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Bewildering Stories

Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

Bewildering Stories biography

to Bewildering Stories bibliography

Ahh, who am I? Well, if you must know, you will have to meet me. For those who can’t:

My name is Ásgrímur Hartmannsson. But you can call me Ásgrímur. Or Ásgrímur Hartmannsson. Whatever. I am not spelling it out phonetically, but I can say it is almost completely unpronounceable to the common English-speaker.

I seem to have been born in the year 19—. I don’t know whether it was a good year, as I was too young at the time to remember it. But it was before they legalized beer.

Then I slowly grew up. Went to school, read stuff... I actually read large portions of a certain medical dictionary for fun. At least now I know what a “holoacardius amorphus” is.

Asgrimur in car
I guess I look OK. People don’t run away screaming upon beholding my visage, at least. I am medium height, towering over Japanese and most Chinamen, but towered over by NBA players. Slightly underweight, but not much. Am trying to work at it, but overeating is bloody painful. My appearance varies greatly, mostly because sometimes I don’t shave for weeks, sometimes my hair grows too long, and sometimes I get a haircut and a shave, rendering me unrecognizable to people for days to come. The Internet holds no pictures of me, don’t bother to look.

I love getting drunk for free, or at least as little money as possible. Drinking, however, inhibits my ability to type, and thus, I rarely write drunk. My drinking habits, mentioned earlier, also mean I do not get drunk too often. But who cares. My muse has a name, and that name is Insomnia. She rides a horse called Boredom.

But one needs sleep, if one does not want to decent into delirium, or worse, an open manhole. And I have found that the best breakfast one can have is hamburger. Or steak. M-mm-mmm! It makes my day! Try it! The best way to begin a day.

I currently reside in a large, stately house on Heimaey, a small volcanic island just south of the Arctic circle.

I have been writing short and long tales for my own amusement for some years now. Mostly in my own language, centering on ridiculous situations. Like a hit man being called to get rid of a rat... stuff like that.

Then, when it dawned on my, that I might get an international audience, I thought I might write something in English. When I read the first stories I wrote, I can see that my grammar has improved somewhat. The plots have gone from being violence and chase-oriented into being chase and violence-oriented. A little bit like reading anatomy and new-car buyers guides simultaneously. I am trying to fit these things together to form one. I am also trying to fit in plot and meaning, but those things tend to steal from the carnage and destruction, making the resulting work strange. Imagine reading the new car buyers guide and anatomy simultaneously, the whole thing having plot too.

This nonsense will have to do, for now.

P.S.: If you happen to meet me, please feel free to buy me a drink. : )

Copyright © 2003 by Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

Bewildering Stories bibliography

BwS bibliography
issue title genre
615
722
73
572
743
65
93
632
413
86
66
78
740
106
580
727
756
Contest 1
381
241
505
480
515
126
57
75
329
169
641
103
91
583
718
Contest 2
586
656
108
89
85
485
63
72
111
205
555
370
A Walk Around Town
A Wanton Display of Skill
All Together Now!
Assassination, Ltd.
Attack on an Evil God
Brian Pilkington Solves a Crime
Catnips
Dog Life
Error
Fly Away
For the Birds
Good Choice
Green Meadows
It Can Play Dead, Too!
Jonas and the Hospitable Vampyre
Lars versus Space Aliens
Less Than the Eye Can See
Little Pig, Little Pig
Lost Patrol
Meat Puppets
Mighty Cleofgharran Rules the Night
My Co-Worker Edwin
No Check-Out
Pet Elephant
Piece of Cake
Reality TV Bites 
Robot Emissary
Rust in Peace
Scheduled for Demolition
Si vis pacem...
The Big Insomnia
The Fireman
The Incredible Machine
The Infinite Disaster
The Man Who Couldn’t Fly
The Man Who Sold Sugar Cubes
The Messenger
The Missing Person
The Neighbour
The Objectors of Thunderpunch
The Perfect Creation
Three Midnights in the Peaceful Garden
Weekender
When Grandmother Was Young
Working People
Zombieworld
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Also: Commentary on an Archived Poet (essay)

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