All the things I do instead of writing…
When I read the Sunday papers, I often think about what it means to be someone who chimes out copy for a living. To be someone who takes their children's exam season, and turns it into a few hundred words of light-hearted, relatable and yet meaningful commentary on everyone's lives. He manages to squeeze in... Continue Reading →
I have a backlog of posts describing the best holiday spots for family climbing (brief recap: Fontainebleau, Frankenjura, Costa Blanca, Peaks, Corsica), but like many other things, these potential gems of insight are stymied by their author's lack of application and pesky work commitments. So instead, here is a brief sojourn through what it means... Continue Reading →
I don't really write much any more. This is partly due to not seeing the point in publishing stuff that no one will read, and partly because two small children remove most of my brain. I'm sure they get up in the night and suck all my ideas out with a straw. Anyway, my husband seems to... Continue Reading →
It is hard to believe in anything, particularly oneself, at the best of times. The more life progresses, the more it seems a succession of minor disappointments, which are a natural part of growing up and realising that I won't get to go on a bouncy castle every afternoon. Sometimes, it seems as if that... Continue Reading →
My husband wants me to write a "nice" short story. I suppose I can see why he wants this. He's so far volunteered to read the short stories I have produced; the first one was about a prostitute who dies while showing off her jewellery to her children, in an accident involving a pet goat.... Continue Reading →
My husband has been badgering me to write something more comprehensive, and fictional, than my blog. Of course, being an arts graduate, I would very much like to write a book. In 2010, I enrolled in a creative writing course, to see whether maybe there was some sort of golden rule of writing I could... Continue Reading →
The less busy I am, the less I take time to write. I spend hours thinking about what I would write, lying in bed when I wake up and excitedly thinking, "yes, that's it, that's exactly what sums up what was bad about Oblivion, I'll write that". Or thinking about more serious topics that I... Continue Reading →
In November, I read an article in the Times written by Walter James, who turned 100 last year. It was entitled, "I remember love, just not how it feels". It was a beautifully written and poignant article, about both the practical hazards of a frail body, and the decline of sensibility that old age brings with... Continue Reading →
After I wrote about how death is part of life, I came across an article about the decline of creativity in the advertising industry. Its writer was clearly extremely talented, both in his job as art director, and in his writing (although the punctuation was a little slapdash). Turns out most of his blog was... Continue Reading →
I've been on a little downer recently, as a result of which I indulged in watching Twilight on DVD. There is nothing quite as escapist as the idea of superhuman strength, speed and immortality - like feeling seventeen again. When it finished, I somewhat jealously googled Stephenie Meyer , the author of the books. Her... Continue Reading →
The resting writer 