions to this incredible news as there are new dads who receive it. But we all have one thing in common: from that very instant onwards and for the rest of our lives, we are Dads; and any guy who has been a kid, can be a great dad!

A nice spot, folks, and the Grand Viz appreciates the gesture. Oh, and if there’s any diaper manufacturers out there hoping for free plugs on Ireland’s third-most relevant crime fiction interweb page, please don’t be shy about getting in touch ...

Princess Lilyput: The All-Singing, All-Dancing Debut Video

In which Princess Lilyput does damn all, to be perfectly frank, apart from gurgle, pootle, break a couple of windy smiles and generally come the li’l diva in the wake of a tiny but perfectly formed and surprisingly ladylike barf (David Attenborough-style commentary by Mrs Vizier). She may (or may not) also be trying to telepathically communicate with Granny and Grandad Vizier, to let them know the red carpet will be required when she arrives in Sligo for the very first time on Friday. Oh, and Granny Viz? That picture you were looking for can be found by clicking here. Roll it there, Collette ...

You Snooze, You Win

A Minister for Propaganda Elf writes: Gerard Brennan will very probably claim that the pic above has been photo-shopped, but the elves are reliably informed that this is a rare and genuine shot of the Grand Vizier and Princess Lilyput taking a siesta together amidst the plush cushions of the Japanese Gardens, which are overlooked by the western wing of CAP Towers and thus susceptible to a sneaky member of the paparazzi (aka Mrs Grand Vizier) taking a crafty snap. Rest assured that the Grand Vizier’s caffeine-fuelled, 24/7 perusal of the Irish crime fiction ‘scene’, and Lilyput’s feed-parp-read-sleep routine, will resume shortly …

My First Book

In which Princess Lilyput, having read THE BIG O in one sitting, and deciding it was sadly lacking in substance and utterly derivative in style, moves on to something a little more demanding: high-contrast pictures of cows, sheep and ducks. Still, just so long as she’s reading, eh?