Okay so I’m not a fiction writer, I’m a wannabe. Decades ago I went on a creative writing course and it scared me so much I couldn’t string a sentence together for many years. Then, working in a bookshop one fine winter, I realised the amount of bad writing that seems to make it into publication, and I had another go. That’s Bush Fire Baby, which didn’t win any prizes, but did end up in an in-house publication somewhere.

Moving to Australia a while ago (was it 2003?) I got in a flap about Christmas presents for family back home. Too late to post anything, and as penniless as ever, I sat down and wrote twelve short stories that all connect in various ways. That’s Connect. They are best read in order. Connect Two is in process….

A couple of years ago I was lent a campervan (long story) and had a fabulous time pottering down Ireland’s west coast, hatching plans and stories as I went. There were seaweed baths, ram sales, a close encounter with an otter, and all manner of such delights to help fuel the fires. The result of that is Mr. M, Chapter One of what may prove to become my magnum opus – Naked on the Beach.