Word Power

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“Pen… mightier than the sword? Of course I believe it, my dear fellow… It may be a source of cliché, however, as a celebrated man of letters deeply in touch with the serendipity of his muse, I endorse the power of the written word wholeheartedly and without any undue reservation… words can topple dictators, invigorate the spirit and surpass all that is ugly… Read more.

Blood Snorts

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“Yes, I’m a writer.  Cross me at your peril.  I don’t understand the reason for your childish display of mirth, or the signs of low intelligence and poor vocabulary.  You should be careful my friend… My words are my rapier.   I can dip my pen into a pot of creative vitriol at will.  I can… Read more.

He’s A (Rebel) Writer

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“Imogen… this is Gavin… he’s a writer…” “Oh reeeally…” “Yeh…” “What sort of writer?” “I’m usually described as a writer’s writer… though most people tend to deify me as a cult incarnate; an uncompromising maverick… they think I’m hewn from a unique amalgamation of styles on the margins of the acceptable… they see me as… Read more.

Another Of Those Top Ten Lists…

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This is yet another of those TOP TEN lists… You all know the drill by now because they are de rigueur online; stylistically oppressive and ubiquitous.  Like a friendly virus. TEN is a NICE neat rOund number.  Cognitively comfortable compared to mentally unsettling maverick number NINE – where you can’t help feeling something is issing –… Read more.

Hobnobbin-With The Rebels And Chocolate Hobnobs…

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Scene Four… To have any chance of producing my best work – Ok, my aim was to face facts so make that any work – I crave my own little piece of that big creative environment out there: some shiny corner for a shiny suit that I can contaminate with a tiny trace of my… Read more.

The Heart Of Darkness And Hot Desks…

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Scene Three… The reviews are in and they’re mixed.  Alright, alright; I failed miserably to inject any tension…  I admit it, there’s precious little blogarhythm.  I’ve given it the best I’ve got: writer’s block, imaginary Polish builders; a pizza that refuses to go honourably and a shiny suit – weddings and funerals only – that… Read more.

Sofa; So Bad…

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Scene Two…   “Cztery Kubki?  What’s that?  You want Tea?   Ah; Kubek is Polish for cup…  Sure it’s not an English mug?” It comes to something when even your imaginary friends start to get pushy… Instead of gazing out the window onto mean streets – where a recessionary wind blows cold and the Transits gather at… Read more.

Of Grand Designs And Crystal Balls…

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Scene One… I have a symbiotic relationship with white van men.  As soon as I leave an institution: school, art college, university; or an employer – be they big or small, agency or creative department – the builders move in.  Brick dust, stewed teabags, Polish small talk and eventually the latest sciatica-inducing exercise in angularity from Ikea… Read more.