About …

Philip Catshill is a former British police officer who lives in England. Several unique life experiences, near-death encounters, reduced physical abilities, and emotional incidents have combined to provide a firm foundation for his books, short stories, poems, and paintings.

At the age of 30, after combining an accidental blow to his head with a late-night party, he survived a massive stroke. Yes, that’s right. A stroke! Within the blink of an eye, he lost all feeling on his right side. Not only that, but his ability to speak, think, reason, and every sensation or emotion disappeared into oblivion. To return to the job he loved proved to be a sometimes amusing, sometimes daunting struggle that took 18 months. With great pride in this achievement, he survived another 11 years as a fully operational, uniformed police sergeant. During this time, he stretched his mind to the limit by studying for a degree.

Nine years after that first stroke, everything was put on hold with the collapse of his 19-year marriage. Throughout the loneliness and despair of being homeless save for a 9ft by 6 ft room in a hostel, prayer sustained him and brought him to a new life, a new love, but most of all, a loving and welcoming family that was happy to love him as their own.

It was meant to be a happy ever after ending to the tragedies, but just 16 days after his second marriage, a road accident exacerbated the stroke symptoms, bringing his working life to an abrupt end. Undaunted and determined to defy the paralysis, he took up music and art, achieving grades in piano and, despite having a right arm that he can barely control, utilising his ingenuity to devise a bowing guide, he managed to play the violin!

His paintings have been described as breathtaking and often reflect his passion for the Birmingham Royal Ballet.

To celebrate his survival for thirty years after his first stroke, in 2011, Philip turned his attention towards writing a memoir. Based on the encouragement he received from a physiotherapist, his book is called Never Say I Can’t.

Philip adds …

Perhaps it is something to do with my stroke-damaged brain, but during the time I studied art at the local college, the tutor took my brush and tried to demonstrate a technique by adjusting the picture on my canvas. This was his way. He would move from student to student, take up the brush or pencil and twiddle with the image, but for me, the painting had become distant, remote, and no longer mine. I can only attribute this overwhelming sense of loss to the brain damage caused by the stroke. As the tutor moved on to another student, I took the canvas from the easel and abandoned the painting. I felt that I would no longer be able to call the painting my own. I appreciate this attitude might sound unreasonable, but in order to bear my signature at the end, every brushstroke on the canvas had to be mine, and not just mine as amended, corrected, or changed by someone else.

That was the same feeling of loss I felt with my first professionally edited novel. I had lost the much-needed sense of personal achievement, which until then had been the driving-force in my post-stroke recovery. Although the editing was excellent in every respect, for me, the book had lost its spirit. I grew to despise it for the simple reason that it betrayed not my achievement, but only what I could accomplish with another’s input. Just as it was no longer my painting on the easel, it was no longer my words on the page. I took the decision to abandon the novel. My first venture into becoming an author was nearly my last, but one characteristic I share with the fictional protagonist in my crime novels is we do not give up. We never say, “I can’t.”

Just as I had done with my music and art, I applied myself to studying. I followed on-line courses and read everything I could lay my hands on until I’d learned various editing practices and techniques. I focused on developing a system to hone my writing through several different stages until it was my best, and not my best enhanced, improved, or adjusted by someone else.

My first stroke wiped away my language memory, so the only English words that remained were ‘every’ and ‘each’. My books reflect all that I have learned since through dedication, application and perseverance. Each word I write represents another step along the journey, and if you have ever had a stroke, you might appreciate how difficult a step can be.

However, I never recommend any writer edit their own work unless like me, they only have half a brain and have spent years trying to perfect a system that works, but I have taken on the challenge and enjoyed every step on the way. My books still get amazing reviews and the occasional bad review, but whether it is 5 stars or 1, I feel I have a right to claim every single star as my own.

I enter my books for various international competitions and awards, so my readers can be assured that, although self-published and self-edited, the books have been crafted and edited to the standards expected from major publishers.

Life is wonderful. Live it. Enjoy it.