The McDonald’s Vampire

The McDonald’s Vampire

I have been asked numerous times why I don’t write in popular genres such as romance, paranormal, vampire, urban fantasy or stories that involve wizards and pixies. Well, the honest answer is that I am just plain hopeless at it. But in an attempt to pacify the calls, here’s a good example of why. The McDonald’s Vampire Reggie tried to stay cucumber cool, but with the prospect of his life changing moment arriving unexpectedly, he could only manage a sixteen year old, hot and eager to trot type of coolness. Agatha had taken him by surprise in accepting – over the last munches of cold MacDonald’s French fries – his

The Passing Of Maria

The Passing Of Maria

For Maria For those who have read my book Louis, you will recall one of the main characters, Medeia. In reality, she was a wonderful, courageous and charming woman, whose real name was Maria. She was the wife of Louis and her passing a few weeks ago at the age of ninety-nine now closes the final chapter on her life and that of Louis. Louis was a spy and man of many secrets, and to her last day, Maria kept those secrets safe. Although her role in the book differs slightly to her real life, many aspects were true. She was born in Greece and met Louis in Africa. While still a

A Drunken Meeting With a Dead Author

A Drunken Meeting With a Dead Author

Oh Douglas, why did you up and leave us? I had the occasion, albeit under the very heavy influence of a bottle or three of an extremely pleasant Shiraz, to stumble upon a rather tall gentleman with an odd outlook on life. Well, odd in the fact that he was rumoured to be dead, but we’ll come to that shortly. Although unsure at first, the presence of a towel slung casually over his left shoulder, a large open and half eaten packet of salted peanuts in his right hand and his asking if I had any beer gave me a clue. When I casually said, ‘Hey, you’re supposed to be

Never Write When You’re Drunk

Never Write When You’re Drunk

Writing and drinking don’t mix well. Old King Cole was a merry old soul when I caught up with him after an afternoon in a cheap motel with Little Bo Peep minus her sheep. Although he had to rush back to his counting house quite quickly, he did have time to answer a few of my questions. Yes, he was indeed the king in ‘Sing a Song of Sixpence, but he preferred that it be kept quiet. I pressed him about Jenny Wren but he refused to comment and then angrily stormed off. It was a pity for him that he didn’t notice the commotion going on outside as when

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