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Nav Logan Bio Mainly, it was poems and the occasional short story. Maerlin's Storm was first written over a decade ago. It wasn't something I planned to do. I didn't wake up and say, I am going to be an author; far from it. Like many things in my life, it all started with a dream. The next morning, I wrote a poem about it. Later, the poem became a story. It grew from a small seed and suddenly became a beanstalk. People read it and enjoyed it, but then life became busy again and for many years the story sat, collecting dust. I tried writing a follow up, but it initially petered out due to other commitments. It would have stayed on the shelf, forgotten, but my wife bought me a Kindle. (She may


Rick Haynes Writing As The Artful Scribbler The number 19 and me. I was born in the late 1940’s. My address was 19 Hoyle Road somewhere in darkest London. Well, just after the war and food rationing still in force, none of my family had enough to eat, let alone pay the electricity bills. My first sexual encounter arrived at the age of, you guessed it, 19. Talk about a leap, or was it a grope in the dark? Without such a willing and very sexy blonde partner, I guess my virgin years would have continued. Thank goodness they didn’t for the joy of sex was strong in this fumbler with the lights out. I was brought up to be polite so always said thank you before we redressed. Not long after, I fo


Who am I? By Rick Haynes. My poetry skills would shame a true poet but on seeing such a wonderful set of pictures, my brain switched itself into overdrive. Welcome to my picture book. I am what I am, neither beast, nor man. You are what you are, so far, a star. With rings so bright, a heavenly sight. You twinkle too, it’s what you do. Time is short, more time is sought. But planets fail, a long lost tale. The end is nigh, just one last sigh. And you are gone, no more our song. The gods have spoken, my heart has broken. I’ll join you soon, one more dead moon.

On The Horns Of A Dilemma.

On The Horns Of A Dilemma. By Rick Haynes I woke up this morning, which, at my age, was an excellent way to start the day. My tea was ready to drink, my breakfast came along soon afterwards, and my mind wandered into all the possibilities of a good writing session, especially as my better half would be out with her friend on a girly-day. As my wife left with a wave and a smile, I retreated into my man-den, turned on my computer, and started to type. I knocked out a Drabble within minutes and had it polished to perfection within the hour. After my hors d'oeuvres, I was in the mood for the main course. Unfortunately, the natural light had almost disappeared. A visage of wall to wall grey greet


First Footing - a tale for Burns Night - by Frances Cooper Bio Greetings, to all those celebrating Burns Night this week, north and south of the border! My main passion is with crime fiction. I have been writing for three years now and have just completed the third book in my murder-mystery trilogy – pausing along the way to try my hand at various genre and styles, stimulated into diversity by my local writing group. This particular tale was inspired by a stroll down ‘memory lane’ during the festive season. New Year was important in our household and I was aware of the Scottish tradition of ‘First Footing’, in which some dark ‘stranger’ would cross the threshold after the stroke of midnight


To start the new year our first tale comes from the highly talented, David Owen. BIO David is a member of the Hampshire Police Male Voice Choir. He also plays the piano badly and supports the charity ‘Hearing Dogs’ as a volunteer, looking after assistance dogs when they are puppies and prior to their advanced training when they will eventually provide companionship and assistance for profoundly deaf people. David has been writing poems and crime stories for many years mainly for self-enjoyment. He is a member of the Denmead Writers’ Group under the wizardry command of Carol Westron who seems to be able to inspire the whole group to excel themselves in their writing. When David is not singin

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