Out Loud
I walked into the room to read my book out loud. Instead, I had to learn how to let it breathe.
I walked into the room to read my book out loud. Instead, I had to learn how to let it breathe.
On gentle queer stories, strange coincidences, and a launch I’m very excited about.
Four weeks to go, and the growing suspicion that sandwiches would have been easier to make than a novel.
Five weeks from now, The Boy From Elsewhere will take its first steps into the big wide world. Which is exciting. And strange. And currently being processed over several cups of tea, like all major life events. This book didn’t begin as a book. It actually started as a
This year was heavy in places and generous in others. I’m trying to honour both of those things, and the new ground I’m standing on, as the year turns.
Hope, light, and warmth at the darkest part of the year.
This National Poetry Day, I’m thinking about play, about poetry, and about the small moments that make a city human.
On rocks, gravel, and the friends who keep me standing.
Writing doesn’t need permission. Just a pen, a pocket of time, a rubber duck, and the courage to begin.
Burnout, breakups, and banana bread: how Station Eleven became my 2016 survival guide.
A meditation on limbo, loss, and the strange joy of toasting crumpets at noon.
Because nothing says freedom like letting an AI scan your face before you can look at cat memes on the internet.