The Act of Writing

Drip, drip, drip. The rain steadily drops in though the hole in the roof, splashing into the bucket below the hole, each droplet strikingly loud in the utter silence of the room. The musty stench of moth eaten curtains is ever present, having eaten its way into the very fabric of the building decades ago. Dust lays, two inches thick, on every surface, tinting everything a dull, dirty grey. Cobwebs spiral out from every corner, the spiders who made them being long since dead, their corpses litter the carpet where they fell. The three occupants of the room however, do not seem to mind the dust, or the smell. They don't even appear to notice the steady dripping sound of the rain. Sat in a semi-circle, each on separate armchairs, they do not talk to each other, they do not look at each other. For all intents and purposes, they might as well each be in the room alone. Yet oddly, they mirror each other, arms dangling over the edges of their chairs, heads hung as if ashamed. They ...

Against The Current: Past Lives - Streaming Now It's coming up on three weeks since Against the Current released their second studio album, 'Past Lives,' and in those three weeks, it is rare that there's a moment in which I don't have one of the songs from it stuck in my head. This album is infectiously good. I would consider this album a labour of love, considering the amount of work that went into its creation, with reportedly forty songs having been written for it. (However, it should be observed that this figure has come from Chrissy Costanza's twitter and may have been a joke/exaggeration.) The eleven track album has a markedly different sound and style to its predecessor 'In Our Bones,' which is more of a "dark pop" album that "pointed the finger [of blame]," whereas, 'Past Lives' is "introspective," and the emotion behind the lyrics really shows this change. Opening with the song 'Strangers Ag...

This blog's purpose is to be a Portfolio. I desperately want to go into the Publishing industry. My first two years at University have only strengthened this desire, and now that I'm in my third and final year, I've realised that I need to present a much more professional image of myself, on the (miraculous) chance that an employer would want to hire me after I finish my degree. That's where this blog comes in. I've messed around with blogging before, on an account that's not much more than a jumbled amalgamation of my thoughts, feelings and occasionally the odd review piece. As much as I enjoyed writing that blog, I believe that creating my brand would be better done on this (nearly) blank canvas. It looks a little more professional, right? Therefore, as I gain more confidence in my writing abilities, this is what should be appearing on this site: - Film reviews (I own a Limitless card) - TV reviews, both episodic pieces and entire series as a whol...

I'm not as proud of this piece, however I really love the idea and I spent a very long time on it. Chapter 1: Ticking Clocks and Heart to Hearts “Calm down! God, you look crazed, just sit down. Drink your cider. He’ll be here.” She tapped at Anna’s elbow, watching as her best friend half stood, half sat, nervously bouncing and eyeballing every person who walked through the door of the bar. “I can’t!” Anna hissed, her protuberant whiskey coloured eyes wide and staring, “I… I need this to be perfect. I’ve dreamt about it for so long.” Anna’s face was unusually wan, her fingernails more accurately described as stubs. Freya’s heart ached with sympathy. Anna had been on edge all week. Stress lines were almost constantly etched into her forehead and she had taken to watching every entrance in every place they went in public. Freya had been there the night it had started. She had gone to Anna’s place, bottle of wine in hand and a head full of entertaining stories about...

This blog's purpose is to showcase any and all of my creative works. This is the piece I would say that I am most proud of, it having received a First from my university tutor. Five Minutes, Four Years Sunlight. A hard-boiled egg yolk in the crisp, cobalt sky. Nothing marred the wide expanse of blue, not even the faintest wisp of a cloud. Children were playing in the fallen piles of leaves, their screams and whoops of joy echoing through the streets of the quiet town. Mothers gossiped together on park benches, their hijabs fluttering slightly in the wind. A young couple sat on the grass – lost to another world. Nadiya stood, taking it all in. The rich scents of spices from the food vendors outside the park’s entrance intermingled with the smell of the damp earth in her nose; the vivid colours of passers-by’s clothing – royal blue jeans, blinding white trainers, a camel coloured trenchcoat – almost an eyesore in their multitudes.   The rumbling car engines and the rattle...