Category: Creative Writing

Creative prose inspired by Robert Creeley’s poem ‘I Know A Man’.     The train rumbles on with a steady hum and chug-a-chug, and the conversation has lulled slightly between me and old boy beside me. His breath is rough and loud, like a monster lurking deep in a fantasy cave, and I wonder whether in…

This project is an adaptation of Hamlet, in which Hamlet is alive and well, having healed from his previous trauma, and is writing a memoir about his life. This exert is an adaptation of Act 3 Scene 1 in the play.

monday the 16th of october You either just woke up, or have already finished work. Theres no in between. If you’re working, you post a story with a timestamp. Got to look productive. If you’re slumbering, you ignore the 3 new snapchats. Its too early to call your mam because of the time difference. You…

saturday the 21st of may it seems that all i do these days is complain about work, look for work, go to work, in this endless cycle. constantly looking for something better but being reliant on what i’ve already got.

monday the 28th of november my stress is bubbling. one job has spiralled to three and i am still just as broke. christmas. new year. savings. my car. food. fun. thinking about anything in my life just turns into giant flashing dollar signs spinning infront of my eyes like some sort of taunting slot machine.

sunday the 23rd of october i moved away for uni and i always knew i would. first year is easy, it is like a year of sleepovers in some sort of slumber party flat. the constant party, the haphazard days of sleep, nights of dazzling adventure. it’s fun and fresh and tantilising. with second year…

tuesday the 13th of september if you think about it, everything we love will eventually kill us. your sport will injure you, your pizza makes you fat, your cigs give you cancer.

thursday the 14th of april the reality of being a woman is actually not to be a woman, but to be a woman’s body thinking of a man watching your woman’s body and performing for the imaginary man. because the imaginary man is actually, every man. even as myself, a critical thinker, a passionate feminist,…

friday the 15th of april i am sad as i always on the way home, not because i hate home, just in that bittersweet, dreary sense of sad, where songs seem extra emotional. i watch as families, couples, friends, just go about their lives, unaware of me perched, observing. i watch people hug, kiss, cry…

saturday the 4th of december my carrier bag i regret buying is sagging with the weight of a quorn roast, a tub of vegan ice cream, and three bottles of ciders, because apparently calories and alcoholism don’t count under the guise of festivity. on the way there i was bitter, cold, annoyed, at having to…