Writers

  • Call Me Shakespeare

    Oh! Has this truth been truly seen! But a glimpse into a floating sea of strange reality, but a knowing truer than true can be! Who is Shakespeare? That terrible, desperate soul, falling, falling, landing evermore in the stories of… Continue reading

  • I Feel

    My heart is open and bare, laid out before the world again. Their pain is mine: I give it loving arms. I speak their truth. I burn with mine. They say these are words, but I know they are more.… Continue reading

  • Purpose

    I’ve tried all the angles. I’ve felt all the rights and wrongs about what they say a writer should do, should be, should want…but I’m not like them. I want barely any of what they tell me I should want.… Continue reading

  • Insomnia

    I lay in bed last night, at 4am, thinking of the tortured artist, thing. We feel so deeply, us creative folk, and therefore, we capture the world in its fullest expression. Which is beautiful. Really, ice-shatteringly beautiful. But we are… Continue reading

  • Sharing is Caring

    Hello sweet bloggy friends. How are you all? I’m good, thanks for asking. ☺️ I’m sitting at my little white desk, on a grey sky day, wondering about the aching quiet of life. Thinking about how it so often comes… Continue reading

  • The Subtle Art of Patience

    It’s odd, the way my novel is writing itself. I write in short bursts, for what reason, I couldn’t tell you. I develop a beautiful flow, find a sweet new piece of the puzzle to slot into place. Then, the… Continue reading

  • Culling

    I’ve just sent some picture book manuscripts off to a literary agent. I feel a lot more confident in the process since having completed the picture book course last year, so that’s my next aim. To have one of my… Continue reading

  • Some Days I Fall

    Some days I fall. I’m not a good mum. I’m not a good human. I’m not a good me, on those days I fall. It’s not a consolation to know that I do not fall alone. That humanity itself is… Continue reading

  • How Is A Rose To Grow?

    A rose to meet the morning bright, to grow in cheer, to gather life. Yet day to day the rose does wither, day to day the rose does wither, lost beneath the foggy dreary. Lost. Beneath. How is a rose… Continue reading

  • Some Days

    Some days, even the days that are kind, (and quite lovely) feel a deeper shade of aching life. And you’ll never know why, (at least, I never do) but you might hope (like me) that one day the ache will… Continue reading