An avid reader/writer of Flash Fiction and short stories of any genre. A member of many writing sites and an @etherbooks writer.

An excerpt from my latest work of non-fiction, For The Love of Fish:

"On a cold wet morning, perched on a river bank, catching very few fish, my mind began to wander...how did those men and women cope in the old days of trawling? My late father-in-law put to sea on several Grimsby based trawlers from the 1950's until the late 70's.

Before daybreak, in ports around Britain, men toiled tirelessly to load provisions, including ice and food. Boxes were man-handled or wheeled on-board using porter trolleys. Kegs of ale and crates of rum—the most precious of cargoes—would be laboriously rolled along the gang-plank.

Quaysides would be lined with well-wishers, families, and friends. Some of whom would never see their fathers, sons, uncles, grandfathers, or brothers, again.

After only three days of vacation, crews would return to their ships ahead of a three weeks voyage of Icelandic, Norwegian, or North Russian fishing grounds...some of the world's most dangerous and icy waters. Force 9 storms were common place. Winds of up to 140mph and waves the height of houses compelled skippers to bind themselves to handrails on the bridge. Crews could be tossed from their bunks if not fastened in. Boats would sail up the waves and then down into the trough repeatedly for several days, a frightening experience for many uninitiated sailors. As the stern and propellers rose from the sea, the engines raced to their highest revs, causing ships to shake, fiercely... "