Newsletter: October 2026
Dear web friend,
Greetings again as the tired trees let go of their lovely leaves and we let go of, well, how about anything that is making us unhappy? Just an idea, and maybe it’s a bit premature, because I’ve hardly said hello.
But it’s good to be writing to you again and I thought today I’d further mention Abbot Peter, and then offer some therapy nonsense. If these are two subjects which bore you senseless, you may wish to look away now.
For while golden October breaks slowly, and autumn eases into our mellow consciousness, it’s springtime for Abbot Peter, with both a stage play and a book about to appear. As I’ve mentioned, with kind permission of DLT, and in collaboration with Philip Law, a stage version of A Very Public School Murder has been in the pipeline, and lo and behold – contain your gasps of astonishment – Abbot Peter’s world theatre premiere now has both dates and a venue.
It is being staged by the excellent Chameleons Drama in November near Milton Keynes, and here’s where to go if you’re considering a ticket. I’m going on the Friday night, so do say hello. There’s a bar, so you could even buy me a drink. You can read more about the original book here:
As one 5-star reviewer said of it: ‘Great characters and a compelling “old school” (see what I did there?) plot. I read it in one sitting, very enjoyable and kept me guessing.’
Meanwhile, there is also a new Abbot Peter novel approaching. It’s presently with my editor, who always makes things better. Titled, That Fatal Greek Vacation, it is set in sunny Pefkos on the island of Rhodes (familiar to me) where the abbot experiences a holiday of sun, sea and extreme jeopardy – so just a normal package holiday with Easyjet, really. You will be the first to know when it is available.
And – excuse my language – it’s been a bugger to write. I bring it on myself, of course, because I write blind; I really don’t know what’s going to happen. The plot, including the murderer(s) and the murdered, is a mystery to me when I set out. I know only the characters and watch the unfolding.
That means constant rewrites, because what surprisingly occurs in Chapter 17 wasn’t known about in Chapter 2, which now needs rewriting to align with the new developments. But then I’ll soon be rewriting Chapter 17, because of what transpires in Chapter 24, which also means rewriting Chapter 2… again. (And don’t get me started on my multiple visits to Chapter 8.)
Sensible writers sit down and work out the plot before they start, and from there on proceed with relative calm and direction. I know why they do it. It’s entirely sane, yet I can’t quite do it myself. The characters will lead and I must embrace the chaos, bringing order only at the last minute, for chaos does need order. They can co-exist.
Most of my life is spent not with stage plays and books, but face-to-face with flesh and blood heroes – those particular heroes with the curiosity and courage to reflect on their lives in the therapy setting. It’s not always the same. Sometimes therapy is about survival, when life is fired at us at point blank range. It is calm space, helping us manage a crisis, perhaps bringing a clearer mind and understanding of events; and opening possible paths from this place. Sometimes in crisis we need reminding that nothing is the end of the story.
And then at other times, therapy reaches down and goes deeper, beyond particular crisis, to why we do what we do, feel what we feel, and struggle in the manner we do. This work cannot avoid childhood, which is where our story started and where our survival plans emerged, the effects of which we still live.
Human beings are largely cause and effect. The negative effects are all too obvious: anxiety, depression, hyper-vigilance, dis-ease, sense of isolation, the need to please, anger issues, insecure identity, cynicism, sloth, emotional numbness, despair, endless fear.
But every effect named above has a cause, and this is where therapy’s deeper work operates, in bringing the causes into the light and pondering how their power can be lessened or dissolved. The effect, if examined kindly, is the doorway to freedom.
In a crisis, ‘what’s possible now?’ is all that matters. It’s about surviving. Beyond the crisis, however, the question is different: ‘What might be possible one day and how might that occur?’ Here we consider thriving. A gifted young man of 23 told me yesterday he had never experienced joy in his life. It’s time. And he’s up for the adventure, though he will need to let go of what causes him unhappiness.
And to return to where we started, the abbot understands these things. He sees people, he sees people as they are, both effect and cause, cause and effect, which is why the police, reluctantly sometimes, ask him to help with investigations. Even in Milton Keynes. Even in November. Did I mention his world premiere?
With my best autumn wishes to you, amid this golden letting go,
Simon x
PS And just in case you didn’t feel this newsletter was long enough – hah! – I blogged recently about the difference between purpose and intention:
