Probably not in the Top Ten list of good ideas.

As you may already know, I am at University at the moment. And you may also realise that this time of year is Exam Season. So, adding two and two to make four and suchlike, you would probably wait a couple of weeks until the storm passes to make a start on anything big.

So why am I digging up all of my notes on my much-loved but neglected-of-late project, the Yes-It-Will-Be-A-Novel Alabaster & Nash? Well, shortly after waking up this morning I decided that no-one was mentally capable of working solid for an entire day, and that I would be in need of a break sooner or later. I’ve been wanting to sit down and write for ages, so why not make a happy partnership of the two? On that thought, I went and dug up all of my old notes.

A note to the reader: if something that appears to be a good idea waddles out of your half-asleep haze, you should probably take it with a pinch of salt.

Since I have all of my notes with me now, and I AM on a break, yes, I will give it a go. However, I’m half-expecting my creativity-starved mind to latch on like a rabid dog.

Enough for now, I should probably go rediscover just how addictive this really is.


The man in the mirror.

And the man on the other side of the window was shouting himself hoarse, banging the heel of his hand silently against the glass, so very hard. So hard that I could see it shaking… or was that me, shaking? His spittle ran down his side of the transparent cell;  tears fell down mine.

He was like me. But younger, more optimistic. He started to kick at the impenetrable barrier as I hung my head. He knew I’d given up. I could feel him flinging his whole weight against the silvering as I turned and walked away. I turned my back on him, my reflection. His silent screams left my ears ringing. No-one had died, but I covered all the mirrors in the house anyway.

I tell a lie.

Someone had died that day. I had killed off a little part of myself.

I never saw the  same man in the mirror again.

I know it’s not the brightest piece of writing, but this image came to  me this morning and I felt I had to share it… It was one of those moments where, as an artist of sorts, you wonder if you’ve stumbled across something profound. If I look back on this in a few months time, I probably won’t feel the same way about it. But now, in this moment, I feel I’ve if I’ve crossed some imaginary border in my head, and returned with some sparkling jewel.

So, yeah. Critique, enjoy, go out and do something fun and off-the-wall. And perhaps you should listen to your own man, or woman in the mirror. The one you see on sunshiney days, who tells you just how amazing you are. After all… they have a very good point.

Moonlit musings.

Good morning everyone, I do believe it’s stupid o’clock.

I’m involuntarily pulling an all-nighter since my brain is refusing to curl up and sleep; so what better to do than to write? I should really be using it as an opportunity to knuckle down to some physics work… But an extra ten minutes procrastination never did any harm, right?

Talking of procrastination, today I finally decorated my room at University with photos. With only about eight weeks of term remaining. Still, better late than never, and I’m planning on recycling them for my room next year, so all is well.

Derailing that train of thought like a well-aimed cow is guilt concerning my lack of writing. As you may have noticed from previous posts, I have been intending to write some more poetry or fiction for a while now. However, there is a rather unhelpful veil between intents and actions which I seem to have gotten tangled up in lately. The fact is, I’ve been finding it difficult to write. Entries like this don’t pose as much of a problem, but they’re not nearly as enjoyable as an act of creation. I’m not one to believe in Writer’s Block, as I don’t feel as if I have a block specifically where writing is concerned. It feels much more general – as though a mixture of tiredness, illness, work and other obstacles continually pop up between my pen and the page. And everything else I find remotely interesting.

To other writers out there, tips to help ensure regular writing will be much appreciated!

I’m planning on trying to getting into the habit of writing morning pages (for those who have not heard of this exercise, have a look at or the original book by Julia Cameron). However, in the past I have found it extremely difficult to cultivate as a habit, as I’ve found that writing three A4 pages of stream-of-consciousness can be a challenge even at the best of times.

For now, perhaps I should concentrate on climbing my ever-increasing pile of Physics-related work. Hopefully, I will be back soon… watch this space!

Haunted by love.

Memories are like ghosts.


They walk where you did, everywhere that you’ve left a little part of yourself behind you. Breadcrumbs. A trail that can’t be followed. And when you return to those places, they peek around the veil and watch you pass, afraid of what they’re going to become. The weight of them fills you up with sheer longing.


And then you keep walking, and they fade. Melting back from reality as your shadow recedes. They must sink down through cracks in the pavement, slide through ageing walls, burn up in the sunlight.


Gone, but not forgotten.


A new story, snow and a silent witness.

This one has taken a little while for be to be satisfied enough to post it. I’m not completely sure what was the trigger for the inspiration of this short story, but I do know that I’ve come across the subjects before. Like psychometry, the art of reading facts from touching objects or people. Or the fact that there is nothing to show that the laws of physics would not work if time ran backwards. Or the belief in the divinity of stories and storytelling. Or the curiosity about the points of view of other people, animals, or even inanimate objects. I hope you enjoy my latest foray into short stories.

Click the ‘More?’ link to read on… More?

The hush of Autumn’s leaves.

I have another piece of fiction for you all today! I don’t think I’ve really appreciated the value of short stories until the last year or so, and only now have I realised the value of writing them. They are very motivational to the writer, as you can finish them in a relatively short period of time and feel very content with the result.

I’ve also been working a little on my blog – I have a Twitter account and a Facebook page, details of which will be going up on the ‘What Say You?‘ page shortly. I’ve done this on the advice of the amazing Timethief and her recommendation to read these tips on blog promotion.

Click the ‘More?’ tab for the new short story. More?

Sorry guys… here’s part two.

Now, know there’s been quite a gap between posts. I understand that it’s not the best start to a blog. But at the end of the day I have been ill and I am in the middle of my exams. The experienced bloggers and writers amongst you are probably shaking your heads at the screen about now, but the damage is done. I’m making a point to post this today so that I can carry on with other topics, so please treat it more like a draft than usual. For those of you new to this blog, you can read the beginning of Felix’s escapade here.

And so, finally, let’s get on with the story…

Red robots and shiny blog things.

I’ve been decorating. If you’ve looked along the top, you may have noticed a new link. ‘What say you?‘ is my shiny new feedback form, for your blogging pleasure.

Last time I finally started to write fiction for this blog. I intend for this to be a practice space of sorts, where my imagination can take joy in writing short bits and pieces without taking things too seriously. Feeling Lucky, for instance, is something I made up on the spot. Apart from a quick once-over to check for glaring errors, that is more or less my raw work. Expect more on that story soon! It won’t be too long, but I plan on finishing it before posting any more new material.

And in other news… A quintconsequential I felt I just had to share…


Feeling Lucky? Part I

“So tell me, Felix, you think today’s your lucky day?”

I sat there uncomfortably. I admit, the awkward silence did contribute, but mainly it was the way they’d tied my elbows behind the too-small chair. The little man with the revolver stood behind me and continued to talk.


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'Quintconsequential' is a word of my own invention, despite the definition in the style of the Oxford English Dictionary featured on the site. By all means, use it, whisper it, shout it from the rooftops. But please, remember that you heard it here first!