What happens when Society tells you that you are something different from what you are? And what you want to be isn't what you are supposed to be? Could anyone love you for who you really are? Throw in bombs, Platoons, and other's demands of what you want to be and it gets... well... complicated. … Continue reading Present Uncertain: Available for Preorder
And then where will your writing be. Neil Gaiman brought this topic up. We can't avoid it. What will happen to your books and works in progress when you die? Who will get it? Who will control it? John M. Ford was pretty much the smartest writer I knew. Mostly. He did one thing that was … Continue reading News Flash Writers: We are all going to die
Compared to the D'regs, they were merely slightly vexed Prachett from Jingo What else is new. They screwed up enough that they could have created their own pack. I can't modify my own website. It keeps telling me "Sorry you can't do that." IT IS MY BLOODY SITE. I'm not in a good mood to … Continue reading WordPress screwed the pooch again and I’m “slightly vexed”
Present Uncertain is not what I normally write even though you might see my writing in it, I decided to use a Pen Name: Harrison Phillips.
This is going to be a hated post by a lot of people. It's a reality post. The reality of writing. And it sucks. Big time. There are no escaping simple facts, among them, is if you plan on being an author who gets paid for their work, you have to deal in business. No … Continue reading Business as.. usual?
Getting old is hell, especially when parts start to fall off. Yesterday and today were two long trips and they drove home the fact that I'm not 18 any more. Heck the wrong side of 40 would be good too... The first was needful because it turns out, I'm blind as a bat That might … Continue reading Getting Old is Hell
I’m still looking for my carpet… Gordon knew where it was. I think it’s on the floor…
It’s been…challenging, to say the least. My godmother died and left me all her books and china. It was very nice of her, but she was 93 and an avid collector of both, so I have a lifetime’s collection.
It arrived this week. Seventy-one very large packing cases which are now the main feature of my living room and tower over me to the ceiling. There is a carpet under there somewhere, I remember it, it was a nice one my brother brought me back from Afghanistan. I hope to see it again one day.
And, of course, I said I would re-publish “The Tattooed Tribes” this week, not anticipating the chaos that now surrounds me. However, I managed and it is now on Amazon.
Ecology, the environment and conservation are one of my main concerns. Gerald Durrell convinced me we needed to take care of our planet and its wildlife when…
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A trip with Gran and an unusual take on a classic movie…
Surprisingly I managed to reload the “Solemn Curfew” collection without a hitch despite being a bit distracted at the moment. My dearly loved god mother passed away recently and left me her books, all 4000 of them. I defy anyone to behave in a normal and rational fashion when faced with that many books. And these aren’t paper backs, they are a life time of careful and considered collecting. They arrive next Thursdays – there maybe demands for walls to be demolished to make room.
However, back to the obscenity of the title. This is another story about my grandmother. Whatever else could be said of her, and there is much which could be said, she was never boring.
To Mother it was an idea of genius, but my ten year old self was filled with consternation. And, glancing…
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It's been a month of hell... to put it mildly. No, I'm not looking for sympathy because some of this is convoluted which simply adds to the stress. I scored 793 on the Holmes and Rahe Stress scale. It's no damn wonder I suddenly developed the tic of tapping my right foot. The right foot … Continue reading A Month of Hell
If you have seen “A Solemn Curfew and Other Dark Tales” and my previous post here “The Tattooed Tribes”, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve come to two different blogs.
And if you’ve read any of the short stories I have put on here, you might even think three different ones.
No, folks, they’re all me!
Hence the title above. I am the crazed bat who writes dark stories about men having sex with the garden pond, but I’m also the one who writes scifi/fantasy adventure stories, preferably with soldiers. As I have said elsewhere, I like soldiers, but that shouldn’t be taken to mean I stand on street corners in garrison towns.
I’m also the one who wants to write about the everyday life, which is why you got “My Son, My Son..”
Of course I’d love all of you to like all three of me, but I know…
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