Seated

He sits on the edge of the bath, biting his lower lip, hard. They mustn’t hear him crying. His hands grip the bath tub tight, knuckles pushing through the skin.

He tries to think about nothing but the force of his grip. On the bath tub. The coolness beneath his hands. His eyes squeezed shut, pushing the tears out. Liquid streaming down his face. A few drops falling onto his legs. But no sound. Not a single sound emerging from his mouth. His wide open, silent mouth. 

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Purple

If you’ve been visiting this site in the last few weeks hoping for an update, I owe you a ‘thank you’ and a ‘sorry’: red-pen season is far from over and there hasn’t been much time for cyber-niceties. However, I have tried to stick daily posts on Twitter and Facebook, so hopefully you’ve been able to follow those. (Incidentally, I should mention the new ‘profile … Continue reading Purple

Reach

Bad news first. I didn’t get through to the short list of the HappenStance Short Story Competition. But never mind, getting into the Top 25 ain’t too bad. More importantly, I have completed Draft Number 1 of The Novel. I’m not allowing myself to get manically excited about this, because I know how much more I’ve got to do to get to Draft Number 2… … Continue reading Reach

… Since I Was A Child

Returning to Poland always causes me to be introspective. Even the fact that I used the word ‘returning’ above contains several hours’ worth of navel-gazing value. Is it correct to use ‘return’ for a place in which the longest amount of time you’ve spent is around ten months, when you were aged seven? This year’s trip pushed all the usual buttons as well as some … Continue reading … Since I Was A Child