June 7th, 2006

Rhys Hughes / Daniel Pearlman



All For Nothing (Nemo 1)
Climbing the Tallest Tree in the World (Nemo 2)
The Small Miracle (Nemo 3)

Some people mistakenly believe I am rather arrogant. I'm not. I'm
just one of the finest living writers. When you are a genius,
arrogance and honesty look like the same thing, in the same way that
a tangerine looks like an orange when it is held too close. That's
unfortunate. And fruity.

Tangerines originally came from Tangiers. I went to Tangiers once and
found it a bewildering place but interesting in parts. I stayed in a
hotel in the medina not far from where William Burroughs lived. I
have eaten different types of fruit in many different locations but I
didn't eat a tangerine in Tangiers!

Returning to the subject of my arrogance, I am currently finishing a
big novel called THE CLOWN OF THE NEW ETERNITIES. I have been working
on it for about 10 years. When it is finished it will be the greatest
novel ever written in Wales. Certainly it will be the one with the
cleverest ideas.

Being published in Nemonymous gave me the chance to annoy certain
people who are in the habit of punishing me for my `arrogance' by
pretending my fiction doesn't exist. Thanks to Nemonymous I had the
satisfaction of watching them praise my work and later gnash their
teeth in rage when they found out who the author was.



With Arms Outstretched (Nemo 1)

Des, First off, you deserve resounding applause for your selfless and
energetic promotion of the craft of short fiction rather than of any
one writer or group thereof.

As to my own contribution to Nemo 1, before its acceptance in 2001 it
had been rejected at least twenty times since I wrote it in 1992--a
rejection record not at all unusual for my stories, which are
generally oblivious to genre boundaries and aim at no particular
audience. The result is that, since my writing career took off in
the late 80s, I have gained no particular readership. The anonymity
of Nemo was therefore a perfect setting for my work, and I would
have submitted more except that I rarely write anything under 8k.
(About half my quirky stories and novels have been published in low-
paying, only nominally prestigious "literary" venues, the rest in
genre zines and, especially, some fine anthologies like Semiotext(e)
SF and Zebrowski's Synergy.)

My biggest actual story sale ($950) was of a novella to Imaginings
(2003), a Pocket Books anthology which seems to have died aborning.

Currently, my new agent is trying to sell my magnum opus, a long
novel called "Weeds in Franco's Garden" which has some magic-realist
elements. I continue to write not-so-short stories and hope soon to
complete a short novel about a defrosted 21st-century sleazebag
blundering his way to power in an over-feminized 26th century.