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Welcome to my imaginatively named website! Come in, have a look around, make yourself at home. Read my latest news, some snippets from my work (below), and get to know a bit more about me. Read the blog and drop by the store for a cross stitch bargain. Also check out the popular Free Stuff page for downloads.
Let me know what you think - I only bite for research purposes!

Snippets

"There were two men inside the shed and they were discussing something he couldn’t quite hear. One of them drew a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt and pulled aside a heavy plastic curtain. Sam almost fell through the door. Hanging by the wrists, gagged and bound were people, some of them older, some of them young, some of them fat, some of them thin. He watched, wide-eyed as the man with the knife lifted down the first in the row, a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She stirred slightly and groaned then seemed to come to a little more and tried to shout out though the gaffer tape across her mouth. Her eyes were wild as she tried to wriggle free. The man held her fast and didn’t seem at all concerned. He slung her, face down over a wooden structure with a white plastic half pipe below it. The other man was on his feet now and pulled out a stopper in the half pipe. Sam tried to see what was going on but couldn’t quite make it all out. The knife flashed and the first man grabbed the girl by the hair, stretching her neck, using his body weight to keep her steady and then slit her throat."
Rib-eyed Break, a short story, coming soon

"She stood up, glaring, and stormed upstairs, her arms folded tightly across her chest, a scowl on her face to rival a petulant child freshly scolded. I started the countdown in my head the second she left the room. There was hardly any need. The stamp of her feet on each step counted the seconds down just as clearly. As soon as I heard the bedroom door slam shut behind her, I got up. Giving it ten seconds for her to turn around and come screaming back down the stairs at me and confident that the turnaround window had passed, I went noiselessly into the hall and turned the heating down. The TV in the bedroom blared into life, hopped from channel to channel then settled. Soap operas again. Maybe I should have told her that once upon a time they would have been described as melodramas. It would have put her off for certain. She did so hate being referred to as melodramatic, not that I’d ever done so myself but I had witnessed the rage and mortification when her sister had. She watched every single one of those soap opera things whenever she could and always had the volume turned up far beyond reasonable. She wasn’t deaf or even approaching it, and I knew from a basic understanding of people that she did it to avoid conversing. She had it turned up loud enough this time to require an entertainments licence for the street. She wanted me to react, so I ignored it and picked up the paper."
Meter Man, a short story, now available to download