At some point it becomes serious…

I don't believe you can set out to write a book. Not really. And I suspect many people who set out to do so in a conscious, act-of-will kind of way, are deluding themselves, and are either unlikely to complete the task or in doing so produce something sub-standard. Setting out in this premeditated way... Continue Reading →

The language of stream of consciousness

Has it ever occurred to you that stream of consciousness writing has an intimate language dependency - even if it's written in your first language? Obvious really. I have just started reading Jack Kerouac's "Visions of Cody" which, the blurb said, was an 'experimental' novel written largely in the manner of stream of consciousness. Fair... Continue Reading →

“Turning for Home”

It is difficult for a man to write in the first person as a woman - I know, I've tried. And I it's difficult the other way round, too; I've certainly read female writers who have tried to be a man and failed - badly. But Barney Norris succeeds. Not only that, in his "Turning... Continue Reading →

“The Illegal Age”

Ellen Hinsey's "The Illegal Age" is one of those increasingly prevalent books of poetry that seek to blend different structures on the page in order to aid the conveying of message. Interestingly, when it comes to appreciation, I suspect books such as this one are more dependant than most on how the Reader is 'feeling'... Continue Reading →

Does it matter when in the day you post?

I used to think the answer to that question was 'No'. From the point of view of principle, I argued with myself that it shouldn't matter; that a post - if it were good enough - would get the 'reads' whenever you posted it. But I'm not sure that's true. Especially if you live in... Continue Reading →

‘The Quotidian’ – a short story

The Quotidian "Your friend turned up the other day in one of those old t-shirts." "A red one?" "No, blue." "Impossible. He didn’t have any blue ones." "The old ones got confiscated - it was felt the logos were unnecessarily provocative. We gave out new ones." "He didn’t say." "Why should he?" "Anyway, how do... Continue Reading →

Willow

Willow   on the river the moon reflected fractured and rebuilt by the movement of the water only to be fractured and rebuilt again   in the summer-evening still apologies for waves lap at the punt   it feels poetic as if ancient others transported here would be able to wane more graciously than the... Continue Reading →

Houston – 5

There is an amazing feeling; one that perhaps only those of us who write get to feel in the unique way we do. It's the feeling of 'finishing'. Believe me, it's not as banal as it sounds. For the last few days I've worrying away at a story. You will know this if you've read... Continue Reading →

Houston – 4

Cosmopolitan. Really?! I suspect Europeans think of themselves as more cosmopolitan, more 'connected' than Americans. After all, we've so many countries and so many people jammed in together, so little room per person, that we have to be cosmopolitan don't we? Yet in the hotel restaurant over the last couple of days I've heard languages... Continue Reading →

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