The Wizard

Back when I first started blogging I named my blog ‘Stories from the Voices in my Head’. My intention was to deliver short stories on a regular basis as training for my actual writing. They paid off well because less than a year later I got my deal with AEC Stellar. Unfortunately that didn’t leave much time for any writing, other than the projects I was writing to sell.

However, now that I have some spare time (a rare luxury), there’s been a story I wanted to write. For those of you who remember The Scribe and The Ranger, this is in the same world, the same theme and same epic feel. Maybe one day I’ll pack them all up and call it something obnoxious like ‘The Epic Collection’.

But for now, please enjoy the story:


The Wizard


The match was getting intense. Since the beginning the Wizard felt at a disadvantage, one that was clearly displayed as the First Rank wizard opposite him launched spell after spell in a series of quick evocations. The Wizard dodged a fire lance but stumbled in his own footing and was sent sprawling on the ground.

He heard the crowd snicker.

This was just unfair. He was only an apprentice level, taking his exam to reach Novice level, the lowest category a Wizard can be. It was quite shameful – when he first entered Endymion Castle, everyone had thought a genius had joined their ranks. They were in for quite a disappointment when five years later he was taking his Novice exam – something talented students overcame in their first year of study. It had taken him five times the time, and he was failing.

From the ground he palmed a fistful of dirt and threw it, muttering a kinetic spell. The First Rank easily dodged it but underestimated the blast. A speck of earth entered his eyes and he stumbled, giving the Wizard time to get back on his feet. The crowd began stirring, hungry for blood his blood. He cursed them all and launched his own, smaller, fire spell.

How dare they pit him, a complete novice, against a First Rank wizard?

First Rank meant the student was well on his way to becoming a Master, the beginning of the elite. What chance did her stand? This was obviously subterfuge – the school had had enough of his incompetence so they decided to fail him on purpose and thereby banish him.

The First Rank countered with a wind spell, extinguishing the Wizard’s pathetic spell with a gust of air. The current grew stronger and the Wizard felt himself being levitated. His legs kicked pathetically as he rose and suddenly fell on his face. Pain flared and his eyes watered immediately. He felt blood trickling from his nostrils . The crowd was now laughing as the First Rank made a spectacle out of him.

The Wizard felt like crying and screaming and hurting the First Rank. The first rule of magic was to never loose your focus but damn those rules. He wasn’t going to play by anyone’s rules any further – all he’d ever gotten from that was humiliation and defeat.

Lightning crackled violently in his hands and he cried a thunder spell whilst thrusting all that energy forwards. Of course he couldn’t control it: the spell hit the First Rank ans sent him hurtling backwards but the backlash exploded into the Wizard with as much force. Once again the Wizard was on the ground.

He crawled to his knees only to find the First Rank had already gotten to his feet. The kinetic spell he launched hit the Wizard fully in the chest and sent him spinning. The Wizard lied on the floor, winded and unable to breath.

“That’s enough,” cried the Professor, who acted as a judge for their match. “The winner is First Rank wizard Icarus.” He beamed at the victor. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Icarus, sneering at the Wizard.

And just like that it was over – not just the match but also the Wizard’s life as a student at Endymion Castle.

It was the middle of the night, well past curfew, when the Wizard stealthily made his way towards the Archmage’s office. Since he was to be expelled and banished either way, the Wizard decided to indulge in the one curiosity he’d always had since first entering the school. It was five years ago when the Archmage, who acted as the school’s headmaster, took his new student for a tour around the Castle. The school did not get a lot of students and only the wealthy and those coming from strong bloodlines were privy to Endymion’s teachings. The Archmage had taken him to his office where he showed the Wizard a book: the legendary Spellbook of Endymion. As a child, the Wizard had heard about such a tome, one said to contain all the secrets of magic. It was a spell book, a powerful grimoire, unique in that only the ones chosen by the tome itself were allowed to gaze upon its contents. The Archmage had told him that no one in five hundred years had been powerful enough to open the Spellbook – not even himself. In fact he gave the Wizard a stern warning to never touch the book, since it contained such powerful magic that it would instantly kill those who picked it up without being chosen by the book itself.

Until tonight the Wizard had always fantasized of being the prodigy who opened the Spellbook of Endymion but now that he had nothing to lose and was out of time, he was adamant to try his luck with the legendary tome.

He entered the Archmage’s study to find it empty. He had correctly guessed that the Archmage’s sleeping quarters were separate from his study: a stroke of luck the Wizard was all too glad to exploit.

The Spellbook of Endymion was at the farthest wall, adjacent to a window. It sat on a wooden pedestal, devoid of any protection spells. There was no need for them – anyone who knew about the tome also knew of its destructive power. It was perhaps the only treasure in existence which protected itself.

The Wizard stepped up in front of the Spellbook until he could smell the old leather. He could feel power emanating from the book, a low but constant hum in the astral planes, like a coiled spring waiting, almost begging, to be released.

Before he could satisfy his curiosity something else caught the Wizard’s attention. He heard voices coming from one side of the study and upon investigation discovered that one of the heavy book cases could be pushed aside to reveal a narrow set of steps. The voices were coming from down there. Unable to stifle his curious nature, the Wizard descended the flight of steps. It was bathed in pitch black darkness and he had to feel his way down using the walls and the stone beneath his feet.

Finally he came to a small dimly lit circular chamber. The Archmage stood facing the wall opposite the stairs, across the room. His form was illuminated with torchlight and he was talking to someone in a low voice. Maybe the Archmage had been keeping a prisoner, or perhaps there was some enchanted item bestowed with speech that was kept here. Or perhaps, in his old age, the Archmage took to talking to himself.

The Wizard listened closely.

“All goes according to plan, Master,” he was saying. “The preparations for your return are nearly complete.”

The Wizard felt another presence in the room and was suddenly hit with a wave of primordial fear and horror. He watched as the darkness in front of the Archmage seemed to slither into the shape of a massive beast, one with three pairs of deep crimson eyes. The Archmage promptly knelt as the being manifested.

The Wizard could not be sure, and had no desire to inquire what the monster was, but judging form the massive power it had and the sheer terror it brought with it, there was only one option.


When it spoke, it sounded like the grinding of stones and the crack of glass under heat.

“I get tired of waiting. Be quick with your duties, Archmage, and I shall reward you posthaste, once I conquer your world.”

“Yes, My Lord,” replied the Archmage.

The Wizard stared in horror. He could not believe what he was hearing. The Archmage, the wizard which everyone looked up to, a servant of a demon?

The Wizard looked up and his heart stopped. One of the demon’s three heads was looking directly at him.

No, it was looking past him, right into his soul, knowing everything he knew, every failure and desire, every intention.

Every fear.

“You have been careless Archmage,” roared the demon. The Wizard nearly doubled over with the sheer force of power. “You have been discovered.”

“Impossible,” cried the Archmage. But then he turned and saw the Wizard at the edge of the stairwell.


“Kill him,” ordered the demon.

No longer caring for subtlety and stealth, the Wizard bolted up the stairs – just in time to avoid having his head seared off by the Archmage’s fire spell.

The Wizard got to the study and pushed the bookshelf back in place, securing it with a spell. It wouldn’t hold – of course not. This was the Archmage of Endymion Castle, the strongest wizard in existence. What chance did a failed apprentice have?

The bookshelf exploded into smithereens and the Archmage calmly made his way up the stairs, his hands crackling with power.

“Meddlesome little runt. Even on your last night at my school you are a thorn in my side.”

A stream of white energy shot at the Wizard. He rolled over the table and launched his own counter spell – a pathetic ball of green energy. It extinguished the moment it came in contact with the Archmage’s spell but had succeed in deflecting the attack and merely winging the Wizard in the shoulder.

The Wizard charged his thunder spell, hoping to catch the Archmage off guard with his strongest attack, but the Archmage was having none of it. The large oaken desk shot towards the Wizard slamming him violently against the wall, before a second blast of light from the Archmage punched into him. The Wizard felt as if he had been torn in half, his eyes bulging and lungs on fire. He was in more pain than he had ever been throughout his entire life. It dawned on him that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do to change that destiny.

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a wizard. You are a disgrace to this school, to your lineage and to magic in general. Just die already,” spat the Archmage as he charged another blast of light.

Something tugged at the corner of the Wizard’s mind: the Spellbook. He was right next to it. Every instinct told him to grab the ancient tome and given his lack of options and certainty of death, he opted to die from the Spellbook’s power rather than at the corrupt Archmage’s hands.

He lunged at the Spellbook and fully expected to be vaporized. Instead he lifted the tome, feeling the warmth and light it bathed him in.

“No,” cried the Archmage. “That’s impossible.”

But possible it was and the Wizard felt more powerful than he had ever felt in his life. Brimming with newfound power he took a step towards the Archmage, intent on retaliation.

But the Spellbook had other intentions. Light exploded from it, completely encasing the Wizard, bathing him – no, drowning him – in its power.

When he opened his eyes again, the Wizard felt normal. He looked around, expecting to be back at the Archmage’s study. Instead all he could see was a sea of red desert and canyons. The horizon was a barren wasteland of sand dunes and the sky was devoid of clouds dominated solely by a distant yet scorching sun.

He felt the weight of the book in his hands but none of its formidable magic. He tried prying it open, in search for answers to his predicament, but the Spellbook of Endymion remained shut, yielding no clue.

The Wizard was on his own.

“Where am I?”


The journey is not over

The journey is not over

Hope you enjoyed the story :)

If you liked that don’t forget to hit the subscribe button down at the right for more epic stories to come.

Later guys. Peace out,


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Starting From Zero

Originally posted on David Gaughran:

lets_get_digital_amazonSuccess can seem unattainable to those starting out. It’s easy to forget that even the biggest sellers started from zero.

Amanda Hocking didn’t arrive on the scene as a fully formed sales machine. She didn’t have a platform which she had been diligently building up for years, nor did she come from trade publishing. She was unable to convince an agent to take her on and decided to self-publish instead, and then sold a million e-books in nine months!

Detractors tried to paint Hocking as an anomaly — and she was, in the sense that anyone who is phenomenally successful at anything is an anomaly.

But that missed the point: she was able to sell as much as the biggest names in publishing without the help of a publisher.

Soon, others followed suit. Authors like Bella Andre, Hugh Howey, HM Ward, Liliana Hart, and Barbara Freethy have sold millions of e-books…

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Episode 33: Fat Vampire


I seem to have trouble staying on topic. After beating myself silly for not recording the show on time, my neurosis finally kicked in and the THC levels in my brain spiked to create the 15 minute rant that you heard at the beginning of this show. I, myself, think that’s an achievement to be celebrated but what the fuck do I know?

Today I talk about the Fat Vampire books, specifically books 1-4 otherwise known as the value meal. I’ve been a long time fan of author and business mogul Johnny B Truant, and I’m glad to finally be discussing one of his projects.

Fat Vampire is what is known as serialized fiction, and in this case, each installation (book) is either a short novel or a long novella. Either way I was stuck to the words like white on rice (don’t judge me – the alternative is like shit on Velcro). Johnny is a master storyteller and although I’ve read his later projects and his writing technique definitely improve, Fat Vampire will definitely suck you in (OK now you can judge me.)

Make sure to stalk Johnny on Twitter and check out his impressive library on Amazon. Also make sure to sign up at Sterling and Stone, the parent company to the Self Publishing Podcast, Better Off Undead Podcast, Realm and Sands publishing and Collective Inkwell Publishing. Sign up and get a whole bunch of stuff for free.

Enjoy the show:




Rapid Fire

Blue Stahli

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It’s a Rap

8 Mile, one of the most awesome movies ever. You all should watch it . . . NOW!  Go, I'll wait

8 Mile, one of the most awesome movies ever. You all should watch it . . . NOW!
Go, I’ll wait


First off, if you read the title as ‘rape’ there’s something wrong with you. I mean don’t get me wrong I’m not judging your hobbies or anything. Personally I’m not much for rape because I have sensitive ears and the screams are so untasteful.

. . .

(Great, Ryan – open with a rape joke. That should make you popular)

(Ryan tell these people you are joking, before they show up with torches and pitchforks)

Sarcasm aside, I just wanted to talk about the music style, the urban poetry that is rap. Of course I understand that not everyone likes the same thing.

(What am I Pol Pot?)

(Maybe Hitler . .  NEIN!) (Only one ! cos it’s communist)

Shh, motherfuckers you’re gonna get me in trouble. Anyway, back on topic (yeah good luck with that shit), I honestly think that any wordsmith (that’s a word people, grab a fuckin’ dictionary) should at least have a look at some lyrics.

You see rap is mostly built using precise words to create rhythm. It’s in essence copy editing, or copy writing, but with a beat to it. Shakespeare (We prefer Marlowe – Deadly sins and shit. Faustus was the bomb)(Let the fucker finish a sentence!) used it back in his day to create an iambic pentameter, or perhaps you prefer Poe with his Trochee lines.

*Sigh* Go on.

(Poe . . . if goths had a forefather it’d be him)

(Seriously. That’s the best you can come up with)

(I don’t do well under pressure)

(That’s why you don’t get a say in our social life)

What social life?

Back on topic: if words are your tool (hahahaha . . . sorry, keep going) (that’s what she said) you want to have the best ones around. But it’s not enough to know five different alternatives for “said” – placement is important. Words in a certain sequence conjure up a specific image in a person’s mind and you want to make sure to properly convey your message. (That’s some weird Mentalist shit – Shout out to my homie Simon Baker) (We never met the guy) (It’s nice to have dreams)

Know what it’s also nice to have? Rhythm. We subconsciously create natural rhythm in our speech patterns and THAT is the secret to good dialogue writing.

Don’t believe me? Have your book read for an audiobook. Or just read the damn thing yourself out loud and LISTEN. You’ll know if it doesn’t feel right. (It usually feesl like being punched in the dick – but you know, verbally)

There’s also an huge upside to listening to rap: listen for a long enough time and you start talking in rhyme. You have no idea how good it feels, to have so many people so damn displeased, listen to the voices and flow with ease

(And if you a little crazy, call that extra cheese)

See? Annoying as three flies up your nostrils.

(But two is OK – damn time shares)

That’s it – I’m done with this atrocity. Roll credits. (Wait. The lizard. Brand motherfucker, brand!)

Oh right.

Follow the lizard. Peace.


rap cartoons

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Episode 32: Dating Conundrums



It seems we’re on a theme here people. I don’t have a guest so I rant – A LOT. So here’s what happened with the show: I couldn’t find the energy to record it and since I have a cough every time I sot down to the mic’s level I go crazy.

So what I did is I took a long chord and a mic and recorded this stand-up style. Which explains this next part.

I originally had a topic I wanted to discuss but I wanted to talk about trying to get back in the dating scene again. I start telling stories (tragedies from my past) and before I knew it 30 minutes were up. I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO THE TOPIC.

So if you enjoy the sort of ranting I am prone to, where I discuss things like the Friend-zone and options that beta males have to get laid, in a stand up way – this is the show for you.

(But seriously, make sure you’re alone in the room)

Enjoy the show:




Rapid Fire

Blue Stahli

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Shark Jumping



Today’s phrase of the week is “Jumping the Shark.”

(Hey I didn’t know we were doing this phrase of the week thing. Little heads up next time)

(We are in his head you idiot)

Dude! I’m trying to work here!

As many of you know I’m not from the US, which makes my knowledge of American idioms somewhat lacking, often to the point where my editors are like “What the fuck does this even mean?” in big red circles like a 70’s schoolteacher on meth.

Turns out that jumping the shark has no actual relation to sharks or jumping (what the shit???!!!). No seriously, it’s just a phrase that indicates the moment or scene when something begins it’s decline (oh you mean like this post?).

But the best part is that usually jumping the shark refers to a climactic scene designed specifically to capture the audience’s attention because they don’t have anything worthy to show you. (For more information, please tune into the E! Network and watch Kim take a trip down south – ironically whilst holding a little person named North. Who writes this shit??!)

So I researched this subject in depth, spending a full ten minutes on Wikipedia (hurray for educational system) and found out this all started when Fonzie (yes, THE Fonz) literally jumped over a shark – WHILST WEARING WATER SKIS.


So why am I getting all hyped up about this? Well, excuse me for being excited to learn! I am a huge fan of sharks and jumping and will of course include this in one of my stories (In book 3 Erik will jump off a whale – does that count?).

Perhaps I will one day coin certain terms like “fondling the dragon” or “Pissing in the abyss” or “HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER THAT THE CAT FUCKING DRAGGED IN WHILST WEARING JUMP SHORTS WITH A PICTURE OF SHARK ON IT THAT SAYS “EAT ME, BITCH.”

You know, the stuff that would make grandma proud. . .  *sigh*

(Yo shall we end this travesty?)

(Yeah, let’s go watch some Fridge Nuking)

(Oh yeah I totally forgot about that one)

(Well it’s your fault for not including it. We’re done now, so suck it)

(Hey take it easy on us)

Sorry – internal affairs. . . hehe, get it?

OK I’m done. Peace out. (Do the lizard thing. Promote motherfucker)

Oh yeah. Follow the lizard,






(We done?) (Yeah I think so) (Wow, we did jump the shark with this one) (Hang on, watch this)
Disclaimer: No actual sharks were harmed during the making of this post. They are all leading a wonderful life, doing sharky things. Everyone wins - except Ryan. Dude's fucked up.
(Awesome. OK we’re done now.)
(Great. . . . Hello? . . . ah, shit)
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Episode 31: God Bless America



This week’s show is kinda heavy, in that it has a deep message and the comedy is dark. I’ve been writing some emotionally heavy stuff, which brought up certain feelings from my past, and this is a good a way as any to deal with them. I suppose it’s all part of the artistic journey, and even in our down side, we can still reach people and deliver a message – and there I go again with the heavy stuff.

Today’s show is about the movie God Bless America. It’s  a dark comedy about political satire and in my opinion should be part of everyone’s education. It’s smart, brilliant, and has a lot of food for thought.

I start the episode by detailing a story of how the blackout the day before affected me, how I find myself taking stances against certain factions of life and then I decide to quote this movie. My voice was shot, (I cannot speak at all today) so no voices.

But that didn’t stop me from talking about social media, societal evolution, the government, our growth and communication, television and those bullying shows that pander to the masses, our lack of values and morals, etc ,etc.

Essentially this episode is a 30 minute rant about a variety of topics by a slightly feverish writer with way too much coffee in his system.

The show ends with a eulogy to Robin Williams, who deserved to be mentioned. I choose to honor his death not by thinking how he died, but by spreading the same kind of joy and laughter that he did, to everyone around me – especially myself. We have to carry on his legacy, and speared the laughs.

Enjoy the show:




Rapid Fire

Blue Stahli

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Are all Artists Addicts?


This post had been a long time coming. And I do mean a long time. Usually I think of blog ideas and write them down in a couple of days, getting rid of my thoughts as soon as they formulate. I heard on Joanna Penn‘s latest podcast episode that she writes to figure out what’s in her brain and I couldn’t agree more.

But this topic has been swimming in my head for a month or so, existing as a sticky note on my desktop, constantly reminding me that maybe I should go ahead and write about it. I can’t predict what will come out of this topic, but fuck it – if that doesn’t make life interesting, what will?

Any of you who follow my podcast or blog (this site) or have ready any interviews know that I do not drink. This is a self imposed exile due to the fact that clearly I cannot be trusted with something which I view as “should be fun.” Let me explain myself:

Back when I was around the age of 16 (and that’s the legal drinking age in my country) I discovered booze and was told that this is something fun. This foul-smelling, petrol-tasting, asshole-creating liquid was supposed to make it all better. Back then I was a lost soul, like most teenagers, still looking for some purpose to my life. And it wasn’t peer pressure that got me drinking – it was my desire to find the fucking answer.

I did not find the answer, no matter the amount drunk. My strategy had several key problems with it, the first of which is my tolerance. I did not, could not, get drunk. To this day I have never had that feeling of loss of control, something which terrifies me.

Problem number two: money. I would buy booze, drink the booze, finish the booze, wait for enlightenment, find none and then realize that my accomplishment for the evening was wasting my hard earned money on fuck nothing.

Problem number three: I am a funny, insane person. And if you listen to my podcast, that is what I sound like everyday. Here’s what I found out about my head. I have this hyper sensory thing which allows me to observe more than the average Joe and often be overwhelmed by a lot of sensory input at once. This is why I cannot stand loud ambient noises or flickering lights. To me a nightclub is hell, and yes, I do retreat into a corner or just run away.

There are papers upon papers on how to treat this thing but I think it’s all bullshit. The premise is that your senses are out of control – I on the other hand firmly believe that nature does not hand you something you cannot live with. And the way I learnt to live with this is by immediately turning anything I observe into a joke. When all I’m thinking of is how to make people laugh, I’m not overwhelmed at all.

Why do I bring this up? Alcohol made me quiet, hiding inside my shell rather than bray out louder than the rest of the asses. But my brain still kept going – being tipsy meant sitting in corner almost in tears as my brain got overwhelmed by sensory input and I could not filter it out. As such, when I was forced to talk, nothing good came out. I was mean to friends, I lashed out and I was a dick.

Thus, my cold turkey exile at the age of 19. Until I began writing I never thought about this.

Don’t kid yourself – we are all addicts to something or other. Some of us cannot live without three or four doses of caffeine. Some of us need that daily processed food intake at Burger King or a fast food joint to make it through the day. I once knew a guy at University who could not make it through more than half an hour at a lecture before he excused himself for a smoke.

We tend to associate addiction with hard drugs, when in reality, addiction is simply a ritual that is taken far beyond it’s intended purpose. Humans are addicted to ritual, to our daily, hourly, routines. This makes our brains healthy, so long as it’s controlled. Addiction is nothing more than that schema taken far beyond it’s intended purpose, into something dark and twisted.

We all have our demons. We all have that void that we are trying to fill – however some people have a bigger hole than others. Philosophers have spent the past three thousand years trying to figure out what is the meaning of life, when the answer is simple. Life, in it’s spiritual meaning, is filling the emptiness inside of you.

Artists, I believe, are all subject to an addictive personality. There is an archetype that we all seem to fit. After all, people who become artist do not do it for the money. Sure, we all like to become rich (who doesn’t?) but we mostly do it to fill this void inside of us, to find the answer to our existence.

Which is why you’d find artists who spend their entire lives working harder than anyone else. Sure they have bills to worry about, but compared to finding the answer to that burning question, to the empty void – it doesn’t even compare.

Most famous classical artists are in fact addicts to more than one thing. Apart from substance abuse, of which there are many cases, you’ll find that an artist’s biggest addiction is their own work. You see they know that the answer lies there, within the path they began excavating. All that matters now is how deep they dig.

And if they happen to dig their own graves in the process, then so be it.

So, is this the behavior of an addict? If so, are all artists intrinsically addicts?

But then, how does one search for answers without losing themselves in the process?

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For Writers: Exercise your body, exercise your brain


The benefit of exercise for writers by Shannon.

Originally posted on Shannon A Thompson:

For Writers: Exercise your body, exercise your brain

Exercise. The dreaded e-word. I get it. People are busy. Between working and managing a healthy diet, finding the time to go for a run is difficult, but – ::sigh:: – it is important for many reasons. Taking care of yourself is vital to maintaining a healthy brain…and (spoiler alert) that healthy brain can be the make-it-or-break-it point for a writer on the verge of insanity. I figured this out after I broke my sanity and had a sob fest in a public gym. (Cute, I know.) You can only sit in your plush rolling chair and stare at your computer screen for so long, and getting up and out might help you surpass that writer’s block you’ve been battling for three weeks straight. So here are three, helpful tips I wish I had that I think pertain to many people (but…

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Episode 30: Heists



Today’s show is all about heist movies, something which I have been indulging myself in for a while because

a) I needed some ‘research’ for Evil Plan Inc. Ep 4

b) I LOVE heist movies

Originally I just wanted to talk about Foolproof (2003) as this is one of those movies which I love – the final plot twist at the end, and the crew of characters are reflected in what I was writing about. However, the show just wasn’t happening and I tanked it.

Then I watched The Perfect Score (2004), got a contact high from that movie and BAM – perfect show recording. In addition to those two movies I also added what in my opinion is the best heist movie ever made: The Italian Job (2003).

Heist movies are all about plot twists, something which I absolutely love. Whilst I find it easier to write character driven stories, especially for a multiple perspective story like Evil Plan Inc., I do include heavy plot-motion elements; hence my need for ‘research’.

And yes, I can technically claim this as research even if I did said research in bed with a bowl of crisps. It’s still research dammit!

I open the show by signing a few tunes (of course), then talk about my vacation and the sagely lizard I met there who taught me a valuable life lesson – no I did not do any acid. It’s metaphorical. Read this for the full details.

Then I talk about me finishing Evil Plan Inc. ep 4 (which is the last thing I had to write for this year’s schedule) and about the ‘petite mort’ I was feeling at the conclusion of both Pandora book 1 and EPI ep 4. I did not properly process those feelings and so I had to deal with a lot these couple of days – emotionally speaking. Right now I’m writing a standalone novel that is years ahead it’s publishing date. It’s a drama and it was inspired by a short story I had written years before I got published, which a lot of people fell in love with. It’s one of the first things I’d ever written but to this day both I and my readers still love it. Read it here.

I think that’s enough talking. Enjoy the show:



Till next time.

Peace out and stay cool,




Rapid Fire

Blue Stahli

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