Facebook of the Dead

A helpful reminder came up on my Facebook page the other day, but I ignored it. The nofication politely informed me that it was the birthday of an old acquaintance. These reminders are generally good and do nudge me into action when my failing memory has, well, failed me. This one, however, jolted my memory,... Continue Reading →

Friday Again

Running... Subject A woke up in the middle of darkness and felt for the glass of water at the side of his bed. He found it just as his fingers decided to add some urgency to their search. The resulting action was a slow, slow-motion tipping of the glass and its contents off the bedside... Continue Reading →

Transmigration of Souls

This is a short extract from The Piper 3. I am just putting it out there as it has spent too much time in darkness. Although she barely knew him, Laura felt that Mr. Dale was a man to be trusted. He had a quality that encouraged others to reach out towards him, a quality... Continue Reading →

Braver Again…

I was looking through the news this morning and found yet another story about a famous person who has suffered from mental issues. The guy was a sportsman, a top-class goalkeeper, who nose-dived into that pit of despair and anxiety that seems to be affecting more and more of the 'normal' population. Because of his... Continue Reading →

Just An Airing

From The Piper Book 3. I just wanted to let this one out of the bag. It will be edited for publication. I like it, if you do as well please like. In the afternoon heat, the young hunter waited in the shade of a rock face. The horses were tied up to a tree... Continue Reading →

The Tatooist of Auschwitz

A Novel I have only just finished reading this and have gained something from its tale. There was a moment towards the end of the story that I started to feel the tears begin to well-up beneath my glasses. The spectacles are not rose-tinted, but are tainted by the passing years. This meant that I... Continue Reading →

Waking Up To Satanic Verses.

It's an odd thing to pop into ones head as the last of sleep drains away, but this morning I woke with a strange idea, religion. As with all strange ideas born from slumber, this one threatened to wash away before my true wakefulness had returned and so I tried to capture some of it... Continue Reading →

Why I Write. George Orwell

It communicates. From a very early age, perhaps the age of five or six, I knew that when I grew up I should be a writer. Between the ages of about seventeen and twenty-four I tried to abandon this idea, but I did so with the consciousness that I was outraging my true nature and... Continue Reading →

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