A Word to the Wise

What is it about strangeness, about the way that it holds our attention in spite of the distance that we try to keep from it?
Do we like the strange; or strange people? Those unencumbered numbers of folk that we don’t know but we know we have seen. Do we like them, or do we fear that we may already be one?

Hello there! I’m JW Bowe and I have no answer to that question, or the other ones above it. But I did always like to explore them; and to do that further, I needed a limited company.
So now Ladies, Gents and Others, take your bourbon by the hand and welcome yourselves into the embrace of Serious Biscuits. We’re here to help, and we’re through with explaining ourselves.

Go on then, I’ll go through it one more time.

I once had an idea, a legacy to the experimental work of Scottish psychiatrist R D Laing. He liked to bundle strangeness together in one place, see how it all got along.
It doesn’t matter how that went because this is just some background to my televisual concept bonanza, R D Laing’s Fantasy Care Home. I’ll tell you now that that went poorly as well, no matter how definitively I repeated the title to commissioners and loan managers. I’ll spare you the details, the throwing away of all certitude and self worth, and bring you into the light with my vision of independent publishing, Serious Biscuits. Myself and my Producer and Master Anna will deal with the strange for your satisfaction, and it is with maximum humble pleasure that we can announce the imminent arrival of Serous Biscuits first birth, The Meifod Claw; a novel by JW Bowe (that’s me). Here’s some blurb from the back cover…

Herbert, Derek and Benjamin have a secret.
It flies.
Now who are they going to trust?
Boys, Girls, wheelchairs… secrets beyond gravity, a comedy above North Wales.

That should settle you into the background of it, anymore and there’s really no point in me trying to sell this, I might as well send you the epilogue in a text. Of course then you wouldn’t get to understand why Herbert dowses for victory, or what lives in the locked box above Llewellyn Baiter’s public house.

Can our protagonists get the prize and the girls?

There’s tension in the air already, I certainly know I’m excited to find out how it all goes down…

An extract of considerable generosity is available somewhere around this website. And it’s not alone. A taster of my second novel, The Brine In Me is also available for your consumption; and loitering somewhere in the corner, looking to not be noticed is a complete collection of short plays, The Indented. You download them apparently. Here’s what to expect from that;

Ralph Arcfield is thirty years old and disabled. Nearly; he uses a walking stick, but nothing can stop him on his mission to witness and chronicle the lives of people who otherwise would go unnoticed. Some are his friends, some are not. Find out who is in a cut out and play series of six short plays in which you will have fun and learn;

Something of HAM radio

Fibonacci’s marvel of Norfolk

Why Charlie Edwards Adams didn’t bother with private school

What happened at Fen Hall in 1982

Why Ralph Arcfield would hang out with Elle Fitts

What exactly a Rag Bag is…

So feel free to help yourselves to those, get into the mood. Then prepare yourself all over again, and look up…

The Meifod Claw is coming

Early summer 2017

Thank you for coming round, the door is always open. That’s a figure of speech, obviously.

By my tail, all my love

JW Bowe xx