: About Me

Although born in Scotland, too many years ago, more than I care to admit, I was brought up and educated in Zimbabwe (Rhodesia as it was then known) and South Africa.

After a pretty standard education at Christian Brothers' College and a full and active social life that prevailed in the sixties - the beach, surfing and parties - I started what was to become my career for the next twelve years. A professional soldier. My training ground was the Rhodesian Bush War and then the British Army. It afforded me an abundance of travel. Cyprus, the Middle East, South America and South East Asia as well as the usual haunts for the Army in the Seventies.

I then returned to South Africa where I worked as a Loss Prevention Consultant in Johannesburg, Cape Town and Bloemfontein. I returned to live in Scotland in the Nineties. Not because I did not like the country and the people, rather for the reason that I was tired of living in a self imposed prison called an apartment. Burglar bars on the windows, security gate at the front door and the constant awareness of personal security.

I am now retired and attempting to write. I have completed two fiction and one non fiction books, A Cheerful Depression, which has now been published and available in paperback. The first fiction novel, "I, War"  is to go into print this year and is now available as an e-book.

My passion is ...

Writing fiction novels

I know too much about ...

I don't think it is possible to know too much anything

My parents always told me ...

Respect, respect

My childhood ambition ...

To be a soldier

My favorite memory ...

A winter cabin in the Rocky Mountains

Why I write ...

I enjoy the creative aspect

My first job ...

Policeman

My inspiration ...

Far too many to mention, a favourite must be Nelson Mandela, his forgiveness is an inspiration to everyone

Creative Writing > Flash Fiction Flash fiction: The only way out

6 of 24

.Sleep did not come easy, his mind was working too hard, but eventually he drifted into a light sleep. He remained on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep, as the shadows moved slowly around the room. The sun had set and darkness was enveloping the corners of the room when he heard the crunch of glass outside his door. Then nothing. He moved off the bed to the wall opposite the door, thumbing back the hammer on the pistol. The light from the window was enough for him to see the door handle. He was alert now, his every sense straining to hear, feel, what was happening in the corridor. If i...

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