There are no medals for winning personal battles. No cheering crowd when you beat cancer, get a promotion, survive a break up, emigrate, get married, plan a funeral nor have a child.

What does that say about us as a society? We are here to be the audience? Critiques and plaudits? Onlookers with our small circles to know our tales and stories? Some of which are captivating, funny, endearing. Amazing stories that should have life but they don’t. They die, with us and more not less, are forgotten by the noise of time.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by people. Every day people living every day lives. From a young age, it struck me that all of my favourite movies, favourite books; stories in which I became inspired by and encapsulated in were about the truth.

Two years ago I was commissioned to write a short bio on someone that should have been interesting, only they weren’t, and they knew it. They wanted me to kill the piece and I did… what we ended up doing together became a project that I am hoping lasts me a lifetime.

In a world dominated by social media, an ability to interact with everybody and anybody I find in so many places a lack of integration, not just in terms of race and religion but in age and culture. I wish I had more eighty year old friends, the ones I do have keep me entertained and hopefully I do the same. Vicariously discovering through and about one another.

If you, or anyone you know, wants a story written, that said; a short tale for our Real People Project, a published journal of dramatised memoirs, then please get in touch. We are looking to hear your story.


This is the blog of Crocodile Books... how potentially exciting. All views are others, we don't actually write... just publish. If you are a writer, author, looking for a job... get in touch. We are hiring.

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