Some of my published writing.

From The Irish Times

Remembering Jonathan Corrie

On Monday a homeless heroin addict died in Dublin city centre. He was Jonathan Corrie, and he was one of my best friends when I was a boy. Continue…

From Macleans

Rob Ford on the couch: Why the mayor is his own worst enemy

Rob Ford is a complicated man, a mystery to himself and a riddle to his city. More than that: Rob Ford is engaged in a secret war against a powerful enemy he can't see. And his war won't end until he surrenders. Continue…

From Eye Magazine

Tax the sacks: Why we need a plastic bag tax

Yesterday I bought a two-litre carton of milk at the corner store: four dollars and nine cents, and the nice lady pulled open a plastic bag and started to put the milk inside. ‘That's grand,’ said I, gripping the carton about the midriff. ‘I don't need a bag.’ I could bear the carton the full fifty metres back to my house without plastic assistance. Continue…

From the Tesseracts anthology, Superhero Universe

Lost and Found

Days later, and I was still finding his things. I'd spot a razor blade under the bathroom sink or one of his books jumbled among mine, and I'd pick it up like it had thorns and put it in the box in the closet. He said he'd call when he was ready to collect his stuff. I didn't even know where he was. Had he moved in with that other girl? Were they coiled together on knotty sheets while I stared at the ceiling?

I tried not to do it. Three days I walked in circles around the apartment telling myself not to do it. I tried to distract myself: web surfing, cheap wine, bouts of self-pity. It didn't work. I needed it. My skin fizzed like cheap pop. I scratched my arms and bit my lips. My boss called. Why wasn’t I at the office processing forms? I told him I’d quit.

To read on, buy Tesseracts 19: Superhero Universe, a collection of unusual takes on the superhero genre.

From the anthology Chilling Ghost Short Stories

Death and Champagne

The preacher stood before the gates, his scarlet face rising above the helmets of the police. The great slopes of his gut shook with fury.

"The Lord will not be mocked!"

I heard his roar through my closed car windows. Spittle shot in in ropes from his lips.

"What you do here is an abomination!"

I slowed as I came closer to the gates of the lab. Reverend Smallings and a dozen of his church had been here all week, but they'd never blocked the entrance before. SCIENTISTS PORNOGRAPHERS AND SOCIALISTS YOU WILL BURN read a new sign.

To read on, get Chilling Ghost Short Stories, a collection of contemporary fiction plus classics by writers including Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins.

From Growing Concerns, an anthology of environmental horror short stories


Lora ran her fingers over the gold edge of the exquisitely forged invitation. It was too warm in the back of the limo, but she didn’t want to ask to the driver to turn down the heat. Her taut and bossy act might slip. Safer if he suspected nothing. Ghost-grey trees flew by in the night. Would the fake invite work? Her group, Greedwatch, had spent a good chunk of its publicity budget making it; the rest had gone on the rented limo, her dress and her shoes. And the device in her purse.

But if things went right, Greedwatch wouldn’t need a publicity budget any more.

To keep reading, buy the Growing Concerns anthology!

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