A hundred years ago, when I was a boy, I said I wanted to be a writer.

Everybody told me that was impossible. People like you don’t become writers, they said. You’re just a working class boy from Yorkshire. You need a proper job, one that’ll pay the bills. Writing’s just a dream. Give it up.

And I believed them, and I gave it up.

They’re all gone now. I don’t need a job any more. The bills are all paid.

So here we go.

I have been many things. I was a junior clerk at the start, and a senior manager at the end. In between I have been other things that I choose to forget. I have now chosen to be none of these.

Fortunately, I am happily independent. Not at all rich, but I can get by, and so I’ve returned to writing, because I have to. What I write is often odd. I enjoy writing unsettling stories. Not pure horror, not gore, definitely not zombie shit, just stories that linger in the mind. These stories are published under the name R. A. Kay. Under the name Ricky A. Kay I write stories set in and around the place I live – Sheffield, England. These pieces are usually about ordinary people in ordinary circumstances and how they behave in extraordinary situations. Just to confuse things, some of my unsettling work is set in Sheffield. And some of the extraordinary situations can be quite unsettling.

So that’s me. I’m starting this adventure later than I’d planned, but I still feel excited about it. Come with me. I hope you will feel the same.

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