What Do You Do When You Are Not Writing Books?

That’s a question! Often, or so it seems to me, asked by someone who expects the answer, ‘Nothing. Nothing significant. I have no other interest that means anything to me.’ Because there’s something about being a writer that non writers assume is a little bit, a tiny bit, vocational. (Vocational, with a touch of the … Continue reading →

Time to say Thank You

My first school had three trees in the playground.  Tough town sycamores with cracked grey asphalt lapping right up to their trunks.  They were always ‘Home’ in a game of tig. Their bark was polished smooth in a ring, child hand height from the ground. How many hands did it take to do that, I … Continue reading →

Letters

I have been writing letters all my life. To my far away Grandmother when I was six, to once-a-year camping companions a few years later, to home from away, and to friends from home. And letters came back from all these people. In those days before email or texts or mobile phones, letters flew between … Continue reading →