About Derek

Derek Farrell has, since childhood, told stories.

Of course, back then they were called lies, and usually got him in to trouble, but nowadays his stories, humorous poetry and song lyrics are entertaining people from Kansas to Crawley.

Derek grew up in a small terrace close to the Guinness brewery in Dublin’s Liberties neighbourhood, where the smell of roasting hops alternated with the yeasty fermentation of the mash, and the cry of the seagulls was interrupted occasionally by the snorting of an escaped cow on the rampage from the abattoir at the bottom of the street.

To date, Derek has completed three novels. His latest novel is a contemporary Cosy-Noir mystery story called Death of a Diva. The book features his wonderfully human detective Danny Bird, and it’s been described as “Like The Thin Man meets Will & Grace via Ab Fab. In Bermondsey.”

Derek’s literary heroes include Agatha Christie, P.G. Wodehouse, Lawrence Block, Joe Keenan, Steven Saylor, Scott Fitzgerald, Jonathan Harvey, Doctor Seuss and anyone who actually drags their arse to the desk and writes, Goddammit!

His jobs have included: Burger dresser, Bank teller, David Bowie's paperboy, and eventually Investment Banker on the 80th floor of the World Trade Centre. Time in high finance, has given him an opportunity to observe people, to understand the persuasive power of language and to develop an insight into the workings of the criminal mind, whilst allowing him to live and work in Hong Kong, Istanbul, Tel Aviv, Prague and London.
And all the time, he’s been telling stories.

You should get to know him.

Twitter: @derekifarrell

Here are my most recent posts

Saturday Sonnet #7

Having spent the weekend at CrimeFest, I’ve become familiar with the dangers… So, in tribute, I wrote a Sonnet…   <Insert Obligatory Somewhat Buzzed Publication day Gin & Beer Pic> On The Dangers of Believing What Authors Tell You...

Saturday Sonnet #6

‘taste’ “You can’t do Jeffrey Dahmer” says the voice Inside my head that censors what I say “A gag about a cannibal?” “My choice” I counter then begin to tap away. Til inspiration blinds me as It glints Into a scene in Woody Allen’s head That features several...

Style For Living

My mother loved Fashion. More than fashion – which was prone to lapses of taste unacceptable to her – she loved STYLE. She grew up in Dublin at a time when most people were intensely proud and incredibly poor. Money, when it was there, was for essentials. Essentials...

Saturday Sonnet #5

friday In hindsight, some despair is evident, But, hey, what else are you supposed to do when pheromones, it seems, are heaven sent, and order you, put bluntly, to go screw? Whilst every single Gay in London town Comes freshly from the Spa or from the Gym, you squeeze...