Category: Words

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Memories are made of

It’s so strange to think that a year ago I was hiking through Lincolnshire. It seems so long ago. One of these days I’ll get around to finishing telling those tales – there are still so many left to tell! As I walked, I kept a very tiny notebook and...

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Review: The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

I have to admit, I picked The Castle of Otranto from the library because it was a very slim volume. At 140 pages, it suited me nicely. And then I couldn’t resist this blurb: Manfred, wicked lord of Otranto Castle, is horrified when his son is crushed to death on...

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When do we lose our favourite book?

I was doing my daily Yoga with Adriene today (daily is relative) and as we sat massaging our feet, Adriene asked me – through the screen, she spoke to me – what’s your favourite book? Leave a comment, she said, and tell me what your favourite book is. And as...

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Review – Soul Tourists by Bernardine Evaristo

Soul Tourists by Bernardine Evaristo is not at all what I was expecting from the cover or the blurb. It is a fairly linear story, but told partly in prose, partly in verse and partly in a sort of condensed dialogue format which swings from internal to external. It doesn’t...

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The peripatetic book lover

It’s not easy being a book lover on the road. My parents (bless them) have several hundred of my books in storage in their garage, and yet I still shipped over two boxes of printed matter! One box of those were my diaries and notebooks and various works in progress....

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Review – Home Truths by David Lodge

We live in a society that is obsessed with celebrity and success. We like to think this is somehow new, but it was as true in 1999 – when Home Truths was first published – as it is now. Adrian and his wife Eleanor live in a nice home in...

hothouse by Brian Aldiss 0

Review – Hothouse by Brian Aldiss

Review: Hothouse by Brian Aldiss Look, I persevered. It is no doubt an interesting book concept. And I came away from it with a clear and unsettling feeling that I had just spent a week in overgrown and hostile jungles, amongst the sticky, sharp, cloying, impenetrable vegetation of Aldiss’s future...

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Chuck

He withdraws bloody claws, flicks chunks of bone to the side. He thinks about his first kill, back when he was a wee pup. He didn’t know then that Benny wasn’t any old bird. She was one of the family, just like him. There had been anger, then. Slaps. He’s...

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Why I hate writers on the internet

So I’m a writer. I’m even sometimes a paid one (yay!). I have this crazy idea that being a writer means that I should be telling stories – making observations about life, describing tiny parts of the universe, sharing tid-bits about people, both fictional and real. But writers on the...