rambling away
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Those of you who have read my
irregular Ramblings, which I
frequently post on my Blog under
the title of Ramblings from a
Writers Mind, will know that each
Rambling focuses on a particular,
although random topic.
Each Rambling is written without
any formal structure, hence my use
of the word ‘Ramblings’.
These posts are not intended to
be or give a definitive, they are just
my own personal view regarding
the subject of choice, which are
often based on the influences of my
experiences, observations and
encounters of the preceding few
days. However I do hope that these
posts stimulate your mind and
create discussion, even debate.
ISSUE NO.1
RAMBLING AWAY
WRITING ABOUT RANDOM
THINGS
BY PAUL WHITE
RAMBLING AWAY
Welcome to this the first edition on my magazine Rambling Away.
The reason I have produced this magazine is to share with you, in a single place,
some samples the wide range of writing I am involved in.
Here in Rambling Away you can read about the life and tribulations of a writer’s
life, taken from my blog ‘Ramblings from a Writers Mind’
Share the self-doubts and uncertainties that we all encounter in our daily lives as
shared in another of my Blogs ‘Further Ramblings’
Here too you can read stories first published in ‘A Little more Fiction’ which can be
found on WordPress
Also I have sprinkled Rambling Away with the odd poem or two.
On the last pages I have listed my current published books, Blog addresses and
Website should you wish to read more of my work or simply find out more about
me.
I hope you enjoy this rather haphazard and eclectic mixture of various writings,
Paul.
Please not that ALL written works contained within this document is protected by copyright.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by
copyright law.
© Paul White 2014 © Paul White 2015
The Exquisite Quintessence of books.
(From Ramblings from a Writers Mind)
I enjoy reading.
In fact I enjoy reading just about anything, from the back of shampoo bottles, cereal
packets, junk mail and flyers, fast food placemats and holiday brochures, in fact I read just
about everything that has words printed or scribbled on it.
Most of all though, I like to read books, any books. Whether it’s a fictional novel, a
biography or a factual tome; and like most of the people I know, I have several books on my
bedside cabinet. I take a few easy reading paperbacks on my holidays, so I can read while
I’m relaxing on the beach or by the pool.
I no longer commute, but when I did I always had a novel with me to while away the time
on the tube or the train. Those poor books suffered many indignities during their life with
me. I only had the time to read them in ‘bite-size’ phases, so they were often mistreated by
being casually tossed into a bag, or wedged into a pocket, which was far too small to
accommodate them without causing distortion. Other times I have been guilty of rolling a
book up and forcing it into a tiny compartment of a case.
I have thereby read many twisted, misshapen, torn and dog-eared novels, many with loose
pages and scuffed covers, and that, in my world is a good thing!
No, no, I do not mean the mistreatment, I mean always having a book with me, regardless
of its condition when I inherited it, or passed it on to a friend.
A book in any condition, without a reader, is nothing more than a stack of paper. It is an
inanimate object with very little use.
You may steady that wonky table by wedging a book under one of its legs. Alternatively
you may pile a stack upon a shelf, or even line the walls of your lounge with regimented
volumes, bound in green and red leather, a mini library of unread literature there solely for
the purpose of decoration.
Apart from that, a book is basically valueless unless it has someone to read it.
Once opened a book is no more than sheet after sheet of paper, decorated with a
collection of seemingly random symbols.
To decipher those symbols one must have the key. That key is language. The right
language. I for one cannot read Mandarin, or understand the Cyrillic alphabet, so books
written in those languages are just groups of symbols spread across the page, and because I
cannot read them they are of little value to me.
Oh, but once you open the cover of a Novel which is written in a language you can
understand, what magic then flows forth from those strange symbols, what enchanted
fascinations emit from otherwise inanimate pages.
As soon as that secret door opens you are transported into a fantasy world, a nether world
in which anything is possible and everything imaginable becomes conceivable.
This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.
It is pure escapism from the norm, the basic and often boring routines of life. How many
times have you paused during your reading and looked up from the pages and, for those
ensuing few moments, have had to collect your thoughts, bring yourself back to the real
world?
I compare that moment to awaking suddenly, being jolted from a deep sleep. It takes a
while to re-boot, to re-focus your mind on where you are, who you are, and what you’re
actually doing there in the first instance!
I do not believe that there is any other medium that can create such a wonderful
experience as reading a book. There is nothing else in which we can become so totally
immersed that all around fades, for that period, into irrelevance.
This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.
Which leads me onto the issue of eBooks verses Real books. I know there are benefits to
both formats, for instance you can cram an awful lot of reading material into the memory of
a reading tablet. This electronic wizardry allows one to carry a virtual library with them
wherever they may be, and to have the ability to add to it almost instantaneously. Without
doubt there are many benefits to eBooks, which is why I make all my books available in
digital formats as well as the traditional printed versions.
For me however the Real book, either hard backed or paperback, gives the reader
something that no device can deliver; that is a tactile and sensory quality.
To be able to feel a book, to touch the paper, to physically turn its pages is a wonderful
thing. Add to that the smell, the woody, inky, sometimes musty scent which pervades a
printed work and, for me at least, I am instantly moved.
Those scents, the tactile feel of the paper, the sound of the page rustling as you turn it,
brings not only a sense of pending adventure, but memories of past experiences, and the
places that previous books have taken me to.
I do not think that any electronic devise, any amount of technical sorcery could ever
conjure a spell of such vivid intensity that is imparted by the wholesomeness of a real book.
This is the Exquisite Quintessence of books.
Enjoy your reading, wherever it takes you!
X
One Thousand Lies.
(Selected from Further Ramblings)
Today I suspect that I am going to be doing much the same as most of you.
I shall go to work, eat lunch, and return home. After that I may pick up some groceries, grab
a beer with a few friends, or eat out in a restaurant. Alternatively I might spend an hour or
two in the gym before taking my girlfriend to see a movie.
I have no particular plans, whatever happens will happen.
Much of my life is like that, I take each day one step at a time. That is not to say I simple drift
along. I have pretty much planned Christmas, well at least have a basic outline of where I
shall be on any given day during the festive period. I have also organised a holiday abroad
next year.
But on a daily basis, an hourly basis, my life can be, and usually is a pretty random affair. I
like it like that. It suits my lifestyle, it suits what I do.
I do not think that living this way is by any means unusual. I think it is basically a relatively
normal way to live. Probably not too dissimilar to your life?
But this rambling is not about how I or you live our lives, it is about those one thousand lies
which we tell each and every day.
You see, when I go into that store to pick up the groceries and the cashier asks me the
inevitable question ‘How are you today’, I shall say ‘I’m fine’ and smile back at her.
Later when I am sitting in the bar and my buddy says ‘How are thing’s going’, I will tell him
they are going great and regale a funny story about someone falling over, or explain that I
had to break hard to avoid hitting some idiot on the road this morning.
Those answers I give will, of course, be lies.
Because, like you, I am not doing fine. Things are not going great. Not really. Not truthfully.
Not if I am being totally honest with myself.
What I should say to the cashier is that life is a bitch. That I never have enough money
however hard I work. That the Government takes too much in tax and deductions. That the
basic necessities for living; electricity, gas, and water are way too expensive. But I lie to her. I
say ‘I’m fine’.
I should tell my buddy that my relationship is on the rocks. That my love life is as messed up
as my head. That I am fed up with struggling and fighting the system each and every day of
my life just to live, just to exist.
I should say I am weary and on the verge of depression. But I say my life is great and hide
the truth in my eyes behind a story of no consequence. I avoid the truth. I lie.
You see I want more.
I do not mean the big house in Malibu, the Lear Jet, the motor yachts and the billionaire
lifestyle. Do not get me wrong I would like those. I think most of us would, but they are only
dreams for the majority of us. Dreams and aspirations which we keep shuttered away
knowing in all reality we shall never achieve such things.
The ‘more’ that I want is much simpler. I want not to struggle to pay the bills. I would like to
be able to afford to repair and service my car without having to make cuts in my spending on
other things that month.
I would like a lover who loved me as much as I did them. I would like to see my children
happy and content with their lives.
I would like to understand other people and have some answer to the problems of this
world.
I want to be able to understand me, my thoughts, my fears, my uncertainties and
insecurities.
Yes I want more, more love, more understanding, more solutions and less worries, less
stress and fewer demons.
Is that too much to ask?
But like you I never say these things. I never tell of my failing hearing, my dimmed sight,
those creeping aches and pains, my inner terrors and the nightmares which plague me
during the nocturnal hours.
I just smile and say ‘I’m fine’.
Why.
Because I am the only one who feels this way. I must be, because everybody else tells me
they are ‘just fine’.
So I tell those lies a one thousand times a day.
X
Seeds of acceptance
(Sown by the Media)
(An extract from Further Ramblings)
A short while ago the Television and Radios stations had been broadcasting a Video of two
young men smoking a hand rolled cigarette.
Big deal I hear you say. Only in this instance the young men were Zayn Malik and Louis
Tomlinson. You may well ask ‘Who’? Don’t worry you are not alone, I asked the same
question!
It appears that these young men, in fact they are still boys, are two members of a band
called One Direction. A group that sing songs to backing tracks. In my day a ‘band’ was
either brass, jazz, big, or pop. The common factor was that the members of a band actually
played instruments.
Oh how times have changed, or rather, how our collective acceptance of the meaning of
various words have altered over time.
It seems that this One Direction are an extremely popular singing quintet at this moment
in time, hence the media’s interest in any tit-bit of information concerning them.
It has also been alleged, that the hand rolled cigarette seen in this video, contained
marijuana, a type of drug known correctly as Cannabis sativa, a psychoactive drug. The
principal psychoactive constituent of cannabis is tetrahydrocannabinol (THC); it is one of
483 known compounds in the plant, including at least 84 other cannabinoids, such as
cannabidiol (CBD), cannabinol (CBN), tetrahydrocannabivarin (THCV), and cannabigerol
(CBG).
That said it has not, at the time of writing this, been admitted or proven that the cigarette
in question contained any form of drug whatsoever. Even if it did the two boys from the
quintet were not committing a crime as they were in Peru where it is not illegal to possess a
small quantity of Cannabis for personal use.
However this post is not about drugs, there use, misuse, the current legal, or political
stance, regarding them. The above is purely for some background information relating to the
next part of my Rambling.
The first morning that the Media broke this story I was watching television, waiting for the
weather report. What caught my attention was the opening statement made by the
presenter. Although I have not committed it to memory verbatim, this is what was said, ‘A
video that is being broadcast all over the internet, showing members of the boy band One
Direction smoking a hand rolled cigarette, has shocked and stunned the bands fans’.
Not only was this statement inaccurate it was assumptive and misleading. Firstly this
video, although widely available to access, was not ‘all over the internet’.
Secondly was the assumption that this was a ‘joint’, the report was careful not to say that
it was, but clearly suggested by constant inference that it was so. There was, at that time, no
proof of what this cigarette did or did not contain.
The third, and most infuriating, was the misleading statement the bands fans ‘were
shocked’ by the event. Wrong. The majority of the bands fans were puffing away merrily on
their own reefers before leaving home to attend kindergarten.
Ok, Ok, maybe it was primary school, not kindergarten! But you get my drift. Most of One
Directions fans found it quite amusing rather than shocking…….until they were informed by
the media that they should be shocked!!
On the surface you may consider what I am saying to be illogical, even crap. But this is just
one simple example of how the media, whether acting under the instruction of Government,
corporate or political manifest, or on its own agenda, plants the seeds of conformity into the
minds of the susceptible by stealth.
The susceptible include you by the way. You have been conditioned to absorb the Mass
Medias input, downloaded constantly and consistently, directly into your mind since birth.
After the above announcement was made in the early hours of the morning, this message
was repeated at regular intervals for forty eight hours in every form of media possible, TV,
National Radio, Local Radio, Web & Net broadcasts, newspapers etc.
The resultant, and desired outcome was that the majority of people now truly believed, as
most probably you did, and without question, that the fans of this One Direction were
shocked by the revelation that the band members may have been smoking a little weed.
While the band members may well have had a little toke, the statement of shock however
was pure fiction designed by the media to grab you attention and influence public opinion.
Therefore, if it is so easy for a false message to be adopted and believed as a truth over
something so simple, consider just how many of these messages, this proper gander, this
psychological conditioning you have absorbed in the past?
Ponder for a moment those things that you deem to be fact, the truth,
reality, actuality. Then take one more moment and ask yourself this
question, ‘WHY do you assume that it is fact’?
Lastly remember where you first heard of saw the information, was it
the Television, or a Newspaper? The Radio? All three?
Was that statement, you know the one that told you the same thing so
many times that you have come to believe it is true.
Well, was it as accurate and informative as the One Direction broadcasts?
Well was it?
X
X
Seeds of Wisdom
A simple poem
Hidden within, beneath my seasoned skin,
I embrace a wealth of life and living and all therein,
Of desire and anger and fear and shame,
Of elation and sadness and hope and pain.
All these things are lessons learned,
And not a solitary one came unearned,
I’ve fought and struggled and almost died,
Accumulating that which I hold inside.
So when I speak and write of these,
Do not dismiss them, I beg you please,
For each and every word I say,
Is the honest truth and not a cliché.
You will of course fumble and fall
For that is what we do, one and all,
But have no fear, have little dread,
And don’t let panic fill your head.
To live is to learn, and that you will do,
And I’ll help by sharing knowledge with you,
And by the time your children have grown,
You too will have seeds of wisdom to be sown.
So embrace life and living and all therein,
And keep it secure beneath your skin,
Feel desire, and anger, and fear and shame,
And learn from your sadness and hope and pain.
The Field.
Flash fiction
So you wake up in the middle of a field with absolutely no comprehension of how you got to be
there.
Lying next to you are two bloodied and battered bodies, one dead, one moaning in agony.
The one that is still alive is crying for help.
Although, to actually make out her words you have to put your ear very close to the gaping wound
that was once her mouth.
I am sure that she was a very pretty before.
I am certain of that by the way her nails were painted, and by the remnants of her long blonde
hair, or at least the few strands that are still attached to her blackened and burnt scalp.
Maybe it was only those few strands of blonde hair that were keeping her skull from falling apart
completely?
There was little I could do to help her, except to go and find help.
That was when I realised that fetching help would not be quite as easy as I first thought.
Two things made finding assistance difficult.
The first was that I could not stand.
Because to do that it helps to have entire legs, and not stumps that turn into a fibrous raggy mess
from just below the knees.
The second problem was the field.
I had not noticed until I looked around me the dips and hollows dotted about.
These were the craters left from the explosion of the landmines.
X
Sentience of Mortality
Ramblings from a Writers Mind
NOTE. Unlike many of my Ramblings this one focuses on a subject which some may find disturbing.
That is the topic of death. Whilst I do not wish to upset anyone, I make no apologies for writing about
this issue, because it is one which we shall all inevitably have to face at some point in our future.
As I have previously explained these Ramblings of mine are frequently inspired by events and
incidents which are happening in my life right now, as well as stimuli and experiences I absorb from
the world around me.
At this point in time it is death that seems to be one of the most prominent factors in my world, and
being a writer I have an inbuilt natural necessity to question just about everything I sense. I want to
know why certain things make us feel, act, or react to them in the way I, and others do.
I have spent the last few days deliberating over my reactions to death, not my own death, but to
death in general.
A subject which, I am sorry to say, has been foremost in the world’s media recently, and for many
various reasons.
It is our personal reactions to these various manners of dying and being killed that has given me
the need to write what follows.
A good friend has recently suffered bereavement; I can feel her hurt and pain, I can sympathise
and empathise with her, as we all can when death affects someone we know.
We can also understand the devastation which Michael Brown’s family in Ferguson must be
experiencing, and with those that know and worked with the Photojournalist James Foley, and Meet
Singh Kapoor from Afghanistan, who died in the shipping container at Tilbury docks, for these are
single deaths, and we can associate with each of these individuals passing.
Our compassionate ability begins to waiver as we struggle to comprehend larger number of people
dying, those whose lives have been ended by warfare and unrest in places such as Libya, Syria, The
Lebanon, Palestine, Afghanistan, and Iraqi.
The number of deaths that have occurred in these places over the last few decades are
unimaginable for any of us, as single individuals, to truly comprehend.
We have no nucleus, no central point on which to focus our emotions.
The individual that we can so readily empathise with now bares no visible or imagery quality
amongst the masses, we lose our sense of perspective, that important singular impression. We have
a state of overload, so instead we feel abhorrence, a gut reaction of revulsion and distain for the
whole. We cannot comprehend mass death, so it becomes a tragic statistic rather than that singular
which we can morn.
That is death for which we can attribute a reason, but there are also the deaths which are naturally
cruel by their very nature. The current outbreak of Ebola for instance. Almost 2,000 people are
reported to have been infected, and the latest death toll stands at 1,069 across Sierra Leone,
Guinea, Liberia, Nigeria and Spain.
How do you, how can a single person, even begin to understand the monumental scale of this
misfortune let alone sympathise with the victims? There are just too many for one mind to handle.
We can however as a group, a society, pay respect to that which we physically cannot do
individually, by way of memorials, ceremonies, and associated events, like Remembrance Day which
was extremely poignant this year, being as it is one hundred years since the Great War (WW1), or an
event like the Sarajevo Red Line.
The central event of Sarajevo Red Line was staged near the Eternal Flame monument.
From the stage near the flame down the Maršal Tito Street, 11,541 empty red chairs were
arranged in 825 rows (as an audience).
This red “audience” stretched for 800 meters and ended in the area between the building of the
Presidency of BiH and Ali-pasha’s Mosque. 11,541 empty chairs symbolized 11,541 victims of the
war which, according to Research and Documentation Centre were killed during the Siege of
Sarajevo. 643 of the chairs were small, representing the slain children.
To conclude this Rambling, our close losses, be it a parent, sibling, partner or child is devastating
to say the least. Their passing will and does change our lives forever. But how does one even start to
make sense of the death of entire families, of generations, of the decimation of race and society’s?
That is something I am still considering.
X
Masterpiece.
Rambling from a Writers Mind
I find myself sitting here with the compulsion to write an amazing Rambling for you today.
You see, I am in the mood to write. I do not mean I just fancy a writing session; I mean I
have an urge, a compulsion to splatter letters and characters across the page in some
deeply meaningful and creative form.
I want to write something that will draw you in and amaze you with its relevance and
connection to your own life.
Yet there is where it stops.
I have the will and the desire, a deep craving, the lustful wanting for the feel of words
dripping from my pen onto this page.
But that yearning is, as yet, unrequited.
I shall stand, literarily unclothed, bare my all to you in saying that I am flummoxed as what
to actually say.
Please do not get me wrong. I am not suffering from that mythical condition referred to as
writers block, far from it in fact.
Yet I cannot gather my flock of random thoughts and round them into a single heard of
consistency. Today my mind is like the wilderness of a Welsh hillside scattered with evasive
lambs, bleating at me with distain.
So I shall write as this day affects me, and as the title of this blog suggests…..Randomly!
I know that many of you, the artistic and creative folk, the writers and poets, painters and
singers, will at some point have struggled with a situation similar to this; where your heart
and soul are committed, but your mind is playing truant, playing football in the park or still
snuggling into the soft down of your pillow.
Today, (so far), that is where I am.
I have projects to complete, or at least progress. Poems & short stories I wish to write, and
this Rambling, this classic tome of astute wisdom and intelligent acumen…..I think not.
But I do think that what my mind is telling me, is that it needs to rest. That it needs time to
itself to mull over all that I have perceived and observed recently.
My concentration has been to keenly focused for too long on one basic set of tasks. Like
any athlete we all must make rest and relaxation part of our training regime.
We must also understand the need for ‘recovery time’ as do sportsmen, say after running,
or in my case, writing a great amount. While we writers may not always be physically
regarded as god like bronzed Adonis’s, or indeed lithe and sensual Venuses, our minds are
often far more agile and supple than many others might be.
Therefor we too can overwork and strain ourselves, so take time to ‘chill-out’, meditate, or
simply do something as energetic as you can which will make you concentrate purely on that
activity, thereby giving your brain a rest from the exertion of consistent creativeness.
You shall then return refreshed and renewed, with the vigour and clarity to create a
masterpiece; the like of which has escaped from me today!
X
Late train home
Flash fiction
I find the dull metallic hum, as the train pulls away from the harsh glow of neon lights on
the station platform, somewhat comforting in its reassurance. As is entering the dark cavern
of the subway tunnel whilst cocooned in the dim warmth of the vibrating carriage.
Once again the familiar tempo of steel wheels upon the rails, and the irregular rocking as
the train rumbles along, calms the customary angst which always seemed too accompany
me in hectic, overcrowded places.
Seated comfortably, time slows. Harmony descends upon me like a cloak of serene velvet.
I sigh out loudly, a liberated wisp of disquiet flutters away, disappearing into the ether.
Unbuttoning my coat and flicking the hood from my head, I leaned back stretching my
weary legs out in front of me. The carriage is empty. I am alone. Peace and calm descend.
At this time of night the subway takes on a different form, its very structure becomes
prominent. Vibrations resound in every wall, wafts of cool air frequently gust throughout;
inhale, exhale, the subway breathes deeply. Recurrent metallic taps echo from the depths of
the black underpasses in harmony with those rustling organic whispers. It is as if the subway
comes to life, wakens as an entity in itself.
I love the subway at this time of night, which is why I like to take the late train home. I can
relax.
I like to stare through the glass, trying to make out what the indistinct passing shapes that
flash by actually are. Long, thick wires twist together, hanging in sooty swags from the tunnel
walls, like massive black anacondas awaiting unsuspecting prey. The occasional light, dulled
by a layer of caked on grime, giant fireflies? And dark recesses, small arches sunken into
the curvature of the walls. What lays within? Possibly a door, a secrete door to another
world, a parallel universe?
Then there is the reflection, my reflection, eerily unfocused, staring back at me from the
darkened window pane. But is that me? I think not. Looking I see the reflection has a smirk
on his face, he is hiding his knowledge of me, or a secret. He has the answers I seek. The
answers I have spent my whole life trying to find. He smiles before fading away as the train
enters a brightly lit station.
These are my fantasies, my late night daydreams as I travel home. This is where my reality
and illusion merge, where imagination and invention combine.
This is why I like to take the late train home.
This is the birthplace of whimsy and caprice.
X
Catch my drift
A poem
I did it all for him.
I lined my eyes,
And powdered my face,
Coloured my lips,
Plucked my eyebrows,
Painted my nails,
Shiny and backscratchingly sharp,
If you catch my drift.
Sheer silk stockings, with lacy tops,
Suspender belts, he could ‘twang’
Against my pale flesh.
Panties, smaller, thinner,
Gossamer thongs.
And push ‘um up’s,
Canyon cleavage,
Deep plunge balconette,
If you catch my drift.
Apricot and jojoba
I scrubbed my skin,
De-fuzzed, everywhere,
Pecan and tangerine exfoliation,
And waxed my legs,
All the way up, intimately,
If you catch my drift.
Dresses that clung
To my curves,
Skirts that let my ass peek out,
‘Hello boys’ it said, winking as I walked.
And tops, so low, or tight, or both.
Revealing and thin, almost not there
At all.
If you catch my drift.
I did it all for him.
For him to see,
To look, to lust,
To want, to have,
To pleasure him
And pleasure me, eventually.
If you catch my drift.
But that was then, before he left
So now I do it, do it just for me.
His glance, her stare, admiration and envy,
Oh, and that look, I am so aware.
If you catch my drift.
I do it all for me
High heels. Stilettoes,
Low cut, forced up.
Jutting out, perky, pointing.
Like they are cold.
And short, no shorter than that,
Only more, or less,
Depending which way you look.
Bare flesh and flirtations abound,
If you catch my drift.
X
I would now like to introduce you to an internet site I think is wonderful Sneak Peek. This
website has two excellent properties.
The first, if you are an Author, is that with Sneak Peek you can promote your books on
several major platforms to readers worldwide for FREE.
Secondly if you enjoy reading books Sneak Peek allows you to read excerpts from the
books listed before you chose which to buy. That way you never buy a book you do not like.
Sneak Peek can be found at http://takeasneakpeak.wordpress.com/
As promised earlier here are the addresses of my Blogs
Ramblings from a writers mind: Writing about Writing for Writers.
http://ramblingsfromawritersmind.wordpress.com/
Further Ramblings: comments on life, living and society.
https://paulznewpostbox.wordpress.com/
A Little more Fiction: Flash Fiction & Short Stories.
https://alittlemorefiction.wordpress.com/
If you would like to know more about me and my work, or to contact me regarding freelance
writing, my website is
http://paulznewpostbox.wix.com/paul-white-writer
X
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