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Chapter 8. Tess. The girl sat on the edge of the bed and began to talk. “I was six when my parents died. One moment they were there—laughing, arguing...

He liked his old fleece, but she hated that mud colour gloomy – it grated, and made him look sallow and sad – when gifted another one, glad for the...

Working on a literary novel vaguely inspired by Diane Schuler, who was a seemingly normal suburban Mom who drunk-drove with her kids the wrong way down the highway and killed them all; she had hidden longstanding alcoholism from her family for years. I was inspired by that kind of self delusion to write a similar long form story.

‘Look,’ Roz gazed across the road in disbelief, ‘someone’s moving into Old Walls.’ Simon glanced up from his Ipad, his eyes sharpening as his mind...

Picking at poetry, like picking at scabs, rhyming couplets, anytime, I think they're just so fab. Tercets and trochees, they’re tempting, they're a...

Chapter Eight. Tuffort Stones. Amanderella pulled on her coat and stepped outside. The clouds that had threatened rain were gone, leaving a bright...

The call came to Terry Ledwell at four minutes past ten, on the county road out past the Millers Creek turn, where he had been sitting with the...

Fixated on fiction, my favoured writing choice, eclectically selecting when searching for my voice. Stealing ideas, phrases and expressions, Shifting...