Still Here. Still Writing. The formatting is ongoing — yes, still. Books I through III are moving through the pipeline and will reach you properly bound and sequenced. In the meantime the Atlas stories continue, because some things don’t wait for production schedules. And because you’ve been patient, here is something new. A first look…
Tag: ChaosMagic
The Memory Cartographer – Book I
The European Chronicles Mrs H had already pulled up the platform before I’d finished my coffee. “Upwork,” she said, sliding the laptop across the desk. “Filter by location. Novi Sad.” I filtered by price first. No point pretending otherwise. I needed a local, not a professor — no historians, no certified translators with their footnotes…
The Memory Cartographer
Still here. Deep in the edit — five books on the table, being cleaned and prepared for publication. It’s slow, careful work. While I’m in it, here’s a scene that hasn’t left me. The Mutamba Chronicles Saday. Athanatos. Sabaoth Elena is eight months pregnant, pinned under an archangel in an armoured SUV while someone shoots…
The Memory Cartographer
Dear Readers, I’ve gone quiet on posts for a reason. The manuscript is on the table — all five books, being edited clean for publication. It’s slow, careful work, and it deserves full attention. While I’m in the edit, I’m reaching back into the material for the moments that stay with me. This one hasn’t…
The Memory Cartographer- Book V The Alkebulan Chronicles- Part II
Chapter 24 Silver and Ambar eyes Two men witnessed her that night. One through glass. One through something older than glass. As the car glides away from the restaurant, Tarmo leans forward and taps Mikhail’s shoulder, voice low. “Close the partition, please.” Mikhail’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror — silver, unreadable. Then he…
The Memory Cartographer-Book V The Alkebulan Chronicles- Part II
“Where the gods keep office hours” In the private cabin of Tarmo’s jet, somewhere over Mali, Elena collapses. What follows is not a dream. I press my palms flat against the tile, lower my head, and let the water wash over me for a while. But under the relief, the same question bubbles up—the one…
The Holographer’s Atlas
Maurice ’85/’91 In 1985 my mother left with Kahlil Gibran, her piano, and the ice-cold brain food she had served on a daily basis. What remained was my elderly father, a smaller house in the village, and suddenly — space. I stopped cycling thirty kilometres to school. I was tired of doing what was good…
The Holographer’s Atlas
The Constant There are men who loved you and failed you in the exact way that you have others, and you file them under known coordinates and navigate accordingly. Decades pass. Children grow, postcodes change, land numbers too, bad decisions, good ones, everything in between. Coasts remain. You teach yourself to call it nostalgia whenever…
The Memory Cartographer-Book V The Alkebulan Chronicles- Part II
Chapter 21 The White Queen Moves His final words fall cold, deliberate, like a blade laid flat, not put away. “So this one…” A pause, heavy as breath itself. “This one is on you.” I meet him with a glare, unflinching. “Just because I refuse to be used as some anthropological rook in your endless…
The Memory Cartographer-Book V The Alkebulan Chronicles-Part II
Chapter 19 Amellal The airport swallows us whole, its air heavy with dust, sweat, and kerosene. I settle back against the cart seat, my hand resting instinctively upon the curve of my belly. Departures have always lifted me—each voyage a renewal, a flight into possibility. But this time my spirit drags. It begins suddenly—a bloom…
The Memory Cartographer 