Whose pen am I holding?

[Astro Pen]

Further to my post on the exercise of getting into the heads of other writers I thought it might be fun for us to try composing a short passage or two and try to guess who's writing desk we are sitting at.
First correct guess gets write the next piece.
I'll kick off below:

 

[Astro Pen]

Salton shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun.
Looking up the beach he could see Walters setting up a tripod in the shade of the rusted landing craft.
The woman was with him again, staring out toward the peninsula.
Above the coast road he could see the smoke of a cooking fire rising from remains of the red cross field hospital where the pair had made a temporary shelter. She turned, walking back up the beach in silence, Walters glancing up momentarily then returning his attention to his equipment.
Later she would lumber down the beach again, carrying a battery, freshly charged by the petrol generator, to power his Morse signal lamp. A nightly exercise in futility.
Salton raised his binoculars sweeping along the shoreline of the distant town looking for survivors, momentarily drawn into Walters' delusion.
Carrion crows circled the town and harbour where the seagulls used to scavenge from the bins and now derelict fishing boats. The white streaks of guano on the cliffs showing that the gulls had returned to their Oligocene roots.
Once a small white plane had circled the bay, it's engine misfiring occasionally on stale fuel. Walters had rushed down to the shore, frantically waving a piece of orange rag. It never returned.

 

[JunkMonkey]

Sound like one of J G Ballard's post apoc weirdnesses.

 

[Astro Pen]

Spot on JunkMonkey.
You may take the wheel.....

 

[JunkMonkey]

"You know," said the door. "If you stopped trying to force my latch with that credit card and just paid me with it you'd be out of the apt already."
"I doubt that," said Tavener. "Didn't you tell me last night it was overdrawn."
"So I did!" said the door, remembering. "I only let you in because you said you had cash in your spare pants pocket. What happened to that? Why don't you pay me with that?"
"I had to pay the refrigerator," said Tavener. "I used it all. I would have starved otherwise."
"Not my problem," said the door. "You owe me. You're not leaving this apt till I get paid for last night... AND today."
Tavener gave the door a kick. "I refuse to be blackmailed by my own front door!" he said. "Let me out now! I have to go to work."
The door remained sullenly silent. And firmly closed.
"If I die from starvation in here you'll never get paid. Did you ever think of that!"
"I would actually," said the door with a tone that sounded suspiciously like smugness. "Your funeral plan does cover entry for funeral directors and the removal of your cadaver as a standard benefit."
Tavaner slumped into the chair and eyed the door and noticed the dogflap in the lower half of it. His ex wife had had it put in when she had insisted on buying that stupid artificial dog three years ago. He was still in credit with the dog flap. He hadn't used it since she'd left. He got down on all fours and looked at it.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," said the dog flap.
"Do you think I could squeeze through you?" said Tavener.
"You could try," said the dog flap, opening wide.
"Don't you dare!" said the door. "A clear contravention of the union agreement! You'll be blacklisted."
Tavener caught the dog flap before it could snap shut and wedged it open with his briefcase. Thankful that his ex wife had insisted on buying a hulking brute of a PseudoLabrador and not one of those annoying yapping, rat-sized things that women in his experience usually chose, he eased himself out of his apt into the corridor.
As he walked to the fire stairs - no point in even trying the elevator after last night's embaracement - every door along the way hissed at him, "Scab!, Scab!, Scab!"

 

[Mon0Zer0]

Talking doors demanding credit is definitely in PKD's wheelhouse.

 

[JunkMonkey]

That's what I was going for. Your turn!

 

[Mon0Zer0]

In the heart of a grey city where cyclopean buildings rise to meet star infected skies, there is a casement through which the revelations of a waning, gibbous moon are transformed into dread worlds and vast, indifferent space at the dissolving boundaries of a well read but fearful man who dreams too much and sleeps too little.

Soon enough, the transforming man, too, becomes a window and the mundane courtyard become slab like books teeming with accursed, eldritch entities, indescribable horrors and biologically impossible ghouls. Windows upon windows, reproducing exponentially, portals into unsayable words and unknowable truths.

And back again, the window falls onto our own world, and through it we see vast grey cities with tomb like buildings and impossible geometry, and though familiar, they are uncanny and alien, as though seen through strange and foreign eyes.

 

[Pyan]

Sounds R'lyeh familiar... I'd bet you'd love crafting a story based in this place.

 

[Mon0Zer0]

Bang on! You're up next!

 

[Pyan]

That name was only known in dark legends not spoken aloud, like a nagging memory; but it was an ominous one, and people hurried home at twilight. It seemed that the evil power in the forest that had been driven out by the Council of the Wise was re-appearing in greater strength in its old stronghold. The Black Fortress had been rebuilt, it was said, and from there the power was spreading far and wide. Away west and north there was fear and small vicious wars. Evil beings were multiplying again in the wilderness and venturing abroad, no longer stupid and dull, but cunning and armed with cruel blades. And there were rumours of creatures even more terrible, from ages long past, walking the night.

 

[The Judge]

JRRT?

 

[Pyan]

Aww, you guessed...

 

[The Judge]

A Current Under Sea

Gernau Jorat Alsyn, in her sixth female body, was lounging in the sitting area of her generously proportioned suite of cabins in the Heaven Scent, the fifth vessel she’d been aboard since her journey started back in the ice clouds. She no longer cared she was going to yet another fantastically named planet in pursuance of orders which gave her only the bare minimum of information in furtherance of yet another complicated, yet thoroughly mindless, plot.

Skif-Camska, now in its guise of a floating drinks trolley, hovered closer with a gen-martini, liberally sprinkled with verm cubelets of fluorescent purple. “You do realise that my talents are completely wasted,” it said peevishly. “Seven months of doing nothing but watching you imbibe food and drink of dubious provenance and having to listen to your apparently insatiable appetite for carnal activities with every life-form and not a few unlife-forms aboard every benighted vessel we’ve had the misfortune to be aboard.”

“I’ve been blackmailed, conned, coerced, shanghaied and brainwiped into taking this job,” said Aslyn, sipping the drink and crunching two cubelets with her pro-molars, “so I’m damn well going to enjoy myself while I have the chance.”

“But what I object most strongly to is being in the clutches of a murdering sociopathic psychopath,” continued Skif-Camska as if she hadn’t spoken.

“A killer I might be, SC, and a little disturbed, perhaps, but–"

“I didn’t mean you. Didn’t you even check on the Heaven Scent?”

“It’s a neat little ship, with delicious XXXX porn.”

“And the reconfigured but not readjusted A Nice Day For A Picnic And Then Genocide.”

“Oh...”

 

[Peter V]

If I answer correctly do I then have to set one? @The Judge is writing with the pen of one of my favourite and much missed authors and coincidentally, the one I would have fancied myself best at carrying off.

 

[JunkMonkey]

If I answer correctly do I then have to set one?

I

I thinks that's the idea.

 

[Astro Pen]

If I answer correctly do I then have to set one? @The Judge is writing with the pen of one of my favourite and much missed authors and coincidentally, the one I would have fancied myself best at carrying off.

As @JunkMonkey says that is the game.
However possibly PM The Judge and if correct then do yours as a 'double barrel' for us to guess.

 

[JunkMonkey]

"double barrel"?

 

[The Judge]

Tell us your guess anyway, Peter -- though from the little of what you've said I'm pretty sure you've got it, and I imagine Pyan and JM have also guessed -- and if you're right but you don't feel able to put up another an attempt of your own at this point, just issue a general invitation for someone else to have a go. (I confess I nearly did that as I couldn't think of anyone to try and emulate until the line "A nice day for a picnic" came to me.)

 

[Peter V]

Iain M Banks. The M being significant as it is SF and if I am not mistaken, very cultural