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Matt Dovey

9:51pm, 17th November 2015

Fragmented Thoughts for a Fragmented World

Common sense dictates I should refrain from commenting on politics and religion.

Bollocks to that. Politics and religion are central to my thinking, and they'll come out in all my stories. I'm not going to pretend to not be me. Honestly and seriously, though--I don't mean any offence by any of the below. I'm just thinking out loud.

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TAGS: politics, waffle


10:40pm, 12th November 2015

Don't Cross the Streams

I may well regret committing to so much social media distraction. I fear that social media is catnip for writers: satisfying, addictive and wholly useless and unfulfilling.

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TAGS: waffle


9:07pm, 4th November 2015

The Pot of Life Eternal

It can be tough to peak early in your career, and know that it's all downhill from here, but sometimes you've just gotta take what the fates deal you. Will I ever hit the heady heights of local press again? Is this my sole moment in the blinding sunlight of Lincolnshire gossip?

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TAGS: nonsense


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About

Matt Dovey is a professional writer of short science fiction & fantasy. He is very tall, very British, and probably drinking a cup of tea right now. His surname rhymes with “Dopey”, but any other similarities to the dwarf are purely coincidental. More →

Latest Story

"For Christ's... no, not knitted booties. Chain-sandwiched-between-thick-leather booties. What in good hell's use would knitted booties be?"

Griffins Don't Respect Bouncies' Returns Policy

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Narrations

"Well played," muttered Rogers, the majordomo of the Wanderers' Club, amidst the gentlemanly utterances of "Good show," "Hear, hear," and even "Huzzah" as Sir Algernon Hogshead finished his tale with a dramatic flourish.

Though not so socially gregarious as to partake in the verbal bonhomie, I thumped my ivory serpent's-head cane a few times, myself, in collegial support of my frenetic friend as his bizarre, but well-told, tale had come to its breathtaking and remarkable conclusion. Truth told, the hubbub of excited utterances and exclamations regarding Sir Hogshead's fanciful quest were well-said, but, greater truth yet, I had become more and more pensive and apprehensive as the tale progressed.

I knew what was coming next. Not within the story, but after.

Gentlemanly Horrors of Mine Alone by Donald J. Bingle
Gallery of Curiosities #88

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The oversized leather armchair all but swallowed Michael. The receptionist had asked him to sit in one of the plainer chairs, near the offices, but today was a day for rebellions.

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