Collected Writings
After finding purpose and respite in writing while on the road, that passion is now being channelled into a new venture: Border Co. Border Co. is a banner under which to explore my passions for writing, discovering stories, and creating meaningful partnerships. The opening essay, ‘The Crossing: Welcome to Border Co.‘ can be read via… Continue reading Border Co.
Eight years ago, I embarked on a month-long road trip with friends in the US across ten states. The journey became a defining moment of change in my life, that culminated with my relocation to the US at the end of the same year. TX, WA, ID, MT, OR, CA, CO, AZ, UT, NV. The… Continue reading Kalispell, MT
I continue to explore new directions with my writing, with a specific focus on how to make text more visually engaging. Discovering writers online who layer their writing over everyday photographs, I decided to try this with scraps from an early story. This image was from a road trip in 2021, where I spent time… Continue reading Learning to Experiment
Rejection is a normal part of submitting work for publication. Far from being a negative, I view each rejection as a step in improving my writing. The following poem was ultimately rejected from being published in orangepeel magazine’s sixth issue ‘In Conversation’, despite reaching the later stages of review. This is the first time a… Continue reading Arrival in the Old Country
Fluctuant light; cool grey; washed purple; charcoal. Chipped cobblestones; benches of weathered wood; somber gradients where shadows intersect. They come to worship. They come to contemplate. Contemplation in the dimness. Monolithic blurred washes; cascades from above; their weight, orbiting; they pull at my core; an eight-sided sanctuary; I am the centre.
The ebb of the year, a night lit by lamplight on the glistening cobbled streets of Rye. Beams sag under ancient weight. Creaks and groans that echo through from centuries past. Vapors rise from the glass; sweet smoke. Wind whips at us navigating the churchyard, the stairs, the leaning buildings. Embers, swift as fireflies, fleet… Continue reading In James’s Footsteps
Swimming in the pool at night she feels free. Under in the cool pale blue there is no sound. She dives and dives again like a mermaid. She swims below the surface. The light changes. She surfaces and the world has changed. She is alone.
The sun baked down from high above the sand and the air was thick with a dry heat that weighed heavily on the skin, pressing you inwards from all directions.
He woke early each day, walking the streets before the town was awake. This time was his favorite. Alone in the pale pink light of early morning, inhabiting his memories and the empty streets. The overlapping birdsong that filled the air brought back images of his grandparent’s faces.
Landscapes and sounds drive my thoughts eagerly forward. They spill out onto the page in fragments. Laid bare.