Sometimes, when I’m struggling with a larger project, a smaller idea will worm its way into my head and give me a palate cleanser. It helps me to refocus and just get in a little bit of writing practice without worrying about it having to go somewhere or be something. This one came about when
Fact or fiction? … You decide. It’s exactly two years to the day that I reacted to some medicine my doctor gave me, passed out, cracked my head open and gave myself a serious concussion. Two years since I almost choked on my own vomit and died. Two years since I visited the Waiting Room
* header photo credit to Sara Rolin via Unsplash * I haven’t always written horror, although I have been an avid fan of it since I first stumbled upon Stephen King’s ‘Pet Sematary’ when I was around 13. I always read books well outside my suggested age range, much to my mother’s chagrin. She supported
I have a dream, well, perhaps more of a desire really, to be able to stand up in front of an audience of my peers and read some of my written work aloud. I used to be quite good at it when I was at school, with my teachers often choosing me to read aloud
