Tinder. A Sociopathic Short Story.

The photo showed a woman whose make-up struggled to cover the years, let alone the rest. She clung proudly to a rough looking teen I assumed was her son. The little treasure himself wore a glare that said, ‘Don’t you dare even think about fucking my mum.’

I swiped right.

Game on, ladies.

Without Form and Void

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Here we go again.

What began as All But One of Those Lights in the Sky are Dead and very nearly became Fucking Danish Girls sorted itself out once I’d started pretending to be an unhinged lesbian living in the future. I hope it’s as enjoyable to read as it was to write.

Paperback out now; eBook too (with dodgy looking preview—cheers, Amazon.)

Thanks for reading xX

Halvtreds

Halvtreds
Halvtreds means Fifty in Danish.

It’s Dave’s birthday tomorrow and there’s a cunningly subtle clue in the title of his latest work as to his age. Since editing poetry is like fashioning a ladder out of live cockroaches, this is pure Dave, his own unadulterated pure self. I just made it look pretty.

If you haven’t already, check out his Facebook page.

Halvtreds and his previous three novels are all available here.

Thanks for stopping by xX

Bloody Fields

Back in 2013 I wrote about my old comrade David Rickerby’s crowdsourcing campaign. Unfortunately, raising funds was the easy part and publishing his first novel seems to have been beset on most sides by shitweasels who overstated their worth then ran for the hills after making a pig’s ear of things. For crippling the copy, delaying the release and tormenting an old man, these blundering halfwits deserve an obscene amount of libellous character assassination.

Now’s not the time though. I mean when you’re a natural at something it doesn’t look like improvisation which is why I’ve never been much for premeditation when setting out to offend a whole bunch of people. That being said, there’s no harm in checking first how many of them will be falling over themselves to get me in a firm headlock and stab me in the eyes with their keys.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a celebration. The revised Bloody Fields is done and damn well dusted. Hip hip . . . !

Continue reading “Bloody Fields”

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