Blogs

I wore my drinking like a badge of honour. Somehow, the fact that I could keep it together—without my wife or kids ever really knowing—felt like an achievement. This was mine. My secret. I hid bottles everywhere: in coat pockets, hanging shopping bags, the tops of kitchen cabinets, under the car seat, even in the bushes by our gate. I was an adult, yet I treated this like some kind of game. Could I make it through a conversation without slurring...

Notes on nostalgia. Adolescence, when neurons exploded and rearranged themselves into them or us. Your senses discombobulated by girls. Everything tasted better. We scattered ourselves on a sea of faces. Some familiar. Some not familiar enough. Our voices thin as scratch-marks. Snod’s hair, flame-red as the hottest summer of 1976, but soon to be eclipsed and forgotten. We knew we were indestructible. All answers copied from the back of an old...

Every Friday, I try to publish another episode in my 'Dead Reckoning' series about my two Undertakers, Josiah and Archibald. There are always weeks when I'm not in the right frame of mind or events overtake me and make it difficult. And then, there's this week... I hope there will be a new episode, tomorrow, but right now, I'm not so sure.

Given the date, I thought it would be appropriate to revive this short story: https://www.abctales.com/story/philwhiteland/trick-or-treat

How to encapsulate that feeling? Like loss, bereavement, a tender crushing feeling that you want to push you to tears but they just won't come. Like seeing beauty and feeling a kind of ache knowing that even as you experience it and it's there right now, you know that it's dying, that it's lost, that even as you're feeling it you can't quite touch it. Somehow like trying to draw a perfect circle freehand and searing it, slicing it, so balanced,...

So since I have been back off my holiday, I have not really had time to write anything. Life has once again got in the way. I am working too hard again which are long days. I have had a car accident so car is not working right now. Got a temporary car but will need to pay that back to insurance when I can. It has been very stressful and I have not found the inspiration to write. I hope to write something soon but please bear with me while I try...

I put aside a few hours on Sunday to read Ootlin, Jenni Fagan’s memoir, straight through. ‘Ootlin’ in a simple sense means outsider. From the Scottish word oot. Fagin tells the reader in the prologue, there are stories about stories. The social work department in Scotland, adoption agencies, psychiatric hospitals and the police all had files on Fagin and her family. The in-spectre of mad, bad or sad stories went before her even as a baby. She...