The Sinning Saint

England, London, Thames House (MI5 Headquarters), High-security detention wing.

A cold, white walled room built from sturdy blocks of stone. Sat around a heavy wooden table were three men. Two were in suits and sat at one side while the third wore simple street clothes and sat opposite them. His hands and feet were in chains.

“This is agent Ryan Smith and agent Thomas Hawke interviewing David Black, serial killer,” stated one of the suited men after pressing a button upon a recorder at the end of the table. He turned a cold glare upon the man opposite him.

“Looks like we finally caught you. Its took eleven years for you to make a mistake but your rampage is now at its end.”

His companion continued , running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Now that we’ve got you here, how about you answer some of our questions. We’ve been dying to ask them for over a decade now.” Continue reading

Audiobook Update.

Hey everybody. As of this morning, ‘The Sword Summoner: History Repeats’ is available in audiobook format from Audible. It will also be on Amazon and Itunes within a day or two. Do me a massive favour and check it out here.

It is a total of 14 hours of content read out by the talented voice actor Thomas Livesey.

Christmas Sale!

Winter is coming and that means so is Christmas. Money is tight so I have made it that much cheaper to pick up a nice read.

If you still haven’t had chance to read ‘The Sword Summoner’ now is your chance. Throughout December you can pick up the ebook version for a single pound. That’s right, £1.00 for 350 pages of entertainment.

Visit any ebook retailer for this great deal or click the link to the Amazon page below:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Sword-Summoner-His…/…/178306322X

Outcast Social Groups are all Killers (apparently).

We all are sick of the media blaming video games for all violent crimes. This once again caught my attention this morning when I chanced to look at a newspaper an old man was reading on the train. What caught my attention was the prominent image of the Achievement Hunters logo. At first I thought it might be something cool but it turned out to be an article about Will Cornick, the British 15 year old who stabbed his teacher to death and just received a twenty year jail sentence. Continue reading

Pinnoca

The death happened on a sunny day down by the peaceful brook where families often picnicked in the warm days of summer. Who among the villagers would have guessed that a venomous snake lurked among the dark bushes that lined the silver stream? The girl Pinnoca, who was entering into the cusp between child and woman, certainly didn’t. As she picked the sweet smelling flowers of dazzling colours that grew beside the water, the snake had struck out and plunged its fangs into her rosy flesh. In her shock she had staggered back, lost her footing and plunged into the chill waters. The bite was not deep but the venom spread through her veins and froze her limbs. She drowned, her lips inches from the air that they so desperately sought.

The villagers grieved for a time, then moved onwards. The girl’s father, a widowed carpenter, was driven mad by the loss of his only child, his dead wife’s only legacy. He locked himself away in his workshop, living on the stale bread, potatoes and small wedges of cheese that an elderly women left on his doorstep each week. Friends and neighbours feared for his health, but no amount of knocking or calling out his name summoned him forth from the decaying house.

Night and day the steady sound of hammer and chisel reverberated through the house. The carpenter worked to ease his pain, his tools the vassals of all the emotion that could no longer flow from his body. Numb was his mind but skilled were his fingers. A single image was burned into his mind, all the more vivid in the troubled dreams that filled the scant scraps of sleep that he could not fight. Continue reading

Halloween Sale!

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.

(Ended)

Writing Update October 2014

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

Video games as Writing Inspirations.

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

Our Father

 

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

Wish away our problems

Wish away our responsibilities

To dwell in the darkness of our minds

Lit by a flickering bulb of yellow

When the sun is just outside

Who are we to deny the Lord

We the animals grown beyond our bounds

We who are gods and madmen

Warped mirrors of ourselves

As we are warped mirrors of Him

And He is a warped mirror of us

All powerful in a powerless world

All seeing among the blind

All knowing to those bathed in ignorance

Never forever the one and only collective

Love is the sacred soul spread thin among us

Eternal like a legal contract wrought from toilet tissue

The Lord our savior

Our Creator

Our creation

Our damnation

Free will gifted as a catch twenty two

Excuses for abandonment

Blood and flesh is wine and bread

Artificial constructs created to appease our wants

Needs augmented to suit our tastes

A need for answers embodied by our minds

To fill our forms and child like search

For guidance from the wise infallible parents

We left behind to become who we are

He who burns cities, floods worlds

And requires the blood of children

This thing that we call Father

This king of men who died for our sins

Yet still we suffer and always sin

We hate like we love

With a passion burning from unnatural fires

Yet never do we stop to think

To think is to find thoughts that we fear

And fear is to realise we are but beasts

Beasts in the dressings of a civilised society

Under a civilised God pissing enlightenment

Like the Bible cursed rich who piss money to the poor

God’s chosen children orphaned

As their father is dragged drunk to the insane asylum

Babbling at the walls

Screaming for a mother never had

Lost in a sea of faith that none can know

Because who could know the unknown

The flows of life and death

That bind and separate us in chains of fate

Chains that we as humans make

To live, to die, to procreate

Beneath the eyes of Heaven

The eyes so misted by the time

Between each blink eternity

How could we comprehend it all

The vastness of the universe

And how could the universe possibly feel

Comprehension of an ant in space

An ant, a man, a race

A myth to our own imagination

An idea blowing in the wind

A cry to God and Allah and Buddha

And to Thor and Superman and Santa

And the ghosts who lurk in the peripheral vision

The visions of madness and glory and destiny

The ravings of the lost souls

Desperate for a hand to hold