The whiteness was pure, I’d even dare say more than fresh fallen snow. It’s tradition after all to be covered in white, isn’t it? Some girls would even say ‘that’s the whole point!’ I can see a silver shine curving around her from where I’m seated. The sun catches on the metal. She has a … More All dressed in white
15:36. New desk. Candles burning. Water ready. Come on, lets write… well. 15:37. I can do this. Lets just go for uhm… well… lets say… 8 minutes? Until 15:45. Yes. Until 15:45. Right on. Here we go. Blank. Fuck. Right. 15:38. The whole point is to write stream of consciousness isn’t it? At least in … More It’ll eventually be 15:45
Here’s to the person who spat a stick at my head. (Yes you read that right.) You will not make me act with aggression despite my gut reaction to hurt and maim anyone who treats me with such disrespect. I hope you learn sooner rather than later that treating women and treating people in this … More Dear mr. whoever you are
This is the place where music flows through the veins of its people and beats in the cement heart and earth under our feet. The city where ghosts and hauntings creep up your spine and where gas lit lamps shine in the dark. The city where music and freedom are the foundation, where people smile … More City of music
I’m walking on the beach and as I walk hot water gives way to cold and hot again with each step. The waves move forward shattering light into millions of rays across the bottom of the shallow sea. I feel the wave-carved sand under my feet, caressing the skin with each step. Water slithers up … More Rimini day one
So my partner and I are doing the futurelearn “Start Writing Fiction” e-course together, and one assignment I found incredibly unblockifying is the following: Turn on the radio randomly and write with the first couple of sentences you hear as the inspiration point for your story. This is what I wrote: Alice pulled on the … More Writing with random inspiration
The dusty stacks of books at the Gower street branch of Waterstones stretch from wall to wall and up to the ceiling. World history in front of me, children’s books to my right, all previously owned. All books that used to have a home and were held in someone else’s hands, and now are on … More Books looking for forever home
18th April, 2017 The sirens whirl past the windows of Waterstones, bursting through my headphones and interrupting my happy music. I can imagine the sirens whizzing on towards Trafalgar square. The cold lions slowly become warmer to the touch. A child has climbed on them despite the railings and he is the only one who feels the … More Unfurling tail
Fourth floor. Waterstones. My mind? Still wandering the streets. A man of eighty or so sits on the other side of this round table, which as usual is covered in books. He’s in the only other red chair in the room. Wearing a brown overcoat. His bright pink shirtsleeves are peeking out at each wrist. … More Trembles
A man, his hands trembling and his pace slow, carries a bag with a Pentax, a floral black umbrella and a plastic bag full of books. He takes the stairs down from the fourth floor, bracing the rail and bracing the height. With each landing he pauses, browsing tables of books and thumbing the covers. … More White clouds
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