I get pulled out of class, and as the howls of derision fade, each knock of Mr Beach’s walking stick on the floor of the deserted corridor escalates The Fear inside, so that by the time I see them sitting there in his office, smiling desperate smiles, I almost don’t notice the fact they are holding hands and so something awful has happened.
I am, I hope, no more than a couple of weeks away from finishing The Last of Logan. It is all written, save for some minor editing, so I just need to ‘build’ the cards.
OK, so here’s the opening 1,500 words of The Great Weight of Ordeals. The story is set in 2005, at the end of an emotional summer for London. I hope you like it and it whets your […]
Ask a writer about his book, and more often than not you’ll find the conversation shut down faster than a library under the Tories, but a couple of people have been asking about it this […]
The reassuring aroma of freshly-cut grass and freshly-baked pies wafts across the ground. George watches on from square leg as the spinner stands at the end of his mark, tossing the ball from hand to hand, a reflex as natural as breathing, contemplating his next move.
So after the relative success of my villanelle last week (by relative success, I mean no one told me to burn my computer and kill myself), I’ve had a go at an ‘Italian’ sonnet.
OK, today, something very different. For my MA, I have to write a sonnet, a villanelle and a free-form poem. I haven’t written a poem since I was about 1986, until this morning. I’ve started with a Villanelle, which is a 19-line poem that has only two rhymes and some line repetition. It’s structure is a challenge, let’s say.