For Ziggy on his birthday. Storm By Neil Beynon There is a place so far away that if you travelled to the coldest edges of our universe, where up is no longer up and down is no longer down, you could not reach it and yet, if you walk along a beach and listen for […]

Beach photo Ziggy temporary memorial


Dear Ziggy, Happy birthday. I’m so sorry we can’t be together today and I can’t quite believe it has been a year since I held you. Sometimes, it feels like it was only a moment ago and if I step through the nearest door I will be back in that little hospital room with you […]


Today I submitted a short story. It probably won’t get accepted, these things generally don’t first time, but that wasn’t really the point. As 2013 draws to a close, it was one of the ways I have of flipping this awful, dreadful, f***ing furnace of a year the bird. Unable to write much for most […]

Christmas 2013

This is not the Christmas I wished for. Wishes are rubbish like that. They are ephemeral, flighty, tricksters that hover around the back of your head, flying into view as you sit stuck in traffic or on the train, they’re bit like their cousin, the idea, in that way. Sometimes, wishes stick around and they […]


Today, a modest 60s SF show is 50. It’s also seven months since my son was born. Doctor Who is still running. My son is dead. I am a lifelong fan of Who. Along with Star Wars, C S Lewis, Tolkien, Dahl, Blyton and Trek. It is a firm vibrant link back to my childhood […]


The Run

I did it again. Sorry. This is an attempt at a form from my native Wales called Englyn penfyr, one of the eight forms of the Englyn.* Here it is [This version actually breaks a rule, though I still like it, a corrected form follows in the second half of the post]: The Run by […]

Sunset in Cornwall

Not There

I committed poetry. I apologise. Not There by Neil Beynon Petals fall as rain— bronzed leaf, surfing the gust’s dance. Seed soft under foot. Jack’s spider spins long— daffodil dreams quicken the dark. A web grown too wide. Sky spills light at lost gold— clouds weep. A dance not begun, of a boy not there. […]


As I stare around the detritus in here, I wonder that it’s been allowed to get this bad: Honestly, there’s dust over everything, half moth-eaten flash fiction in the doorway, bad satire clogging up the pipes and the electrics are fluttering like the wiring in my creaky old house were when we first moved in. […]

Atheist Christmas

It’s that time of year where I point well-meaning friends and family, confused at my attitude to the festive season, at a video that sums it up. Tim Minchin nails it: [embedplusvideo height=”390″ width=”645″ standard=”″ vars=”ytid=fCNvZqpa-7Q&width=645&height=390&start=&stop=&rs=w&hd=0&autoplay=0&react=1&chapters=&notes=” id=”ep9810″ /] It seems more appropriate this year, with half my family on the other side of the world…