Tag: Personal Essay
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Chronology of my writing self
I read Flaubert’s Parrot by Julian Barnes, a novel full of full of chronologies, bestiaries and other clever discourse devices, in 2014. I subsequently had a conversation with a friend about the moments in her past which, with the gift of hindsight, she was able to recognise as significant in guiding her to her current…
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Greed and Fear
A friend said to me the other day, every decision we make is governed either by fear or greed (I’m taking greed to mean wanting something you don’t currently have, there’s nothing mean or miserly about it). It’s not hard for me to agree with this statement and when I reflect on my own life…
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The Eye of the Sheep – Sofie Laguna
“He came close, bent down, put his arms around me and he cried and so did I, so did I, and I knew where crying was made; it was made in me.” Date Completed: May 3 2016 Page Length: 308 Goodreads This book was compelling. I think that’s the best way to describe it. It’s a page…
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My Hair, My Self
I had imagined, on many occasions, cutting my own hair. I would take the lot of it in my left fist as if to make a side pony-tail, a pair of large strong scissors would glint in my right hand and I’d slice through. I would do it in one slow movement, watching each strand…
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Positive Thinking
So the power of positive think ey? After forcing myself to be chipper, and writing about sleep ins instead of whinging, I’ve managed to turn that vat of self-loathing I was swimming in into sunbeams and rainbows (hopefully a pot of gold will turn up soon). After one of those enjoyable, lazy sleep ins this…
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The Joy of Sleeping In
I’m trying to be more positive. That’s a sentence that’s probably been written a million times (often as an intro to some thinly veiled complaining. Hopefully I don’t follow that route). I recently began reading Caitlin Moran’s collection of Essays, Moranthology. Towards the end of her introduction she wrote that her “underlying, abiding belief is…
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How we feed the dogs
My mother calls me to the kitchen, “Can you help with the dogs?” “Yes!” I jump off my bed (where I spend most of my time these days). She’s putting the final touches on their dinner, a cup each of dry bickies. I pick up two bowls, the smallest and the second smallest for Angus…