Tales for Well-Dressed Cynics and Optimistic Ragamuffins

Acid trips, terrorists, and one hundred birthday candles. Icy baths, burning bodies, and everything in between. This thought provoking debut short story collection from Cathleen Davies pulls no punches. Expertly skewering readers' expectations on failing relationships, cabin fever, police violence, feminism, loss, and loyalty; each unique character tells a tale of the dissatisfied, the angst-laden, and the justifiably outraged. Elder members of the LGBTQ+ community lament simpler times. Young women in foster care construct a death-pact because #promises. A cult dismembers their followers to prove more than loyalty. In a place where horror straddles humor, Cheeky, Bloody Articles dares to answer questions like: What if you lived to be 100 years old but absolutely hated your family? What were the lyrics to that awful Eminem song? And: Exactly how long does it take for a rat to decompose? The poignant yet provocative collection is terrible, wonderful, but most of all insightful. Every story of this anxiety-ridden tongue-in-cheek romp makes you question how many stitches you would have needed if your mother had actually taken you to the hospital. They will make you wonder what would have happened if you hadn't been stood up on that first date. There's a chance you may even find yourself wishing you could redact your ex's name from the diary of your life.

Death is hard. It's as inevitable as manipulation and misogyny; as inevitable as love, conflict, insanity, sleep-deprivation, and broken hearts. It's coming. It's here. On the 28th April 2018, a young poet called Dan "DC" Collins was found dead in the woodlands by his home in Birmingham. He'd taken his own life. This was done, at least in part, because I had made the incredibly selfish decision to stop being his girlfriend. This decision would go on to affect the rest of my adult life. I decided to escape from this reality by moving away to Basque Country, hoping to Eat, Pray, Love my way out of the survivor's guilt and PTSD. This did not work. Instead, I had a nervous breakdown. Away from all the people who loved me, un-medicated, and isolated in a country where I didn't speak the language, I managed to incredibly successfully push myself over the edge. It was a bad decision. I did however, manage to keep a diary of this inevitable mental decline. That diary is And Marvel. I wanted to show this reality from the perspective of a flawed, grieving person. I wanted, most importantly, to keep DC alive in the only way I could. This book contains candid discussions of suicide and the ways the world holds women responsible for the actions of their partners.

A great, sad boy once sang: "I'm so happy 'cause today I found my friends. They're in my head." I related to this great, sad boy, so I looked for friends in my head too.I found them pretty easily, pinched their feet between my fingers, pulled them out my ear, and tipped them over like salt-shakers. Stories fell onto my writing desk and built into a mountain. They ranged from strange, to sad, to stupid. They became my Cheeky, Bloody Articles.Two years later, I rifled through the B-Sides, gathering up stories that hadn't made the cut the first time 'round because they needed a trim and tidy. I looked them in the eye and said, "I know you're not the greatest, but it's your time to shine." Then I looked at my far smaller mountain of newly written stories, so youthful and naive in their school uniforms, so much left to learn. I put them on the page with all the B-Sides, and I thought: "Okay, you know, this might be something." That something is So Clever You're Thick.In my newest collection of short stories, you will follow clichés down a rabbit hole: depressed clowns, virgin cheerleaders, masturbating teenage boys, and manic pixie dream girls. Hear them speak and watch them swallow. They have so much they're dying to show you."There exists a rare breed of storyteller who seamlessly intertwines the macabre with the comedic and crafts stories that both chill the spine and tickle the funny bone." - World's Best Magazine

A great, sad boy once sang: "I'm so happy 'cause today I found my friends. They're in my head." I related to this great, sad boy, so I looked for friends in my head too. I found them pretty easily, pinched their feet between my fingers, pulled them out my ear, and tipped them over like salt-shakers. Stories fell onto my writing desk and built into a mountain. They ranged from strange, to sad, to stupid. They became my Cheeky, Bloody Articles. Two years later, I rifled through the B-Sides, gathering up stories that hadn't made the cut the first time 'round because they needed a trim and tidy. I looked them in the eye and said, "I know you're not the greatest, but it's your time to shine." Then I looked at my far smaller mountain of newly written stories, so youthful and naive in their school uniforms, so much left to learn. I put them on the page with all the B-Sides, and I thought: "Okay, you know, this might be something." That something is So Clever You're Thick. In my newest collection of short stories, you will follow clichés down a rabbit hole: depressed clowns, virgin cheerleaders, masturbating teenage boys, and manic pixie dream girls. Hear them speak and watch them swallow. They have so much they're dying to show you. "There exists a rare breed of storyteller who seamlessly intertwines the macabre with the comedic and crafts stories that both chill the spine and tickle the funny bone." - World's Best Magazine