2nd November, History and Truth, on Myths, Legends, Books and Coffee Pots
20th October, History and Fiction - Finding the Balance - a talk to the Hatchery Writers, Hove
25th August, 'Between the Times' awarded runner-up in the Historical Novel Society Short Story Award
23rd March, Whirligig awarded a silver medal in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards.
Richard Buxton is a multi-award winning author. On this site he will talk about his writing, his current and future projects.
He'll try not to bang on about his first novel, Whirligig, except of course on the Whirligig page.
He will, on the My Writing page, list in shameless detail his writing credits.
On his blog he will share his experiences and realisations and invite you to pass comment.
Richard writes both historical fiction and stories set in the here and now, though his inclination is strongly towards the former. His time spent at university in upstate New York has imbued him with a lifelong interest in the story of America, in particular the schism and after effects of the American Civil War. He travels there as often as he can for inspiration and research.
Richard's first novel, Whirligig, set in Tennessee in the pivotal Civil War year of 1863, was released in the spring of 2017. He is also compiling a collection of short stories that explore the long shadow of the Civil War. Many of his stories have won awards or have been published. His story Battle Town won the 2015 Exeter Story Prize. Roller Coaster won the 2015 Bedford International Writing Competition. The Bread Man won the Fabula Press Nivalis 2016 Short Story Competition.
Aunty Pip started work at Bletchley Park in 1943. By then it was already a big operation. She would have been eighteen or nineteen. I’d long wanted to take my family there. Pip was the connection, the blood tie to the past, but even without that deeper link, there’s something very special about Bletchley.
‘Tell me when you’re loaded,’ says Jeff.
He’s training me on the job. Our Captain has us in skirmish formation, five yards apart in the woods up on Droop Mountain. To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting us to get off the track. It’s rough ground to advance over; I’ve never scrambled across fallen trees in full civil war kit while carrying a heavy Springfield musket. Life hasn’t prepared me for this. Why would it? I’m yet to fire my first shot.
I’m sleeping between two Springfield rifles. Each would be as long as I am were the bayonets fixed, but that’s not a good idea in a civil war dog tent, so called because when the soldiers first saw them they said they were only big enough for a dog. There’s two of us in here.