My Review of The Dreamer: A Play of Playing Author Mr. Bohemian

My Review of

The Dreamer: A Play of Playing

Author Mr. Bohemian.

Wow, The Dreamer: A play of Playing is a beautiful and gripping play based on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It is set in a magical WOW world. I spent the day reading this book and couldn’t put it down because the characters are funny and the land and dream -like adventure Puck goes on is really fascinating.

The book is well written and put together, very easy to follow what’s going on, even if you are not used to reading plays.  I also felt that the chapters were perfect size for if you have limited reading time and need to put the book down and pick it up again.

The story itself follows Prince Puck, an heir of the dream’s dreamers, as he goes to Azeroth to find the reason for his Shaman’s migraines. Will he be able to that reason? I also loved how this play asked the question: What is a dream? Well you all want to find out don’t you? So go and read this play.

I loved many characters in this book, especially, Prince Puck and Yami and Helena. They were well rounded and sometimes funny to read about and imagine, but enchanting in many ways too.  I especially loved the line Prince Puck say: Puck: Good morning, pretty petals, because I could just imagine Prince Puck talking to his flowers and this scene reminded me of the school play we did as children at school .

I  will be looking out for other books by this author and would recommend this book if you love WOW and Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream or if you like fantasy and the feeling of a magical adventure in a land with lots to offer, written in play format, you should check this book out.

The Dreamer: A Play of Playing is free on Smashwords


The Tiger story by Voinks.

The Tiger story by Voinks.

I once lived in a very hot place. Food became scarcer as our habitat was destroyed, and my family ventured nearer the humans to hunt when our bellies were empty.

Being young and inexperienced I got caught, and although I fought they overpowered me. I felt a sting and then I slept. When I woke it was a lot colder and I was trapped in a small cage with people staring at me. I tried to escape but there was nowhere to go and the ground was hard and uncomfortable. They gave me food but I could no longer feel the rain or the sun on my back, and the smell of humans was overpowering. I had nothing to do except pace up and down and I became frustrated, longing for freedom to roam.

Some moons later a man pointed a gun through the bars; I felt a dart pierce my skin and I fell asleep. This time when I woke it was in a different place. Although I was still caged the scent of humans was not so strong, and I could even detect others of my own kind, although I could not see them.

A woman brought me meat every day, but I had no freedom to hunt for myself. At least it was quieter, and I could sense grass and wetlands not far away. I was still restricted but my new home was larger, and more comfortable. After a few days part of the wire door was raised, and I saw something in the distance which reminded me of my former home. Was it a trap?

Venturing out I discovered an area with trees and shrubs where I could ramble and relax in the sunshine. When I got hungry I noticed the cage door had been left open, and inside was a chunk of meat. Should I give up my freedom and be fed, or stay outside and starve? I chose the food, but as I began my meal the door slammed shut behind me. Once again I was trapped.

As I paced, the young woman came and spoke to me through the wire. I didn’t understand her words but her voice was soft and her scent was gentle. The next morning the cage door was open and once again I was free. This time I stayed outside for a few days until the enticing lure of food brought me back near the cage. The girl was there encouraging me but once I was inside the door slammed shut.

This became the pattern until I began to understand she meant me no harm, and even if I was locked up overnight each new day restored my freedom. I learnt to trust her and even now I am full-grown we still share a hug, although I have to be careful as she is so fragile.

When I became too old to roam she took me to her home. Now I sit and keep her company as she writes her books. My name is Raj and this is my story.


ABC Destiny



Spirit of Technology





The Cat that Saved my Life by Ruth F Hunt.

The Cat that Saved my Life

When I was hard at work finishing off my debut novel, The Single Feather, I was aware of just how isolated I had become. Being physically disabled, with spinal cord injuries, getting out and about was full of challenges and so the book became my excuse to avoid them.  This led to me not just becoming cut-off from the outside world but fearful of it as well.

I knew something needed to change.  I asked my landlord if he would agree to me having a cat.  Once I had that agreement on paper, I scoured the RSPCA website. That’s when I first spotted Izzy, a rather striking (and chubby) black ‘n’ white cat.  I visited her and felt an immediate connection.   Before long, I brought her home where, rather than running and hiding, she sat next to me, purring loudly and enjoying a belly rub!

Thankfully, Izzy arrived just in time to have a walk-on part in The Single Feather (page 67 in the paperback edition). I would like to say she also contributed to the cover design, but that was just a coincidence.

‘The blue-rinsed elderly lady from across the road was slowly watering various potted plants in her front yard.  Her overweight black and white cat was watching from the doorway before it plodded out and collapsed on the pavement with its paws in the air.’ (The Single Feather p. 67)

As I write this Izzy is spread out in front of me in the garden, twitching as she drops off to sleep. She’s been with me for about three years now and I don’t know what I would do without her company.

As well as bringing joy, Izzy has helped me in other ways.  For instance, when I slipped into a depressive episode last summer, it would have been very easy to give up.  Knowing I had my furry friend to look after gave me a reason to live. A reason to get myself better.

You might wonder what happened regarding the social isolation. Well, it still is a problem, but with Izzy it is more manageable. During the past three years I have completed a degree via The Open University.  I wouldn’t have been able to cope with the workload if the isolation was overwhelming.  Izzy made the difference, she gave me strength,

I hope to do the MA in Creative Writing in the autumn and know that as I type out my assignments for that course, a black ‘n’ white cat will be purring at my feet. A loving companion who has saved my life.


Ruth F Hunt and Izzy.



Guest Author Kendra Olson How We Met by Chance

here’s a more recent photo of the four of us.

Guest Author Kendra Olson How We Met by Chance

Happy Birthday Holly and Smokey! And thank you for inviting Othello, Cleo and I to celebrate with you by sharing a story on Katie’s lovely blog.

Today, Othello, Cleo and I are going to share the story of how we met by chance one freezing cold, snowy day in January just over four years ago.

My husband and I had lost our previous cat, Kileem, to cancer back in September and had been looking for a new cat to adopt.  We scoured ads on Gumtree and visited local shelters trying to find a good match. But, surprisingly, nearly all the cats were taken—London is highly competitive. Then, one day, I found an ad for a sociable, black, 1-year-old, Maine Coon/Persian mix named Zeus. His owner was moving to Australia and needed to find a good home for him, and quick. I immediately phoned her and we chatted about Zeus and my experience of caring for cats. She told me how sorry she was to have to leave Zeus behind, and said he needed daily grooming, play etc. I promised that my husband and I would provide a loving home for him and we arranged to visit her in St Albans and pick up Zeus that Friday evening, just three days away. My husband and I were over the moon with excitement. Zeus was a beautiful cat and we’d always wanted a Persian or Maine Coon.

I cleaned and cleared, bought new cat food and treats and prepared a small area for Zeus to occupy while he got used to living in our flat with us. Then, on Friday evening, as we were getting the cat carrier ready for Zeus, we got a call. It was Zeus’s owner telling us that she’d decided to give him to a friend instead, and was very sorry.  It was such a let-down and I remember thinking that perhaps we just weren’t meant to have another cat.  We sprawled on the sofa, depressed and disappointed. Eventually, my husband suggested getting a take away, as a treat to cheer ourselves up. I reluctantly agreed.

We decided to visit the fish and chip shop up the road from us, as we’re friends with the owners. When we arrived, a beautiful, long, black cat sidled up to me, his emerald eyes shining under the fluorescent lighting. I leaned down to pet him and he nuzzled my hand. Then I picked him up and he lay purring in my arms, clearly enjoying the attention.

“We call him Sabbath,” the shop’s owner, Miranda, said. “But the guy who comes to collect him each night calls him Zeus.”

My husband and I looked at each other, delighted to have met a Zeus after all.

Here’s a photo of them watching birds fly by from the window, shortly after we adopted them (they weren’t allowed to go outside yet).

Miranda took down our order before continuing. “He offered him to me, but I told him I’ve already got a cat at home and can’t have another one. Maybe you’d like to take him?”

We agreed immediately. Finally, we’d found our perfect cat. But first, we needed to talk to his owner. We reluctantly said goodbye to Zeus, aka Sabbath, when we left for home that evening. Miranda had promised to give the man our phone number when he came by.

Later that same night, we spoke to Zeus’s owner on the phone. He said he was happy for us to adopt him, but only under the condition that we take his “little sister” too. He explained how he wasn’t able to care for the cats, though he loved them very much and wanted them to have good homes. We arranged to visit his place the following day so that we could meet Zeus’s “sister” and talk about our experience of caring for cats.

It was snowing as we left the house that afternoon, and freezing cold out. As we arrived, we saw a small black and white, long-haired kitten scampering about among the cars on his estate, her white paws turning grey from the engine muck on the ground, and her brush-like tail twitching back and forth as she leapt and dove in the snow, chasing imaginary prey. It was Cleo, who was then called Mincie.

Needless to say, it was love at first sight. Zeus and Mincie were brought to live with us shortly afterward. They immediately made themselves at home in our tiny flat, curling up on the bed at night and chasing each other back and forth as they played. Shortly afterward, we decided to rename them as we figured they should have new names to suit their new lives. Zeus was renamed Othello, for the handsome Shakespearian general, and Mincie was renamed Cleo, for Cleopatra and for Clio, the Greek muse of literature because she’s both inspiring and a bit of a princess.


Kendra Olson is the author of The Forest King’s Daughter, a historical novel set in 19th century Sweden. She lives in London with her husband and two beautiful long haired rescue cats. She’s a developmental editor of fiction and creative non-fiction at: and also writes a book blog at: You can follow her on Twitter at: @KendrarOlson

Cats… by Patricia Asedegbega


For some reason they cause a lot of controversy and with them emotions are taken to the extreme; I find people either hate or love them. I also find the eternal debate between cat and dog lovers quite interesting and in order to commemorate my pet; I´d like to share this little write –up that I hope can bring if not understanding about cats; a smile to the reader´s face.

First of all, I´d like to introduce my cat and helper in this little post. I was looking into getting a cat and had already spoken to a breeder to get a little Ragdoll kitten that was due to be given to me five months later when a friend of mine came across an add on facebook asking for someone to give a cat a home. I looked at the computer screen and found myself staring at the massive frame of a blue British Shorthair cat. Yes I had wanted a cat but I had gotten used to the idea of a playful little kitten that would run around and get into all sorts of mischief and this adult cat just looked like it was what we fondly call “ a couch potato”…how wrong I was. Apparently, his owner got a new girlfriend that made him choose between the cat and her…in my humble opinion; he made the wrong choice.

So that is how Merlin Mojito came into my life when he was almost three and now six years later, I can´t imagine life without him. So here are a few complaints non-cat lovers have, that I hope I can add my little two cents to and help clarify.

Cats are independent- Yes they are to a degree…but why is that a negative trait? We humans have different behavior patterns, some of us are shy, some bold, some talkative, some clingy, some independent…diversity is the spice of life; so why can´t we accept that the same goes in the animal kingdom. Merlin is independent; he knows when he wants company, when he wants to be held, when he wants to be left alone, when he wants to be cuddled and when he´s had enough and he can be grumpy but I love the fact that he can be himself and does not feel the need to pretend.

Cats are not loyal- Now this is just not true. Again it is unfair to compare the behavior of one animal species with another (this is one complaint dog lovers have when they refer to dogs being man´s best friend), they just have a different way of showing their loyalty. Merlin for example follows me around the house, sometimes I leave a room and he comes running behind. This is a quality I find most endearing. He is great company as he always seems to be around even when it is a few meters away when I´m cooking (my clever boy knows it is not always a safe environment to stay too close to me in). There are countless stories about cats that have saved their owners from harm (A very famous Youtube video comes to mind now). Merlin can seem aloof but he is very alert and watches everything going on.

Cats are unpredictable and can bite or scratch out of the blue- It is true that cats can be very fast using their claws and teeth and that a number of people seem to have childhood memories that have scarred them for life but when you get to know them you know when to touch them and you read the signs. Merlin is a grumpy old cat and he has very little patience but I know when he has had enough and I back off, also sometimes they are just being playful and take things too far but we love them and understand.

Ooops…I´ve gone way past my word count but I just wanted to say that I think we´d enjoy our pets more if we just loved them for what they are and not expect them to be like the previous pet we had or the neighbour´s dog. I love the fact that Merlin is independent, he can´t be manipulated (but has me eating out of his paw), he is very opinionated (will not eat or do anything he feels will not agree with him), is grumpy…because that is what makes him special and unique. On the other hand, he waits for me to get back from work, he is a purring machine, he comes often to visit me wherever I am, makes me laugh with his crazy antics…I´m so glad I overcame my reserves, went to see him at his foster home and adopted him.


Check out Patricia Asedegbega books follow the link.

For The Love of Dogs by Guest Samantha Wood.

For The Love of Dogs


Samantha Wood

WHEN I WAS A CHILD my absolute favourite TV show was Get Smart.  It had it all:  bumbling bad guys, shoes phones, secret agents hiding in pot plants and rubbish bins, and my favourite of all, a dog called Fang, a.k.a. Agent K-13.  Fang was Maxwell Smart’s best friend in spy school, although as a Control agent he didn’t have much to do other than bury stuff and look adorable.  That was enough for me, though.

Years later and the idea of having a dog began to germinate so I began scanning websites for rescue pets.  I found him almost immediately, a little white dog with big brown eyes, looking a little sad to be honest.  They’d named him Gucci at the shelter because, as the beautiful people they were, they named every dog that came through the doors since most were strays and had never had an identity before.  Well, I’d already thought of what I’d call him and figured he wouldn’t mind – a new name for a new home and all that.  Enter Larrabee. (yes, another secret agent!)

We bonded from the get-go.  It was like he knew he’d been given a second chance, and was determined to make every minute count.  That first night he nudged the bedroom door open with his nose and jumped onto the bed, making a spot for himself in the crook of my arm.  I had to move him to a mat in the bathroom because he hadn’t had a bath yet and was a little whiffy.  There followed a few weeks of adjustment.  You see, he’d been abused by a previous owner – or that’s what they suspected at the shelter – so he was terrified of men and would bark at them, or hide until tables, chairs, wherever he felt safe.  Other dogs, mostly the big ones, made him nervous too.  He’d most likely been stuck in a yard his whole life, so never knew what was beyond the gate.  It was all new and scary.  We went through it together, this learning to trust.  First it was my brother, then my dad, just sitting next to him on the couch, a treat in hand.  Then other people.  Slowly, I watched him come alive.  We went to the beach and the park.  I threw balls and sticks – he went after them but never brought them back!  We ran up and down the hallway, did laps around the outside of the house – going in opposite directions – and slept on the couch together, one at each end.  He became, as Edith Wharton put it so beautifully, “A heartbeat at my feet.”  I was broken-hearted, vulnerable, and it was like he knew.  “We’ll get through this together,” his sparkling brown eyes seemed to say.

Every day was a new beginning for him, one full of excitement and possibility.  There were other dogs to play with, and little cubes of cheese to find in my pockets, there were afternoon naps and TV to watch, loads of cuddles and, at the end of the day, his own pillow and blanket.  He was only with me for a year but I saw in his waggly tail and his lolling tongue, in his big doggy grin, that it was the best year of his life – the good had cancelled out all the bad which came before.  I miss him so much.  Sometimes when I see his photos – and they are all over the house – I feel my heart catch, even after all this time.  But it was wonderful while it lasted.  He healed my broken heart and I healed his.  He was my best friend and I’ll love him forever.  There will be other dogs, in time, but there will only ever be one Larrabee, and I’ll keep forever the memory of my secret agent dog.


Bio –

Samantha Wood was born in Victoria in 1971.  Her first book, the memoir, Culua: My Other Life in Mexico was published in 2003 after extended visits to Mexico, and was essentially a love letter to her mother’s country.

Samantha graduated from Monash University in 2005 with a Master’s degree in Translation Studies (Spanish) focusing on the translations of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s little-known children’s stories where angels crash landed in chicken coops and the world’s handsomest man washed ashore.  It was this love of the magic of language and words that inspired the story for her first novel, The Bay of Shadows.

In 2007, she joined Ai-Media, a world-leading broadcast captioning service that provides access for the Deaf and hard of hearing.  She lives in Melbourne, Australia.


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Welcome Guest Tracey Scott-Townsend Telling Us About Her lovely Dog Riley.


Our beloved Riley had kind eyes and a forcefully-wagging tail. Whenever he heard laughter, he would join in with a thump-thump-thump.

Riley was our friend and companion. Our van-dog. We took him all over the United Kingdom in our bus-with-a-woodstove. His favourite location was the Outer Hebrides where he could run to infinity and beyond on the vast white beaches. He loved the sea. He loved woodland and he loved bare, wide plains.

Riley was a tall, long-legged black Labrador with a glossy coat. One time at his six-monthly health check the vet listened to his heart for so long I feared there was something wrong. Finally the vet lifted his head and removed the stethoscope from his ears. “That’s such a lovely heartbeat,” he told us. “I could listen to it all day.”

The week before Riley died he was pronounced in the very best of health.

Riley came to us as a seven-week-old pup. Phil and I had been together for a year. I had my four children and my chocolate Lab, Lu. Phil had two children but had never had a dog. Riley was like the kid we might have had together. We all moved into a five-bedroomed house overlooking the common – a perfect location for dogs. Lu had never had a pup of her own but she soon became Riley’s mother. Our two Labs performed regular bin raids throughout the house, to the extent we had to confine them to one room. On the common they ate their fill of horse poo and chased rabbits. In the deep winter snow, Riley pulled my son down the slopes in a sled. He also went mountain climbing in the Lake District with Zak and slept with him in his tent.

Lu died when Riley was four and he became our only dog. We could take him anywhere. If we told him everything was fine, he stayed calm and relaxed, even at firework displays. He loved people and other dogs.

He accompanied us to many gatherings of family and friends.

“My memories of Riley,” wrote a friend when we announced his death. “Are of him surrounded by children, each waiting for a turn to hold his lead.”

He helped nervous children become dog lovers. He touched lives.

His typical Labrador obsession with food and even items that were not food but could be easily consumed was the finish of him. That night the poisoning symptoms showed up too late. After 18 hours – he had to be put down the next evening.

Every time we’d left Riley, in the van, or at home – or occasionally in kennels if we absolutely couldn’t take him away with us – we’d promised him we would come back for him. On his last night we came back for him. I stroked his ears and my husband and son stroked his back. We all talked to him. Our Riley was wagging his tail when he left this world. Thump-thump-thump. Beautiful boy, RIP.

Riley Scott-Townsend 2009 -2016


Ellie can’t work out whether she’s running away from the past or towards a future she always felt she should have had. She left university and had baby after baby without even meaning to. But it was her third child she blamed for ruining her life.

Now her children have grown and Ellie is on her own. She shocks everybody by selling her home and moving into a converted van to travel the country selling handmade dolls at craft fairs.

It can be lonely on the road. Ellie has two companions: her dog, Jack, and the mysterious
Eliza who turns up in the most unexpected places. At every encounter with Eliza, Ellie feels as if she’s standing again in the aching cold of a waterfall in Iceland, the sound of crashing water filling her with dread.

Ellie can’t change the past. But is it really too late to rectify the bad thing she did when Eliza was a baby?