Literature

Malcolm Sharps 1954-2024

Malcolm Sharps: an appreciation By Peter Bendall Malcolm Sharps, a frequent contributor to the Richard Howe site, died recently at the age of seventy after suffering symptoms of long Covid, though the exact cause of death is not yet known. I knew him for nearly forty years and he was…

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Living Madly: Small Things

Living Madly: Small Things By Emilie-Noelle Provost Love and kindness are never wasted. It’s the sort of cliché you might find on a greeting card or in a self-help book. Most people I know tend to scoff at this type of sentimentality. It sounds sappy, too simplistic to have much…

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When Nothing Can Help

When Nothing Can Help By Malcolm Sharps One of the rare curiosities of Central European travel is to make the crossing from Hungary to Slovakia underground by way of the Dobsina-Aggtelek cave system, which in all is 21km in length. On my first visit to Aggtelek, I met with no such lucky opportunity;…

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Happy Birthday, Mr. Poe

Happy Birthday, Mr. Poe By David Daniel On this day, sir, in 1809, you were born in Boston, a child of actors. Before long, your father split to chase his own dreams and your mother continued acting to support herself and you—performing the roles of young women—Ophelia, Juliet … young…

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Living Madly: Dearest Winter

Living Madly: Dearest Winter By Emilie-Noelle Provost My husband, Rob, and I collect landscape paintings. We have several hanging in our house. Some of our paintings were created by local artists, but we also own many by national and even international painters. I’m not an art expert. I most often…

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Living Madly: Hyggeligt

Living Madly: Hyggeligt By Emilie-Noelle Provost A couple of years ago, I wrote a post for my professional website (emilienoelleprovost.com) called Everyday Magic. I wrote the piece after my husband, Rob, and I came across a barred owl at Harold Parker State Forest in Andover. The owl was perched on…

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Portrait of the Artist as a Junk Worker

Portrait of the Artist as a Junk Worker By Malcolm Sharps Two things stopped me from going stark staring mad working in the packing department at the mobile phone factory where I made boxes and filled them the whole day. One was my ever-vivid imagination in those days and the other was the…

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Morning with Edgar and Annabel

Morning with Edgar and Annabel By Steve O’Connor It was a frustrating morning for Edgar. He slapped his forehead three times and growled at the lone article that sat on his computer screen, the cursed cursor blinking stupidly at the end of it like a flashing warning of a cul…

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