Author Archives: Peter Darbyshire

Even better than the real thing

So apparently you’re going to be able to buy Dundler Mifflin paper. Although Fight Club beat them to it.

I need a good sin

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The wages of sin are not keeping up with inflation.

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I'll have a grande new life, please

Gridlock in the Starbucks parking lot today. Cars at the entrance squared off against cars in the drive-through exit. The drivers waving at each other to go first, then screaming in the confines of their vehicles when no one moves. A barista trapped behind a window decorated with fantasies of holiday drinks, dreaming of murder.

Going to the store to pick up some pepper spray

Chaos and anarchy strike the mall on Black Friday.I wrote a book like this once.

Detail, Paris cemetery

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The revolution will be filtered

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I've got a little book out in time for Christmas

A little while back, I wrote some writing lessons for the National Post. Now I’ve teamed up with Upstart Press to expand them and release them as a chapbook. It’s the perfect stocking stuffer for the sociopath writer in your life, and may or may not contain such valuable tips as:

If your father comes after your family with a gun, then make damn sure you write about it before he does.

Writing fiction is about getting even with your ex-lovers.

Write what you know, unless what you know happens to be criminal in nature. It turns out police officers sometimes read literary fiction. Who knew?

Don’t quit your day job. Your co-workers and family may be the only people to buy your book.

Don’t assault your editor until your book has actually been published.

You can buy it online from Upstart Press or selected bookstores. I’m not sure which ones, because Upstart is selecting them.

Oh, did I mention it’s only $7? That’s less than you’re going to spend on postage for Christmas cards this year.

We are our demands

The New Yorker looks at the origins of Occupy Wall Street.

I love Punishing Ugly Children

You know that moment when a building collapses, and all the glass explodes outward, falling in countless ways and directions, each shard reflecting a different moment of the world — the bystanders looking to see what’s happened, the people trying to get away, the disappeared running into the collapse, the others carrying on with their lives and not noticing what’s happening, or maybe just pretending it isn’t happening — for just a second before all that glass is lost in the debris cloud and shatters without anyone noticing? This book is that moment.

The e in love is silent