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Zen and the Art of Holding Beer Properly

November 3, 2018November 4, 2018 / N. P. Ryan / 2 Comments

Not being able to hold one’s beer can be disastrous.

It can have a negative impact on social standing and reputation, even make a laughing stock of to whatever gender one likes to stick things in or have things stuck in by; maybe it’s a two-way street of insertions – it’s not for me to make judgements, cast any assertions. Continue reading →

N. P. Ryan vs. Youth

April 16, 2018October 31, 2018 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

This is a poem about going for a walk that leads to reflection on youth’s cruel ebb, being devastated by it and then humbly coming to terms with the injustices of fate. Continue reading →

Mr. T. and the Art of Profiting from Snow

March 11, 2018October 31, 2018 / N. P. Ryan / Leave a comment

A Life of Crime vs. The Free Market IV

The Mr T I worked markets with bore no resemblance to the mother-loving one in the video below. Mr T did a bit of this and a bit of that; a real-life ‘Del Boy’ if ever there was one. If you’re getting any ideas of me being the Rodney of the equation, you can Continue reading →

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Drinking in a dingy bar by the sea, crumpled postcard from Her and World’s Biggest Ray Zero for company; then the son of a starts saying I’m cursed. Praise Be to lighting-up another smoke. Inhale, taste a foul brand: the Hex She put on me. Promised Heaven, delivered a dive nightclub Hell. Thank the Lord for liquor loving hot chicks. Though nothing compares to how it’ll feel catching up with Her.

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Wanted a quick bit of business and gone. Bath had other ideas. First, battered and left for dead after a hundred heart-breaking truths. Then a Police Chief with a saggy old treasure chest of secrets to keep needs a scapegoat. Dumps me in the middle of corruption so deep it eases through bone to suck greedy at marrow. With every gun pointing my way, Hell, not even He’s gonna get me outta this one.

Recent Posts: N. P. Ryan

NOBODY Cares About Your Book!

NOBODY Cares About Your Book!

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:

N. P. Ryan vs. Self-publishing

N. P. Ryan vs. Self-publishing

One burning question for anyone coming to self-publishing for the first time: how to format. There is plenty of advice out there. But which is the right way?

Catastrophe

Catastrophe

A sad, tragic, dismal culmination of events that saw defeat snatched from the jaws of victory; the gods of genius not so much unfavourable . . . more kept at bay by a needy beast desperately determined to fulfil its own agenda.

I Don’t Understand

I Don’t Understand

Following on from Perfect, nobody is; all of us have something we don’t understand. But is that what’s meant when the words are said?

Perfect

Perfect

Following on from last week’s post, which got tweaked not once, but twice after posting, a little something about perfection:

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