I'm finally getting my head down on Monkey People — a slightly different perspective on the story of Forever Completely . This is early drafting, but it's tickling me, so I thought I'd share a bit with you too. I offer no apologies in advance.  F.F.S. (Which is how these things generally start.)  Fools: Yaroslav Popov looked down at Astrakhan, the Caspian capital once moved seven kilometres after its capture by Ivan the Terrible some five hundred years ago. That mental old fuck had a lot in common with Putin, though Yarolsav would never have dared say so out loud for fear of a tumble down the stairs or out of a window. In fact, knowing his luck, he’d probably be sucked into the engines of his own PAK-FA, aided by some thugs who reeked of booze and unwashed sweat. They all seemed to carry the same stink and, being on a prestige base, it was common to see them bringing hookers to the COs, or dragging those same men out for a long walk off a short landing. Depended entir...

Growing up, I always felt like I lived on the periphery, a spectator in a world that didn’t quite know what to make of me - and, frankly, I wasn’t too sure about it either. Writing became my refuge, my outlet, and a midnight safe mirror. Being displaced as a child gave me a unique perspective - an outsider’s lens through which I’ve always viewed the world. When I moved from the New Forest to Derbyshire, the hills became my sanctuary. They were vast, mysterious, and full of stories waiting to be discovered. Alone on those hills, I felt free to imagine anything, to weave narratives that made sense of my own disjointed experience. Fiction became my way of finding balance in the chaos, giving me a voice when I felt voiceless. I’ve often said, “I write because it’s saved me more than once.” And it has. Life isn’t linear, and its messiness has a way of pushing you to the brink. Writing was there for me during those times when nothing else could reach me. It offered clarity when everything fe...