Bye Bobbie; get on the train!

Anthony Robert McMillan OBE; a farewell.

Our losses this year have already been great, but this one hit like a train jumping the track. A stunning man with talent in spades, a gem from by going times. One of my all time favourite actors, an individual whom i’ve looked up to all my life. The sky shall soon be blank as all my stars go out. Rest in peace Anthony. Good show sir, thank you. 


It’s an odd feeling when you see the cover for the first time. It’s not my book — of it i am only a part but to see my name — there in the print — thats pretty spiffing. I can’t imagine what it will feel like when i see my nasty word vomit spread across a few pages in the second volume of The Holon Project. I hope i will feel proud, even if just for a minute. I guess i don’t quite believe its happening though August is just around the corner and i’ll have a cold copy in my hands. To date i am $15.08 richer for my writing.. and a hundred pound sterling richer for bribery. Not only that i am still waiting for a verdict on a short story i submitted months ago. July 20th is when writers will start to be notified, if i don’t hear anything then .. well my story didn’t cut it. This is the likely scenario, but hope prevails — you never fucking know. For now i’ll revel in this beautiful artwork on a cover of a book that i will be in and that will be published. Thanks Ashlee Hampton. 

The Rock had seven dollars; i have eight cents

Some days i want to write and thats as far as i get. The want. I spend around 75% of my time wanting to write, researching and making notes; which leaves me 25% of free time to sit down in my office to actually write, right?



As a crumbling human being i’m already beating my head against the nine to five trivia of feeling ill equipped to survive, let alone forcing myself to word wrangle when i feel…you know… ill equipped.  

 Onwards we must push, nevertheless. You understand — you have to too. So instead of me pouring my black heart out this evening, theres a little light at the end of the tunnel i wanted to share. The tiny success that pushed me to keep on writing. Small victories you understand.

 I don’t come from the heart of money – i know people inclined that way and they are the poorest people i ever had the misfortune to meet. Either way I’m not built to want it, to crave it or discern how the hell i start making the bucks that’ll line my coffers with rims of steel and gold. It matters not. I never went wanting, but i dreamed of all the things money couldn’t buy. I tell you this only so the following has a little more power than it would otherwise. 

 The personal essay i had published a week ago so far made my poorman pocket $0.08 richer. In the grand scheme of things it may seem a tuppance — hell not even! But to the man with nothing, well, i’m doing pretty damn well. A couple of coppers, i got ’em but i have a lot more than that. So to date my writing as earned me a 100 pounds sterling, feelings of shame and deceit — along with my mere 8 American cents.