Anthony Kinread (author).

After a several month absence, I'm back! Did anything interesting happen in the world? #movingcountries #writing #Iamquerying

I know what I’m doing. Do you? Shut up, Bábóg, I’m not talking to you. You’ve never done anything like that before. How do you—? I said shut up! Your own sister… I know what I’m doing. The Left Hand of the Sun [a novel]

There's a Brown Tree Snake in my letterbox. Yes, I'm back in Australia. #australia #herpetofauna

I hope Bluesky get on top of the trolls that are beginning to creep onto this platform. I doubt any users here with integrity want this place to end up like the 'other place'. Or to put it another way: if the only reply you can give to a post of mine is contrarian, I will block you and report you.

Ursula's hard-hitting acceptance speech spoke of the commodification of publishing; the ugly creep of profit before art. It has ruined the music industry, the film industry, and now literature. Fifteen years later, her words are more powerful than ever. www.theguardian.com/books/2014/n...

My home. Again. www.youtube.com/watch?v=TCoF...

Nothing more depressing than having to unfollow two fellow writers on 'the other place' because they both reveal themselves to be manic Trump supporters, out of the blue. If you support Trump, I want nothing to do with you. Unfollow me, ignore me, do whatever, just leave me be.

I opened my eyes. I was still in my bedroom, but I was in bed. Mammy was sat on the only chair, her head nodding with sleep. I lifted my head off the pillow. “Mammy.” Her mouth was slack as she sucked in air, like she’d forgotten how to breathe through her nose. #AmWriting

The tapestry looked mediaeval with weird perspectives everywhere. The church in the background sort of looked like the one we were in, as if it had been woven by a five year old, a drunk, or maybe someone with serious eyesight problems. Amaia the Hunter [a novel].

“A’ bhfuil an bus seo ag dul isteach sa chathair?” she said from the doorway. “Uh… no sprechen the Irish, pet,” said the bus driver, smiling and waving his arms back and forth as if swatting flies. [The Left Hand of the Sun - a novel].

I just think everyone should reread Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle”.

For too long, a pathological bloodlust had engulfed my very being. “You know, I never told you,” I said, “How the wellspring filled me with so much joy at being alive as I left a trail of blood through Wye.” Amaia the Hunter [a novel]. #writingcommunity

"I told you it was possible." The voice of Irina had travelled across the world in an instant, just as the tabby cat in the cage had. "I’m…" Joel searched for the right word, “stunned." "Malcolm would have us killed if he knew," said Irina. -The Tiny Buddha (a short story).

She wanted me, not Caoimhe. But now…? “I feel safer already,” Caoimhe said, smiling at last. She launched into the third sandwich. If I probed her mind a little bit… I could just— “Whereb Haydn? I wannib to fank ‘im.” I pulled back. ‘I— they took him.”

A Cailleach she was, and much sought after ever since the invaders came to these lands. Their crops could not take hold here so long as she held sway. She regarded their horned beasts as the natural order of things, not the pollution of turned soil. -Síle na gCíoċ (a short story)

Just signed up here! Also on Twitter/X, for now at least. Keen to connect with fellow writers!