What’s this? A sale? That’s right. For this years Halloween you can grab yourself (or someone else) a copy of ‘The Sword Summoner: History Repeats’ for only £5.00. That is including FREE post and package. You will not get it any cheaper than that short of hunting me down and getting a copy straight from my own two hands. Go on, treat yourselves.
Simply click on the PayPal button below and I’ll get your signed copy sent out to you as soon as possible. You have until Saturday to get your discounted copy. Don’t miss your chance.
This is a quick update just to let everyone know whereabouts I am with potential books. Since I’ve started back at university my pace has slowed a bit due to the workload but I am still making fair progress.
For those of you wondering about book two in ‘The Sword Summoner’ series, both it and book three have been written as a first draft but are in need of a lot of editing and changing. This is because I wrote all three back to back then went back to ‘History Repeats’ and basically re-wrote it so many of the story details in the sequels no longer match up. Continue reading
Back at the dawn of literature people who could write books could only draw inspiration from their own lives or from the verbal tales and folk lore that had been told to them. As writing became more prevalent, authors could draw more and more upon the work of others. It is as the famous phrase goes: “To write you have to read”. This was the status-quo for many years until the advent of the moving picture. With movies and television came a new way to tell stories. With these new, popular narrative devices, the audience to began to change. Things needed to happen and they needed to happen fast to keep people’s attention. Continue reading
Something a little bit different today. Another poem I wrote in lesson when bored but this is far from simple. I can’t tell if it is mindless ramblings or something thought provoking. I’ll let you guys be the judge. If you’re religious, I apologise if it causes offence.
God. The Father, the Son and the bastard ghost
The mirage in the sweltered landscape of humanity
As true as anything in a false world
Of false people who wander through life
Like sheep to be flocked Continue reading
Here is a little poem I wrote when I was bored in lesson. A cute little bit of fun. Enjoy.
The Thoughts of a Friend.
Grass becomes fields becomes streets
Cars Cars Cars
Bound by neck but chase the same
Smells fill the air
Wolf down forgotten chip
See the catcatcatcatcat
Tail wags powered by joy
Treats and a hand
Pat pat pat
Fuss fuss fuss
Wag wag wag
So as some of you might know, I am in my third year of a Creative Writing course at university. I don’t much like it. To tell you all the reasons why would be an entire dissertation so for now I will simply say, it is all pointless.
Last week on a module called Experimental Writing (which sounds pretentious as hell) we spent two and a half hours studying a poem by Gertrude Stein called ‘A Completed Portrait of Picasso’ (Read it here: http://www.english.upenn.edu/~jenglish/Courses/Spring02/104/steinpicasso.html. If you can make it to the end without losing a shard of your mind then you are a better person than me. (Or are insane). I lost the will to continue at this point and longed for a strong drink to destroy even the memory of the poem. Continue reading
Here is the first chapter of my book to give y’all a taster. It does get darker and more ‘Fantasy’ oriented, I swear. Enjoy.
000 000 000
1: An Average Day Gone Astray.
Birds scattered as the old morning bell began to toll, its deep echoes ringing throughout the ancient city of Pastrino. The noise was met by stirrings as the city below began to awaken and the people rose from slumber to begin their day’s work. All except one that is: Trey Sted. He was still fast asleep like he was most mornings.
People were amazed at how he could sleep through the morning bell because it could wake up everyone else in Pastrino, even those on the outskirts of the sprawling city. Ironically, his house stood in the shadow of the bell tower on the wide hill that marked the centre of the city. It left any who were that close to the tower with ringing ears when they chimed, but Trey never even stirred from his sleep.
“Trey, wake up! Trey, get out of bed!” his mother called from the doorway.
Trey did not move. His cheap woollen cover was wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon even though it was the middle of summer.
His mother called again. “Trey, get up now or you’ll be sorry.” Still he lay motionless. “I warned you, Trey.” Continue reading