The only award I ever won, and didn't even enter, was for a poem called "Mr Whiskers and the Picnic Basket." It was published in one of those prestigious university literary journals. Hayden's Ferry Review, I think. That was in 2002. It is 2017. So yeah, 15 years later. That one poem, "Mr Whiskers and the Picnic Basket," has rather suddenly infiltrated a previous manuscript, and that manuscript has already been infiltrated many times already. So, in other words, there is a lot of mutation happening. Various forms of alchemy.
The infiltration reached full breach last night.
I am now in the middle of the 100th revision of my novel. And Mr. Whiskers, from so long ago, is the main character.
A sample of this minimalist retelling of everyday life and epic journeys has just been released on Soundcloud. But it will probably mutate for another year, at least, for a nice even 8 years of mutations:
https://soundcloud.com/jjmars/mr-whiskersLabels: absurdist fiction, domestic surrealism, epic travel, immigrant stories, innovative fiction, magical realism, marcus slease, Mr Whiskers, never mind the beasts, The Autobiography of Don Whiskers