Cinderella Sims is an early pseudonymous work of mine, published a few years ago by Subterranean Press. Ed Gorman wrote an introductin, which appears at the end of this Kindle edition, and I wrote an Afterword, which is also in this edition, and from which I'll quote:
Look, this wasn’t my idea.
Three or four years ago, Bill Schafer suggested that I might give some consideration to republishing a book of mine called $20 Lust, which had originally appeared as “by Andrew Shaw.” I recalled the book he meant, but dimly; I had, after all, written it in 1960. But I didn’t need to remember it all that vividly to know the answer to his suggestion.
No, I told him.
A little later I suggested he might want to publish a fancy edition of Mona, the first book under my own name; it had come out as a paperback original in 1961, and we could celebrate its fortieth anniversary with a nice limited edition hardcover.
Bill was lukewarm to the notion, but had an alternative proposal; how about issuing a double volume, containing Mona and $20 Lust? Once again, I didn’t have to do a lot of soul-searching to come up with a response.
No, I told him.
Time passed. Then Ed Gorman, the Sage of Cedar Rapids, used an ancient private eye novelette of mine in a pulp anthology. When it came out he sent me a copy, and, while I didn’t read my novelette—I figured it was enough that I wrote the damned thing—I did read his introduction, which I found to be thoughtful and incisive and generous. I e-mailed him and told him so, and he e-mailed me back and thanked me, adding that my early work was probably better than I thought.
“And,” he added, “I really think you ought to consider letting Bill Schafer publish $20 Lust.”
I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched. Where the hell did that come from?
So I got in touch with Bill. “I suppose I could at least read it,” I said, “except I can’t, because I don’t have a copy.” He did, or maybe he got one from Ed; in either case, a battered copy arrived in the mail. I looked at the first two pages, and I looked at the last two or three pages, and I heaved a sigh. Heaved it clear across the room, and would have heaved the book, too, but instead I hollered for my wife.
“Bill Schafer wants to reprint this,” I said.
“Great,” she said.
“Not necessarily,” I said, and explained the circumstances. “I’d like you to read this,” I said, “or as much of it as you can without gagging, and then tell me it’s utter crap and I’d surely destroy what little reputation I have if I consent to its republication.”
“Suppose I like it?”
“Not to worry,” I said. “I’ll sign the commitment papers, and I’ll make sure they take real good care of you.”
She found herself a comfortable chair and got to work. . . .
There's more, but you get the idea. It's a crime novel with a counterfeiting background, and it's my pleasure to make it available once again. Enjoy!
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Look, this wasn’t my idea.
Three or four years ago, Bill Schafer suggested that I might give some consideration to republishing a book of mine called $20 Lust, which had originally appeared as “by Andrew Shaw.” I recalled the book he meant, but dimly; I had, after all, written it in 1960. But I didn’t need to remember it all that vividly to know the answer to his suggestion.
No, I told him.
A little later I suggested he might want to publish a fancy edition of Mona, the first book under my own name; it had come out as a paperback original in 1961, and we could celebrate its fortieth anniversary with a nice limited edition hardcover.
Bill was lukewarm to the notion, but had an alternative proposal; how about issuing a double volume, containing Mona and $20 Lust? Once again, I didn’t have to do a lot of soul-searching to come up with a response.
No, I told him.
Time passed. Then Ed Gorman, the Sage of Cedar Rapids, used an ancient private eye novelette of mine in a pulp anthology. When it came out he sent me a copy, and, while I didn’t read my novelette—I figured it was enough that I wrote the damned thing—I did read his introduction, which I found to be thoughtful and incisive and generous. I e-mailed him and told him so, and he e-mailed me back and thanked me, adding that my early work was probably better than I thought.
“And,” he added, “I really think you ought to consider letting Bill Schafer publish $20 Lust.”
I felt as though I’d been sucker-punched. Where the hell did that come from?
So I got in touch with Bill. “I suppose I could at least read it,” I said, “except I can’t, because I don’t have a copy.” He did, or maybe he got one from Ed; in either case, a battered copy arrived in the mail. I looked at the first two pages, and I looked at the last two or three pages, and I heaved a sigh. Heaved it clear across the room, and would have heaved the book, too, but instead I hollered for my wife.
“Bill Schafer wants to reprint this,” I said.
“Great,” she said.
“Not necessarily,” I said, and explained the circumstances. “I’d like you to read this,” I said, “or as much of it as you can without gagging, and then tell me it’s utter crap and I’d surely destroy what little reputation I have if I consent to its republication.”
“Suppose I like it?”
“Not to worry,” I said. “I’ll sign the commitment papers, and I’ll make sure they take real good care of you.”
She found herself a comfortable chair and got to work. . . .
There's more, but you get the idea. It's a crime novel with a counterfeiting background, and it's my pleasure to make it available once again. Enjoy!
