“is there something in adopting the voice of a god, but giving him very human qualities and frailties? It turned out that adopting a persona that revolved at once about both being powerful and powerless was a great parallel for exploring subjects like climate change.”… Continue reading →
They were stones in a champagne flute,
I was always bound to smash.
But they were there for a while,
hanging on, two faceless punters waiting
for the gag, and then it all slipped out
of me as easily as a giggle. Once is a mistake.
Twice is careless. By the end of it
you could hear a pin drop in my heart.… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: ‘Living with Dad was a bit like being loaded into a comedy cannon and then fired off to land somewhere, who knows where: in hospital, India, or the wrong school. He had this thing about experience, the necessity to experience life, cram as much as possible into it, and ‘develop the ever-expanding mind,’ as he put it.’… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: ‘My father and I were both doctors. I use the past tense for my father, Harry Walker, because he died young. For myself, it is because I am no longer a real doctor. I became an epidemiologist and my clinical skills gradually atrophied.’… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: ‘I feel dazed and dopey, my mind a blur of ideas and images’, writes Julia Bell. This state, and its discontents, will be familiar to many readers. With the relentless acceleration of online life over the last decade arising from the ubiquity of social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, anxieties of a ‘crisis of attention’ have become commonplace.… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: Half way through a story about a child and their canine best friend, I pause to think, “this isn’t going to end well.” There is a peculiar ache to worrying about the fate of a fictional pet, a kind of inevitability that doesn’t quite translate to watching human suffering. … Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: August, 2020. There’s a funfair on the Common. It is only a small one: a few socially distanced rides huddling well away from one another. But it is definitely there. Its placement has a defensive quality, tucked away at the bottom of the hill down by the High Road, surrounded by a temporary fence.… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: Celebration Avenue. Victory Parade. Anthems Way. Olympic Village. Olympic sized shopping centre. Olympic Park. Olympic Javelin throwing you into London in record time. Shaving minutes off your journey. Increasing capacity on the network. Room for more. Squeeze in. Hold on tight. … Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: I have based my artistic pursuits on the idea that all art is art, or, art is whatever you want it to be, or, there’s no such thing as bad art. I do not actually believe any of this is true. The truth is that I like looking at the art materials on my desk and thinking “an artist lives here”.… Continue reading →
Creative NonFiction: Home for me, my sister and mum and dad was a ground floor three bed council flat on a new-ish estate in Swiss Cottage with a pocket hanky sized garden. Like everyone we knew, we had Christmas dinner at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, so we could watch the Queen’s Christmas message at 3. … Continue reading →
‘Adam picked a foxglove one day, up on Dartmoor,’ I said, ‘when he was little. It was really bad.’ I left a gap for my parents to chip in. ‘Don’t you remember?’ I asked, looking at each of them in turn. Dad took a sip of his pint. Mum sighed. Oh, it’s my imagination again. Right. I sat back in my chair. Clearly, they’d hoped that motherhood had put an end to all that.… Continue reading →
Creative Non-Fiction: It’s no surprise that I find myself confronting a lot of hard truths lately. These uncertain times that we find ourselves wading through on a daily basis have that effect on people, I guess. They foster lucid dreams, like when I dreamt of my mother. … Continue reading →
Creative Non-fiction: I swim against the current of bodies, against the grain of the crowd, swaying as one corpus in a rhythmic harmony of bass.… Continue reading →
Creative Non-Fiction by Golnoosh Nour
Creative Non-Fiction by Ryan Levitt
Creative Non Fiction by Laura McDonagh
Creative Non Fiction by Conner Milliken
Creative Non Fiction by Amy Slack
Creative Non Fiction by Yas Necati
Creative Non Fiction by Julia Bell
Creative Non-Fiction by Jo Mortimer
Creative Non-Fiction by Roger Robson
Creative Non-fiction by Miki Lentin
Short Fiction by Diana Gittins
Creative Non-Fiction by Lily Dunn
Creative Non-Fiction by Tamar Hodes
Creative Non-Fiction by Paola Moretti
Creative non-fiction by Tom C. B. Williams.
Creative Non Fiction. Words and pictures by Elizabeth McGrath
Federica Lugaresi spends four weeks in the Stamperia Bertozzi.
Running, ageing and motherhood. Creative Non-Fiction by Elinor Johns.
Extracts from How Was The Party? by Laura Bridgeman
An excerpt from Richard Hamblyn’s new book: ‘From the legend of Atlantis to the violent tsunamis of the present day, this book casts new light
An excerpt from The Colony Room Club, 1948-2008 – A History of Bohemian Soho by Sophie Parkin
The next in Gaylene Gould’s Interior Dialogues Series: ‘The way our conscious sense of propriety interrupts our flow is one of the ghosts that must
On the centenary of Scott’s expedition to the South Pole, Jean McNeil chronicles her own voyage to Antarctica.