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Mark Abel

Goodreads Author


Born
Stoke On The Water, The United Kingdom
Genre

Member Since
June 2016


I'm lucky enough to live beside the river close to the city of Chester, England. I write outdoor activity books, short stories and 1970s crime tales.
I'd tell you a secret, but, well, you probably know how that would end.
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Mark Abel Well summer has almost faded away now, but I'm man enough to admit I'll be reading a goodly amount of poetry.…moreWell summer has almost faded away now, but I'm man enough to admit I'll be reading a goodly amount of poetry.(less)
Mark Abel Of course I can. It's behind you.…moreOf course I can. It's behind you.(less)
Average rating: 4.44 · 9 ratings · 1 review · 10 distinct works
The Glove: A Collection of ...

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101 Cheshire Gems (101 Gems)

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Paved Walks Around Cheshire

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Street Art England.

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Monumental

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No Clown Turned Down

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101 Co. Durham and Teesside...

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Sweet Art

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101 North Yorkshire Gems

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Cherry Stones

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Chapter and Hearse by Catherine Aird
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Mischief - 87th Precinct novel,. by ed-mcbain
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Last Evenings on Earth by Roberto Bolaño
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Tour de Force by Christianna Brand
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Ghosts of My Life by Mark Fisher
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Chapter and Hearse by Catherine Aird
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Ghosts of My Life by Mark Fisher
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Tour de Force by Christianna Brand
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The Perfect Alibi by Christopher St. John Sprigg
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The Eel Pie Murders by David Frome
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More of Mark's books…
“Do not place too much importance on coincidences. Plenty of people are interested in astrology, nudism and Baudelaire.”
Bosco Maria Angelica

C.S. Forester
“When a man who is drinking neat gin starts talking about his mother he is past all argument.”
C.S. Forester, The African Queen

William S. Burroughs
“Nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.”
William S. Burroughs

Kingsley Amis
“Dixon was alive again. Consciousness was upon him before he could get out of the way; not for him the slow, gracious wandering from the halls of sleep, but a summary, forcible ejection. He lay sprawled, too wicked to move, spewed up like a broken spider-crab on the tarry shingle of morning. The light did him harm, but not as much as looking at things did; he resolved, having done it once, never to move his eyeballs again. A dusty thudding in his head made the scene before him beat like a pulse. His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum. During the night, too, he'd somehow been on a cross-country run and then been expertly beaten up by secret police. He felt bad.”
Kingsley Amis, Lucky Jim

William Blake
“A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.”
William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

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