NaNoWriMo is finished

Dear friends, I have a lot to be happy about.

I have finally completed my third novel – twenty-five days too late to be considered a winner of NaNoWriMo, but completed nonetheless.  I consider this one an improvement on the last one (at least it will be when the rewrites are finished.  It’s rubbish at the moment, naturally, but I’m very much in agreement with Mr Hemingway when it comes to first drafts).

The second thing is, of course, Christmas!  I’m a big fan of Christmas, and I would like to wish you a merry one, whether you celebrate it or not.  You will bloody enjoy the last few days of the year and you will have a pleasant and relaxed time with your families, or so help me I will just wish harder.

I have two stories being published next year and I have received my best ever reviews for a competition piece over at Needle In The Hay.

And because I love you all, I’ll let you read that piece.  Good evening and see you tomorrow!


My mother was always tremendously disappointed in me. It was the quiet sort, the kind you only notice when there’s nothing to distract you. The world clears, retreats like the ocean – and there it is; there it’s always been: the anchor in the sand.

It weighs you down, disappointment. Makes it difficult to fight back. Disappointed with your job? Shut up and do it; it’s easier than quitting. Disappointed with the way you look? Shut up and have another burger; it’s easier than dieting. It’s disappointing when your hero dies, doubly so when it’s your father.

My mother’s disappointment started when I became a bartender instead of attending university, and didn’t get any better when she married my mathematician stepfather. Meanwhile, I earned enough money to move out and open my own late-night bar. The long nights don’t bother me; geniuses often sleep antisocial hours.

The bus hiccups over ruts in the road as I draw ever nearer to the house where they live. He’s a genius too, and the paper he is writing will change the world – only it hasn’t yet. It’s been nearly thirty years, and if it weren’t for my mother, he would have been deported long ago, and his chance would be gone.




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