Nice to see you.

Order Lone Wolf World via Amazon or above
2018 Best New Talent - Short and Sweet Festival Sydney
2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)


'Sandy' writes to you.... In Exile

 (NB: This email was received prior to Covid19)

Home, not quite Alone.


Hi. I want to be anonymous but I am passing this on, to the writer Anthony J. Langford, so that someone may read it and learn from my mistakes.

I am 22. Whether I am male or female doesn’t matter. I’m not gender neutral. I just don’t wanna say what. I am writing from my bedroom, where I spend 90% of my time. I spend some time in the loungeroom but I don’t like being with my mum and my brother. So I hang out here most of the time. It’s my hideaway. My Me space. It’s also kind of a prison. Because I never leave it. It’s my own doing though. I can’t blame anyone for that. But I kind of do in a way and I’ll explain why.

I was your normal teenager through secondary school. Normal meaning like all the usual dramas, ups and down. And plenty of those. But mostly it was ok, I guess. Then I went to uni. It was better than school, at first. But then the work got hard and I had to get a part time job too to help my mum out. She insisted. Thanks for that Mum. It could of made my life better if I didn’t have that job.

Anyway’s I loved it for a long time. University, not the job. Mostly because I had a group of friends and we had a lot of fun together. Especially that first year. We had lunches, barbecues at each other’s houses, lots of drinks out at bars and club. All the good stuff.

The second year was more serious and we kind of slowed down a bit, with the partying. Not that we went crazy partying, but with hanging out. Plus, it’s expensive to go out too. I don’t know. People just retreated a bit and before you know it, it’s Year Three and we hardly hang out except for at Uni and on our phones. Instead of doing group work at each other’s houses, we did it online. It’s not the same you know? It’s hard to get meaning across. You realise that when you’re doing something like group work. It’s different if you’re just talking shit or whatever but when you’re focusing on a stressful assignment it’s a freakin nightmare. And that’s when I really starting stressing out. Uni stressed me out. My friends annoyed me. Especially online with all the shit they talk. Notice how some people you think you know them, they talk shit online? You begin to wonder which is the real person.

It turns you off wanting to hang out with them. Not that we were hanging out so much, but it annoyed me having to see them at Uni and sit with them in lectures and pretend we were friends, when I know they had just posted some shit that pissed me off. They act all tough and warrior like and pretend to care about this issue and that but I know they actually don’t do anything about it. It’s just all talk to act cool and get some attention. I hate that. Pretending to care is bad enough but the attention seeking thing is really super annoying. I guess a lot of people do it? But I hate fakeness when it’s so obvious because I know those people in real life and I know what they’re like. And they’re not like that!

Take my friend Steph. Not her real name. She’s obsessed with tatts. Hers and everyone else’s. And also nails. Her nails. Not everyone else’s. She posts about the environment all the time. That’s fine. A lot of people do it. But she never does anything about it. I mean, I don’t expect her to chain herself to a tree in the Amazon rainforests but at least don’t buy takeaway juice containers and throw them in the trash. They’re made of plastic. She buys takeaway coffees and iced tea and I mean, her carbon footprint is pretty big. She hasn’t changed a thing about her own life. Know what I mean? If your gunna sprout crap all the time, then at least do something about your own use of plastics and rubbish. She’s terrible. I don’t think I even want to be friends with her anymore, because of her online profile. I have had to snooze her profile so I don’t see her but of course she pops on all plenty of other socials. And sometimes I have to go like her posts so she doesn’t get agro. She can be a real bitch sometimes if she wants to be.

At least I don’t have to see her anymore. Which is kinda my main point here. Which is why I started this in the first place. I don’t want to see her anymore, or any of my friends, or anyone, period. The thought of seeing people makes my skin crawl. Weird I know but here me out. It began with people. The idea of being in a crowd. I started avoiding lectures because I didn’t want to swallowed by the hordes. Bumping into them because they’re on their phones. Its so annoying. The crowds on the bus to uni. The crowds on platforms. I began going to Uni later so I wouldn’t have to hit the peak. It was really stressing me out. I’d put my headphones in so I could at least block the sound of them out. Them. The people. That worked for a while. In time though, it stopped working. The music made me feel even more enclosed. I couldn’t hear people behind me, then I was the one bumping into others. It was creepy. Bodies ramming into you. Sweaty, smelly bodies. People’s leftover lunches and body odour and sushi snacks and chips and juices and drinks and more phone lights than a Christmas tree. I bet if you turned off all the lights at an underground train station like Town Hall, it would be like a moving light festival. A living Christmas tree.

A similar problem began happening in other places, like supermarkets.  I would be walking along looking down at my phone, and someone would deliberately bump into me, that’s what I felt like anyway.  It was really freaking me out. I guess I had to put my phone down because that didn’t happen so much but the last thing I wanted to do was to look people in the eye so I would look anywhere else but at them. The Floor. The Isles. In the middle of nowhere. When I went to the checkout I would never go to where there was a real-life person. I would always go to the self-checkout, no matter how busy it was. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with any one. 

Now I don’t go to the supermarket at all. I couldn’t think of a worst place to go. Those people with their baskets and trolleys and kids and old people and people on their phone who are more obsessed than me, getting in your way. It’s just horrible. Actually, there are worse places than the supermarket but you won’t find me there either. I used to enjoy getting a takeaway juice. I still like a good blended juice but I don’t want to have to line up in a cue. Worse than that is waiting for it afterwards when there’s a pile of people standing about and if you’re really unlucky it’ll be some older person who decides they want to try and talk to you. What’s with that? I don’t know who they are. Why can’t they all just let me alone?


A few weeks ago, maybe a month ago, I had to go to the Service Centre as there was a problem with my car registration. I tried dealing with it online but no one responded to my emails. So frustrating. If I didn’t sort it out very soon, I was going to have to pay a lot more. I was out of time. I was forced to go into a suburb I hate. It’s a long story but it was so stressful. I had to ask Mum to come with me because I couldn’t cope with the stress. She was really unhappy about it but I’m glad she was there because it was a freakin' nightmare. There were people everywhere there with numbers and tickets and counters with all different people behind them. I don’t think I would be able to work out what was what. I hope I never have to go through anything like that again. Certainly not by myself. And most of the time I don’t have to.

That had to end. It all had to end. It only got worse. So here I am. Alone in my room, sitting at my laptop, writing this to you. I have a small desk at the foot of my bed. I’ve got plenty of Wi-Fi so I set it up on the edge of the desk, turn all the lights off, put on my wireless headphones and pretend I’m at the cinema. I like it. It’s fun. That’s at night. During the day it’s a bit different. There’s too much light, even with the blinds closed, and the screen is a pasty grey. I don’t like the days much. . I’m aware of where I am. Trapped. Enclosed. That’s when the 10% comes in. I’ll go out. Get some sunshine, as my mum says. Ill walk around the backyard. I do two -laps one way then two the reverse way. Sometimes I’ll do that two or three times a day. Or if I’m feeling really flat, ill just sit on the grass and stare at it, imagining the life between the blades. Microscopic insects, doing their thing. A life beneath us, in the dirt and clay. Life on top of life. That’s all we are. Larger insects running around like we’re all insane, on top of the ground, while just as frenetic, (that’s a good word) but more organised life teems below us. And so, it goes on generation after rotting generation. Milling, scrambling, fighting, killing, reproducing, pausing, finally dying, quickly replaced, so fast in fact that we never really notice it. Just a slight gap before its filled with new beings and the whole messy journey begins over, unable to pass on life’s learning and experiences. Just make the same old mistakes.

You know, I saw a sign a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was on my phone or something. I don’t even know what they were advertising but it said, ‘Does your puppy chew your furniture?’ or ‘Why does my dog chew my furniture?’ something lame like that. I didn’t take much notice of it at the time. Then later, I was thinking about it for some unknown reason. I thought, do people really not know why their dogs chew their furniture? I mean, human beings have had dogs around for thousands of years. If we haven’t learnt their behaviour by now, then we must be really stupid. We don’t pass on the learning. We should all know these things. Yes, I think we are really stupid. A stupid species. That’s why I don’t want to be a part of them. They can turn on you. You never know who or when. Even your friends. They can stab you in the back. You can walk down the street and a car runs off the road and bang. Or you can walk down the street and some creep makes a grab for you. Or work in retail and someone abuses you. Or the boss perves on you. And you get underpaid. And have to work too much. And spend years trying to climb the ladder but there’s always another step, another person above you and too many with you. It’s all so pointless. I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. And I didn’t then and that’s why I got out.

My parents carried on like you wouldn’t believe. Or maybe you do. I don’t know. I don’t know. I only know that they wanted to categorise me with a big stamp so they knew how to deal with it. Deal with me.  Depression, they said. You’re depressed. Blah blah. I’m not. Not really. Anxiety they said. Well, maybe. I’m not even sure that I know what that is. I know they wanted me to go to the doctors, which I had to. And get put on anti-depressants. Which they tried to do. I bought them, well my mum did, but I refused to take them. What if how I’m feeling is completely normal? What if this is just a reaction to the world around me? Is it my fault that society is set up a particular way? This way. The way that were supposed to all be content with. Is this life? Is this all? Surely there’s more ways than this. Work until you die. Is that it? Maybe a holiday occasionally. If you can afford it. Gotta pay for the car. Or the public transport. All the bills. And save up, so I can maybe get a mortgage of my own that will take 60 years to pay off. I’ll likely be dead long before that happens. Doesn’t sound like much of a life. With or without the fucking mortgage.

Mayne I could move to Vietnam or China or Russia and try the communist way of life. Then it doesn’t matter if I have a good job or not. I still get some money, right? Ill live in a hut in a village at the edge of a jungle and knit baskets and raise goats and kill chickens and smoke tobaccos leaves and sweep the dust from my loungeroom floor. And sleep in a hammock and plant rice in a paddy. And ride a bike and read books or maybe I won’t even have those. We’ll sit around and tell stories and make up shit and entertain ourselves and those stories will get passed down to the next generation and ill grow old there and sing songs about the old days and Ill be able to play some sort of instrument by then. A bamboo guitar or pipe. And ill have plenty of hours for sitting around watching the clouds gather over the mountains and dump rain everywhere and half destroy our village but we wont care so much because we had nothing much to begin with. And the next day we’ll begin repairs and we’ll whistle while we do it and we’ll be happy because being happy is living the simplest kind of life and not being a slave and not being surrounded by thousands of people constantly all with their self-important missions on that gravy train to fame that never reaches its destination. That won’t be me. I want no part of that. I won’t be suckered in by the lies like everyone else. I don’t buy those lies. And its all lies. They’re all in on it. The media, the social media sites, the government, the television, even the movies reflect it because they’re all inside it. I’m not ready to give up watching my movies and shows just yet but the day is coming. I can feel it trying to pull me back into the vortex. Sucker me in with those false promises. But they won’t get me. I’m not out to impress others. I don’t care what they think of me. I don’t need their approval to justify my existence. And that’s what most are suckered in by. Especially my generation. Well, all young generations, I guess. They see the glitz and glamour and the glory. I don’t. I see broken dreams and lies and misery. I know that sounds negative but I’m just telling it straight. It’s a dog chasing its tail and never quite getting it. Never satisfied. Nope. I’m out. No phone either. Ill get rid of mine soon. I’m slowly extracting myself from those sites. Closing down certain people is just the beginning of the process. The last person I close down will be me. I will have opted out completely. And I won’t miss a thing. It’s a no thing, dressed up behind a never-ending scrolling screen.

As for relationships, well, there’s no one I’m really going to miss. They know where I am. They could have come and see me. Just because I’m available by the tap of a thumb doesn’t mean they’re really communicating with me in a meaningful way. They could come and physically visit me. Give me a hug. Ask me if I’m okay. Not all but maybe one or two I would have thought might. Just possibly. I would have gone to see them if the reverse have had happened. But that’s too much to expect, I guess. Then they weren’t my friends. Not really. Not the sort of friends I would have hoped for. Not the sort of friends I’ve got. Or chosen. Or ended up with. Who knows how you end up with certain people? Maybe no one would have come to see me. Maybe I’m the problem. Or maybe everyone’s just on their own fucking journey these days, as there all so self-important with their selfies and their bullshit posts about things they don’t even care about and their animals and their food and their fakeness. That’s all it is. A big screaming ball of fake dressed up in superficial emotions with pathetic icons to represent something so vast that it’s a literal joke. That in itself, shows you how fucked the world is today. The essence of humanity boiled down to a cartoon face. Wow. We really have regressed huh. I think we must have gone backwards. About a hundred years, I think. Soon we’ll be back in the Dark Ages, all fighting over each other, ripping each other apart from the inside out. It won’t be like World War 2. It’s not country against country anymore. Its individuals against each other. Little groups of Me. Thousands of them. Millions. We’ll rip each other to shreds from the inside out until there’s nothing left. And our precious technology won’t mean a thing. Not that it ever did. Its all set up to make a select few rich and the rest just follow along, consuming as they go. The Sheep. Sheep People. The Sheepeople. And they think I need medicating! Oh, that's really ironic!


Well, I think I’ve said enough, and perhaps I didn’t actually say what I wanted to say to begin with. I’m not even sure I knew what I wanted to say. It was a warning, a letter of advice maybe, in case there was anyone else like me out there, somewhere. I hope there is. There’s got to be. But I have to say, I’m really losing faith. Fast. I thought I could help someone else somehow. But maybe I was the one seeking help. Or maybe just making my peace with the outside world. Yeah, I’ve said enough.

Thanks for listening. Or reading. Or not reading. I wonder how many who started reading this actually got to this point. A sliding scale I reckon. Sliding into disinterest. I don’t blame them for that. I’m disinterested too.

Maybe I'll have more to say another time. When I’ve learnt what my next move will be. Or maybe I'll just disappear one day. And find myself in that hut by the jungle, standing in the rain, singing my song of life. The simple way.

Direct Insight - A voice from April, 1994


Direct Insight - A voice from 1994

I came across an old diary recently and am typing it up. I haven't read it since I wrote it. How strange to be communicating with yourself 25 years on.

You might find this interesting. I had just turned 26. 

22/4/94  2.30 am


Paranoia. Surely one person's struggle for individuality. Setting oneself away from all the rest.

The artistic battle. The method of exploring the mind and it's limits.

The art of self expression.

I write this with no influence, a clear head.

The film (Born in a Storm*), is in its preliminary online stages and I'm beginning to accept that I've done everything I possibly can to make it work. Ultimately, I'm the one that has to be satisfied with it, but it's nice to receive praise for the hard work.

My sister returns home from New Zealand on the 29th. She is exploring herself in her own way.

My brother appears too young still to contemplate this struggle, but the confusion is there. I hope he finds himself.


Issues of the day.

The lead singer of Nirvana commits suicide. The unofficially appointed representative of teenage angst. Generation X, they call us. Everything has to be labelled. There is no grey areas. According to Them.

(This next part from a few months later; 


Same day. Different perspective.

Life has changed.

Current culture affects the youth.

I should not forget.

Kurt Cobain

Was the inspiration behind

The death of two teenagers

Only age 12 and 15

Don't lead us down this path

Give us some hope.) 

Back to the original entry; 

Bosnia rages on.

Wars, famine, crime. Same old shit, different year.

The self destructive cycle continues, spiralling inwards. So advanced, yet still, unable to get along.


Pink Floyd releases The Division Bell.

Rumours of a Beatles reunion continue.


Another murder.

Another lost cry.

Someone pockets a dollar.

Most fight to just get by.


Some Green movements received small victories. There remains hope.

For me and I guess for all of us, the weeks go by and we continue on. Working to live, trying to find something to do, to make our lives worthwhile. If only we could avoid fucking each other over. Yet society or just us, seems to have this trait inbred. The classical Do-or-Die approach seems to have relevance, perhaps too much so.


Early Melbourne (approx early 1840's) My forefather moved there in 1839

(This next part I've updated to provide the fuller story, that I did not know in 1994, but it was the year I changed my name)

I've changed my name, back to Langford. My convict ancestor lied when arrested in Cheshire for stealing a watch and used his mother's maiden name, Sidebottom in 1825. No I.D. in  those days. He had to stick to the lie and eventually, after 7 years served he started afresh. He did well for himself in very early Melbourne, when it was a mere town of 300 (making him one of the original pioneers).

He had business dealings with both John Batman and John Fawkner, the two men who established Bearbrass as it was known then (Batman infamously signing a treaty for 900,000 acres of land with local Aborigines) and later paid for the voyages of his brothers to join him from England, as long as they changed their name to Sidebottom too. 

Fascinating story. (I will do a more comprehensive post on this in future)

William not long before his death, aged 48


* Born in a Storm - the finished film. 

I found it an interesting insight into the times, myself as a young person and as a creative. 

I hope you found it interesting too. The Beatles did reform, producing the Anthology series. The Bosnian War ended at the end of 1995. Has much else changed? We are still labelled and divided it seems. 

Did you write in a diary when you were young? 

Barack Obama takes on 'woke' culture: 'That's not activism'

And still they judge with impunity. Demonise without basis. 
Create hysteria based solely on emotion and cancel with discrimination. 

Wokeness creates problems where none existed.  

It's a masturbatory illusion. 

Modern Dating (and Decline of the West)


Something a little more topical this week. 

Stuck on the dating treadmill? Made observations on societal change? Relationships in decline. Birth rates in retreat. 


Like the almighty Romans


It's the age of the disconnect


While desperately searching

For its opposite.

The issue

(in my five years of online dating)

Is the disparity

Between reality and fantasy

Expectations are too high

Based on idealism

And the bulk and ease

Of online matches

(particularly for women and the looker).


In the increasingly rare event

Of a Union

There's a bolt for the horizon

At the first bump.


We once persevered

And in most cases

Sorted it out.


I've sometimes wondered, of course

If this isn't a middle-aged phenomenon

But I hear the twenty-somethings

Encountering the same.


Easy come

Too easy come

Is where we're at

Thus making people



Only the traditional


Are persevering

And procreating

Beyond these falsely led actualities.


I don't see it getting it better

Only morphing into something new

Something already underway

In other spheres too

The decline of the West

As it ideologically

'Exits' itself.


Perhaps it's inevitable.

There are a few different issues in there. Yet all linked. Over to you now. 
What are your thoughts? 

More Poetry.

Have a great week.

The Hopeless Romantic - An audio / video story


A True Story

A man journeys on foot into the Australian Bush on a unfamiliar track towards a cliff of the Blue Mountains. He recalls his past loves, the failures, the successes and the ones that were never to be. You can relate to this.

Based on a real journey. 

The Video contains footage from the actual day. Think of it as a Video Diary told slightly afterwards. 90-95% + of all content is real. 

The Hopeless Romantic

Written and Narrated by Anthony J. Langford

Caitlan played by Elise Kolman

My Photo of the actual Bush Walk featured in the story.

YouTube Version

The Trek

Download the PDF version HERE

I'll not post next week to hopefully give you time to listen/watch. It's very different from Lone Wolf World. 

I hope you enjoy it.  It's all quite personal and a bit embarrassing to put it out there like this. Please let me know what you think. Especially the end.

Here is a music video from the footage shot that day. It's from an excellent song from Middle Kids,  an Australian band. Watching the video prior won't spoil the story. (The image you can see right there is the exact location where the climax occurs).

I hope you enjoy it. 

An incredible insight... and now it's yours.


There's been a couple of brilliant reviews of Lone Wolf World recently, so insightful, that I'm going to share them in full here. It's great that people (but not all) are getting it, because I was concerned that they wouldn't. 

The first is from Amazon US, the second Amazon Aust.

(Next Post will be The Hopeless Romantic so please look out for that one.)

5.0 out of 5 stars So Much More Than You Can Imagine! A Gem!

Reviewed in the United States on February 28, 2021

Verified Purchase

For the last couple of months I’ve been wrestling with how to best approach reviewing Anthony J. Langford’s debut novel, Lone Wolf World. Then it occurred to me: Reading Lone Wolf World is like watching one of Ridley Scott’s Alien movies, only told from the Xenomorph’s point of view. Sometimes it is difficult to discern what makes the bad boy tick, but it certainly doesn’t diminish the excitement of the story itself.

Lone Wolf World is an extraordinary piece of work, one of the most insightful tomes ever to be narrated by and told exclusively from the central character’s viewpoint. Unlike Thomas Harris’ Hannibal Lecter or Robert Bloch’s Norman Bates, Langford’s Lone Wolf is not cast as the villain of his piece. It is left up to the reader to determine his status and the value of his arguments. While the unnamed Lone Wolf of the title can hardly be what one would traditionally label a protagonist, he is unapologetically who and what he is, and Langford makes no judgments.

Langford’s tale begins with the Wolf taking mental snapshots of the hordes of shoppers at a local mall where, in short order, he intends to wreak havoc in a savage act of domestic terrorism. Langford’s language is mesmerizing. Despite the Lone Wolf’s contempt for his fellow man, he captures their day with a visceral poetry, referring to them as “self-importance carcasses” and “[A]pathetic bones. Deficient bones. In my way bones.” Langford, previously known for his exquisite poetry, stuns with his precise word choices that craft the coming deaths and dismemberment at the hands of the Wolf into a colorful yet grisly pastiche of horror.

What transpires next is a story filled with flashbacks that inform the reader of how the Lone Wolf became the damaged man who could perpetrate such madness. This is not an easy task for the audience, nor was it meant to be. Labels such as “sociopath” or “psychopath” could be used to easily categorize and dismiss the Lone Wolf, but they are not singularly the answer as to who he is. His psyche is far more complex and interesting to peel away in layers.

The novel whizzes along at break-neck speed, alternating between incidents that place the Wolf as prey and as predator, illustrating the dual nature of man. No matter the situation, it is his free choice that determines on which side of the scale the Lone Wolf finds himself. It is not always a clear path to either end, and that is what makes the Wolf so seemingly dangerous. He can kill without impunity but he is also clearly capable of restraint. How each scene plays out builds upon those before it, creating an increasingly taut thriller from the first page until its last.

If not for the fact that Anthony J. Langford is an Australian author and his saga is set in Sydney, Lone Wolf World could easily be interpreted as a portrait of America’s post-Trump Era today. Langford is acutely connected to the nightmare of a media stoked by fake news and conspiracy theories, both of which influence and damage a mind already weakened by a troubled past. The Lone Wolf could easily have been leading the charge at the US Capitol on January 6th if he had the appetite to do so and worked well with others. His mindset, like those of the Capitol insurrectionists, is fed by an unbridled passion and an inability to sort truth from fiction.

Part of the Wolf’s charm, and he is (nearly) likeable, is his openness to expressing thoughts many readers may not want to admit they share, but do. His honesty about his feelings can be sometimes comical, yet they are also to be taken with a tinge of social embarrassment (For example, he refuses medical assistance for himself when he needs it because “The idea of the First Aid office has been as appealing as wanting to view a freshly used period pad.”) Langford packs his novel with such off-hand observations that keep the narrative spiked with chuckles and encourage the reader’s need to find out just what the Wolf is going to come up with next.

The Lone Wolf’s journey takes any number of unexpected twists, but revealing more of the plot would diminish the building tension and spoil where the story is going. There is one moment, however, that I would urge all readers to consider with a detective’s precision while evaluating the Wolf’s humanity. It takes place late in the story, as the Wolf is walking towards a highway to escape his current situation. What could almost be cast off as a simple transition from one set-piece to another is much more than that, and, hopefully, you will know it when you read it. It is the key in deciphering who the Lone Wolf truly is, and Langford expertly knits the reader’s sense of empathy to that of the character himself. For one brief moment, The Lone Wolf and the reader collide as one, and the reader will realize that the Wolf is far more than a raging killer.

Lone Wolf World is a captivating read and it will stick with you long after you’ve put the book down. I have caught myself thinking about him far more than most characters I’ve gotten to know through the pages of their novels. I find myself at times creating any number of scenarios that might have (perhaps) altered the character’s destiny or personality. Other times I wonder how his perceptions could have been changed by a better back-story so that he grew up to see the world as most of us do. Obviously, these are exercises in futility, but they show just how deep The Lone Wolf has gotten under my skin and I’m certain he will get under yours as well. This is a remarkable novel and I can’t wait to see what Anthony J. Langford has for us next!

5.0 out of 5 stars Leaves you thinking!

Reviewed in Australia on 14 February 2021

Once I got into this book I couldn't stop reading it. I admit, initially, reading the thoughts of an unhinged individual felt like an uncomfortable stream of consciousness. I feared I just wasn't going to enjoy this book. But, then life started to happen within those pages. And a sequence of seemingly unexpected and unrelated events occurred that pushed the main character towards an inevitable? break down. It felt like I was watching a car crash where everything just slowed down and I struggled to believe it was even happening. Did it happen? I'm not even sure!? I couldn't put this book down until I got to the end. I haven't stopped thinking about this story since!

Anthony J Langford has given real insight into the makings and inner workings of the type of people that sit behind these terrible acts. He has peeled back the facade and shown how not too dissimilar to us all they are and then at the same time shown very cleverly how small but significant events throughout their life, including how people respond to these individuals, shape them and contribute to their final act. What a read!


Purchase from the Amazon links above, or directly from the Author HERE

Don't  Miss  This!

Next post,

The Hopeless Romantic - A man meets a woman and sojourns into the Australian bush, remembering his past loves and failures, based on a real situation. 

In Soundcloud and YouTube versions.