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Morgan Delaney

Dark, strange and fantastic fiction

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Sorry, Miss, My Dog Wrote My Homework…

October 20, 2026 by Morgan Delaney Leave a Comment

A vintage black and white of a man clutching a dog, saying, "Great idea, Boy. Now, write it!"

Have you heard about this AI stuff?

Apparently it’s coming for our jobs.

Especially writer’s jobs.

(How intelligent can it be if it thinks writing is a good career move?)

But I don’t worry about AI.

Where’s its Voice?

Voice is how a writer “sounds.” The style of the writing. Those little tics and habits that attract – or repel – readers.

I mean, AI has a Voice, but not one anyone wants to read.

AI writing sounds like the warm, half-masticated pulp that an incompetent lawyer, terrified of giving offence, pours into the open mouths of gullible clients.

We don’t want that, do we?

But I am worried about the competition., because you know who has a glorious Voice?

Gromit the Dog.

He doesn’t have a voice, of course.

But he has a Voice.

And now he’s writing a book.

I’m in.

Even if this marks the beginning of the end for me.

Clearly, if Gromit has a hit on his paws, then Lassie, Rin Tin Tin and Old Yeller will muscle in on the act.

And then all 101 Dalmatians will want their share of the money, and the entire market will collapse.

But for now, I can keep writing.

With books, I’ve found my “style”, my Voice.

Not for social media. I’m still looking for it there.

Experimenting. Playing. Exploring.

And I’d love to hear what you think. For example, about this recent useful post about Men’s Health on Bluesky!

Chat soon!

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: Flash fiction

Show Me The Magic… Slowly

October 13, 2026 by Morgan Delaney Leave a Comment

A vintage black and white photo of a man and woman discussing a second woman who looks on. They are saying, "She doesn't get it."

Guess what?

That big white “Hollywood” sign in, er, Hollywood wasn’t installed as a tribute to cinema.

It went up to advertise a housing development called “Hollywoodland.”

People didn’t like it.

Not because of those extra four letters at the end. More a matter of the original 4,000 flashing lights every night!

Intended to be up for 18 months, it’s still there today, although the Great Depression switched the lights off in 1933.

The “-land” disappeared during renovations in 1949.

And at some point, people started liking it.

I’m like that.

An acquired taste.

Not everyone can handle the magic that is Morgan Delaney immediately.

My books are the same. Some people read a bit, then lie down with a cold compress on their foreheads instead of ploughing through the rest.

They don’t get it.

You get it, of course. But you and I are special.

Everyone else needs time to get used to me.

Which is why I’m posting a bit more on Bluesky.

To sneak up on people (metaphorically). Feed them small doses of Morgan until they start to crave it.

So I’m doing my typo dictionary and providing little teasers of what I’m writing about as regularly as I can.

Today, Bluesky.

Tomorrow, the world.

​Are you with me?​

Chat soon!

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: How I write Tagged With: writing life

Welcome to Rant Camp!

October 7, 2026 by Morgan Delaney Leave a Comment

A vintage-style black and white photo of a man and woman hugging. The woman looks wistful, asking, "I wonder what's on telly?"

I don’t get other people.

Not that they’re weird.

Just… I don’t get them.

Searching for a new television for our flat, I found a camping television.

A camping television.

Which, if I understand the description correctly, seems to be a television you take with you when you go camping.

A TELEVISION you take with you when you go CAMPING.

Does that make sense to you? If it does, can you reply and explain it, please?

I’ve been camping exactly once, and I can tell you that there were loads of things I wished I had brought with me.

A proper hotel room would have been particularly nice.

But a television?

Is this a thing?

People crouching in flimsy polyester caves, getting back to nature in front of a good old 22” television.

Where… where are they plugging it in?

Meanwhile, I can’t find a television to watch at home.

They’re all too big.

And it’s been so long since we bought one, I don’t know what any of the terminology means.

I’ve half a mind to make my own bloody television according to my own specifications.

I did it with books, you know.

Couldn’t find what I wanted to read, so I started writing my own.

You’re not going to tell me that making a television is harder than writing a book, are you?

Harder than writing a book series?

Go on, get out of town!

And take your tiny telly with you.

I can neither confirm nor deny that it was rants like this that led to Meta kicking me off Facebook and Threads.

But I’m still on Bluesky, so give me a follow and say hi over there.

​Where the cool kids camp out!

Chat soon!

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: Flash fiction

Don’t Panic But…

September 22, 2026 by Morgan Delaney

A vintage black and white photo of a man with his hands to his head, looking distraught and saying, "Pots happening to me?"

Ever felt observed in your garden or on your balcony?

It’s not your neighbours.

It’s them.

Waiting for you to turn away.

That’s when they do it.

At first, I thought it was the stress of moving. But I’ve been watching them, and I’m right.

Listen.

You know that feeling.

You go into your garden, or onto your balcony, and something’s wrong. No.

Different.

It all looks the same.

The house opposite? Check.

The sky above? Check.

The trees and flowers and somebody walking past talking on their phone?

Check.

Birds, trees, and your own legs down there below you?

Check, check, and check.

But you don’t check the pile of old plastic flower pots tucked away in a discreet corner. You never check them. You barely even think about them.

I hear you:

“Go on, Delaney. Blame the flower pots, you mad thing.”

Well, I spent the weekend – the whole weekend! – sorting flower pots to pick the ones we’re keeping, and I can tell you for an absolute fact that I’ve never seen most of them before in my entire life. Dozens and dozens of the little plastic sods.

They’re breeding!

As soon as you turn your back, pop, pop, pop.

More pots.

Go on. Check for yourself. How many do you have?

And how many do you remember buying?

See?

But be careful. If they don’t realise you’re onto them, you should be safe.

It’s too late for me.

They’re onto me.

And when I pulled the curtain this morning, there they were.

Lined up on the wall.

Staring in at me.

Twice as many as the day before…

If I never get to finish writing The Cat Wore Black, you’ll know what happened.

In the meantime, you can enjoy The Forgotten Creatures where a rain of fish has the local reverend paranoid whether his boss, God, is upset by the reverend’s night-time hobby…​

Chat soon!

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: Flash fiction

Chew On This

September 15, 2026 by Morgan Delaney

A vintage style black and white photograph of a man talking to a sceptical-looking woman. He is saying, "That's right. Sweet Lollipop."

Names are damn important.

Consider the hyrax.

​Wikipedia describes the hyrax as a “well-furred, rotund animal.”

Now look at the pictures!

What Wikipedia is trying to say is that these are cute, fluffy, squeezable cuddle-chums!

There’s just one problem.

Not that they are genetically closer to elephants than to other rodents.

Who cares? If anything, that makes them cuter (watch the video of them chewing on Wikipedia if you’re not smitten yet).

It’s their poor marketing.

Come on.

Hyraxes.

They sound like Skeletor’s evil sidekick.

Meanwhile, pandas (aww!), koalas (aww!), and bunnies (aww!) are regarded as the last word in cuteness.

Because they sound cute.

Even wombats – small, homicidal Australian rocks – feel the love, because it sounds like they must womble when they walk. (Cute!)

Names can make or break you.

Consider my two uncles.

Big Daddy Delaney and Sweet Lollipop Delaney.

They both went to prison for the same crime.

But one of them had it much easier than the other.

That’s why I spend a lot of time hand-picking names for my characters. There’s a reason Mrs Champion is called Mrs Champion, despite having a pain in her Big Toe. -> She’s a winner.

And why the most exclusive club in town is called OWCHH (The Official Women’s Club of Hawkinge-By-Hythe). -> It’s actually a pain.

If you want to know more…

Consider buying The Forgotten Creatures, available here now!

Chat soon,

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: Flash fiction

Go On, Sport. Break My Heart

September 8, 2026 by Morgan Delaney

A vintage black and white photo of two men at a desk. Behind them is a skeleton. On the desk is a skull. One of the men also holds a skull and says "I told you mine was faster."One holds

Are you sporty?

On a scale of one to 1-100, I’m 0.

I know balls and things, but want no part of them.

I mean, I’ve played on the company soccer team, and I do stretching and stuff to keep my spine from curling right over my keyboard.

But watching sports?

Get off, that’s my leg you’re pulling.

Have you heard of “music anhedonia”? That’s when people don’t enjoy any music.

Well, I suppose I have sport anhedonia.

I’d pay to watch a UFC match between Elon Musk and, er, whoever is currently really good at UFC. But that’s a political preference, rather than a sporting one.

So consider my amazement when I read about skeleton racers this week!

I love horror and skeletons and things. I have an original Death Race 2000 (1975) poster on my wall. Brilliant!

Skeletons in cars! Going really fast and crashing! Then getting up and driving some more!

Imagine!

I clicked the link and apologised to God for my lack of faith thus far while the page loaded.

That’s why I asked if you were sporty.

If you are, you know what I found, right?

Skeleton racers are normal people (ha!) who ride a tiny sled. Which is called a skeleton bobsled for its resemblance to a ribcage, I DON’T THINK.

They are not undead speed freaks.

Proving yet again that the real world will only break your heart.

I’ll be sticking with fantasy for a while; after that disappointment.

Look, the real world can’t help being the way it is.

But sometimes you need a break. Which is what books are for.

Or you could retreat to a mysterious abandoned village with nothing but a graveyard and an ominous cloud of… something for company.

That’s what Professor de Glube does in The Forgotten Creatures, when he needs to be alone.

But you can join him right here!

Chat soon,

Morgan

P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter

Filed Under: Flash fiction

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