With its mysterious sleepwalkers, epidemics and AI framed against the back-drop of modern day America, Wanderers is a little more sci-fi than fantasy, but I was game for a change of scenery after Priory of the Orange Tree. Now some of you might have heard of Chuck Wendig before, but I wasn’t familiar with any of his (admittedly prodigious) works
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Heads turned to see me, arms raised to the sky and imploring existence to “give me a goddamn notebook!” School mothers quirked worried smiles at me as my son stopped his bike and said “are you alright daddy?” No! Not at all, for my brain had caught alight and I had no means by which to write down the idea
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Welcome to the new site. NEW NAME, NEW CONTENT As I made clear in previous posts (see Janus Transitions #1 and #2) I am moving forward and developing this blog to steer it away from being simply about self-promotion and work towards bringing you more consistent content. To that end I have given the site a cosmetic make-over and intend
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Prep the double espressos, warm up those typing fingers and check yourself in the mirror: this is going to be a real bitch to write. The desire to keep on retrospecting is strong. Now cue generic image, maybe a few more crap metaphors and a bit of self obsessed waffle. Ready? Because we’re going forward, and only forward! SO, ANYWAY,
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This one was a little bit Bukowski (*so you want to be a writer?), sort of warts and all. It just popped out and I posted it after being inspired by the decidedly irrational comments section of Radio Leicester’s Facebook page. A friend had posted how great it was to see people rallying to the climate protest. Hers was, at
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Apologies. It’s probably cliche and so not really worthy of a serious writer, but time is short and there’s a whole bunch of stuff that I want to talk about. First, let’s rip off Wikipedia for a quote without a hint of remorse. Janus frequently symbolized change and transitions such as the progress of past to future, from one condition
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(A Gibbering Fool Presents) Apocalypse Disco Pfff! The dust is settling and everyone’s suddenly playing the existential blues on a vintage guitar with two strings while some journalistic hack bangs away on an old, broken piano tuned by an establishment that can only summon enough cognitive prowess to think in black and white. The proverbial arse has fallen out of
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