The Author

Wolfgang Luc. Thorn, born of an unfortunate name but one which behoves itself to doing something creative with his time. Born in the late eighties, but of what century we are a little unsure of.

His childhood was much the same as any other.

He was born in Southern England on an strip of land called ‘The Marsh’, fixed between the sea and a string of hills, the land was once submerged in the ocean before the Romans and after many hundreds of years of dredging it is a flat, desolate, patchwork of farmland bespeckled by villages and towns. In the town of ‘Under-the-Wall’, he was born.

A sickly child, with a poor immune system, mobility problems and breathing troubles. As his mother recounted to him in his youth, “you were born at midnight. The nurse told me what a pretty baby you were but to beware because, ‘The Devil wants that child’.” Possibly the worst bedside manner in the history of midwifery. It is hardly surprising then, being brought up with the regular reminder that you are marked by Beelzebub that he came to be such a morose adult.

His mobility issues saw him leave school at a young age, he was living with constant pain and this saw him confined to a wheelchair. The rural location of his home meant that he couldn’t gain access to a school and so spent his formative years alone in his house while his mother worked,  reading whatever books he could scrounge from charity shops when she would wheel him to the local village of a weekend.

His father had left before he was born and his mother had never talked about him. The family was far from wealthy and aside from working a full time job his mother took donations from card reading and fortune telling. She was not a gypsy you understand, but was one of those people who devoutly believed in the precepts of Christianity, the church, the apostles and saints but also believed in everything…else. Some may have called her a witch, but the term today makes you think of people who dance around at Stonehenge in summer, who wear frilly white dresses and dangly beads, she just knew things from watching the way the birds flew and the songs the bees hummed. She read cards, crossed hands, could spit a curse and silence a crying child with the raise of an eyebrow.

This woman was his company. Sometimes his half sister would visit with her daughters, this would usually lead to arguments and so they came rarely. By the time he was 13 he had developed an obsessive compulsive disorder, alcohol dependency and a germophobic mania. He was tested for autism and the outcome was that, although he had an incredible I.Q, he was simply emotionally detached due to his years of seclusion. At this point he forced himself to walk. By the age of 16 he was walking with a stick and went to work in a bookshop and by 17 took himself to college to study for his GCSE’s.

At college he made many friends with his peers who realised how intelligent he was and how he could assist them in their studies, and moreover friends with his tutors who recognised his potential and on pure merit was undertaking his A-Levels by 18, had been the top of his year in every subject and was commended awards for outstanding success.

He entered University and once again became reclusive. The atmosphere was little to his liking. He held several relationships which barely lasted months. His partners struggled to live with his mercurial moods and general disinterest in society. He confined himself largely to the library or walking in the country, which he took every occasion to do after so many years of confinement. His studies were varied and obscure, and diverged greatly from the set curriculum. He would spend entire nights in the library picking at books at random, philosophy, anthropology, literature, Aramaic, ancient civilizations, sexual ethics, theology, criminology, sociology, archaeology, and other ‘logies’ that tickled his fancy. He maintained a part time job in the town. Did the usual amount of drugs one is expected to do at university and after three years came away with a good degree and little to show for it.

He moved again to get a fresh start. He made some friends and few he speaks to. He worked for a wage, read, walked and other things besides. He says he has always written, and at college had been editor of the creative writing magazine, but most of the writing is either in his head or in notebooks he doesn’t allow people to read. Until last year he worked on a typewriter. Now he has a computer and after much badgering is putting his work online and perhaps one day will publish if people take a liking to it.

This site is to collate his online projects, but also as a vent for his psyche. In the ‘Abyss’ page he will let loose his inner most thoughts, a stream of consciousness, not censored or edited, only read if not easily offended. There will be other links to sites of inspiration and to his written works. I hope you Enjoy.

 

Bio curtesy of Imogen Clement, a friend.

 

Note: I did not feel I could write honestly about myself. Imogen has known me for some years and was kind enough to indulge me, though I feel she may have been too kind in places.

Thorn

 

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