I’ve never been certain how many ravens belong in a story, yet it’s their collective noun. One is an omen. Two imply witness. Three begin to feel deliberate. Anything more and the counting really starts to matter. Ravens carry weight because they observe. They remember. They gather at the edges of things and wait to … Continue reading How Many Ravens Are in a Storytelling..?
I came across an old photograph of Little Thorpe Hospital near Easington, County Durham. By the time I knew it, it was a maternity hospital. Before the wards were repurposed for expectant mothers, it was an infectious diseases hospital. Locally, it was known simply as Fever Hospital. I used to attend a writing group in … Continue reading Fever Hospital…
I went back to Horden while planning Emergence. It’s John Gimmerick’s hometown. It’s also mine. I wanted the places in the book to feel seen rather than remembered. My parents still live there, but there were corners I hadn’t visited in years. The beach. The dene. The cundy. I knew that returning to them physically … Continue reading Returning to Horden…
If you’ve just arrived, take a moment. Shake the cold from your coat. Let your eyes adjust to the half-light. This is a quiet place, a place for stories with teeth, folklore with long memories, and the kinds of hauntings that linger at the edge of ordinary life. Here, I write about winter ghosts, old … Continue reading Welcome to the Threshold…
R. H. DIXON 