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Persperistance II

ovember is the cruelest month. Yes I know that TS Eliot thought it was April, but for me it’s November. As the days get shorter and darker and duller, so I begin to feel all my pleasure, all my delight, all my creativity, all of it, spiralling away like water down a plughole. It’s like this every year and yet, for some strange reason, every year it surprises me. I’m probably suffering from some obscure form of masochism. Why else, despite my seasonal affective disorder (not to mention my history of melancholia), would I choose to live in a country where every winter is a plunge towards Ragnarok? Yet I’ve lived in Scandinavia for 29 winters now and every year … More…

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Persperistance

Three reasons why submitting your creative writing for publication to an edited web site or print journal is a good thing. Some pointers and a discussion of Ray Bradbury’s d.i.y. authorship method. More…

The swing and the birch tree

What I did at the weekend

The book was stuck in the mud, I was still feeling sorry for myself after a bout with the flu and suspicious the germs were coming back for another round, and my good lady wife was determined to give the flat a major dusting. “Why don’t you go out to the cottage?” Why not? The cottage is actually owned by my sister-in-law, but it’s been my wife’s family’s seaside retreat for decades. Mostly used in the summer, though I’ve had writing retreats there before when the snow has been piled high. Now it was cold and raw and rainy. I packed my (non-Internet connected) laptop, a change of clothes, my sleeping-bag, some food and set off. So that’s where I’ve … More…