Archive for June 2012
What next? Using the cut-up technique.
June 24, 2012
If you try hard, cutting up small pieces of paper can lead to ... a book.
The Dadaists were members of an avant-garde European art movement. The Beat Poets were a US group indulging in substances of a not entirely legal nature. So what have I got in common with them. Cutting up small bits of paper.
To explain…
I have just made my first e-book. It’s a collection of my short stories published by women’s magazines in the UK, Australia and around the world. The hardest part of making the book (webmaster John did all the techie stuff) was deciding the order in which to place the stories.
There are 15 of them. Easy, right?
Wrong.
It was a lot harder than I thought. Read the rest of this entry »
Posted in 
What’s in a name?
June 15, 2012
The earthquake was devastating for the people of Haiti
Not long ago, I shared a plane journey with a woman who was heading to Haiti to continue charity work with the victims of the terrible earthquake in 2010.
Hundreds of thousands of people were killed or left homeless by the earthquake.
At the time the world rallied to offer aid – but these things fade from the public view quickly. For the people of Haiti – the recovery is long and hard.
On my plane, I met a woman from THEA an organization helping the Haitian people help themselves – mainly through education.
It was once of those chance meetings that can sometimes lead to something more. Read the rest of this entry »
Avast ya lubber – where is Johnny Depp?
June 9, 2012
A trip to Caribbean – that can only mean one thing – Captain Jack Sparrow.
With this in mind – and clutching my camera, I set out from my hotel in San Juan, Puerto Rico in search of pirates.
And if you’re looking for pirate – where else but in a fortress.
It’s really not that hard to spot a fortress in san Juan.. Read the rest of this entry »
A time machine named Bob
June 2, 2012
A glimpse into a more gracious subway
The New York Subway is a place of endless fascination… its dark and noisy and hot (or freezing cold). In a single journey, I can hear half a dozen languages spoken, converse with a man in a gorilla suit, listen to a remarkably good (or bad) busker and be tempted to buy anything from a new pair of shoes to a plane ticket.
A couple of weeks ago, in a disused subway station in deepest, darkest Brooklyn, I met a time machine named Bob.. Read the rest of this entry »