Welcome to entry 2 in our Champion series. Last week, I wrote about Andrew Robert Colom.
Today, M.P. Fitzgerald presents: Emil Ottoman and his publication Burnt Tongue.
“I don’t know how writing competes with that (violent video games) aside from writing violence better.” —Emil Ottoman on Andrew Robert Colom’s backatcha.
You must read this, but honestly, you need to sit down first. Emil Ottoman writes panic attacks. Here’s proof:
Okay, so my coffee and Adderall didn’t help. Yes, those blood pressure numbers are ambulatory high. Yes, I am okay. No, you can’t hide from this, you are still going to read it. Just put the stimulants away before you do. Tell your loved ones you care about them.
Emil Ottoman’s Substack publication is Burnt Tongue. If you recognize the term it shouldn’t surprise you that he cut his teeth on Formal Minimalism (think: Chuck Palahniuk), a school of writing that uses a limited number of themes, characters, and objects in a scene (often first person POV) to wholly immerse the reader and hit hard. This school of writing is tested powerful— he’s evolved beyond it. I’d call what he’s doing ‘Gonzo Fiction’ if I had to label it, but even that feels like an injustice; what he’s doing is wholly new.
You want a long sentence that uses the confines of the page to impart claustrophobia to the reader that is also, somehow, technically correct? Call up Emil. Check your pulse first. The page is not a coincidental feed for the prose, under Ottoman, the negative white space is as much a tool to be weaponized as the prose gracing it. The man is a line/developmental editor with fifteen years under his belt. Know that when you read his hypnotic transgressions, every line is intentional. Everything you read by him was a choice, you may not like those choices (I very much do) but they are there for a reason, good luck arguing against them. Those choices bring velocity.
Reading Mr. Ottoman feels like riding bitch on a bicycle too small down an eighty-degree incline, every light ignored, every intersection a near death; you are reading but he’s the one driving the thing— you have no control. He pops a wheelie.
Like all great writers Ottoman has done the reading. It’s not a question of what he’s read, but what he hasn’t, and as he’s read the entire federal criminal code, I’m not about to speculate on that question. This makes him a stunning writer, and he edits with a scalpel (hire him). Nothing I have read from him is boring. It’s all unforgettable. That’s your only job as a writer: be memorable.
My Name is My Name (my fave) is haunting grief and anger that paints the California roads in dirty fable. The Everrete Hypothesis is heady sci-fi that’s vulnerable with a tremendous payoff. The King of Killers is a masterclass in action. If you cannot choose, read My Name is My Name, but be prepared to feel like a terrible writer after. All Power Demands Sacrifice is what I read minutes before I tested my blood pressure. It’s a panic attack.
I’ve got the screengrabs.
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M.P. Fitzgerald writes darkly humorous sci-fi for dream criminals
Find him at https://mpfitzgerald.substack.com/welcome, and when you do, let the search team know he’s okay.
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Could not say it better myself.
power demands sacrifice was a jarring read alright... might be interesting to get a blood pressure monitor.
Emil scares me... in the way my old head teacher used, they have all the knowledge I want but to get it I'm going have to expose myself fully - which I fear will feel like being strapped to the top of a dune buggy, naked, in the Paris Dakar rally. Emil has made me a better writer simply by being there whenever I feel brave and birth another screaming bastard into the world in the hope that this one will be real enough for him to play Godfather too. I didn't know writers like Emil existed and now I can't forget... we all must never forget.