Plastic Sea

A polymer tide touches the shore
Finally Llyr can take no more.
Riding the breaking waste
Of bottles, rubber soles, bags displaced
Things of no consequence that nobody needs,
Or that never should have taken seed.
Llyr rages like thunder, “What have you done?
You’ve littered the Land with your things by the tonne,
Now you dare to discard what you no longer crave
And leave it to rot in a watery grave.
But rot it does not, for billions of years
This stuff won’t simply disappear.
Enough of this nonsense – it’s time to stop!
You can’t bury your crap in my world – you cannot!
It’s strangling and tangling the whales and the turtles
Suffocating them, filling their bellies with nurdles.
Particles of petrochemical waste
Leaves a decidedly nasty aftertaste.
Within the folds of time Mankind is young
Like a child you’re still learning your right from your wrong.
But I think you forgot
(or perhaps you’re losing the plot?)
I’ll remind you: you’re a visitor – nothing more
It’s not right to destroy what is not rightly yours.
So, please, Mankind, hear my warning – take heed
Or we’ll all drown in your shitty convenience greed
In your rubbishy, self-inflicted pollution
Put your heads together NOW and find a solution!’
LLyr disappeared beneath the sea of plastic
Muttering, ‘This situation couldn’t get more drastic.’
A polystyrene cup floats by on the swell
‘Will the fools listen – I guess time will tell.
Their actions will decide their fate
So they’d better act now, before it’s too bloody late.’


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The Little Things


I resolutely resolve to not try and change a thing about myself during the next year and instead quietly enjoy my small moments of achievements.

Why must I feel bad for not losing that extra stone in weight that I’ve been carrying for that last six- years? Or for not working harder – or not cleaning out my fridge!

We’re all quite good at disappointing ourselves for not reaching our goals and not so good at congratulating ourselves for the smaller and more subsequently far braver things that we do on a daily basis.

We might take time out of a busy day to enjoy a quiet moment, despite the disapproval it might receive, and still manage to feel bad about it, or politely decline a request to do something (after all, it’s okay to say no) and feel guilty that we’ve let somebody down. Instead, why can we not look upon these things as positive actions of self-preservation and give ourselves a pat on the back?

So, this year, lets congratulate ourselves for the small things we do manage to do, rather than burden ourselves with unrealistic expectations.

I should’ve been working on my novel this morning, but instead i’ve been pondering and writing this post.


I’ve just written 208 words this morning before the day has begun. Good on me!

Small achievements should never go unnoticed.

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Mash Stories Shortlist

Yippee! One of my short stories has just made it onto the Mash Stories Competition Shortlist!

Mash Stories is a competition where writers can submit a short 500 word story which must include the three randomly selected words. This time it was Mug, Happiness and Converter

When I first discovered this competition last year, it caused a bit of a stir among members of my writing group. Mainly because once you submit your story it goes off to the judges to be considered for the shortlist. You then get feedback from the judges on your writing: why it didn’t make it through, things to improve or change.

When you write, feedback from a neutral source is such a valuable thing. So quite a few members of our group entered and some were shortlisted one actually went on to win that round, he then became a Mash Stories judge (as did another member of our group).

I’ve entered seven stories in total – this is the first one to be shortlisted!

Needless to say I feel I have reached a happy milestone.

To read The Last Wish, follow this link:

The Last Wish

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Patience: virtue or vice?


Okay, I admit I am not the most patient person in the world. I’m the sort of person who eats the whole bar of chocolate in one sitting, presses buttons on a new device to see what happens rather than reading the manual first and says inappropriate things that pop into my head, kicking myself later for not thinking before opening my damn mouth.

Ordinarily this is not a problem for me, and only mildly annoying for my nearest and dearest, however when it comes to writing a novel, well… lets just say my patience is being thoroughly tested.

Being a creator of most things arty, i’m used to the process of immersing yourself into a project and coming out the other side with something physical that people can touch or see.

Writing, however, is very different.

Most people are not aware that I spend a good proportion of my day, and night, either writing or thinking about plot and characters or rejigging scenes. I find I get inspiration in the weirdest places and usually have to retain the information until I can find can pen and paper to scribble it down. It’s like I have a permanent film playing in my head that reveals itself to me in dribs and drabs and I’m the vessel from which the words pour.

I create characters that grow an evolve and end up taking me on a journey.

When I came out of the closet as a writer, it was a huge relief to acknowledge that part of me, I felt so liberated I wanted to dance through the streets singing:

“Yippee, hooray, I’m free…. I’m free!

I’m gonna write and write and write until my fingers bleed!”

…or something along those lines, anyway.

And I do – write and write, that is, in between being a mum and all the other things that have to happen in the day.

Mostly though I’m left with an overwhelming feeling of frustration as I file my writing away again in a little folder on my desktop. I want things to happen quicker, I want to give you my book and for you to read it. I want you to laugh and to cry and get swept away in the world I am creating.

Oh patience, virtuous patience – how I do love thee!



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The Moment


Once upon a time a moment was born.

It waited patiently for someone to acknowledge its existence – but sadly, the moment was always missed.

Until one day, someone a bit like you, reached out and grasped the moment passionately with both hands.

‘Why do you seize me so?’ the moment asked.

‘Because you are precious,’ someone replied.

And the moment, feeling so utterly appreciated by someone, became golden.

The golden moment, shared its radiant glow with someone, until they both felt contentment, making every other moment, they had ever experienced, however dull and insignificant seem worthwhile.

‘Yes,’ the golden moment whispered to someone.

And, in return, someone smiled a knowing smile.

Together they lingered, knowing only peace, until eventually the golden moment passed, becoming a beautiful memory, caught in the edges of someone’s smile- twinkling like a star in someone’s eye.

Someone – a bit like you.

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Winner of the Writers & Artists Killer Fiction competiton

A month ago, I entered the start of a crime novel I’ve been working on, ‘Golden Hour’, into a crime/thriller competition run by Artists & Writers.

Now, i’ve entered quite a few competitions over the last year, so I wasn’t expecting to actually win!

Not only was my story chosen by agent, Diana Beaumont above hundreds of others, but I also got the chance to attend the ‘Writing Crime and Thriller Fiction conference’ last month in Bloomsbury house. It was great day, packed with information on writing crime fiction.

I have had great feedback on my novel so far – which has been a welcome boost to my confidence as a writer.

So, for now, I now plan to continue with ‘Golden Hour’ with a view to submitting to agents next year…watch this space!

If you would like to read my winning entry, follow this link:

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Bag Man


Nobody listened to the Bag Man. He moved like a ghost through the busy streets clutching discarded images from screwed up newspapers he’d rescued from bins. His face was permanently distorted, masked with terror. His sunken eyes wept as he tried desperately to make contact with another human being.

But avoid him they did.

For to acknowledge him, they would have to gaze upon the images of children washed up on beaches – their small bodies lying half naked, dead on the shore.

‘What’s happened to humanity and compassion?’ he would wail into their faces. ‘Are we not all human beings to be cherished and loved? Shame on you for turning away!’

And yet, turn away they did.

The Bag Man was arrested for disturbing the peace. His pictures were sealed in a plastic bag and  locked away in drawer.

Out of sight – out of mind.

He took no comfort in the knowledge that the newspapers would have more tomorrow.

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I’ve won!

I’m very excited as my short flash fiction Unspoken has just won the latest Ad Hoc competition.

This gains me free entry into another Flash Fiction competition. But more than that – it’s a great confidence booster!

If you’ve missed it, or to read it again, click here

My latest piece ‘The Game’ is on the Ad Hoc website open to fresh votes!

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Ad Hoc Fiction

Most weeks I enter a short piece of writing into a competition Ad Hoc Fiction.

This week my offering is called Perspective, follow the link and scroll down the page to read and vote.

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If you are reading this, you have arrived on my new site where I will be keeping you up to date with my progress on my first novel ‘Second Star to the Right’ along with some of my other writing projects. I welcome your comments and feedback, so please get in touch and follow me,

Best Wishes


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