I was shown into a room. A red room. Red wallpaper, red curtains, red carpet. They said it was a sitting-room, but I don’t know why they’d decided to confine its purpose just to sitting....

She took a moment to lament her lack of parasol. Every time she left the house, she felt keenly the absence of her heretofore ubiquitous accessory.

I suppose that saves us from having to determine what to do with a butler who goes around killing people. It certainly reflects badly upon our domestic staff. Still, I shall miss him. There was...

I make love like a stampede of camels running down the hallway of the 14th floor of a hotel. That’s also known as hyperbole—and the 13th floor.

It is probably always disastrous not to be a poet.

Turns out that once you kill a god, people want to talk to you. Paranormal insurance salesmen with special “godslayer” term life policies. Charlatan’s with “godproof” armor and extraplanar safe houses for rent. But most...

In her book claiming that allegations of ritualistic abuse are mostly confabulations, La Fontaine’s (1998) comparison of social workers to ‘nazis’ shows the depth of feeling evident amongst many sceptics. However, this raises an important...

Love songs are nothing without exaggeration.

A writer who is afraid to overreach himself is as useless as a general who is afraid to be wrong.