Needing to Write but Nothing to Say

I find myself with the unfortunate affliction of needing to write but having nothing to say. I love the feeling of the words unfolding in front of me. Of the keys clicking rapid-fire under my fingers. But, never-the-less, in this moment I have nothing to say. I want to...

The greater misfortune—apathy or incompetence?

Which is worse: to love writing stories but be atrocious at it, or to have the skills of a literary Rumpelstiltskin but no drive to do anything with it? I narrate in my head all day. Sometimes I tell myself the words are what I intend to write later,...

Soft and Easily Flattened

If I were a food I’d be a marshmallow. I’m soft and easily flattened. (Also white and spongy around the middle, but that’s neither here nor there.) Today I gave a small wave of thanks to a lollipop lady who’d waved me through a lane of road cones. You...

The first Pet Death

Explaining to a 3-year-old that the budgie is dead, is unpleasant. But explaining that it’s Mummy’s fault because she job-shares with the Grim Reaper, is unnecessary—so at least Timmy doesn’t blame me for anything. Only two days ago, I’d been joking with someone about not being able to keep...