Authors Electric

As we reach mid-Winter darkness, and the feast of the Unconquered Sun, a blog full of old pagan gods, death and resurrection... Green Man boss below crossing at Rochester Cathedral.( Akoliasnikoff ) There were three men came out of the West, Their fortune for to try, And they have taken a solemn oath, John Barleycorn must die. They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in, Thrown clods upon his head, And these three men took a solemn vow, John Barleycorn was dead. They've let him lie for a very long time Till the rains from heaven did fall, Then little Sir John sprung up his head And sore amazed them all. They've let him stand till midsummer's day Till he looked both pale and wan, Then little Sir John's grown a long, long beard And so become a man. They've hired men with the scythes so sharp To cut him off at the knee They've rolled him and tied him by the waist, Served him most barbarously... They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks...

Ever wondered where our fascination with, and addiction to, stories comes from? They are as much a part of us as our DNA. Children tell them quite naturally, but our need for them is mysterious.  ‘At any given moment,’ Christopher Booker writes, ‘all over the world, hundreds of millions of people will . . . have their attention focused on one of those strange sequences of mental images which we call a story.’   It is, he states, ‘one of the most important mysteries’.* We are surrounded by stories – everyone  has their own story and we are all part of other people’s stories, as well as being part of the bigger historical story of the human race – the whole world is a web of interlocking narrative. We are all part of each other's stories Which is exactly how our ancestors saw it.  Not just human history and interaction, but the landscape as well.  Those weren’t hills on the horizon, they were the bones of some ancient god fallen in battle or the breasts o...

Imagine this. You are working with a professional colleague you respect, but have never met (blind date). This colleague has already stated that he admires your work (you now have a relationship of sorts). Indeed, he has commissioned one of your books for publication (it has taken him and his company four years to get to this point) and you have received and  signed the contract and the cheque (at this point, the relationship has become more concrete). He expresses active interest in other works, especially one. You are now both considering a work as yet unborn and in gestation, so cooperation, encouragement and loving care will be needed to bring it to life. At this delicate point, your colleague vanishes. Emails are routinely unanswered. You wait. Perhaps he's ill, had an accident, even died? Maybe the gestating work you've shared is no longer loved or needed. Will he pay you the respect of telling you? You can take it - after all, you've been in the business for ov...