Category Archives: Reading

Undertow

Undertow began on a blistering August day on the cliffs above Loe Bar in Cornwall, notorious for its riptides and dangerous currents. But as summer turned to bleak midwinter, and I watched a friend dragged down by the weight of … Continue reading

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Boys. And books. And boys in books.

  Like my alter ego Rachel in My (not so) Simple Life, as a teenager I fell in love frequently, swiftly and with absolute conviction. Unlike Rachel, I never had to swear off boys and their complications and contradictions, or … Continue reading

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Funny girl

I have always “done” funny. Both as a reader, and a writer. As a child, I snorted through every page of every Dr Seuss, laughed until I cried at Russell Hoban’s inspired creation Aunt Fidget Wonkham-Strong in her iron hat … Continue reading

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Trapped wind (or is it a novel?)

I hate it. I can see it in their cheap-Chardonnay-dilated eyes when I’m introduced at parties or pubs or political drinks things. “A writer, really? I’ve always thought I had a novel in me.” “Gosh I say, smiling. Well you … Continue reading

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Writer’s block (or not)

Amongst the questions I am most often asked by journalists and small children (along with “Do you like Eastenders, miss?” and “Can I be in a book, miss?” and once “Was you in Les Miserables, miss?”) is the million-dollar “What … Continue reading

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Dedication’s what you need… (and a clicker, apparently)

So, got up, ate porridge, corralled angry small menace into school uniform (disappointment at having to go to school dressed as schoolgirl, not Katherine Parr, due to Ofsted swooping in and causing cancellation of World Book Day), set new world … Continue reading

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The Life of Riley

I never wanted to be a writer when I grew up. That is to say, it didn’t occur to me that writing was a “real” job, much less one that I would be capable of, or derive enjoyment from, my … Continue reading

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