charles barrow's writing

I've been pirated. I've had one of my books - The Stolen Days of John Mann - stolen (oh the irony). A website that calls itself an on-line library, has been recruiting 'editors' whose task it is to upload ebooks that will then be available to download from the site. The 'library' doesn't seem to much care where their 'editors' are sourcing their uploads from. Obviously self-published authors are an easy target for this kind of scam because we have no big publishing house behind us to threaten legal action if the uploads aren't removed. Users subscribe to the site and pay a membership fee for access to all the 'free' content. So the website's creators are receiving payment for content that they don't own, and the authors and creators of said content get nothing, no royalties at all.  I found out about this this morning from @BookSpotlight on Twitter. They tweeted about it as several authors had contacted them to highlight what was ...

Okay so the last couple of weeks have been tough ones for me - mental health wise. I was motoring along quite well, beforehand, and then I hit a brick wall. It's really not uncommon that this is the way it happens, which I suppose makes it a pattern for me. There was no particular big event, or inciting incident if you will, that tipped me over into depression, just a drip, drip of small things that added to the pool of worries and anxieties (if they aren't the same thing), and suddenly I can't get off the sofa. I'm single, so it's easy not to have to get up, get dressed, leave the flat. There is no-one to chivvy me along. I don't work at the moment so I have nowhere to get to by 9am, and no one to call me for missing my shift. And I recently moved to a town where almost no one knows me, just a couple of folk I say hello to in the communal hallways of the building where I live. So it's really easy for me to just not participate in the day. I'm in a kind ...

I took this photo a couple of weeks ago, while I was walking on the seafront. It was a sunny Easter Day, the sea was calm, and that blue sailed boat was coasting along lazily, tacking parallel with the shore. I'm really pleased with the picture, the outlook I mean. There is something tropical about the sea when it's viewed through trees and shrubs, it's as if I'm on a desert island watching the boat warily - is it rescue, or is it peril? The whole idea puts me immediately, and firmly, in Robinson Crusoe territory. The 'romance' of being stranded on an island, living on my wits, eating coconut and herring, sleeping in a hammock, wearing a grass skirt (that's got to be itchy, right?). And then....and then one day I spot a footprint in the sand. I'm not alone.  I've never actually read the book, so all of my experience of the story comes from the 1964 TV version, that had the most glorious theme tune, and a handsome Crusoe. It was escapist kids televisi...

Well, happy to report that the short story I wrote about in the February posting entitled Emergence, got chosen for publication in a Sussex Wildlife Trust anthology of writing to celebrate spring. The anthology is called Emergence. If you'd like to read it you can do just that via this link  Sussex Wildlife Trust It was a very quick turnaround. The submission deadline was February 28th and I received the email to say the anthology had been published on Friday 15th April. Very speedy then, as these things go. It's always good news to get something published. Except your own Obituary, maybe. I've been trying to work on building a portfolio of published writing, in a variety of places, and it's been slow going I'll admit. This is the fourth thing I've had accepted for publication, so I'm happy about it. It's done wonders for my confidence, and my state of mind, when I struggle sometimes to believe that I'm any good at writing at all. I intend to focus m...

This is a marker post. A post that is just marking time until I can think of something useful to say. I'm struggling at the moment to achieve much of anything. The days and weeks have been rolling past and I don't have anything of value to show for them. There are legitimate excuses, of course. But they are only because of the same issues that are affecting everyone. Two year pandemic, slow recovery overtipped by rampant inflation and galloping fuel prices. In the doldrums as the job search falters, no responses, no luck, no glimmer of interest from any employer. I'm doing my best to find and stick to a routine that's a positive response to all this. I do write my journal every morning, and then I take a crack at the Wordle word of the day. And then I go walking because...well, just because. 

A short story I had high hopes of getting published just got rejected. It was a kindly rejection, as these things go - I was let down far more lightly than I have been in the past by some people who professed to love me - but it was still 'No thanks. Nah.' Happy to say I'm not crushed this time, which is growth of sorts. I think this is because I have another story nearing completion, for an anthology of writings about Spring. This short story, at its heart, is full of optimism then, like the season itself, so maybe my mood is just aligned with that, and has somewhat bullet proofed me against disappointments. The submission rules dictate a 150 word limit for the story. With some judicious editing (read merciless) of the first couple of drafts I'm currently resting at 149 words. A joyous position to be in because when you have so few words to play with, so few bricks with which to build a three dimensional world, having one to spare is like finding a £20 note in your jac...

I've been enthralled by Green Planet, David Attenborough's latest triumph, currently being screened by the BBC. The production values are just gorgeous, as we've come to expect from these films, but the stories behind the plants that we get up-close and personal with are just extraordinary. I've been watching it on my own but, at least twice in every program, I've asked the TV (and any other piece of furniture that might be listening) 'How the actual Dickens does the plant know to do that?' If it wouldn't alarm my elderly neighbours, I'd be shouting the question. What has been prompting this? Well, here's an example, we've seen a type of grass in Africa that needs its seed to be buried in the soil swiftly, in order to avoid it lying on the ground for any length of time in the extreme heat. So, it disguises its seeds as antelope dung in the hopes that the local dung beetles will roll the seeds away and bury them...at the perfect depth needed f...