On permission

It comes back to this, doesn’t it? It occurs to me that I am being paid to write what I want to, for the first time in my life. I have a PhD scholarship. They even gave me a bit extra, thanks to my university medal, garnered all those years ago. I still remember...

Writing

When I get anxious, I get jealous. It is an unpleasant trait, and one not immediately obviously related to my heightened state of worry, which makes it harder to rationalise away. I look at pictures of other people’s living rooms and think they are much nicer...

Wharton worries

I’ve been reading Edith Wharton, and it’s rather depressing.  Everything is rather something (or’uther).  Not to be too flippant – I am sure the characters in Glimpses of the Moon really felt every bit as miserable and desperate as they...