My works of fiction

  • Disappointment begets inertia

    Have you ever felt like your tools outright hate you? I don’t mean your electric drill suddenly turning on you, à la Skynet. I’m talking about things being generally uncooperative. You know, the spoon that spills and splashes, the key that refuses to fit in the lock, the gawdamn USB that won’t go in the slot. Or, specifically in today’s case, the divination tools that won’t cooperate. There are certainly days I feel under attack my physics in general, and there are days when it seems metaphysics is out to get me. It’s hard when a tarot deck that has taken a disliking to you keeps turning up cards the divination equivalent of a middle finger. I don’t know why I persist with this deck. Anyone want a slightly used Rider deck?

  • I suck at accountability – but I have an idea

    Audio What’s this audio about, anyway? I seriously suck at holding myself accountable Below, I go into at least a little detail about why this has become a real problem when it comes to achieving things that matter to me, but in case you’d rather not read through that ordeal, here’s a quick precis of what this post is about: I have something I really, really want to achieve but I can’t do it on my own. I enjoy writing and I’m pretty good at it, but I can’t write for myself. No amount of word tracking or magical apps for word sprints or promises from friends to read it actually helps me get it done. As I explain below, writing has become transactional for me as a result of decades of RP (see below if you dare). So, after months of agonising over the audacity of even thinking about it, and a good three weeks trying to write this post, I’m actually asking for help.

  • My Faux Pas

    Something for my dad on Father’s Day. My Faux Pas. It’s easy to be a father, harder to be a dad. The first a slip with passion, The other a choice to have. A mother labours hard And invests all she has A father might not know it Until he becomes a dad. A father gives a little A dad gives all he’s got. A father loves his lover A dad loves his lot. My dad is not my father But he loves me as his own. He made the choice, you see To dismiss blood and bone. This daughter loves her dad And thanks him for all he’s been, All the good he’s done for me, Much of it gone unseen. All I have to say On this and every day “I love you, dad.” – Amelia Beare

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