This week two f**king poems about cats; next week one poem about Two Cats F**king.
You take the Low Road, I’ll take the High Road, and I’ll get to Loch Munchie before thee . . .
A short story about the memories a beautiful summer can bring. Continue reading
It’s only with hindsight that I realise what a ‘playground‘ London was for me from the mid-eighties (when becoming old enough to do as I pleased) to the late nineties; when changes started running so deep they were impossible to miss and/or ignore.
How positive reviews for self-publishing services and products are easily obtained without being genuine and neither an outright lie:
“I could be a writer with a growing reputation; I could be the ticket man at Fulham Broadway Station. What a waste . . . What a waste.”
I used to walk past that ticket man made famous by Ian Dury’s lyrics on regular occasion. Going to and from Chelsea matches at Stamford Bridge. It was always a man, as I remember. Not that I paid too much attention.
Except for one particular Wednesday night game against Continue reading
I used to scroll past half-decent posts without so much as a meh. Now it’s me doing the posting, I want the world to care.
Step one to understanding the value in self-publishing services and products.
On Twitter there’s a follow-for-follow ‘tactic’ used by many accounts.
They’re easy to spot, having almost equal numbers in follows and followers, and those numbers running into the thousands. Continue reading
After all the hours spent toiling over punctuation and grammar, never mind all the sleepless nights worrying about whether the plot’s as tight as a mouse’s arsehole, that’s a Hell of a statement to just fling in a budding author’s face. So let’s put the theory to the test: Continue reading