A failure to Beware!


A year ago I discovered an oddly entertaining fact. I was born on the day Howard Philip Lovecraft died. Why I found this oddly entertaining is a long story, but in essence, I’ve joked for a long time that I was born the day Julius Caser was assassinated, but my birth and his murder were unrelated. Which of course, is evident due to there being almost two thousand years between these events, but why let the obvious flaw in the logic get in the way of a good anecdote?

This day, or to be more correct date, is the Ides of March, or the 15th. Which is also not entirely correct as the term Ides refers to the first full moon of a given month and actually falls between the 13th and 15th it just so happens when Julius got knifed in the back by half the senators of Rome it fell on the 15th that year.

If you want another odd fact about the 15th of March, if you ex-press all time, from the birth of the universe to a week last Tuesday, as a single year, (the big bang happening at 00:00 on January the first and it now being midnight on the 31st of December) then the sun and by extension the whole solar system was born on, you guessed it, the Ides of March. Though of course there was no moon at the time, full or otherwise.

So Caser dies, the sun is born, I’m born, and Lovecraft dies, all on the 15th of march, and it’s always a full moon…

Werewolves, I’m just saying…

None of this is the reason I found the date of Lovecraft’s death oddly entertaining. The reason I found it entertaining was simply be-cause I had spent almost three years by this point writing a blog about Lovecraft and only just bothered to look up when he died, and lo and behold, it was on the ides…

As to why I had spent three years writing a blog about Lovecraft, that’s another story entirely. The origin of my Lovecraft blog, which was based on the premise that I would read each story in the order he wrote them then write about that story is simple enough. I had, like many writers before me, for a long time been enamoured of the strange worlds of Lovecraft’s mythos and all the things his writing has led to, but I’d actually read very little Lovecraft. Then my girl-friend bought me a folio edition of the complete works for Christ-mas. Now all things considered had she bought it for me as a birth-day present and presented it to me on the Ides it would have made for a better story, but we work with what we have, and this is non-fiction.

But having been presented with a folio edition of the complete works of Old Tentacle Hugger what possible excuse did I have not to read them?

Well, plenty of reasons, not least of which is that for all his imaginative genius for peculiar ideas, strange worlds and bizarre creations, Lovecraft’s writing is, well, Lovecraft’s writing. Dry to the point of arid at times, Lovecraft could, as one wag put it to me once, write the humanity out of anything. But the problems with his style are minor compared to other issues with Lovecraft’s stories He was a misogynistic, racist, right-wing, homophobe who had no compunction against expressing his less than desirable political leanings in his writing, be it fiction or a considerable amount of non-fiction essays on a multitude of subjects.

It’s an unfortunate truism that for many modern readers the most horrifying aspect of Lovecraft’s stories are not descriptions of cos-mic isolation, the elder gods, the deep ones, or his general nihilism. What horrifies modern readers is instead the political leanings of the writer and so many choose to avoid his work entirely. This is some-thing of a shame because there is much to love about it. If that is you can pick a path between the dross, the over written, the dull and the distasteful, to the gems buried among them.

What I needed, I determined, was for someone who had read the complete works and filtered them through the eye of a modern reader. Someone who could point out the stories to avoid, the ones that need to be read, the little-known gems and the overblown twaddle. Someone who could perhaps supply the odd, interesting fact that I could borrow to sound knowledgeable, and who knew which stories have most influenced various bits of modern culture, artist, writers and musicians. Someone who had perhaps supplied a simple ranking system as a guide, say in quantities of tentacles, so I could see at a glance which stories were worth reading and which I should avoid like a blood splattered copy of the Necronomicon.

Sadly, no such guide appeared to exist. There were plenty of academic texts on Lovecraft, but they all seemed to be trying there hardest to be ‘worthy’ or written by self-styled Lovecraftian scholars. Which is to say they all seemed either assured of their own cleverness or written by the same kind of devoted fanboy that would tell you despite all evidence and that song about the lawnmower, that every Genesis album was a masterpiece…

So, I was stuck with three things, a blog in need of content, a folio edition of the complete works of H. P. Lovecraft and no guidebook to the dark twisted woodland path that is his works. Frankly at that point I had no choice, if I couldn’t find a readable guidebook, I’d just have to write one…

So I did…

However, as you may have noticed I’ve just released the latest Hannibal Smyth novel, so I’ve now found myself up against a hard deadline I expected to breeze for the release of the Lexicomicon. In fact I have less than a week to get it all together to be sure to meet my publishing date. (*which you are in full procession of the facts to take a wild guess at.)

I should make it. I’m reasonably sure I will make it. I just might be driven insane in the process and start jabbering at the moon… But that’s what you get for, a failure to beware!

*Lexicomicon: A Bluffers Guide to the Writings of H. P. Lovecraft will be released on the 15th of March…

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A Semblance of Hope

This may be a familiar experience, it may not, but I often find myself intrigued by the idea of ‘another perspective’. Everything I write, everything I read, everything I watch, the world it self and every aspect of life in fact can always be viewed from another perspective.

This included my own past. Something I suspect we all feel at times. there are things I did in the past that had I done something even slightly differently would have changed everything about my life. Events I view now from a different perspective, because I am no longer the person to whom those things happened. I am not my teenage self… So my perspective on the events of my teenage years are not something I look back on now with the same thoughts and views as I had at the time.

As for those I interacted with, how they view those events would also be different. No one has the same perspective, no one witnesses an event the same as you do, or looks back on it the same way as they did at the time. The sister at the bar who was interest in me when I was fool enough to say her sibling was pretty, because I was both too shy to admit it was her actually I found interesting and too dumb to realise she found me interesting, for example, probably looks back on that conversation thirty odd years ago very differently to me. Though to be fair she probably doesn’t look back on it at all.

Never tell a girl you like that you think her sisters pretty, it is never what they want to hear…

~ life lessons learnt by my teenage self

Perspective’s are a concept I also find fascinating in literature. You read a story, particularly one told in a first person narrative, from the perspective that is given to you by the writer. The writer who generally has an incline of very other characters perspective even if they don’t tell you as much. Thus I often find myself wondering how events unfold from the perspective of that character who saunters around the edges of the narrative, but is never centre stage. The non-protagonist. The passer by…

Hannibal Smyth, my self-aware liar, braggard and coward who finds himself boxed into corners where he does heroic things out of self preservation and self interest is very ‘honest’ in his own assessment of his motives and undertakings. But viewed by those around him his actions at times would seem truly heroic and self-sacrificing. Their perspective, and their views on his character are often different from those he professes. Something I need to remember whenever I write Hannibal stories is that everything Hannibal is whispering in my ear is only how he saw events. So when other characters do things he considers odd, its often because how they saw events is at odds to his own perspective.

Occasionally, just occasionally, I have considered writing a Hannibal story from someone’s else’s perspective. His ever present Bad Penny for example who I (as the writer) know has an entirely different view of his nibs that he does… Maybe one day I will, but I have enough projects ahead of me to say it won’t be any time soon. However to temper your disappointment at this confession (imagined or otherwise) the wonderful Nimue Brown has more or less done that exact thing and written a story set around the events of the first book of Hopeless Maine viewing those events and life on the island from an entirely different perspective. The perspective of Hopeless’s own and only journalist Frampton Jones in a new novella ‘Semblance of Truth.’

Now as it is quite possible you are aware, I am a bit of a fan boy when it comes to the work of Nimue and her partner in art Tom Browns esoteric creation Hopeless Maine (and Nimue’s writing in general). I find both the art and the writing fascinating and alluring in equal measure. So when I was given the chance to read a early copy of Semblance of Truth I jumped at the chance. True this early copy is only the text and lacks the additional joy of Tom’s art, but Nimue’s story telling stands on its own as a thing of joy, the final version complete with Toms art will only be more joy, it lack at this point doesn’t detract form the joy of reading the tale to begin with.

The narrative is in effect Frampton Jones journal, written by him, for him and him alone, as he tries to catalogue events on the island as a whole, as well as those events that only effect him personally. Things he could never put in the paper, because even in a place as strange as Hopeless Maine certain things would strain the credence of belief among his readers. And somethings he just wants to keep to himself, like the worrying way his cutlery keeps disappearing and the notes someone keeps leaving him, that are written through the medium of fish…

Frampton Jones himself, Art by Tom Brown

As the islands journalist Frampton also keeps track of births, deaths, and has to report on (these attended with various levels of willingness) various civic events like founders day, the annual church picnic, the fossilised bones of one of the islanders ancestors walking around the shore. The grand enterprise of building a bridge to the mainland. The not so grand failure to build a bridge to the mainland…

Because the narrative is told in journal entries, some long, some short, some of significance Frampton is unaware of, some that seem unimportant yet which he worries at… the narrative slowly unwinds in the present tense in the respect of how he writes it, while it is all in a very immediate past tense. Things he has just done, or witness, or seen , or not seen, or at least he hoped he did not see, but has a horrible suspension he did see, and what’s making that noise in the kitchen? As well as important advise on the rearing and care of meeps, as well as the importance of not going mad and forgetting to harvest your meeps, and why you should not feed your meeps off cuts of meat.

It also means when he starts top go a little mad for a while his descent in to insanity, and climb back from the brink are equally chronicled… Unless of course in his mad periods he is actually seeing the world of Hopeless as it truly is, and why is no one reply to his fish writing? And what really happened at the O’Stoat house? Who’s that orphan who disappeared the night Miss Chambers was killed by…. by what killed her…? then turned up again! Oh why am I thinking about the orphan? She’s clearly not important… Now! Where did all the spoons come from? Should I ask Gerald? Is Gerald real…?

Poor Frampton, a minor character in a world where events are happening he isn’t equipped to understand. Yet he strives, with a certain ineptitude, to make the island a better place, or at least understand it better. As a journalist he is a man who seeks the truth and to illuminate that truth for the betterment of all.. (and there lay proof that Hopeless is a very strange place, me thinks.)

Semblance of Truth is available as the first stretch goal of Tom and Nimue’s Hopeless Kickstarter. I’m just lucky enough to have been given an advance copy which as you may have guessed has been a joy to read. Not least to get another perspective of events on the island.

The Kickstarter has many levels , all of which will get a copy of Semblance of Truth if they meet the first stretch goal. there are many levels and many options Be you new to Hopeless or otherwise, including the Hopeless tarot, the Hopeless RPG core rulebook , The Hopeless novels , and the graphic novels themselves. So go have a look, its costs you nothing , the first looks free honest…

What do you mean is Hopeless addictive…?

No, of course its not, I defiantly haven’t backed a Kickstarter for large hardback editions of books I already own and a roleplaying game and a tarot set, Nor do I have an increasing amount of Tom’s art around the library…

Newt stretching in my kitchen! I don’t know what you mean…

Look its perfectly okay… and I am sure you haven’t lost any spoons…

Just click on this innocent little picture… Go on… you know you want to. It will give you a whole new perspective…

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The many squids of Sci-fi-Scarborough

Having sorted out my accommodation for the forth coming SciFiScarbrough event I needed to make a little flyer for the two new releases I’ll have on the table that weekend. A weekend I am looking forward to after the last two years were cancelled due to the plague. Previously it was the first big event I ever attended as an author as part of the Harvey Duckman team and with my own stuff way back in 2019, which seems like another age now…

As I sorted out a flyer I also received the cover art for the next Harvey Duckman collection (which I have a story in I am sure you will be shocked to learn…) So as that will also be a new release for this event I thought I would put that on the little flyer as well…

There was some unexpected, yet delightful, over lap and a theme developed…

I love Graham at SixthElements cover art for all the Harvey’s but this latest one just fits with the other two new releases I have so nicely.

SciFiScarborough 2020 is at the Spa center in Scarborough on the weekend of the 9th/10th of April

A Squid on the shoulder, the third Hannibal novel and the final one in the first trilogy is, as you may be aware, out now

Harvey Duckman volumne 9 is out soon

As for The Lexicromicon, the collected and expanded guide book to the works of old tentacle hugger himself I am hoping to have it out on the 15th of March to ‘celebrate’ the death of HP Lovecraft, which also happens to be my birthday and a generally bad day for people called Julius….

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A Squid on the Shoulder

Queen Victoria is in the 200th year of her reign, and her Glorious British Empire faces a grievous threat due to the Machiavellian machinations of that most notorious instigator of insurrections Herbert George Wells.

No longer an agent of The Ministry, the shadowy branch of the British government that deals with things other Ministries neither need or want to know about. Hannibal Smyth, after fleeing the battle in Tibet, finds himself rescued from certain death after plummeting into the Indian Ocean from a burning airship. Finding out just who has rescued him in their strange craft is only the start of his latest troubles, as he finds himself traveling to the mysterious island of Doctor Musk.
A little known island just to the west of Java called Krakatoa.

There Hannibal must brave psychotic razor girls, giant cannons, HG Wells insane daughter, engine room hooch, mad scientists, the ghosts of his failures, active volcanos, and most terrifying of all ,French pharmaceuticals…
All in order to save a friend who holds the secret to his past.
Will he rise to the occasion?
Will he strive bravely against all the odds?

How can he, when he has even lost his trusty cut-throat razor…

So anyway, finally, almost 18 months later than originally planned the first Hannibal Smyth trilogy is complete…

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Proof copies of joy

I don’t generally post a lot of pictures of things, well not my own at any rate. My medium is generally words. The exception to that is when I type set a book, which for complicated reasons to do with timing I have had to do twice in the last week for two very different books…

A Squid on the Shoulder, the third novel of my Hannibal Smyth trilogy, which completes the misadventures set. And the Lexicomicon, which is something else entirely, the collected essays on the complete works of Lovecraft that were originally a blog series, which I have expanded, rewritten and produced as a bluffers guide to Old Tentacle Hugger’s stories.

Typesetting is a somewhat joyful thing as its almost the final stage before I finally let a book out into the world. Besides which when you spend all your time with words it is wonderfully enriching to mould those words into their final form. To turn them into an actual physical thing… This is however the first time I have ever typeset two of my own books back to back… I am rather pleased with the proof copies that have arrived through my door however. They are precious and wonderful, even if I do say so myself…

They are pretty things, the way the art work has worked out in the Lovecraft book and teh chapter heads in squid are a delight. Just got to do all the final proofing now.

With luck, all things been equal I hope to have that final proofing done and the books out by the Id’s of March. Because reasons… In the case of Squid, because it is my birthday and two years since my last novel was release. In the case of Lexicromicon because it is the anniversary of the death of Lovecraft which just happens to be the same day…

Because hey, sometimes the stars are right.

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Dystopian Forrest’s and the Merrily Method

I’m not a great believer in self-help books… I always find them a suspicious offering. I suspect the only selves ever really helped are the ones selling the books. Which is ultimately the point of them, to make money. It follows that if the point of the ‘self-help’ book is to make money then such books need a ready made audience of people who feel they need help, and that such help as they need can be found in a competitively priced paperback…

If your goal is to sell books to people who feel the answers to there problems can be found in a competitively priced paperback, then actually having the answers to their problems in said paperback would negate your audience for your next compactivity priced paperback.

So if your goal is actually to help people through useful advice and disbursed wisdom, the kind of publishers who make a living out of self help books aren’t going to touch you with a barge pole.

Yes, I am cynical, I’m a Yorkshireman born in the nineteen-seventies, what do you expect…

Despite this I recently stumbled on a self-help book I can get behind. One that does indeed have answers and a could be a guide to leading a better life…. For example…

You need to do a lot of positive thinking to improve your life. For this, you must first do a lot of thinking. Then, try and be positive about it. You will find that a great deal of help in your life, especially with regards to making things better.

How to improve your life, the Merrily Method: Chapter one

and also

Do kind things for Badgers.

The latter, from the same chapter, is clearly sage advice, as is

Be more like the toadstool. Then you will be happy.

Which is from chapter 3. The Merrily Method is clearly the self-help book I have not been seeking all my life. Unfortunately of course, it is also entirely fictional. It is however central to a remarkable, funny, strange, thoughtful, dystopian future novel by the incomparable Nimue Brown.

When we are Vanished, is a novel set in a future not very far distant, and a past not very far behind us. In which the silicon chip world we live it has been turned off. Imagine if you will a world where computers, Mobil phones, indeed everything that relies on a silicon chip, so just about everything, suddenly stopped working. Society would, if not collapse, certainly stumble… Luckily there is the new cellulose technology, which could replace the lost silicon tech, if only they can stop it having a mind of it’s own…

Then, people start to vanish. Just here one minute, not the next… Not die, not kidnapped, not spirited away by government black baggers. Just vanish…

But luckily just before the collapse, the last book to come out of the publish on demand warehouses was:

‘How to improve your life, The Merrily Method’

Perhaps the book holds the key to what’s really going on, if only anyone could make head nor tale of it… Or why the book seems to centre around three sisters, one of which was one of the first ‘vanished’, one of whom works for the government investigating the vanished and one of whom works with cellulose tech, and their mother. Certainly the odd little cults that have sprung up around the book think it holds the answers, as unfortunately do certain government bodies…

Walk until you start to remember what you are.

Then you can go back, if only you can remember the way.

Now I could go on to talk a lot more about the plot, and the importance of been nice to badgers, not putting too much trust into trees, as they are probably up to something, and dancing in yellow dresses. But I won’t, because it is simpler and wiser to say you should read the novel yourself. It is as remarkable, odd, intriguing, funny, smart and insightful as everything else Nimue has written. It is as deep as you want it to be, which is to say only the shallow would take nothing away from it, and it will help you simply by being on your nightstand. It will make you think, and wonder, and smile, and in part possibly cry. What more self-help you you need? Well until I convince Nimue to write the whole of the Merrily Method as an actual self-help book… As it would be just as valid as most of the ones in the self-help section of Waterstones, and probably actually help…

So my advise, help yourself, get yourself a copy…

And finally a last word form the Merrily Method, and one we can all learn to live by.

Rejoice! There is time yet for compassion and it is not yet too late to learn how to be splendid.

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Return of the Hopeless Kickstarter

Its no great secret to any regular reader that I have a certain love for the Island of Hopeless Maine. The fictional collaboration begun by of Nimue and Tom Brown. A collaboration that generously extends to others whom get to play in the danger ridden sandpit of the fog bound isle.

As with most great literary obsessions of mine it began because I was introduced to the isle by others, in this particular case I believe it was writer ‘poet’ and fellow Yorkshireman Craig Hallam who first introduced me to it via the medium of Tom’s art on twitter of all places. For this singular favour he granted me I will even forgive him his poetry…

At the core of the expanding wonder that is the island is Tom’s art and Nimue’s prose which are so interweaved as to be inseparable, and while others do saunter through the fog it is this core that binds it all together.

Now, I have read all the books, indeed they sit on the shelves above my desk, so it would be insane of me to back the Kickstarter they have just launched for the American edition of book 2… I mean I already have the Sloth comic’s editions after all… But then again,, the America editions are in a large hardback format, so they are even more a thing of beauty… and I am sure I could find space for them somewhere in my library (others would call it a house, but I am old enough to be honest, if only with myself…)

Then there are the add on’s , the Hopeless roleplaying book , the Hopeless tarot. The limited edition Hopeless pins…

What can I say, I am addict… and no I don’t need help thank you very much , I can manage my addictions just fine…

Anyway, all this is just to say, the Brown’s have a new Kickstarter for the hardback edition of book two, which of course included the option to get book 1 in hard back as well. And frankly if that isn’t enough reason to at the very least go and look at the Kickstarter I don’t know what is…

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And sometimes you just need to hear it…

This morning, as I got in the car to drive to work, the radio told me Meatloaf had died.

Meatloaf, particularly when in combination with Jim Steinman’s lyrics, has long been part of my life. My older sister bought Bat out of Hell the first time round, while she still lived at home. My mother, of all the musical choices she could have made, used to set up the ironing board and iron to it. A few years later I would borrow the album and play it and Dead-Ringer while I hammered at the keyboard of my dads old typewriter attempting to turn keystrokes into stories. One of the first albums I remember buying was Bad Attitude, Meatloaf’s first post Steinman album, which was something of a flop in trhe charts but I still kind of like…

Meatloaf was never cool, Bat out of Hell came out in 77, in the middle of punk, year was operatic pompous over the top Rock and Roll… He never became cool, which I think its a blessing. Cool never lasts, cool is fleeting, Queen were never cool, nor were the Stones come to that. Meatloaf’s music was just powerful, awesome, and inspiring. It didn’t care what you thought of it, it would belt out at you anyway, and because of that it was something special…

Those songs, and that music will mean different things to different people, but I suspect they mean something to everyone. I suspect they touch us all one way or another over the years. To me back in 77 when I was 7 years old growing up in a northern city, those song were all of a different world, a world of endless highways, burning sand on midnight beaches, screaming engines, cheery red lipstick and everything America impossibly was in my 7 year old imagination…

So, while I have not listened the full album of Bat out of Hell in years, due to the way we consume music in this digital age. I think tonight I shall put the album on the turntable, after I have blown the dust off it. And maybe offer my throat to the wolf with the red roses, as heaven it seems could not wait any more…

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Micro Fictions

I don’t like micro fiction. I say this not to denigrate it as entertainment or indeed as an art form. It is simply a personal thing. If pushed as to why I don’t like it then I will admit that in truth it is simply because I don’t see the point of it. But let me be very clear, this is just a personal opinion, nothing more.

I like a good short story, god knows I have written enough of them. A good short story should have enough in it that you care about the characters, that you find that strange emotional involvement with the text that will elicit shock, or rage, or sentiment. Joy, loss, anger, love, hate… This is not a matter of length alone. I know some brilliant really short stories, a little over, or perhaps less than a thousand words. But these are exceptions, not the rule. To connect to a short story it must be just that, a story.

Which brings me back to micro fiction, and why I’m not a fan of the form.

Micro fiction is at its best just a slither of a story, introduction, situation, resolution in a few short lines. Yes there is craft to it, art to it, but there is also nothing to connect to. It might take a minute to read, and after reading it, its gone. I haven’t been with it long enough to care.

At its worse, micro fiction isn’t even that, its an unsatisfying glimpse at a story that ends without really going anywhere, because so many micro fiction stories are written as micro fiction… Which is to say, they don’t end because they have reached the natural end to a story but because observing the form is more important to the writer than telling the story. ‘This is a micro fiction, therefore it must be a micro fiction…’ Which is fine, as it goes, except for me I find it impossible to write anything based around restrictions of that kind.

Should you ever meet her, and be short of better things to talk about, ask Gillie Hatton, the editor of the Harvey Duckman anthologies about just how strictly I observe word limits with my short stories… Which is not to say I don’t have stories in the Harvey anthologies that obey the 3000 word limit,. I do, but that tends to be the exception, not the rule. A couple of my stories in the Harvey’s are closer to 8k, because, and this is the important point for me, that’s how many words it took to tell those particular stories…

So, what is the point of micro-fiction. What is the point of a story that can be read in a minute, and remains in your consciousness for less than that. How can anyone possibly tell a story worth reading in less than 500 words? In 300 words? in a half dozen lines? Surely this is symptomatic of the disposable nature of modern society and has the value you associate with that self same disposability? More importantly how exactly do you read micro fiction. You can’t just read a book of micro fiction cover to cover… Well you can, but as an experience it lack something, how can you engage with a bunch of unrelated stores in such a short format without each overlapping the other…

So, anyway, having established I am not a fan either as a writer or a reader of Micro fiction, I’ll get to the actual point of this post, which is a review of a book called Micro Moods, written by a fellow Harvey writer Amy Wilson, which is, as the title implies, a book of micro fiction. Well this is going to go well isn’t it…

Actually though, yes it is.

Micro Moods is a collection of 140 micro fiction stories which cover the breath of human experience. The collection is divided up in to five loose categories, Fear, melancholy, hate, love, joy. Each is engaging, interesting, complex and to an extent prose poetry more than just stories. They explore the inner workings of the mind, emotion and experience. Take fear, the stories all have the edge of horror and trepidation, you know something terrible is going to happen, but they manage to forestall your expectation all the same. It is not so much about the event, but the anticipation of the event.

Likewise the melancholy stories, all of which are small but beautifully crafted insights into the inner thoughts of the troubled.

Many of these stories are ostensibly female stories written in a female voice, and it is a testament to the power of these stories that even though these are very short they manage to instil a layer of discomfort and awkwardness for the male reader. But then many of these stories are meant to be unsettling for any reader. There is a darkness to them, but it is a darkness that at times is counterpointed with light.

I read these stories in strange places, and at stranger times. the book followed me around the house for a few weeks. Laying on my bed side, or at the side of the sofa, on the kitchen table, on the doorstep while I enjoyed a coffee in the sunshine one Sunday, and other places. Often I read a story or two and then it would be left behind and it wasn’t until I returned to the vicinity that I read another. It’s a book that can do that, and that you dip in and out of and that your never quite sure what you are going to read for that couple of minutes while the kettle boils.

But what you will read will be interesting, strange, upsetting , joyous dark and wonderful often all at the same time and in less words than you would think possible it will leave you thoughtful, or horrified,. angry , happy or sad.

So you should buy it, and treasure it’s little windows into the recesses of the soul.

I still don’t like or understand micro fiction. I still don’t really get the point of it. It always leave me wanting more, because it isn’t enough. But that’s me, and plenty of people love it. If you are a person who loves flash fiction, then take it from someone who doesn’t, this is one of the best collections I’ve ever read, by a writer who is a master of the art form. So its worth your time if its your kind of thing, or even if its not…

That said, personally I think Amy needs to stop faffing about with these silly things and finish that damn novel she has been writing since before her first Harvey Duckman story. But then I am a miserable old sod, who has been looking forward to her novel for years.

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Occasionally, one is asked why…

Writing is, so E.L. Doctorow would have it, a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. As quotes go, I find that one just a tad depressing. Mainly because it has a smidgeon of truth to it, for me at least, I would never presume to know how other writers write, but I have many a conversation with non-existent people in my own mind. Some of which get written down, so of which disappear into the ether…

A writer is not born but made through study and sheer willpower and ab...  Quote by Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls - QuotesLyfe

Writing is, in many ways, my way to dealing with the world. It is often frustrating, demanding and drives me to distraction. It often is a case of framing my thoughts and neurosis in such as way that I can process them. Why this tends to be fiction is simply because fiction is the easiest way to put a lay of separation between what I write and my thoughts. A separation I need to be there.

For the writer, madness should seep slowly out of them from the world ...  Quote by Jason E. Hodges - QuotesLyfe

My fiction is, in many ways, a by product of my coping mechanisms. It always has been I think, though when I first starting writing in my late teens I didn’t understand the why of it. What I do know is that without writing, published or not, I would have struggled far more over the years. It is my therapy, and often my source of joy. No matter how difficult it can be, it is central to my mental health, and how I face the world. Also, as Steinem eloquently puts it…

50+ Inspiring Quotes About Writing and Writers
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