Author JW Bowe returns with another episode of Publicly Limited Company, in which he answers questions, the telephone and discusses the editing process from where he sees it.
Herbert, Derek and Benjamin have a secret.
Now who are they going to trust?
Boys, girls, wheelchairs… secrets beyond
gravity, a comedy above North Wales.
The following links will take you to the paperback, Kindle and iTunes versions of The Meifod Claw! For other ebook versions please check your provider’s catalogue.
17th July 2018
I’m going to review some things today because soon I’ll be cajoling folks into reviewing The Brine in Me, so I thought I’d have a go at doing some of that myself. Probably none of these reviews are for things that are very recent, although the film that I’m going to review I only saw two nights ago. I didn’t finish it. We’ll get to that.
Actually, let’s do that now. The film was called The Accountant. It’s about a man who sees spreadsheets. He can also break paper work down into a single speedy montage so the film can get to the showy offy bits where there’s some sort of administrative jujitsu action that our man is clearly a platinum business card holder of. There is a girl as well, but that doesn’t matter because the only rolling around in this film is between the fella and the fellas brother. Colour me disappointed. That said, the second act is keen with narrative details and extreme marker pen use, but I switched it off early and went to bed after the brotherly grappling remained shirted for over a minute. File under, ‘Would have been better with Jason Statham.’ Continue reading “In the Blog of my Hand”
24th June 2018
I hold a record! As of last Saturday it is possible that I am the most acupunctured man in England, certainly the most that that particular practitioner has ever used. But then I did tell her to shove them anywhere if it helps. I was in the fallout of a terrible injury to my arm and hand and shoulders following a fallout with my lawnmower as to whether or not it was going to start. It did but my goodness it was angry about it. I’ve actually spent more money in repairing myself from the mower than it cost me to buy that wretched self drive first place. It was too big for the gardening round that was its task. It was too big for its boots. It has been retired.
But I’m back off the bench and my shoulders feel great. Well, they’re alright, but they were great just after all the prickly business. Anna asked me how I felt when she came to pick me up and I said I felt good enough to punch a tree. She told me that she was driving us home. Continue reading “Too Big for its Blogge”
2nd June 2018
Brothers, Sisters, Gardeners, and Most of the rest of you… isn’t the weather fabulous? I just very recently finished the final draft of The Brine in Me, so that’s exciting and will very soon be away to the proofers. They’ll be looking for errors, and they’ll be livid if they don’t find any. Luckily I always leave them satisfied. But I want to talk-this-shit real, if that’s correct. I want to go out to the garden. It has been a cussed winter on this island, like the brakes couldn’t be left off, similar to when I’m barrelling down Long Mountain on a Thursday afternoon in my estate car. Perhaps that’s the bigger picture, we could get through winter quicker but we risk puncturing a hedgerow and rolling down to the base of the valley, thus effectively going back into winter as far as your bank account is concerned. But we’re through that, so let’s think about spring.
I’m sorry, I have to interrupt because the screen that I’m writing on has gone a little green. Just now. I’m going to play with the cables, then if that’s not it I’ll have to bugger off for a while so I can get cross and upset. Hold on. Continue reading “At The Gates of Blog”
5th May 2018
So here’s the thing about publishing novels from the independent end of the pier, if you’ll indulge me my understanding of it. You have to recognise that you are not Conor McGregor (Joanne Harris), living it big time all over Las Vegas, then smearing your competition across the floor and heading off with a snow leopard tailored around your shoulders. You’re just some guy (JW Bowe) hanging around the back end of a pub car park looking for a fight, trying to hustle people over and see if they’ll throw some coins down on the disabled parking space where you’ve thrown yours, then get down to it, Roadhouse style. Continue reading “No Holds Blogged”
Author JW Bowe is joined by Arthur Wapkaplitt to discuss crack and quotes of wisdom.
11th April 2018
It was about by the time that I was raving-it-out (?) in a club with a sweaty young man who looked like he’d climbed out of the corner of a Jimmy Somerville promotional video that I thought, this evening is a bit different from normal. For a start, I’d normally be in bed with my wife. Continue reading “I’ll Take Your Blog to Another Dimension, Pay Close Attention”
24th March 2018
Anna just walked into my study and stopped still because I was gazing moronically and obviously pleased with myself about something. She said that it was disconcerting, which threw me off what I was thinking about and now it’s gone. That’s alright, I’ll tag down the next idea. Once you get a feel for how they exist out there, they come along like a Mercedes AMG Taxi at full chat, and if you miss that one then listen out… that’s another V12 on the approach. You taking the Ferrari are you? I like the way you think, and your taxi is a two-tone maple brown and sunset orange. Ferrari never did enough of those. I’ve decided to go on my push bike instead so I’ll catch up with you later when I’ve got a sweat on. Have you got a spare seat in your Ferrari? No, just a roll cage in the back is it? Makes sense, I’ll just hang on to the rear number plate and catch a ride with you if that’s cool? You’ll be going at one hundred and ninety miles an hour will you? See that’s no good for me, I’ve got gangly long hair. Once, someone offered me a go at driving their kit car and in a pique of excitement I forgot that I didn’t have a hair band to go with the convertible and the summertime. Still, I had a proper good thrash around some reasonable tarmac and back with my hair wailing like a banshee and finding new purpose as a net to passing flies. By the time I got a brush to it I was fucking livid. True story. So I can’t hitch that ride with you. Perhaps your Ferrari will break down up the road and I’ll pass you then. There’s not too much point in me hanging about with you on the side of the road; I understand the principal of spark-release-push but otherwise I just like the noises that cars make. If I stop my bike and your taxi driver has the bonnet up and is going on about something to do with the drive train, I’m probably just going to shrug and imagine that the drive train is something that a pornographer uses for a special move or something, like in Street Fighter II. I wonder what the combination of button smashing for that move would be? Could you even perform it in your local arcade? I don’t know, and perhaps the tone of hanging out around the arcades has changed, but I can’t imagine that it’s changed that much, if I’m imaging anything at all, which I am not. I’m just biking on past, the wind a placated manner about my strands. It’s a good speed to move at, and more certain than waiting for the bus. I can’t do waiting for the bus. If I’m going to get wet waiting then I’m sure as toast going to prefer getting wet and already being on the way to where I want to go. I’ve attached this principal to job interviews, and I can tell you … the links to the purchase of my novels are available at the end of wherever this might be going. But I am at least going, and without the rain I’m happy to add. In fact I’ve been going a while, I might just pull over and enjoy the smell of mid summer parsley while I get my breath back. I love parsley, it’s got it all going on. Last best recollection of its abundance would be wandering with a dear friend to a cheese farm up a Welsh back lane that neither of us knew because we were on a holiday with a chunk of families back at the house. The smell of that parsley was terrific but damn the hills were steep. At the end of it the pair of us got to watch a whole cheese making video on our own, and then the tasters and inevitable purchasing. It was a good system on the farmers part because all the routes out were back down the hill so you could roll like a great barrel of Edam back to where you’d started from, right back into the heated pool with the overlooking Antirrhinums that seem to watch you back when you’ve been on the chilli Cheddar. I’d wondered about the Antirrhinums then, that they saw devils and lusted for the ability to move around more than was their given rite. Snapdragons indeed. In any case there was a river or waterway of minor significance between the ‘rhinums and I, and I thought that would hold them if anything happened, which it shouldn’t because it seemed ridiculous. My dear friend told me to calm down, that it was the chilli getting to me. He even went as far as the remind me that he always kept a blade attachment ready strimmer in the boot of his car, if anything should feel the need to get out of hand (he’s a gardener by the way). The chilli mad bastard even got out of the pool and went in a fever to collect it, which is where I must leave you…! Continue reading “Blogged out of Cylinders”