freedom costs money

Detective Inspector Aaron Cardigan peered over Sergeant Finial’s shoulder at the fuzzy monochrome image that the computer monitor displayed. It showed a back street overshadowed by vast neo-classical buildings without windows; an estate car was parked in the street, tailgate open. Finial clicked onto the next image: it showed a man struggling under the weight of what looked like a urinal. It was a urinal. Whether he was unloading it from the car or loading it was unclear; he seemed about to drop the heavy urinal. Thank god he didn’t, mused Cardigan.

The following is one of a series of articles published in Apropos, the parish magazine of Rimmington Mains throughout 1978 and 1979; entitled On The Rocks, they were one man’s lament for the loss of the Britain of his youth, a Britain that he thought ought not be lost. The author, Major Laurence Alamein, was something of a war hero, fighting in North Africa under Montgomery (he captured an airstrip practically single handedly using only a Mills grenade and a captured Axis motorcycle) and later became Managing Director of Shoshone Oil. He died at Armley in 1985.

Since I've finished War in English's Apodidraskiana, I've moved onto what that novel was supposed to be in the first place. If I can control myself and not put in a load of war criminals and nuclear bombs, it may very well turn into The Family Plot. It's probably not going to be as bleak as this little bit suggests it might be. Yes, it's set in Tierra del Mar. I can't help it. I just can't.

Here is the Editor’s Note on the Author from my most recently completed novel: it is presented as having been written by Ted English and edited by me, which cunningly allows me to abdicate responsibility for the many mistakes which it is bound to contain. English has spelt taut as taught? Perhaps he meant something by it. I am only the editor, after all...

Here is the Editor’s Note on the Text from my most recently completed novel: it is presented as having been written by Ted English and edited by me, which cunningly allows me to abdicate responsibility for the many mistakes which it is bound to contain. English has spelt taut as taught? Perhaps he meant something by it. I am only the editor, after all...

More and more like attempting to reanimate dead flesh, this here is yet another attempt to get the recalcitrant The Family Plot to jump into life. Whether or not this will lead to anything we shall have to see. I think what we need is more voltage. Raise the antenna, Igor.

From humble beginnings... This is the start of something Chandler-esque I'm trying to write, Comments and criticisms welcome, see what it does for you...

Moonlight. A thousand glittering shards of crystal light, hung for a slender moment in the air. Gravity glanced downwards, falling towards the glistening river of tarmac below, accompanied with a sweet music that harped through the night for a single instant and fell dead. The street beneath rag-dolled and then, there was only silence.

Can't remember whether or not I've mentioned it already, but here's a bit on board the ship the crept into Whorlton Bay when I wasn't looking. Unfortunately it seems to have run aground and now I can't get rid of it.

I can’t believe it’s been almost a week. Fear fucks with time, everyone has experienced it. I think it’s something to do with adrenaline or some long-forgotten instinct, some flight response that makes a second seem like a minute. Fear has the teppanyaki chef’s skill to cut time up into a blur.

This is something I came up with. A distinguished associate was a huge factor in this definition. Not to hype it up too much but this philosophy is actually an optimistic form of existentialism.

God is...