I Want My War

  Dedicated to the survivors of Srebrenica   “The local soldiers didn’t even have a uniform. A lot of them were just kids fighting in their Converse and jeans. When they weren’t at the frontline I saw them surviving like the best animal, and every night they’d be gather around a burning car tyre trying…

The Belly of New York

We need to start talking about why you look Mexican. Being Maltese I am – we are – sufficiently mixed with Latinate blood to pass, especially with the right facial hair, for something resembling a Mexican. Buy, my daughter, why you have to look like an Aztec princess gazing down on a queue of sacrificial…

Doubt and Apostasy in Golgotha

  A golden-faced Christ looked down on me from the dome. His Byzantine face was sterner than the blonde countenance of the European Jew that gave us Christmas. Like some Andy Warhol print Jesus’ face has been replicated like rain-drops in a violent night sky. Growing up I have seen him in musicals, churches, key-chains,…

Epicurean Realism

  Ever since I was small I was fascinated by the big role little things played in people’s lives. Being an argumentative sort I always pitted imaginary battles in my heads: food vs. career; football vs. relationships; mementos vs. ambitions. Of course now that I’m older and presumably wiser I know it’s not a case…

My Fallen Rover

  The cliffs were a cavity in the face of the earth. Dark and volcanic, boundless like the very night sky. In fact, they look like the night sky of millions of years ago, fossilised. If archaeologists were to excavate it they would unearth shards of extinct stars. “Are you ready Alfred?” She screamed as…

The Ghostly Cries of Istanbul

She had barely run out the door when her mother cried out to her: “it’s just a plane!” But the girl didn’t hear her, or anything, only the shrill engine of the plane; she saw her mother’s hand reaching out to her, but she turned away and cried: “bombs! Bombs are coming!” “Is this a…

The Proust Questionnaire for my Main Character

The Cuban     Finishing the first draft of a novel you’re proud of is a feeling worth more than wealth. And I choose my words carefully. As this is a novel about wealth – or lack thereof, or, better still, the lack of desire for wealth.  The main character of the story is Tony…

Taking Things Too Syria-ously

      Ernest Hemingway once wrote, clearly embittered after a bad interview with the New Yorker: “If you say nothing it is difficult for someone to get it wrong.” And saying nothing is exactly what we should do – in writing, but not in interviews. I was recently interviewed by the kinkily titled Rum Punch…

Read The Shadows of Paradise – First Chapter

On a day when there is legitimate fear over the future of democracy with the inauguration of potentially dangerous, populist pseudo-autocrat, I have decided to embrace the democratic spirit, sidestep literary capitalism, and share with you, dear readers, the first chapter of my manuscript, The Shadows of Paradise. For more information about the novel read…

The Shadows Of Paradise Vlog II

My second video blog about my ongoing novel The Shadows Of Paradise. Working hard on it, despite the depressing world news, and soldiering on – writing is the hardest thing anyone can do in the comfort world. I do encourage your feedback, after all, despite it all, the democratic process is still alive and strong!…

A New Novel: The Shadows Of Paradise

  It’s in the shadows of paradise where we are happiest; There alone death choreographs life’s wildest parties.             A novel born from a quote. A quote born for a novel. It’s fortuitous for a writer to be given such a gift from the Muse. Especially when that writer has shunned the Muse in favour…

We The Tantalised

    Puerta del Sol, Madrid, 2009. We were having breakfast in one of the few cafes here that cater for the early risers. Our table was next to the window, and we could see the sun strip the square of night and the morning commuters dress it for the day. I was having a…