Lost in Logres reanimated

In an effort to write again, and to spread myself about a bit (I’m told this is a must for generating interest in one’s work) – internetly speaking – I’ve decided to resume blogging; but only in the sphere of poetry, stories, art and spirituality.  I may offer the odd review or opinion piece, but essentially I want to keep out of controversial matters and focus on my literary output.  Such as it is.

Ransom & the Lady Meet in the Dawn of Perelandra - Version 2

My aim for 2017 is to produce at least two short stories per month, to be published first here, and to keep my friends and readers updated on where I am with my novel Anselm.

Anselm is set in an America of the near future that is deeply, and quite literally, divided.  It follows Anselm’s rise to political dominance and ultimately destruction.  Along the way there are gay love affairs, human sacrifices, cats, mystical experiences, torture, and resurrections.  I can’t tell you much else right now, because I never know what my characters are going to do until they start doing it.

So, I hope you will all keep in touch.  I welcome positive or constructively critical feedback on all my work, and hope that you enjoy reading it – and get something worthwhile from that reading – as much as I have pleasure (and sweat and tears and throwing things) in writing it.



Lost in Logres – for those wondering.


lost |lɒst| past and past participle of lose


1 unable to find one’s way; not knowing one’s whereabouts: Help! We’re lost!

• unable to be found.

ORIGIN Old English losian ‘perish, destroy’, also ‘become unable to find’, from los ‘loss’.

in |ɪn|


1 expressing the situation of something that is or appears to be enclosed or surrounded by something else.

ORIGIN Old English in (preposition), inn, inne (adverb), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch and German in (preposition), German ein (adverb), from an Indo-European root shared by Latin in and Greek en .


Logres (also Logris or Loegria) is the name of King Arthur’s realm in the Matter of Britain.

I remember the time when Logres was only myself and one man and two boys – Merlinus, in C.S. Lewis’s That Hideous Strength (Chapter 13, They Have Pulled Down Deep Heaven on Their Heads). Cf. Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur I:5.

The seas were left behind;

in a harbour of Logres

lightly I came to land

under a roaring wind.

Strained were the golden sails,

the masts of the galley creaked

as it rode for the Golden Horn

and I for the hills of Wales.

Charles Williams, Talessin Through Logres – Talessin’s Return to Logres (1931).