Plato's Lost Dialogue

“Hermes!  How…unexpected.”  Epimetheus grimaced as he opened the door. “Yes, just thought I’d pop by.  See how thing are going.” “Well do come in, can’t have you hopping about on my doorstep like that.  And what’s that you’ve got behind you?  It looks awfully intriguing.” “Indeed.  This is something we’ve just created.  Hot off the production line.  It’s a ‘fe-male’.  Like you, but with other bits and pieces, which I’ll let you find out in your own good time.” “Does it have a name?” “Yes – Pandora.  Come, show yourself my dear.  Don’t be shy.  That’s it.  Let him get a good look at you.” “Pandora you say?”  Epimetheus looked at the strange creation and felt a strange feeling in his heart.  He was suddenly lost for words.  “We’re thinking of mass producing them but wanted to do some market research first,” continued Hermes.  “So, what do you think?” “Well, she’s…erm.  She’s certainly.  Yes definitely.  I mean, I don’t really know.  Pandora you say?  I’m not exactly sure what I’l

"HECTOR..." The cry engulfs the city, bringing it to a standstill. "HECTOR..." The anger.  The authority.  Only one man could make such a demand.   "HECTOR..." Don't do it Hector.  You don't need to go.  You didn't know it was Patroclus.  He was wearing his lover's armour.  It was a mistake.  It was just a mistake. The city holds its breath.  Hoping.  Praying. The silence is broken by the loud unmistakable creak of a gate opening. Send the army.  Crush him.   But no, the Gods would never allow it.  Hector would never allow it.  And so he stands.  Alone.  The city walls towering over him.  They were built to protect him.  Now they isolate him. His polished armour reflects the evening sun.  His stance is sure.  His resolve unwavering.  Only one man stands any chance against him on the battlefield.  That man waits for him.  Achilles. Sand kicks up off the floor as a gust of wind interrupts the encounter.  Hector steps fo

“All right, Jones.  How are you going to find that statue in all this junk?” And so it begins: Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis.  One of the best games ever created (save for Monkey Island). I played it time and time again as a child, completing it every way possible.  Never tiring of the gameplay or the dialogue.  Discovering every Easter egg hidden.  If you showed a millennial the game today they would probably laugh at its clunky, pixelated graphics, but for me they only add to the appeal. If I didn’t have a wife and kids…or a job…or housework, I would probably be playing it right now.  Laughing at the same jokes.  Getting stuck in the same places. For those not fortunate enough to have played the game, Indiana Jones is on a quest to find Atlantis before Nazis (“I hate those guys”) discover its secrets and take over the world.  You help him through a number of tricky situations, picking up clues as you go, occasionally fighting the bad guys by hitting the arrow keys fast

"But...why?" It's a question I must hear at least 200 times a day from my three year old daughter.  She's not happy with my response until I've dug up the root of the answer and waved it in her face. Whilst it might be tiresome, it's also a question which any writer has to constantly ask of themselves: "But why?" I spent a lot of time asking that question before I started my novel.  Years, in fact.  I had a lot of answers floating around in my head.  All of them there.  None of them connected.  Then I started writing, so at least I could start to join the dots together.  For the first 40,000 words or so it worked okay (the opening chapters are focused on two main characters whose backgrounds and motivations are entrenched in my mind).  Then, as a raft of new characters entered the fray, I found myself wading through treacle.  Why are they anti-establishment again?  Why would they risk their life for that?  Why would they know each other? Luckily,