About Me

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Tokyo, Japan
In 2011 I graduated with 1st class honours in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University. I lived in China for nearly two and a half years, where I was working as an English teacher. I just moved to Tokyo where I will be spending my time teaching and writing. This blog is about my experiences of TEFL teaching and living abroad.

Saturday, 1 August 2009

Time for a Blog

How's the writing going? Slow, is the answer, slow! Working 8 hours a day sort of knackers me so I don't get much writing done at the moment, just bits and pieces, but any progression is good progression. I've been filling my time with lots of creative things to get the inspiration flowing...lots of museums, art galleries in particular help me to think. I go swimming quite often, and the good thing about that is that I don't think of anything while I do it, I just completely clear my mind, so even though I'm not thinking about writing, it frees me up mentally to think on it later.
I think lots of writers have a favorite place to write. I usually just write wherever I am when inspiration hits, but I have recently found a 'regular' place to write, which is ace. It's cafe near where I live called the 'Busy Bee Cafe'... and for anyone who knows me, this is poignant as I am obsessed with bumbley bees. So I've been writing quite a lot there which is groovy.
Also been doing a fair bit of reading recently, dipping into thrillers for the first time which is cool.

So I've posted some old stuff... time for some new stuff :) I have a folder with all the poems I've written since I've been at uni, so here are a few from the past year


You linger when you leave

I catch the faintest scent of you
on my sheets
and dare not breathe
in case I blow it away.
My heart beats through the silence.
I inhale deeply, tasting the air,
and it’s like you’re here
with me.
I sink into the covers,
caught between memories and dreams,
aware of nothing but your existence.


The marvels of Plath and Hughes, audiotape.

He red Pike. She red Mushrooms.
They mulled over every syllable.
Slow, methodical, lingering.

Your voices nothing as I had imagined,
either of you.
Accents catching me by surprise.

I thought she’d sound flowery,
feminine, hippy.
Not husky, worn,
a voice full of sadness,

and him, sounding all upper class,
pondering as spoke,
probably thinking about something else.


My first Tanka

This, my first Tanka,
as I write, I biscuits eat,
light of day fading.
My laptop sits all aglow
I review other poets.



A week has passed
and you are still dead.
Your skin cold and stiff,
the drugs still in your body.
I think of the baby they took from you,
the little boy I held but you couldn’t,
the child I watched grow,
who’ll now never see you again.
I wonder if your boyfriend
is still in prison,
if now that you are dead
it will shock him out of that life, those drugs.
I try to figure out
how long it will take
for you to drift from my thoughts.
It’s been a week
and I wish I could have done something,
and I’m still sorry I couldn’t.


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