Every decade or so historians look back and in an attempt to prove themselves clever, sum up immensely complex things in cute little catchphrases, the truly great do it five words or less. The Year of the Woman, The Voice of a Generation, Sign of the Times; rubbish. This got me thinking, what will historians… Continue reading Year of the End of the Beginning
They never change, there, that's it - the whole story. Everything else does, even their creator. I've never understood the fear of change. I understand it even less as I approach middle age. Everything that happens in life is the result of change; every birthday, newborn, new friend, new lover, growth, experience, new perspective; they… Continue reading The truth about Angels…
It has taken me 30 years but I have finally finished my house. The foundation is solid, the walls are thick, the inside is spacious and the whole thing is beautiful, at least to my eyes. These are my blueprints. DREAM – contemplate the possibility of the impossible. It all starts with a dream, but… Continue reading The House of G
Writing the best book in the world won't pay the bills. Good writing, GREAT writing has nothing to do with profitability. It's sad, it's painful and most importantly, its true. I could write a poem that would get me nominated for the most prestigious awards the world has to offer and even if I won… Continue reading What do you want?
There is a cost to everything. Everything. I was an angry child and all of my success since can be traced back to a singular talent; my ability to burn Hate as fuel. Armed with an infinite fuel source I could achieve anything. The problem is when burned as a fossil fuel hate produces a… Continue reading Pace
Memory claims it was spring. Gossamer clouds cream-sickled the sun, making dreamy phantoms of even the starkest of things. It was a typical morning. The meager heat, while subpar to me, was of sufficient buoyancy for a peculiar scent to flap its wings and flutter on. It sought a way inside me and found two.… Continue reading The Price [revisited]
It was never my goal to be a writer. I typically don't consider myself one. I am a storyteller, a damn good one if all the grades, awards and compliments can be believed. But I notice in my path a hole, a hollow that impedes my progress and more importantly, the achievement of my goals.… Continue reading Metamorphosis