As predicted, I have scrapped most of the scene about Josh and Ivy that I published last week. This is a new one… “You’re up early.” I squint over my shoulder at Josh’s slouchy, bare-chested figure in the hallway. His blonde hair – usually so carefully coiffed with his special hair stuff, is completely flat […]
This is an extract from a story I’m writing. I’m a bit worried it’s the literary equivalent of a stick drawing, but hopefully you’ll like it for its amateur charm. A fog horn woke me. Or was it Josh’s bread maker? He thinks it cures his insomnia. There’s something cathartic about pouring in the flour […]
Last week I spent five and a half days in the rural Languedoc Roussillon region of France at the house my grandparents have spent 27 summers restoring from a ruin.
Jack Morke wanted a whisky. He’d never particularly wanted a whisky before, but now he wanted one more than anything. Preferably in one of those round weighted tumblers with big ice cubes that rattled against the sides. Men drank whisky. Men with problems. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
I’m moving on from my current job as a magazine editor, which I’m excited about but also sad.