Category Archives: Essay

First drafts: allowing the worm to navigate the soils of your mind

I decided to go on a retreat a few years ago. When people asked me why, I tried to explain, but always got a sense I’d left something out; I circled back to the beginning, tried again. Words followed words, … Continue reading

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Throwing away material without a sense of failure

When I finished my Masters in Creative Writing, three agents wanted to meet and talk about my novel. I remember thinking: I’ve made it! Despite being tongue-tied in one interview, turning up a week early for another, and being paranoid … Continue reading

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Trying to submerge a plastic bag with an air pocket

I have several recurring dreams. In one of them, I’m at university, faced with having to find a group to move in with for the coming academic year. But I’ve left it too late. Everyone has already made their plans … Continue reading

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The boy whose butter I ate: writing from the inside out

When I was fifteen, I wanted, with a desperate force, to fall in love. This desire was mirrored over a decade later – though it wasn’t love I was urgently wishing for, but a career as a writer. In the … Continue reading

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All a writer can ask

The first Christmas I remember, I was four. My dad was working on a project in Malawi to develop coffee production for those with smallholdings. My mother took me and my brother out to Africa for the holidays. (This is … Continue reading

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An unexpected comfort

I’ve been in pain this week. Over the weekend, someone I trusted said many hurtful things, including unkind words about my writing. I’ve noticed the days going by – a reluctance to post on my blog, even though it has … Continue reading

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The blank page is like a first kiss

I live in the student heart of Oxford. The supermarket is always filled with groups of young twenty year olds, wearing coats over their pyjamas – shopping baskets filled with jumbo bags of pasta. Some of them are discovering each … Continue reading

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What we write about when we write

A sheet of A4 is pinned beside the bar. It hangs loose against the stone wall. There’s an image of a four or five year old in an orange sundress. I notice a plaster at the top of her arm. … Continue reading

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Does anyone else feel guilty when they see a police car?

When I was seven, I told my mother I wanted a willy. It looked so much easier for my brother. On family walks, having to squat down in the grass, I would often pee all over myself, or down the back … Continue reading

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Honesty, and how we might write

My thoughtful readers and all the pioneer bloggers out there have brought my attention to something. Firstly, the draw of honesty, and secondly, how we might write. Perhaps, they are the same thing. So far, my writing journey has lasted nine … Continue reading

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