Saturday 29 September 2012

Full Moon Musings

A Twist Of Time - Soothing The Savage Breast...


With the equinox behind us, an equal night and day, I enter my Libra month with a full moon rising.  Equilibrium is at a premium and I'm feeling a little unbalanced.

A week of changes. A series of pivotal moments. A shop finally closed down. An album released. New writings writ. New friendships forged.

Nothing in the G household stays the same for long.

The Indian summer has arrived and the touch of frost upon the field and the low sun hitting the sweet corn fields with gold light at dawn is an affirmation of the change in the seasons.

Mrs G and I are working flat out and sometimes around the clock to complete the new projects and  give ourselves time to breath on the brief free days. 

So, this is written in a little hiatus between serving the public and, well serving more of the public. A busy day in one's little vintage shop. Wall to wall and nothing bu cold coffee (always a good measure of the success of the day.)

Ella is playing in the shop as I come to a close and the last minute rush is threatening. 

I will choose something soothing for the journey homewards.

October beckons...


(Why oh why do I love Pierrot Lunaire by Schoenberg? I'm not sure I do. It is a piece tinged with madness and laced through with an unforgettable melancholy.)




Tuesday 25 September 2012

Mr G At The Crossroads

There are times when choices have to be made. Am I at the crossroads? More like a fork in the road.

I'm working on two books simultaneously (yes, men CAN multi-task...) and I am not sure which one is going to win the race.

Book one is written from the point of view of a woman, book two from four different points of view. The characters and voices are all so strong and separate that there is no danger that the plot or story-lines will cross.

So. Can I do it? Should I do it?

I don't expect answers. Mrs G enjoyed both Slow Poison and Bloodstones, so she is keen to read anything I might be able to construct. (Yes, she is a fan - the last thing I expected. Most advice given is that a writer should not share fiction with the spouse. Our relationship seems to be holding up pretty darn good from where I'm standing...)

So. I'm ploughing on. It's exhilarating to be honest. We're running the little vintage shop together and in those quiet moments, I slam down a few more scenes.

The subject matter is also poles apart. One, a crime novel based around the rag trade and the other an apocalyptic saga spanning five decades. How could I possibly confuse the two. Just wait and see!

  


And then there are Bloodstones and Slow Poison. I have just uploaded the final edits to Amazon and they are beginning to sell well. 


Thursday 20 September 2012

Mr G Writes A New Book...

Mr G writes a new book? Well, two actually, but that's another story...

The one on my mind and in my head and at my fingertips is Red House.



Red House is told from four different points of view, all first person.

The story involves four people who become intricately linked through their involvement with Red House, a sinister cult religion that preys on the minds, souls and wallets of the vulnerable. Their methods of recruiting new members is gruesome and questionable.

Red House follows four stories over five decades culminating in an apocalyptic climax where only one will survive and the world will change forever.

Expect cult religion, haute couture, trans-sexualism and the second coming.

To give you the flavour of the book, I have included a short excerpt from the opening. All comments welcome. I will be publishing at the end of the year.



Red House by Casimir Greenfield


They took Timmy to the Red House. It was October third, Nineteen Sixty Seven. The day Woody Guthrie died. I can remember the Tuesday as though it were yesterday. Woody. Bobby's muse. Gone. Fifty Five. A tragedy. At least Timmy came back alive. Well, I say alive. He was probably brain dead from day one. The Red House effect. I guess you can always tell when someone has gone. Their mind, I mean. There's a kind of blank stare, a lack of sparkle, a void - as though their soul has been ripped from within their very being and smeared across a sacrificial brow. But Timmy lost more than his spark on those brief dark days in early October. 

The sycamore trees still blazed with autumn russets when the sun was allowed to shine, fallen leaves crisp with frost, weighted down, ripped from their mother host and crushed underfoot. Like Timmy. 

I love my sleep, so twenty four hours of deprivation was a challenge. Timmy had been kept awake for close to ninety by the time they brought him back. They used such clean and powerful drugs. And there's me. Stupid idiot me. What did I go and do?  I kept him from suicide that's what. And that might have been the wrong thing.

I sliced the palm of my hand open trying to prise the bread knife from between his fingers. I still have the scar. Timmy still has the scars. Both external and internal. Still has the sight in one eye. Though what he sees I have not got the first clue. 

I used to visit him quite often, but in the last few years his mind has gone completely. He was unrecognisable, but they assured me it was him. Bloated and shaven-headed, strait-jacket smeared with bile-green vomit. He had been a beautiful flower child with Pre-Raphaelite curls falling to his shoulders until the aftermath of the Red House. Not anymore. I know fossilised lichens with more life. He didn't know who the fuck I was.  

Why the hell had I bothered?  All those years had been a complete fucking waste of time and funds. But I swore one thing before I lost him completely. In one of those rare lucid moments before the electroshocks fried the last remnants of his memory, I swore a quiet oath to him. That unholy fucking trinity will fall. If it's the last thing I ever do, I will avenge him. Timmy, and all the others. Dee, Melody, Ollie, Jake, Bleddyn, Patty, Chris, Raver - all the lost souls. All the ravaged lives fucked over and spat out like pomegranate seeds.

I will avenge them all, make no mistake about that. And if I die in the telling of the tale, so be it, but as long as this poisoned blood runs through my veins, I swear on the lives of all the damned saints and angels in heaven, Red House will fall. 

copyright 2012 Casimir Greenfield





Red House - a link to the song based on the book

Wednesday 19 September 2012

Mr and Mrs G Go To Lunch

Tuesday began well. I had listened to the wrong weather report on the BBC, so I was expecting rain and strong winds all day long...but at 5.30 with the sun just about ready to rise over the maize fields at the back of the stables, I realised that the light dusting of frost on the grass had nothing to do with precipitation and the wind chimes were as silent as the grave. A good omen.

The weather forecast was for Sri Lanka. We live at the edge the Cotswolds. Nuff said!

So, we took off for the last free day until our sons return from foreign fields to take over some of the day to day duties in the little vintage shop that Mrs G and I run singly and together.

We bundled Coco into the back of the Rover and headed out toward the Forest Of Dean. Listened to a bit of Presley on the way. God knows why! Four songs in and he began to sound like a second rate impersonator. In my humble opinion. Give me Stina Nordenstam any day...

The riverside restaurant on the Wye was quite crowded. The sky was blue, the sun was hot and we played musical tables until we found one that suited us. Forester's Lunch (local meats, local cheeses and giant pickled onions) was the choice for both of us, different meats, different cheeses...shared chips!

Beastie under the table profited from my glazed ham. I ate all of the Welsh Brie. Red Bull in a wine glass with ice and lime is my tipple of choice (pretentious? Moi?) while Mrs G went for a diet something.

The walk along the Wye was nothing less than spectacular and inspiring too. Perfect plotting locations everywhere we looked.

Then, at the car park, we found the Rover hemmed in by several badly parked cars. But, I have a foghorn voice when I need it and the drivers soon came running to free us.

We ambled away through the forest listening to Queen's Greatest Hits...a matter of opinion once more...I'd prefer Joni or Prince...

I did some bank business in Ross and we ambled through a couple of antique stores before racing over to a daughter in Malvern in time for the school run. Two granddaughters, two schools...rush hour...fun!

An hour or two of silliness and we were back on the road heading toward Gloucester and home.

Nine saw us driving son to station, stopping on the way for more Red Bull, then we bade farewell and watched him drift into the far distance, Coco wondering where in blazes he had disappeared to. We tried not to shed a tear, drove home to recover.

Oh Goodness! The house is empty. We're alone (apart from Coco, Dinky the cat and Cardinal Richelieu the Goldfish)

Mr and Mrs G go to bed.

That's another story.









Tuesday 18 September 2012

Cas on Amazon - Just A Quickie!


Just a quick one...

Here are the links to both Bloodstones and Slow Poison

Casimir on Amazon





Monday 17 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield; Alone Again, Or...

For the first time in decades, Mrs G and I will be alone.

We are part of that strange modern family phenomenon. Just when you think they have all flown the coop, one or other meanders back to roost, glad to be home.

So what is it with kids? Why do they always revert to teenagers whatever their age? Loo seats up, dirty washing everywhere, every darn cup in the kitchen used and left...

You get the picture.

So the last one standing is off to join another one on foreign soil. A vacation. You are not kidding!

Okay - so I have to take over his role in the family business, but there will be no one to sit in judgement to watch us grow old disgracefully. Don't get me wrong, I love all four of them. Yes, four! But sometimes, you just need your space.

When the third left home, we could finally give up meat again. This one? Well, less of everything. Laundry piles are 10 to 1 in his favour. Yes, that's ten times as much...

Actually, Mrs G and I were thinking of running away from home...but we'll see how the next few weeks go!

A time shift; it's a bout six hours after beginning this blog. Quite a day at the shop! We've cleaned and re-jigged and I think we will be injecting some well needed energy back into the business. And there is still time for writing.

Alone again...or...

(a great track from a fine album - psychedelia lives! Have a listen here; Alone Again - or... Love)




Friday 14 September 2012

Time After Time - Room 101 at The VIntage Hour


How about a little light relief for a change. My very good friend, Mister Dave Ireland, presents a weekly radio show. This week, the theme is Room 101, that famous place we all love to visit when the clock strikes 13 and it's 1984...
So, have some fun with Dave...


Time After Time - Room 101 at The Vintage Hour


Posted on 14 Sep 2012 by Time After Time


Welcome to Time After Time – The Vintage Hour…


Hi – I’m Dave Ireland…why not join me for the next sixty minutes as we journey back in time for some of the best in vintage music from the 1920s to the 1970s and way beyond…


Walking through the vast offices and studios of Stroud FM is a bit like walking through the Labyrinth of Knossos…mile upon mile of endless passageways and corridors…and just this morning I came across a cobwebbed covered door…Laura and I shouldered it open and, oh my goodness…all the nightmare tunes you never wanted to hear again piled high from wall to ceiling!


The Birdy Song…a couple of Englebert Tunes…Charles Hawtry’s Greatest Hit…and the ballad of Jock and Yono…


Yes, you’ve guessed it…it was Stroud FM’s very own Room 101…So this week…what’s going in, never to be heard again – and what’s staying out to grace the airwaves?


Here’s a list of the tunes…see if you can guess which tunes went down the chute and which ones we managed to save. Join me and Laura, with Sam, Cas Greenfield and Lady Lavinia as we open the door to Room 101.


• Hoagy Carmichael – Barnacle Bill The Sailor• Gracie Fields – The Bargain Hunter• Everybody Loves My Baby (But My Baby Don’t Love Nobody But Me) – Clarence Williams’ Blue 5 Featuring Louis Armstrong.• Pearl Carr & Teddy Johnson – Sing Little Birdie• Fred Astaire – They Can’t Take That Away From Me• Ray Noble – Sailing On The Rebert E. Lee• Ambrose – Caramba• Leonard Slatkin & The Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra – Leroy Anderson’s The Typewriter• Beatles – Can’t Buy Me Love• Twinkle – Terry• Shangri-las – Sophisticated Boom Boom• Chuck Berry – Memphis Tennesee• Paris Street Orchestra – Poor People Of Paris• The Soggy Bottom Boys – A Man Of Constant Sorrow• Randy Vanwarmer – Angelina Baker• Queen – Killer Queen• Tremeloes? No!• Kinks – Lola• T-Rex – I Love To Boogie• Cliff Edwards – When You Wish Upon A Star


I’m Dave Ireland and you’ve been listening to Time After Time The Vintage Hour on Stroud FM 107.9 your community radio station. Thanks to Laura my producer for unlocking Room 101 and thanks to Sam, Lady Lavinia and Casimir Greenfield for setting the new world record for the most raving loonies in a small space… I’ve been Dave Ireland and this has been a Double Infinity Production. See you next time, bye bye….


Download The Vintage Hour - Room 101
 







Wednesday 12 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - We didn't die!

Tuesday was not quite what we expecting Tuesday to be. Monday evening had not started well. A trip to Gloucester ended with the overpowering smell of petrol fumes wafting around us in the car.

A quick examination in the Cathedral car park revealed a strong steady trickle of fuel pouring from a corroded fuel tank.

Luckily one of our sons had accompanied us on the trip and we knew we'd have a lift back.

The car had been virtually running on empty and we were due for a re-fuel, so we knew the tank would be drained before too long. It was raining and the rainbows created by the leak looked very pretty  streaming down the drain. But, even with a leak, those tanks hold more than you can imagine. The breakdown guys couldn't make it until the morning, so we thought we would be okay. We were alive anyway!

But, Tuesday morning (in son's borrowed car) revealed just how much fuel one of those darn tanks holds. There was a goodly pool of pungent fuel underneath the car, plus an irate car park attendant who was possibly the most unpleasant fellow I have encountered in a long while.

We sought solace in coffee and toasted tea-cakes in the wrong cafe. All beams and antiquity - it was nothing better than a greasy spoon in a prime tourist trap. They couldn't fail. Over-priced and awful. We were still alive, though!

Poor Mrs G. left for a little retail therapy while I awaited the Brummie breakdown guy. What a ray of sunshine! After more abuse from the car park attendant and several drivers who couldn't wait the two minutes while our beleaguered car was winched onto the flat bed truck we drove away to find a quiet spot for the financials.

Our little shop in Gloucester never did quite take off. The other one has done well from day one. Some things just don't work, though, however hard you work at them. Slow Poison? The leaking fuel? The car park guy?

I don't know. We're still alive...

Mrs G. found some wonderful diamanté artefacts in a charming little antique centre in a converted inn, plus we managed to walk the dog and clear our heads a little.

Brummie guy delivered the car to our local garage, the sun was shining, car park guy will get his and we really did live to fight another day.

Slow Poison? It trickleth on...


Tuesday 11 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - It's A County Affair

Just a little aside, really, in response to a blog I discovered along the way.


Here in Old England, we are in the midst of our county fair season too. Because of the extraordinarily wet summer over here, much has been cancelled, so our local fair of last Sunday became a major attraction for many of the surrounding counties.
Not that Mrs G and I dropped in. As per usual, we were going against the grain and all we encountered were the unprecedented queues and overheated vehicles as we attempted to weave our way in and out in a bid to make it on time to visit a cloth mill that had been my childhood neighbour.
I grew up in the shadow of this cloth mill, one of hundreds that had been active in my part of the world. My aunt and uncle worked there, my mother worked at an adjacent mill. The mill is under redevelopment and this was to be the final opportunity to visit before the building work began.
We were not disappointed. There will be more of this when the time is right.
The county show? A resounding success of course. The weather was stunning, the visitor numbers twice that of last year. But, next year, we may well try to visit New England in the fall and see how the new guys do it!

Monday 10 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - A Sex Change Operation.

Changing sex should not be undergone lightly, but luckily, in the world of fiction, the operation is completely reversible.

I've just embarked on a new writing project. I have decided that a completely new identity is the only way forward. And not just a new identity, but this time we're going trans-gender.

The new book may be in the first person narrative style (although I find the third person omniscient an easier write) and from a girl's point of view...so there's only one thing for it - I'm changing sex for one book only.

The book has at its core the world of vintage fashion and antiques, an area I know inside out. I work with all aspects of clothing and accessories for both men and women on a daily basis, including some hands on operational stuff. I've just reworked a size 24 1950s full-length frock into a ballerina length size 16, so I really do know my way around a gusset, darlings!

That one of my books would be set in this most glamorous of worlds was always a given. It was just a matter of time.

Bloodstones certainly has a female perspective, but the new book will delve deeper. It began life a few days ago as 'chick-lit', but in that short time has evolved into something much deeper and darker. I just can't help it.

I'm not prepared to let you into the new identity just yet, but if the  whole thing works, I promise that you will be the first to know. For now, it will be my secret.

I would be interested in your take on this. In writing we need to get inside the heads of all our characters, but this feels like a different commitment. If you are a writer too, share your thoughts with us.






Saturday 8 September 2012

Don't Give Up The Day Job!

Writing is what I do, but there are other things in my life. Apart from my music, I am also a partner in a delightful vintage shop at the heart of the Cotswolds.

I have a fashion degree, grew up in a mill cottage and spent my formative years fighting in the great fashion wars of the late 1960s.

My mother was a spinner and indeed, many of my extended family members worked in the textile industry, so it was a given that I would probably have an interest in some area of the rag trade.

Tomorrow morning I will be revisiting the wonderful mill that was my childhood bedroom window view. The mill is to be re-developed as apartments, and tomorrow will be the last opportunity for the general public to have a peek behind the scenes.

Because of my family connections, Mrs G and I will be part of a troupe of insiders and we will be given a tour by someone that knew my mum. I think that a few tears might fall.

So, today, I'm ruling the roost in the vintage shop. And I love it!

I thought I might have the chance to do some writing, but this blog is the first chance I've had. We have a popular shop and the place has been wall-to-wall all day. It's 15.45 and I'm just about to have my second cup of coffee. I hope this one will be hot! Running a shop is a good place to slim, too - I've had just a handful of nuts since I opened at 8.30...

So, no writing as such, but I have heard the most fascinating anecdotes today - fuel and food for thought. It's the perfect place for research. I make a bit of money doing it too.

My next book involves haute couture ( I typed hate couture by mistake - very apt) so all of this is good stuff.

I'll be here until 18.00 hrs and I'm not complaining.

Will I ever give up the day job? All I can say is that the publisher's advance would have to be a big one to make me do it...

Must dash...the royal milliner has just popped in...


Mr G's Vintage Shop                                          Mr G's On-line Shop





Thursday 6 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - Expletives Revisited...

I'm quite a mild-mannered chap really. You might not think so if you read my books - some of the goings on have left my readers scared to meet me in the flesh. Listen - I'm a fiction writer! None of this stuff is real...

And then there is the language. Shocking actually. And it has worried me a little. I would like a broad audience for my work, but where do your draw the line in the sand?

Things are changing, though. Both books (Bloodstones and Slow Poison) have undergone some major editing (SP as I write) and as a consequence much of the really bad words have been excised  Sometimes the menace of the books can be shown in deed rather than in word. All the same, there are some fruity passages in there.

So - I have decided that I will be publishing the unexpurgated editions alongside the 'cleaner' PG versions. Watch this space!

That way, the choice will be up to you. A kind of booky bootleg for aficionados of the racier read.

Let me know what you think...do your worst - I don't bloody mind!

email me at: Casimir Greenfield Should Clean Up His Act!

Tuesday 4 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - Amazon Kindle Books Out Now!


After much soul searching and some good hard editing, I have decided to publish both of my books as eBooks for Kindle on Amazon.

They are available in all territories from today. You can visit the books by clicking the link below. 

Here are the nutshell descriptions, just so you know what you are getting yourself in to!  

Bloodstones in a nutshell
Death, lust and infidelity on a summer's day. Lives will change forever in the idyllic Cotswold countryside deep in the heart of the Bloodstones.

Slow Poison in a nutshell
From murder and mayhem on the streets Amsterdam to the pastoral landscape of the British countryside, the scent of sex and violence is never far away.

Casimir Greenfield on Amazon

Casimir Greenfield Press Release

Sunday 2 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - A Taste of Bloodstones

I'm leaving Bloodstones alone for a little while. I've made quite a few adjustments over the past week or so and now it has landed on the Harper Collins Authonomy Editor's Desk, I will not edit again for the moment.

I joined an interesting forum thread on site. The premise is that an author submits the first six hundred words of their work as if presenting it to a prospective agent. The faux agent then evaluates at which point he or she would stop reading and toss it onto the slush pile.

It's a tough forum, but ultimately it should help to hone and enhance a work so that it is ready to face the cruel world.

I have included the six hundred words I ended up with, approved by a number of the faux agents. I will NOT be posting the original draft!

We are asked to add a short and a long pitch;

Short Pitch:

Death, lust and infidelity on a summer’s day. Lives will change forever in the idyllic Cotswold countryside deep in the heart of the Bloodstones.
Long Pitch:
Summer has arrived in a Cotswold village at the edge of the Severn Plain. Olivia Lowell is an unassuming person in her early fifties preparing for an exhibition of her watercolours in the local church during the village fete. Her newest work is a departure in style, an exorcism of her creative past. Her acute sense of detail coupled with her changing physical state alters her perception of her ordered life and the lives of those around her.

Her husband, Gerald, is involved with a young girl. Olivia suspects nothing at first, but is uneasy about the changes within her and in the changes she notices in Gerald. During the fete, a body is discovered in the woods above the village. With a murder investigation in progress, the village is in turmoil. Gerald is missing, and Olivia's world is turned upside down.

In the days following the murder, Olivia re-evaluates her safe and secure existence and discovers a person within herself of whom she had lost sight. 

And then: Bloodstones - the first 600 words! Just thought you might like to read, comment and read more if you'd like...


Chapter One.

              Olivia woke early to catch the first light. She dressed quietly in the dark bedroom, and crept downstairs for muesli at the kitchen table. Before leaving, she poured coffee into Gerald's mug, crept back upstairs and left it near his clock radio without waking him. She paused, and gazed down at him. His sleep was fathoms deep. She wallowed in the heat rising from their bed, his musky sweat her perfume for the day. She resisted the overwhelming urge to smother him with her pillow, leaning down instead to kiss his forehead. He moaned gently from the depths.

             As she closed the front door behind her, a sensuous melange of loam and honeysuckle caught her breath, clearing her head, keening her purpose.

             A vague mist hung over The Stanleys as she threaded her way through the crusted cow-pats along the ramblers' rutted path. The sun had not yet risen over the hills, the landscape diffused and pale in the scant moments before dawn.

            This was her favourite time. The moments of quiet before the rest of the world awoke. As she moved past the curtained windows of silent rooms, the delicate lingerings of a brushwood bonfire drifted lightly around her. She hurried down from the brow into the dip, crossing the plank bridge over the brook that edged the playing fields. She passed the familiar limestone wall. Through the railings and across the yard she could just make out the words carved above the doors; 'JUNIORS' and 'INFANTS'. The school was a school no more. Now it housed a play group and the polling booths. It was easy though, at this early hour, to fly back to the crowded classrooms, where the smell of chalk mingled with Devon Violets, giggles and farts.

            Olivia thought of Gerald, still cocooned in the heat of their bed. She wished that she had made more of the sleepy moans he had offered her, but these were the hours she was loath to miss. The whole day would have been full of regret and spite. The days were becoming too few to toy with.

            Somewhere a window slammed shut. Someone was awake. She touched her cheek and it felt cold and bloodless.
            Olivia walked on briskly, the soft pad of her brogues sandwiched between the cooing of the wood pigeons and the thrum of a distant generator. She could pinpoint the sounds. Colour began to seep back wherever she looked.
            She moved onward and upward through avenues of beeches, her thoughts now an unwanted carpet of seedlings. The last few yards left her breathless and she felt her scented armpits moisten, darkening the fabric of her blouse.

            She found the stile that broke the dry stone wall, dividing the Wood from the Common. The grass was damp with dew, but she sank down, suddenly exhausted. Even though the sun was barely grazing the calcium outcrops, and she would normally wait until noon, she unscrewed the cap of the flask of coffee she now so desperately needed.. She lay back against the cold stones and closed her eyes, feeling tired and old. She thought she could hear his deep breathing, his low moans. Thought she could smell again the harsh odour of his sweat, crushed between them like aromatic petals.

  


Gerald’s coffee was still warm when Dawn arrived.

    "Quick...come away from the window..."

    "It's all right...you don't 'ave to worry. I seen her go past my place ages ago. Her'll be up thur all day with they stupid paints of hers..."

    "Don't talk like that. She does lovely work. She sells them..."

    "They be pretty enough...goes nice with they curtains...the pinks and that..."

    "Come away from the window..."

The girl turned and drew hard on the lipstick stained cigarette between her lips. She blew smoke into the room.

    "Come yer...I wants you. Her ent gonna see us from up thur..."

    "Listen...I don't want her to get hurt, that's all..."

    "Aw...little Gerry don't want to hurt her! What'd her say if her seen us now..?"

    "Shut up..!"

    "Here, watchit, you randy old bugger. You better be nice to me..."

    "I don't like it when you're cruel about her, that's all..."

    "Her'd be right upset, though, wouldn't her..?"

Gerald walked over to the window and took the cigarette from between her lips. She ran her vermilion nails over his back, raking his skin, almost drawing blood.





Saturday 1 September 2012

Casimir Greenfield - Bloodstones made it to the desk!


I have been on the Harper Collins Authonomy site for unpublished authors since March this year with both Bloodstones and Slow Poison. It was at midnight last night that Bloodstones moved over to the hallowed Editor's Desk for a read by the Harper Collins team. I will keep you posted when I hear back from them.

My thanks to everyone that ever read, commented on and backed the book.

I spent the last few days of August giving the manuscript a fine tune, and I am indebted for the help and insights of members too numerous to name. Until committed to the page, our books are all 'works in progress': one of the reasons I have removed my books from Amazon etc. How many of us are really ready for self-publication?

 So now it's on with the hard edit of Slow Poison and the final draft of Red House.

 On August 31st there was a blue moon. It felt like it!

I spent the day in Peter Gabriel's studio transferring the master tapes of an album my younger self had recorded thirty-five years ago. There were two songs I had not heard since the day they were first recorded. They were stunning! Much will come of them.

So, it's on with the writing, the editing, the music, all of the things I love to do.

Thank you all for your support. Remember to be kind to one another, because karma really does work...

Love and peace, Cas.

To read Slow Poison, just click the link below.