On the 1st June, I waved goodbye to my bourgeoning career in the pub trade in a bid to pursue my dream of building a life as a writer from nothing. With no income at all – save some intermittent odd jobs for friends – I have a feeling my mother is going to hate me for the foreseeable future. Especially considering it is now the 6th and this is the first drop of ink I’ve scribbled on anything.

For the (very) few of you who are on board for the first of my blog entries, you’ll be in the passenger seat from the off as I bombastically wrench myself off-road and attempt to avoid as many trees as possible on the way to achieving some semblance of success in publishing, journalism and all the other fields I’d love to leave a mark on.

The plan of action as it stands for the website is to update you weekly with progress, while adding a new short story within the same timeframe and a more serious piece every 1/2 weeks. You’ll get snippets of my work aimed for publishing to slam as they become available too, as well as any other material I deem worthy of you.

I’ll be updating the website to accommodate this new structure over the weekend so you’ll get a bunch of content to fill it out a little more, and I have to say I’m excited to be in the position of being able to create cool shit for you guys more often than once every two months! Let’s see how long the motivation lasts this time.


The Black and the Bicycles

Bicycles ran as honey over my drums

And my moon sent goosebumps of gratification

As I thanked her for lighting my way,

Though little did I know of any way.

Sycamores on the skirts

Silhouettes as the space of everything possible to know,

Though not by me.

And a road in the yonder

Blessed with direction but little destination

And lights with no enlight

Beyond the A and the B.

Neither would exist here.

My moon wandered me to the centre of my black

The artificial glow of secure insecurity shone down the path

In competition with the light of question

And winning for proximity, against the will of its beholder.

The glimmer of all we know does poison all we wish upon

And none I know had witnessed the glow of family

Before the glow of our exploit.

The black and the bicycles did dance with me here

Holding me still and staring in a separate place

Beyond sight and will we remained still and yet forever moving in mind

Together and all alone.

My moon,

Revered and haloed above my horizon

Had lost her family

Save the greatest persevered

Who would speckle our sky

With a limp recollection of its wonderful dance.

And how sad it must be

To reach our Earth and never be seen

To twinkle for life and not one will wish.

The black and the bicycles will mourn with me here

For our lost friends and our lonely family would dance among us

If only they were able.

It’s Not Real.

Blurry Face greeted Blank Face with a blurry stare. Blank Face greeted Blurry Face with a blank nothing. Both noticed the absence of the other, though neither knew what it meant, nor how to react; Everything was blurry, everything was blank. Continue reading


Continue reading

Arta and the White-Haired Witch (Pt.2)

“No king am I, for destitute must I be.” Moaned the once great king Arta, whose wretched form did slump against the damp stone of his cave wall.

“No king are you, for destitute must you be.” Rang back his prison, and Arta did wallow and shudder, for the walls did torment the troll with echoes and mockery. “No king are you, for destitute must you be!” Cackle in delight they did as their prisoner began to cry and cower, falling into oh so much sorrow that deep in his heart his strings did snap and fling him into great slumber. Continue reading

Arta and the White-Haired Witch

Once upon a time, atop the cliff edge of a great land, there stood a fantastical castle built of silver stone, with four slithering spires that etched shimmers in the sky. Such was its splendour that jealous waves would claw at the cliff-base, desperate to take the stead for its own. Deep in the bowels of this wonder there lived but one man, and his name was Arta. Continue reading

The Fight For Fendemy (Part 1)

Percival Anderpold II eyed with a nonchalance befitting dead men the force amassing across the river. Rumours had hinted at the ambitions of Yanderlar’s fresh-faced king; They told of skirmishes in the East and sackings further North along the Divinus mountains that demonstrated a demonic capacity for destruction. They said he would be the king to conquer all kings and that once he’d fulfilled his fate he would take his leave in the divine from whence he came. Continue reading

Alan & The Delectable Desk

In the top drawer of Alan’s delectable desk, I found a ball no larger than one you would use in a game of tennis. I think it’s made of light. It did not shock me, Alan commanded an aura of difference befitting grand desks and otherworldly objects in a mid-level administration office; But what could it be for? My subconscious must know better than I, it’s overriding the control I had over where my eyes lie. My god is it mesmerising, I cannot, seem to… Continue reading

Wake up!

Snap. You are in a box. The walls glimmer white with a fluorescent shimmer. Looking around, you can see that your cage contains no door, no windows. In a panic you seek a small crack that could indicate a hidden escape, to no avail. A bead of sweat drops through your field of vision and your insides become constricted, claustrophobia is coming. Where are you? Continue reading


I don’t know which way I’m facing. Black is up, black is down. White is everywhere, yet so far away. How much longer do I have? The suit became depleted hours ago, though I am still here, drifting. My vessel had crawled out sight a few days ago, isolating me, condemning me to the depths of inevitable mortality.

We had blasted out of the atmosphere 6 years and 246 days ago at the moment of malfunction. Totally unexplained. Our task had been to visit a system within one light year that had promised a home for the flailing society we left behind. Now, I, am left behind. Continue reading