Some time ago I asked Martin to write a few words I could use for an Author Bio, but he’s been very elusive on the subject. “Sorry old stick, I just haven’t got around it.” is his usual response. In the end I gave up and wrote something myself, not exactly a biography but it gives you a glimpse.
Deep in the heart of Lincolnshire, in a dusty attic room at the very top of a crumbling mansion, Martin Swinford crouches over his keyboard and waits. He waits for the words. The words that he knows are there. The words that will flood his mind if he waits long enough. The words that will slip elusively from his grasp as he stretches to catch them.
Later, he thinks, he shall go down, and stroll the long gallery under the watchful gaze of his ancestors. Perhaps he will sit in the library, absorbing the collective knowledge of the mildew blackened books. Perhaps he will have a drink, anticipated by the melodious clink of ice on glass as Crevice shuffles along the servant’s passage. Perhaps even a cigar, one of the rare local specials, hand rolled on the expansive thighs of the village bar-maid.
He extends a finger and taps out a single word: “Perhaps.”
The Path Of The Sword by Martin Swinford will be released in May.
This post first appeared on Every Time I Open My Mouth Some Idiot Starts Talking!, please read the originial post: here