Yes. The Last King's Amulet and Prison of Power will soon be available on Amazon. This is as much as I need in the way of outlets; now I need more people to know about them. It's going to take time. Wish me luck.

You know when you have become mature. It's when you stop wanting to live forever.

If writing in the third person you can change POV as often as you like, though it's better to keep to one character most of the time (the character you want the reader to identify with). If you are wondering which character' POV to use in a scene, just ask yourself, 'who has the most at stake, who has the most to lose?' and you will have your answer.

Simple, really.

I just turned 48 – for younger people this may seem old, but it is extraordinary how your perceptions change with age. I still feel 28ish, wouldn't be surprised to check and find I am in fact only 38. Forty-eight sounds old, and in a decade it will be old. But I bet when I am 58 I'll feel little different. Apart from being even more impatient with younger people who think that they know more than I do. Here's a tip; you don't! Experience comes with age, the less you have of one the less you have of the other. Maturity comes with age. Yes, you can fit loads of experiences into a short time, but that doesn't give you context, it just gives you a bunch of data. And there are things that take time to do – like live with someone for a decade, for example.

Looking forward (so far so good on this score) I'm anticipating finding it a bit unfair that physical decrepitude is a necessary part of ageing. It's about the only drawback. That and the tendency to feel like you can't be bothered to re-visit a previous experience. For example, starting another relationship. Having been pretty thoroughly married twice, I really don't feel like I care to go through the same experiences again. How can I pretend it's all new to me? How can I pretend that I care about this one person more than anything else in the world? It would be a lie, and I'm not much into lying.

Let's examine the concept of the sequel. When writing there are two main building blocks, the scene (where things happen) and the sequel (the thing that comes next in the sequence). This is the place where you control the pace of your story. A sequel can be short or long. It is the place where you examine what is going on, what just happened, where your character reacts internally, where he reviews facts, ponders choices, where he makes a decision that will become the goal for the action in the next scene.

See how simple that is? But if you didn't know it, understand it, it would make writing so much harder. Thing about it – you just finish a big scene, lot's happens, loads of action, events that fill the page, and then it ends... - Now what?

A sequel. A scene where the protagonist reacts to what just happened, puts it in order, makes sense of it, picks the facts out and puts together with other information he already has, draws conclusions, comes to a decision and acts again. Sequels are also the place where you get inside the head of the character and examine his motives. A place where you can explore his nature.

Sequels can be long or short, and this is how they control pace. Story moving too fast? Longer sequel, follow it by a shorter action piece and another longish sequel. Story too slow? Cur back the length of the sequel and get into the next action shot.

There. Hopefully, if you need a little help with your writing, that helped.

Here's another one from years ago. I was broke – my god, was I broke – and it was raining, winter, proper rain. I walked through an underpass in town (I shan't say which town) and there was a busker playing a guitar, all alone. People were passing busily by, but I had nothing better to do, so I stopped and placed myself opposite him to be an audience. Over the period of a few minutes a crowd gathered to listen. People do that, if there is someone already there. A mother and young daughter skipped up and down in front of the busker. And I walked away, smiling. Job done.

Every now and again I'll take that small memory out and dust it off and smile.

I remember walking down Fuengirola front. It was summer-ish, at least still warm, and it was raining. But it was raining so lightly that I could count the raindrops that struck me; about a dozen in all, over a hundred yards walk.

Memories like that are gold dust.