You, a grown adult, are afraid of the dark. Explain why this is a legitimate concern, so friends won’t laugh at you.

The great unknown, more often than not, is far less wondrous than it is portrayed to be in books, and in films. Take the ocean as an example; vast masses of water suffocating the earths surface, home to bloodthirsty beasts and uncertainty.

Manipulated by the elements it sends lashings of waves that cause chaos and destruction. Tearing down ships and homes, claiming land and lives it does not own. I find it bizarre to romantacise such a thing.

It’s like this, picture you’re treading water a quarter of a mile offshore when suddenly a wave washes over you, taking you under. You resist, but it’s stronger than you and that’s something you can’t control. Each movement you take to fight against the current draws the breath from your lungs, rendering you powerless. You can’t scream underwater. No one can hear your cries for help. What’s next from there is unknown to you. All you can be sure of is that there will be darkness. That’s how I feel when darkness consumes me, like I’m drowning in the unknown.

It’s like driving into the night on a path lined with broken street lamps, unaware of the road ahead of you. You could be driving off the edge of a cliff for all you’re sure of. Or walking through a deserted park when the sun has set, no stars from which to seek relief; no light to guide your way. Though situations may differ, what the darkness imposes, what it takes from you, remains the same.

I oppose not only what it does to the senses, but what it does to the mind. The places it can take you, past, present or even future. The unknown; it’s where anxiety lives, where fear culminates. It darkness, it is drowning, it consumes.

To me, the dark and the depths of the ocean are one in the same. When you’re draped in darkness, you could be anywhere, no matter if it’s in your mind or not, for you can’t see any different. Be it the bottom of the sea or the edge of a cliff, these places they feed on vulnerability, and you’re never more vulnerable than when immersed in darkness.

Think of your greatest fear, how would that scene play out? Where did it take you? Did it end darkness? It always does.

Now all that considered, do you blame me?

Prompt #4: You, a grown adult, are afraid of the dark. Explain why this is a legitimate concern, so friends won’t laugh at you.



Write a poem about a tomato


What you are, I can’t decide;

Your very core, concealed inside,

Skin so thick, as nature made so;

Where do you fit? Not even you know.

Your seed bears life, yet instead it is savoured;

Bound by ties and restraints? Consider them wavered.

For why tick the box, when there are circles and stars?

Just as boys play with dolls, girls like guitars.

No bother then, if you are fruit or foe;

You taste good to me, and that’s all there is to know.


tomato-heart.jpgPrompt #3: Write a poem about a tomato

What you ate for breakfast

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don’t they? Well I’ve never really understood who ‘they’ are, nor have I cared for that matter. All I know is that I think they are wrong; after all, breakfast is the only mealtime where it would be deemed unacceptable to order a pizza, and I rather like pizza.

I wonder what ‘they’ actually eat for breakfast, those people that say it’s so important? I bet they have something boring, like Muesli or Weetabix without the sugar. I think that a persons choice of breakfast can say a lot about them. For example, I have an auntie and she has eaten porridge for breakfast every day for as long as she can remember. Every day at 6am like clockwork she sits down to have a bowl of old trusty. She too is like porridge in a lot of ways, comforting and reliable but overall pretty unadventurous.

I like porridge, but not enough to eat it every day. I mean, if we’re going to hold so much stock in breakfast being the be all and end all of meal times then it better be a right good spread. I’m talking continental, like they do in Europe.

Still, as I said I don’t agree about breakfast being the most important meal of the day so I’m not really one to make a fuss, especially before 9am. I’m more of a grab and go kind of girl. A quick fix to tide me over until lunchtime when the real meal goes down. Like this morning for instance, I was a running a little late, so I whacked a couple of those little round doughy things in the toaster. You know, those soft little things covered in dents that harden as they are burned? I packed my bag while they were toasting and when they were done I doused them in butter while they were still hot. That makes them tastier and easier to swallow.

In actual fact I have crumpets for breakfast most days; you can think of that what you like.

Prompt #2:What you ate for breakfast

Describe a room in your house

There was not much wrong with the room aesthetically; just that it was cold and bare. The walls, despite being shiny in places from the omniscient glow of a nearing light bulb, were empty. Never adorned with any pictures or posters they were untouched by ornaments and character. There was however, a single nail hanging out of the largest wall, as if it once wore life before its dormant state.

In an attempt to brighten the place up there was a small, single palm tree placed on an iron table in the corner of the room. In actual fact it gave off quite the opposite effect. It wore crisp, browning leaves that wept whilst its body bent at a curve in search of sunlight. Isolated and starved it sat there, far from appeasing its intention but beautiful in its irony.
The furniture shared the same sense of solitude; just two odd fabric settees. One was stripped of it’s cover and backed tight against a wall, and the other cloaked in brown separating the dining area. Neither were pristine enough to look too uninviting, nor were they worn to the degree in which they looked comfortable. The carpet below was speckled in such a way that gave it no dominant colour, made up of patches of beige and grey. It wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t offensive. It was warm beneath my feet, and cushioned just so that the floorboards beneath did not creak under pressure.

By day, the light the tree longed for peaked through the patio doors, framed by thin white voiles that fell softly at each side. Opening outwards to the world outside the doors relinquished an element of sadness sometimes felt when sitting in a room so small and empty. It may not have been much, but it was home.

Prompt #1: Describe a room in your house

642 things to write about

Recently I’ve been feeling pretty uninspired when it comes to writing. Excluding reviewing the odd EP or interviewing a few artists, I don’t remember the last time I sat down to write for fun, or just for me.  It’s something I’ve been moaning about for quite some time now without actively doing anything positive to change it, until now.

After hearing me whine on for months, for Christmas my other half bought me an incredible book to rekindle my desire to write for enjoyment . Written by the San Francisco Writers’ grotto the book is called ‘642 Things to Write About‘ and contains, well you guessed it – 642 things to write about.


Having flicked through and cast my first impressions what I like most about this book is how nonrestrictive each of the topics are. Some are serious while others are silly. None seem particularly demanding and they all do well to provoke different thoughts from varied perspectives. This is why I’ve decided to give it a go and will be sharing each piece on this blog, along with anything else that inspires me to write.


I’m setting myself the challenge of writing two small pieces a week, or one big one if that’s where my ideas take me.

Feel free to write me with any feedback you may have, or if you would like to share anything similar you’re doing with me. I’d love to hear from you.

Thanks for reading and I hope you stumble across something you enjoy.