I’ve been working on my latest book recently and can present you with the cover for my soon to be released anthology of short stories.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the cover for “Tall Tales for Dark Nights”.


I’m really pleased with the book and I’m looking forward eagerly to the release.

Watch this space for the date.



I’ve discovered a slightly odd problem recently. Setting the tone correctly in the story I’m writing.

How to create the correct age rating on what I’m trying to say.

For me, to set the tone in a childrens book, just don’t swear and avoid talking about willies. By the same token, the reverse is true when setting up an adult story, boobs and a liberal sprinkling of curse words and you’re good to go.

I know that’s more than a little over simplification but what about that grey area between the two?

I’ve been writing to appeal to everyone, spreading the love as far as I can but that means I’m forever playing in the no mans land between sounding like I’m writing a kiddies cartoon or dodgy porn or horror.

Now I recognise that the topic I’m playing with allows me the largest scope to be able to make sure I can appeal to everyone but there still remains the pitfalls of violence described too graphically or with so much fluffiness to make it painful.

So what to do?

I need to try and get the point across without including huge swathes of Clive Barker-esque brutality or repeated examples of ‘gosh darn it’. I need to ensure there is enough meat to the story that any discerning adult will be engaged without delving too deeply into topics and phrases which younger readers either wouldn’t understand or shouldn’t hear.

Those of you out there who’ve been reading what I’ve got to say on here for some time will have read a small collection of my short stories. I didn’t pick those stories specifically for this reason but there seems to be a decent show of my writing for different ages. Forced New Life makes you think but isn’t nasty, The Power of a Book feels to me to be more of a teenage flavoured tale, Make Believe Friend is more adult in its tone but still not totally off limits to younger readers, maybe some though, and True Love is certainly meant only for grown ups.

Trying to ensure that you say the right thing at the right time is vital to making the overall tale as compelling as possible. Using the wrong phrase at a given point can crush the fragile environment you’re making so the appropriate language is a must. The age of the reader is just another consideration.

I’ll just have to avoid loads of talk about characters going to bed to have a ‘special cuddle’.


We’ve been separated for so long.

Thinking back, I never really appreciated the family that I had growing up. From the time that I was the smallest I can remember, I was always surrounded by such a close group that it left me nothing to be worried about. There was always conversation and a feeling of the truest togetherness.

We lived in a small community on an idyllic island. The days were warm and the nights cool. There were so many of us who grew up together. We all used to hang out together and the life we led was relaxed and fulfilling.

That was then.

As I sit here, I think back to the life I had and wonder what has become of all of those that I remember. I’m alone now. Not isolated as one but plucked from that group. I’m now surrounded by strangers from other lands who are so far removed from me as to be utterly alien. Different colours are everywhere.

But we do share a horrible bond.

We were all wrenched from our homes, pulled from the lands that we knew and transported far away. The stories that are told, I can’t understand them all, seem to be saying the same thing. All of us were crammed into different tight transports and hurried away from the ones we love.

We all found ourselves being hustled and split apart as we were bought and sold by different groups. Coins were changing hands right up to the end where I was placed with these others. You can see the harshness of the transport on the skin of the unlucky ones. They are all covered in ever darkening bruises.

It’s cold here.

We all now sit staring from our wooded prison waiting for our end to come. I can feel myself and those others around me all withering away as the time we spend stripped from our roots passes.

What will be the end for me?

Looking around where I am I can see such comfort but I can see that I’m here only for the short term.
I really miss my family.

It’s tough being a banana.