It seems funny that in a time when self-publishing sites such as Blogger, Tumblr and so on are ubiquitous, that getting published in a 'real' publication would have retained any of its appeal at all. If anything, the idea of it can seem cumbersome, slow and old fashioned, when I can just sit here in my underpants, type this, and be read by potentially anybody on the planet (don't forget that this is just a for-instance!). But on the other hand, it can make the intransigence, the solidity and history of words that are actually physically published more enticing, more special. Plus, of course, there is the feeling that someone else doesn't think your work it totally shit because they've stuck their neck out and put it in their magazine.

From the way I'm talking you might think I'd just been printed in The Paris Review. In actuality, it is much less grand, but still exiting. I've had a short story called Pig Boy Poetry published in a student magazine called
Less Common More Sense. Basically, it's the uni mag for the six University of the Arts London colleges. It was published on 5th August (as you know, I've been camping for a week and a half!) and is available to be used as napkins or kindling from any UAL canteen. Man, I've hit it big.

My own sarcasm aside, I am actually quite proud of the story and the accompanying illustrations, which span a double page somewhere near the centre (does that make me the centre-fold fold-out??). And a big thanks to the lovely team who accepted it.

If you've got some spare time,
give it a gander. If you have even less time, then you can breeze the illustrations below. The story is a kind of meditation about an Eastern European young man who works on a farm in the South of England, observing the cyclical nature of the crops, the animals and a jogger who runs past every day. He doesn't speak a word of English, so remains always distant. It doesn't seem so wanky when you read it.

(by the way - the camping was lovely.)

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