Every few months I read through my old diaries, sitting on the floor surrounded by stacks of mismatched notebooks. My past self was a faithful keeper of her archive. I…
This Ain’t a Coming of Age Anymore
Redefining Attention as a Writer
Recently I had this radical writerly realisation: I have nothing to say. Since discovering that my life is infinitely more peaceful when I don’t write about my feelings and experiences…
Genre Trouble
After three years of studying Film & Television, I have come to the conclusion that any descriptive label given to an assortment of cultural or literary texts is like a…
Ode To Closed Chapters
It’s been 37 days since I came to Tallinn, 35 since I came to the hostel. Today the weather is trying its best to convince me I’m still in Glasgow.…
Writer In Wonderland
When I was fourteen and homeschooled and had nothing better to do with my time, one of my hobbies was to reread my favourite novels. I read The Hunger Games…
Dystopian Anxiety: Why I’m Rewriting My Novel (Again)
Confession: sometimes I wonder if I have a single personality trait that doesn’t stem from anxiety. I spent a good chunk of my life feeling like an alien who didn’t…
What Turning 21 Taught Me
Yesterday was my 21st birthday, and I find myself asking: as I grow older, who do I want to be? I’ve been having an identity crisis lately. I forgot who…
Epi(blog)ue: When Does The Writer Stop Writing?
It’s New Year’s Eve, and I am celebrating in style, by chilling alone in my flat, listening to music, and writing this blog. Ordinarily I would write some long, rambling…