Sitting on the 07.32 from Pen Mill going to a meeting in Bristol I marvel at the things people still do to earn a living and count myself lucky to work at home. I never endure the daily commute amongst people intent only on getting to work (and back again). On the infrequent occasions, I…
The long list of finalists for each category in this year’s Hysteria Writing Competition is below. You can also take part in the annual Guess the Cover competition for a chance to win a fun prize when the category winners are also announced.
The phrase “change is the only constant” has never been more apt than in the current environment where we constantly hear stories about cuts, increased overheads and competitive pressures. How we deal with change will determine our future success. Last week I was sent an email by a friend who was informing me, that for various…
My first attempt at self publishing was a simple 18 page booklet that lived at the back of my masters dissertation folio. Within weeks of submitting that for assessment I was running a tiny support group for women and was photocopying and sending that booklet out in exchange for a stamped addressed envelope and £1…
Little Jinny Fallon ‘ad ‘er arm taken off in the mule. Blood spurting everywhere like water from the pump in the yard, spraying up the walls in bright blades of crimson against the dusty brown and black. And gore everywhere, the salty sweet stench fit to turn your stomach, and many tipped their guts over…
Click here to download the video transcript. Want more like this? If you aren’t on my mailing list you can make sure you get more of my video’s and updates by joining. Just fill in your details to get started. Image by Lubos Houska from Pixabay
Click here to download the video transcript. Want more like this? If you aren’t on my mailing list you can make sure you get more of my video’s and updates by joining. Just fill in your details to get started. (Image by Foundry Co from Pixabay)
It was the cards I noticed first this morning. Each one neatly placed on the windowsill. Carefully butted up against the thin line of mastic securing glass into frame; they were spaced almost exactly it seemed, but without the benefit of a ruler I couldn’t be sure.
I can’t remember the last time I wrote a poem, most probably it was during creative writing at school. And I have to hold my hand up and admit that, rather like modern art, I don’t ‘get’ a lot of poetry unless it’s absolutely obvious what the message is.
‘Hands up if you can tell me what “be the change” means?’ Lucy looked around the class trying to size up those most likely to answer. They looked away, pretending to write something in their notebooks.
