martin sumner

Welcome to my newly minimalised website. If you are looking for useful information, such as my CV, port folio, or bank details, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. You should email me for any personal data you may need, and please bear in mind that the old chestnut about being the beneficiary of the last will and testament of the recently deceased billionaire from Tashinga isn’t going to cut the mustard.

Not again.

…but you can buy my book if you want, at Another Small Press

Martin is an artist, poet and writer who lives, against his will, in Shropshire, UK. After a moderately successful career in community arts he is now pursuing his writing with extra vigour.

Littoral

Coastal resorts are like dark places in houses, the places where the natural byproduct of life, the detritus of utility, finds sanctuary from the broom, the brush, the vacuum. People on the fringes of society, the forgotten people, end up dead, institutionalised, or trapped in coastal resorts. They drift in the gentle breezes and buffeting storms of their own unfixed, indeterminate destinies. Eventually they reach the coast, like so much flotsam, and drawn to the coloured lights of resorts they stop, caught, because the sea won't let them drift any further, and they can't turn back.