Conor Matthews
Bio
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews
Stories (207)
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Publisher! You're Making A Mistake!. Top Story - December 2024.
It’s taken me twenty years to say “I am a writer” without wincing. I was fourteen when I made the decision to pursue writing, and I’ve spent the last two decades reenforcing that terrible, short-sighted mistake. In that time, I’ve seen trends come and go. The YA Fantasy boom. The rise of cable and streaming dramas. The Impact of the 2008 credit crash. The erotic fiction of Chuck Tingle (Google him)! And the billion-dollar influence of BookTok. But there has been one constant. A policy, if not an industry standard, that has lasted for at least twenty years.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Writers
The Iinglish of Dynya: Part 3
PART 2 HERE Pabbi was a content man. Too content, some would say. He did not weep alone at the altar on his wedding day, without bride or priest. He was the talk of Dynya, a man of sheer stoicism and unflappable restraint. Men would buy him drinks to hear his tale, pulling him off the streets and into shady bars, hoping to hear of a man with a strong will, untremblingly lip, and a renewed sense of bachelorhood. What they found, instead, was a bore.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Chapters
The Saint
Preface: I am Irish and I am making attempts to learn and speak my mother tongue, Irish/Gaeilge. As such, I would wrote the following poem in both English and translated it into Irish. Due to Vocal guidelines, only the English version is available. The full version is available on Mediun and Substack. Enjoy.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Poets
What The F Is Disney?. Top Story - November 2024.
January 2024, France. Past the admission gates of Disneyland Paris, five-past-eight in the morning, my girlfriend and I were freezing in the bitter winter air, wrapped, waiting to enter “the happiest place on Earth”.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Geeks
The Iinglish of Dynya
PART 1 HERE Breakfast was disappointing. For starters, Mygel was nowhere to be seen. The flat faced Gabri, a staff member who maintained dull, dead eyes even when she smiled and laughed, was dishearteningly present and commanding at the check-in desk for the continental service in the dining room. Mr. Bunch hastily waved away her welcome of “Bónasio Dí”, as though it was a sudden fart, and called out his room number in loud and obnoxiously pronounced words.
By Conor Matthewsabout a year ago in Chapters
