A transgressive novelist for All and None.
Author of The Elephant Tree and The Zombie Room. Now writing more books while getting older and more miserable.
Ronald began writing while serving a prison sentence for cannabis cultivation in 2008. His checkered past and journey to publishing his first novel, The Elephant Tree, in 2008 gives unique insight to criminality rarely seen in contemporary literature.
The Zombie Room
An unlikely bond is forged between three men from very different backgrounds when they serve time together in prison. A series of wrong turns and disastrous life choices has led to their incarceration. Following their release, Mangle, Decker and Tazeem stick together as they return to a life of crime, embarking on a lucrative scam. But when they stumble upon a sophisticated sex-trafficking operation, they soon realise that they are in mortal danger. The disappearance of a family member and the murder of a dear friend lead the three to delve deeper into a world of violence and deception. In their quest for retribution and justice, they put their lives on the line. Their paths cross with that of Tatiana, who has left her home country for a better life in the West – or so she thinks. She soon realises she is in the hands of ruthless, violent people, who run an operation supplying girls to meet the most deviant desires of rich and powerful men. Will she survive the horrors of The Zombie Room? Are Mangle, Decker and Tazeem brave enough to follow her there, in an attempt to set her free?
The Elephant Tree
Mark Fallon is an overworked detective investigating a spate of attacks at a string of high profile city centre nightclubs. Scott is a dejected 24 year old struggling to make ends meet working for his brother and supplementing his income with a small-scale drug dealing operation. Angela is an attractive 23 year old, raised by her father, a career criminal and small time drug dealer who supplies Scott with cannabis. This is a chilling tale spanning a few months in the lives of Scott and Angela, where realizations about the present combine with shocking revelations from the past leading to an apocalyptic climax where they no longer know whom they can trust.
The best writers tend to look the roughest in photos. At least that’s the excuse I use for why I look so bad in mine.
We were left with nothing because of a love like acid that ate its way through our entire family.
Jack laughed behind him, a mirthless sound from a man who had been on the wrong end of life’s ironies too many times.
The craggy lines that made up the character in his face now seemed like scars of defeat, inflicted on him over time.
That’s why Twinkle likes the place so much, Scott thought, looking around at the faded wood veneer tables, and the faded souls drinking at them. Misery was soaked through the place like the old beer soaked through its carpets.
Sometimes truths are what we run from, and sometimes they are what we seek.
I don’t “lol”. I tried it once but it just didn’t agree with me.
This faulty light fitting at the front door with the dangerously flickering bulb looks rather festive. Who says I don’t do Christmas?
Scott glanced at his watch but didn’t register what it said. The notion of time had become as absurd as the quietly glowing trees.
Today I plan to smile a lot, only so people who know me will be freaked the fuck out.
Decker smiled and shrugged off their laughter. The humour was only barbed if you sat on the outside, and now he was one of them.
Anyone who says “Trust me” is the last motherfucker you should ever trust.
Nothing says Christmas better than familicide and anaphylactic shock.
I’m not into this whole “move with the times” thing. I reckon we should just decide on a year and stick with it.
I’m the biggest critic of my own work, but sometimes you nail a chapter so good that you have to take a step back and admire that bitch.