Run

There is a cliché — a rather romanticised cliché — of the solitary writer. The writer, alone, tortured, struggling, poor, …

It’s not me, it’s you

I’ve never been divorced. I hope I never will be divorced. I think, though, that if I were facing divorce, …

New year, new me

New year, new me. That’s the saying, right? The calendar has flipped from 31 December to 1 January and so, …

To Kill the President

I admit it. The first time I started reading To Kill the President, I put it down. Too close to …

Watching the box

We live in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains, in what I am certain is the wettest, greyist, rainiest …

Fire and Fury or Storm in a Teacup

What on earth could this book contain that would be so significant that the White House wanted to prevent us all from reading it? I mean, haven’t we all pretty much seen everything we need to see already?

The Longest Day

Playing around with a style thing here. I’ve done this a couple of times — working exclusively with dialogue, to both demand …

Y Glaw (The Rain)

Y Glaw (The Rain) – Fiction. Originally submitted for The Alpine Fellowship 2017 Writing Prize, where it made the final shortlist of eighteen (out of 600+ entries). That pleased me. I like this story. I was thinking of developing it into a short novel, but, for now, it stands as it is.

On writing. . .or, more specifically, on being read. . . .

I rather readily admit that I didn’t know what I was doing when I started this lark. One day, after months and months and months of thinking, I said to the man: “I think I’d like to try writing.”.

And, so, I did. I tried writing.

On now. . .and the next four years. . . .

People, with much more insight than I, have worked diligently to compile a list of organisations that will help foster, support, and protect those now at heightened risk and that will be working over the next four years to ensure the American Dream doesn’t become a nightmare.

On faith and hope. . .and humanity. . . .

I should be safe. I should be free. I should feel it’s okay to speak my mind. To shout out from the rooftops about the hideous things going on the world around me.

On ranting. . .or is it rambling. . . .

I don’t drink Trump’s Kool Aid. I won’t do it. I do not and will not buy the argument that it’s not ‘really’ about racism or misogyny or xenophobia or hate. It is. It is about that.

But it’s also about a group of people who feel they are finally being acknowledged as something other than trashy-redneck-hillbilly-hicks. It’s about people who have been left on the outside looking in. It’s about people who are without and who need to be with.