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Monthly Archives: September 2015

Urban Pastoral


UBMy literary punch-in-the-throat.

Free Kindle download from 28th September – 2nd October.

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CUP asked if they could use an excerpt from one of my stories in one of their textbooks.

So I said Yes.



Ghosts is currently on iTunes repeat.

Gets a mention in Stateless too, as the music in the car that Babe takes from the three killers who arrive at his front door one day. The music is appropriate.



Free Kindle download from 21-25 September:

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spread too thin…

‚Ķlike Bilbo after carrying the One Ring for just too long. I’m going to cut down on the white noise of having too many things going on.

Have to.


There are probably a dozen seminal influences on my writing. Off the top of my head, here are some of them:

Robert Fripp: As a would-be musician he admitted he was tone deaf and had no sense of rhythm, but ‘the music will out.’ He just worked at it until it worked.

I love his extremely idiosyncratic, singular approach to his craft. He doesn’t play the blues, or jazz, and he barely plays rock as anyone else understands it. He can only be Robert Fripp.

Punk rock: The idea that you can create and publish your own work, without regard for gatekeepers or arbiters. It set me free.

Jane Austen: The ultimate people-watcher. Everyone in literature owes Jane.

Myths: The norse myths, the greek myths. I devoured these as a child and they still inform what I write. Anyone you meet might be a god or a nymph or a valkyrie, perhaps enjoying a sabbatical from valhalla or some other godly abode.

After reading these myths for years I then discovered and devoured Lord of the Rings, especially the appendices: the dwarves especially.

Family: my mother taught me to read before I was three. My gran sat me on her knee and read stories to me over and over again – ¬†reading a story fifteen over times wasn’t unusual if I really wanted to hear something again and again. Between them they taught me to love stories.

On the other hand, most of what my dad taught me was just plain wrong, and it took me decades to get over the sixteen years I spent living in his house. But he made me a writer.


There are other ifluences, but these will do for now.


On the topic of incomplete work, there are a few stories I have in my mental lumber room that don’t yet ‘work’ for me. One is called The Baptist; it’s a long-form short story, if such a thing exists. I’ve had it there or thereabouts for a year or more. The other one I wrote more recently and is called I Could Be Your Escape and, again, it’s almost there, but not quite.

Maybe I’ll sort them out, maybe I’ll abandon them.



When I asked Lucas to create this site I told her I wanted a repository for my work. A stash, if you like. Somewhere I could just line up the various things I’ve done, and then forget about them.

So today I was trying to write a list of the various stories I’m working on, and I couldn’t remember. I had to come to the site and look at the ‘in progress’ page to find out what I’m supposed to be working on. So I guess it really is a repository.

Id like to think my headspace looks like this: