I love words, big and small. I'm a plain English writer and editor by day, and a fiction writer by night.
There is something in my head that won’t leave me and I don’t know how to capture it, and it’s a picture that I can barely see. It is a ghost of an emotion and a time for me to dwell by the river, and the river is a tree which has a noise that draws me, and that is where I die and where I want to die, and it is where I can fill my heart with the crumbs of earth
This week I published a book. That’s a pretty good sentence, isn’t it. Let’s just watch it for a minute….
A few years ago I wrote a novel. It’s unpublished, despite a few good efforts at getting a traditional publisher….
We both thought I might be a rebel. It would have been nice. They get to hang with General Leia, after all.
Close your eyes. Let the busy mind go. See what you see. An unexpected keepsake.
this too, you see
will fade.
I used to look at older people when I was young and think it must be lovely not to be a tangle of uncertainties and social awkwardnesses. I think it was a mirage. Maybe it was a straight out con.
that’s one way I deal with pain. To see it as part of me. And as part of recovery. I guess I’m remapping my brain, and distracting it from a painful sensory overload.
And, now, here I am, unravelling some of the tangles life left me.
I wrote a little story last year. It was about music and its potential power and beauty. It explored the terrifying notion of how it might feel to exist without music in our world. It was a tender little piece. … it had magic, for all its lightness and air. It had depth.