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About the Author

 Peter's writing began with a series of technical books on television engineering and production that are still available worldwide via Amazon, on Kindle, as well as other distributors. They are published in America by Elsevier, the latest has just been translated for the Indian market. His first novel he prefers not to talk about but he's much more at ease over those that followed. Yet he writes fiction purely for his own enjoyment and satisfaction, as he does the numerous short stories produced for the regular readings at BWG. He has been a member since 1997, and it has had a huge influence on the quality of his writing.

 

To be published as a fiction author, however, is not a priority. He prefers to avoid the shackles and pressures that this would bring, and to follow his own inclination about what story to tell and how to tell it. However, he has now taken the opportunity of publishing on Amazon Kindle his novel Perfectly Polished using his fiction pseudonym P.F.Hodges. It is a modern-day story with twists of romance and adventure. Other novels may be added to the Kindle bookshelf over time.

 

Meanwhile, short story writing is the regular interest. Short stories provide a welcome break from full length writing, they also offer the opportunity to experiment with style. He now has a portfolio of over fifty. A few have been read by a local talking newspaper for the visually impaired with which he is involved. There is also the chance that a short story can inspire a full length novel.

 

Writing is a solitary business. It is good to share ones work with others of like mind, writers who respect the efforts of others, offer sensible critique, and support if such is needed. A group such as Bridgnorth Writers does exactly that.

 

Peter is also involved with other writers' groups. In 2010 he enjoyed producing work for Shropshire Carewrite, and the various publications of Bridgnorth Writers, the last being Olympians in 2012.

 

 

 Examples of Work

The following extracts are taken from Perfectly Polished:

 

Anna was late rising. The walk in the early hours, the long day that proceeded it, brought sleep the instant her head had hit the pillow and stayed that way well into morning. Her plans for the day were a leisurely start, coffee and toast at the café, a thoroughly idle catch-up time, then into uniform before boarding the bus for the airport to take the late afternoon flight to Prestwick. It started that way. It got as far as pulling on jumper and jeans and stepping out of the front door of the guest house when she was confronted by a large man of many years with bleached wind-blown hair and wearing a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.

"Dougie Macdonald…"

"Aye, it's me, Captain Fleuren. I'd like a word if yer will."

"Right now?"

"Well that would be preferred since I've been waiting here while yer were sleeping off last night's little adventure. Waiting, I might add, because that landlady of yours says ye're a wee bit tired, a fact which doesn't surprise me at all."

"Excuse me, I don't understand" said Anna. "Tell me, what's this is all about?"

"Yer night-time operations, Captain."

In the short time Anna had been on Elensay she had come to know Dougal Macdonald as a leading figure in the community. Garage owner, taxi man, fixer and organiser, and not least, special constable. The latter duty he took very seriously. And despite his breezy manner of always addressing her as 'Captain', or 'Skipper' if he was so minded, he had that certain twinkle in his eye which said he was okay, and so she had rather come to like him. But this morning his mood was decidedly more serious.

"Yer've caused a spot of bother with yer flying, Captain. A complaint has been made." He delved into a pocket to produce a piece of paper. "It's regarding last night, flying after dark into the airport here which, I'm sure yer realise, is closed after dark."

Anna took the paper. "Sure, I know the airport was closed which is why I got special clearance to arrive the time when I did. And I informed ATC Prestwick and local police. Didn't you know?"

"Aye, it was filed."

"So what's the problem?"

"Neighbours, Captain."

"Neighbours? Who? Why?"

"At the farmhouse. Yer frightened them in their beds and they've made a complaint."

"But the nearest farmhouse is a quarter mile away."

"They still made a complaint."

"For goodness sake, Dougie, I was in a glide. My plane is near silent in the glide."

"It was yer lights. Lit up their bedroom bright as day." His arms folded, elbow patches bulged. "Yer gave them a devil of a fright."

"Well, I'm sorry. Sure, I'm real sorry I gave them a fright." She scanned the paper a second time. "I guess this is in your capacity as special constable."

"Aye, it is. The sergeant asked if I would. Yer understand it, Captain?"

At this Anna's patience slipped. "Sure, I understand. And do stop calling me captain. Anna's my name. Miss Fleuren if you insist on being official, Constable."

 

*        *        *

 

She appeared as expected. Bathed and dressed but not to attract. Baggy trousers and loose shirt with buttons casually undone, not to reveal, more an inducement to sympathy, he thought. She insisted on buying the drinks, and he watched the slight, shivering back as she stood at the bar, wallet in hand. It would be easy. It would be appreciated. There may even be pleasure in carrying out the act. For a moment he thought of that. Then there was Josie. Then Anna. The two women he had loved and shared with. And it was sharing. Could he share an hour with Maggie Lake? Then take his leave? Wash away that hour in his bath, and sleep away what was left? Anna had never shared with anyone else. Not properly as he had. In reality she had known only him. Yes, Maggie was eager and she was needing, as she was vulnerable, but he could not and would not, and that was that.

 

© Peter Hodges