I was interviewed by Owen Quinn at TheTimeWarriors.co.uk last week about my involvement in the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary celebrations. There’s also some stuff in there about my observations of the the Irish comics industry and as a writer in Belfast. Here’s the link.
I’m on holiday so it’s to you to promote if you like. Here’s today’s prose.
There wasn’t time to mourn. Emails were stacking up, not read, without answer. One future timeline Christine made a list of names. Each blog would be combed for tastes of art, developmental detail (Jim remarried), traves unraveled, new jobs. The claimed Judas was Facebook cloaking love in popularity. The sulk came in the lettle embroiled, a decaffinated hold stirred a three year resolution.
The first person she followed was far out and clicked again to a vault of changes, towards when she knew Ed. On the way she saw a scar. He was without a beard and he was talking about the day Michael Gove was executed. Wait. Michael Gove was executed? How the hell could she have missed that? She scrolled on – recipe for tira masu, oh he’s building an extension, writing an album, his beard is back. And with each update their friends commented and some were not there, and new ones were added. It soothed. Christina still lusted for the bridges, wanted to be there now. Tiredness set in and for the final two hours of reading, little absorption. Unprepared for the reunion, it drove her and the rest came inbetween.