"I was not a poet. I felt no consolation in this knowledge, but only a red anger that evolution could allow such sensitivity and and such inadequacy to co-exist in the same mind" from James Fowles, The Magus.
Some fictional pieces of varying length including finished novels, short stories and lost wonders.
Links to recent work and some ghastly juvenalia.
From the Olympian heights of national publication and actual payment to the lows of unpaid regional gigs and the neither-high-nor-low of getting your stuff published online.
An online anarchist university that recognises no educational authority and awards no titles.
Er... this is the other stuff.
