Amateur Writing

Can I write? No. Do I keep trying? Yes.


112 miles

Settle to Newcastle. 112 miles distance. 2 hours via car. 3-4 hours via train.

Living in Newcastle is so different to anything I’ve ever experienced before. Being in a city with such vibrancy and colour can be overwhelming sometimes; it’s busy and constant. The streets are filled with people, all going about their day, trailing into their jobs or onto campus to lectures or seminars. There’s nearly always music playing, whether it be someone playing guitar and singing, or the infamous beat-boxing Spiderman surrounded by a crowd. Continue reading “September”



The End

   The city swarmed with a sea of tired commuters all on their way to work. The warm air that once kissed pedestrians had been replaced with bitter breezes and pouring rain which soaked most to the bone. One woman walked in a hurry, her boots splashing the small puddles that scattered the pavement. She nursed her latte in her frozen hands, enjoying the slowly fading warmth. Continue reading “August”


Another Day

Her hand flicks through the crisp new book that her father bought her the day before. He said it was because she’d been such a good girl lately. Her parent’s divorce hadn’t exactly been a pretty one.

Continue reading “July”



She can feel the sand beneath her toes, the soft grains sliding as she wriggles the appendages. The salty air brushes her hair off of her narrow shoulders, strands flying behind her. She is oblivious to the soft stare of the person beside her.

Continue reading “June”


Looking back.

This is going to be my first attempt at a ‘blog’ post. This whole adventure of writing is supposed to encourage me to try new things; so I suppose it’s only fitting I give this a go. I took inspiration from a few friends, who honestly are amazing at this sort of thing; unfortunately I don’t have such high hopes for myself…

Continue reading “May”


The sand slips between your toes.
The wind plays with the ends of your hair.
The sea engulfs the sleeping sand beds.
The shore is filled with ocean air.

A breath, a smile, a sigh of relief.

Finally, you are at peace.


Growth Is Okay

I long for growth, something new to evoke my grin

I wish to drink in the sunshine

to feel the heat upon my pale skin. Continue reading “April”


You know when it’s raining there’s that distinct smell? It is earthy and fresh. It is staying inside at break time, watching it dribble down the glass windows whilst we play cards. It is running in from P.E, changing out of sodden sport clothes with dripping hair. It is holidays in Cornwall, rain drumming on the roof of the tent and dripping down the edges. It is sitting on a bench after being broken up with, watching the snails dodge the droplets. It is spring evening walks, trying to clear your confused and muddled head.

It’s cleansing. It’s familiar. It’s rain.


Theatrical Dream

“Shall I speak for thee? shall I say ’tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp’d, Doth burn the heart to ashes-”

“Sorry, from the top please. It’s cinders, Francis, and maybe a bit more emotion? Your daughter literally has had her hands cut off and her tongue cut out.”
Francis sighs, running his hands through his dark hair and returns to his marker on the stage. The other actors roll their eyes and groan quietly, Charlotte rubbing her knees the best she could with her ‘mutilated’ hands.
Continue reading “March”

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