Everybody knows the story of the little red engine. How it gets to the bottom of a big hill and it’s not sure whether it can climb it or not. But it keeps on saying, ‘I think I can, I think I can,’ and in the end it manages to get to the top. Well

Over the last few weeks I’ve done grumpy posts and I’ve done self-deprecating posts. Now, in order to demonstrate that as a writer I’m fully capable of displaying a broad range of emotions, I’m going to settle on a new one today. I’m going to get all soppy and sentimental. I’ll just gently brush a

I write fantasy. I make stuff up. I use my imagination to invent strange new worlds where extraordinary things happen. Sometimes, I can’t help feeling like that leaves me at a bit of a disadvantage.

Last week, I wrote a post about how I’m terrible at lying. This week, I thought I should continue on the same line, i.e. things I’m bad at. Come to think of it, I reckon if I kept going on this theme, I’d have enough posts to last for the next three years. But it

I’m the world’s worst liar. Always have been. Always will be. Whenever I try to tell a lie, the giveaway signs are obvious. I fidget. My hands go all over the place. And I can’t stifle the telltale smile that breaks upon my face. Anybody within a mile or so can tell right away that