words of the day

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”
Dostoyevky ‘The Brothers Karamazov’

Inspiration on the doorstep

img_0990It’s that brilliant day, which arrives every quarter, where I come home drained of all my hopes and dreams (7 hours updating a spreadsheet can do that to the most hardcore of day dreamers) only to be instantly pulled up by my imaginary braces (I wish I could wear braces to work without dodgy looks) at the sight of the Mslexia writing magazine on the doormat.

It’s the sort of magazine which makes you feel like you’re ready to conquer the literary world the moment you lay it flat on its back, take both hands to the cellophane wrapper, and rip it open the way Bond girls show a crisp white shirt who’s boss.

This edition features the winners of the ‘Monsters’ theme. I wish I had ripped my writers block to shreds like I did the wrapping of this magazine but alas, it beat me. Damn it, I should’ve written about writer’s block being a monster. F*ck you, hindsight.

There is the usual showcasing of some blogs and I’ve already been sidetracked by Isabella Costello’s great Literary Sofa.

It also talks of creating your own creative writing MA. This is something I’m particularly interested in, as I often think of how fun it would be to trail the Internet for all the wonderful writing sources there are out there and piece together the most amazing home-made course and teach it to yourself. Perhaps I should undercut all the universities charging £5k+ for their attempts and start an underground university. Bit like Dead Poets Society but with cocktails and wifi.


He dreams I want to leave him
Roams through the night forest desolate
and I dream I’ve abandoned him
feel waxy pleasure of that sin
Its subsequent atonement
Next morning, both our faces mark the change
Mine with the guilty look of those
Who knowingly succumb to dreams
And his the speculative gaze
Of someone learning