"“When I am dead, I hope it may be said: ‘His sins were scarlet, but his books were read’.” — Hilaire Belloc" Sitting here, attempting to come up with a suitable description for myself, two simple words keep returning to mind. I write. There are others, to be sure. I cook, and I am far too fond of sweets. I read, searching for inspiration in fantasy and horror. I game, for the same reason and in the same genres. The latter receives a special measure of enthusiasm - someone intending to ask me about favourites had better have a sandwich packed, and a sleeping bag in case things run late. But those are hobbies, happy distractions, sources of edification at best. In comparison, writing is the sun in the sky. Longer stories are assembled over time, but in their vicinity and wake, I end up with vignettes and chapters like those which are scattered here. I hope that you enjoy them, and that you won't hesitate to approach me in pursuit of conversation.