It's A Sheep's Life ... Baa

  It’s been a while since I’ve blogged because I’ve been swimming lengthy edits through my novel (and still going), but on a rare day of coming up for air and doom scrolling through Facebook, a video popped up of Rick Astley talking about the making of the video for his smash track, Never Gonna Give You Up. It transpires it was a bit of a Heath Robinson affair with buying his own clothes for the shoot, self-choreographed dance moves driven by fear and locals shouting to turn the music down. He said the whole experience was ‘ridiculous’. However, I loved that video back in 1987 and would watch it at any opportunity when it was on Top of the Pops. I even had a poster of Rick from Jackie magazine in my room at South Bank Polytechnic. But he was a more than that. I admired the carefully styled quiffs for Rick, and even the actor Rupert Graves. This androgynous mix of cream macs, roll necks and wide leg jeans that cinched in at the ankle, was my staple in my first year as a degree s...

  After the euphoria of graduating from my MA, I’ve had a massive dump of realisation that I have a novel to finish. To date, I have three more chapters to write, one of which is a zombie fight showdown, where … spoiler alert … one of my key characters snuffs it. There is also a gruesome dream sequence and a heartfelt scene that will have me weeping as I write it. I’m often asked why I write in the genre I find, personally, so frightening. Paul Tremblay, an American horror writer who is the master of creeping dread, openly admits he’s scared of everything, and because of that, he implants his fears into his novels. For me, it’s the fear of societal anarchy that feeds my dystopian horror. Growing up, I was a secret horror fiction fan, stashing them between my poetry library book loans long before I started wearing black. However, going to university, leaving London to work in Portsmouth, and then having a baby left me with little time to read fiction. It wasn’t until I joined th...

So, I’ve only gone and got an MA in Writing Genre Fiction, and with a distinction. And like a feather in a puddle of mud, it’s still sinking in. I grew up believing that poems always had to rhyme, horror fiction was the poor relative of the literary world and that writing stories was just a hobby, not a way of life. But Edinburgh Napier university pushed all that to one side with a mahoosive shovel. It wasn’t easy at times (not helped by breaking my elbow four weeks into the MA), but they’ve nurtured self-belief, and given me the skills to take my writing to another level. I can't wait for the next chapter. So, if you’re thinking of eustressing your creative writing … opportunities are waiting just for you.                                                             (Photo  © Paula Gilfillan. All Ri...

A recent late-night radio show asked if listeners had ever been given strange presents. This was sparked by the producer of the show admitting that her brother had bought her a weight-loss drink for her birthday. I remembered one Christmas being given by my Great Aunty, disposable toilet seat covers for public toilets. But I loved that present –  she was a practical person who loved baking and her dog, as well as having a wicked sense of humour. And so, whenever I use a public toilet, I always think of her (but the disposable covers have long gone). And it was also a story worthy of being read out live on air by the DJ that night. What present have you been given that was as endearing as the person who gave it to you? (Photo by Ekaterina Shevchenko on Unsplash )

You never know when frisky seagulls, a turd left in a pair of pyjamas and a nun in a hurry will lead you to writing award winning poetry. The writer Lesley Glaister, talks about using ‘memory refracted through imagination, and often unconsciously, into something new’ mixing it with more recent events. She calls it ‘the real stuff of fiction’, giving emotional punch and ‘truth’ to our work (thanks to Anderson’s Creative Writing book for this). So, enough with the theory. She’s basically saying that we take our past experiences, chuck them in a mixer and blend them with more recent memories to give us impactful and emotional fiction. A lot of my comedic work is based on the peculiarities of real-life events, but fictionally masked. The following three poems that I recently had published on Witcraft , are three such examples: One Night Stand Seagull was inspired by witnessing two gulls ‘getting it on’ on a rooftop while I invigilated Higher Modern Studies. Nun In A Nissan Micra ...

In my late 20s, I found myself in an abusive relationship. It was unexpected, for he began as the perfect partner; as they all do. And after each event, he apologised and said he would change. Through the support of many friends, I eventually saw and felt the impact he was having on me, and found the courage to leave the relationship. I’m truly grateful to them. But it took time to process this experience with support from Women’s Aid, and communicate it through the only medium that brings me comfort: creative writing. But the poem still lingered in my file manager. A chance reading of a PhD thesis that discussed domestic violence gave me the impetus to share my poem with a supportive audience: the 2024 Edinburgh Napier University’s 16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence campaign (in support of the same-named UN Women campaign) to help raise awareness and inspire change. Unexpectedly, I won first prize in the creative writing section. It was the final validation I needed. I’...

I recently came across a great BBC interview with a young female scientist that's so positive and affirming for any aspiring young women considering a career in science. For me, it was the enthusiasm of my young female biology and chemistry teachers at Walthamstow Senior High School that gave me the final confidence to apply to London South Bank University to study a BSc(Hons) degree. However, when I started work, I didn't look like a 'typical' scientist when I rocked up to meetings as their scientific specialist in a bright green suit, heels and a pony tail. And the 'cockney' accent certainly threw them too. It took dedication to professional development, support from my line management to present my scientific research (including refusals to take minutes at meetings), as well as finally putting my BSc(Hons) and MSc after my name on a signature block (as all the men did), but I got there. I still remember my daughter's school friends asking me if I re...

While clearing out a bedroom drawer, I came across my old camera. The last time I used it was on my honeymoon in New Zealand, but I’d never had the film developed because after taking the final shot, the film failed to fully rewind into its canister.  Yes, the camera is the old-fashioned kind, but was fancy at the time because it automatically rewound the film into the canister at the last shot. Despite changing the battery when it happened, the camera still didn’t rewind the film. If I force open its back as it is now, then a fair few of the photographs will be ruined. It's moved house once and has sat in my bedside drawer for 22 years. That’s procrastination on a mega scale and far surpasses my usual procrastination traits.  But I thought it couldn’t be fixed, and I didn’t want to throw the camera and its precious memories away either. It includes images of the elusive yellow-eyed penguins at dusk on the South Island, the city of Dunedin and its links to Edinburgh (and the...

Christmas seems to come earlier each year and then sweeps in at the last minute like a velveteen cloak smelling of cinnamon, roast potatoes and … pine toilet cleaner. I’m not prepared for the Christmas decoration aisle in August, and I don’t like pine toilet cleaner. To get me feeling more Christmas Elf than Grinch, I penned two flash fiction pieces for Friday Flash Fiction’s Christmas competition who this year, insisted we include the terms ‘peace’ and ‘goodwill’ in our stories. So, I hope you enjoy my small scribblings of Mirror Mirror and The Elf Effect , and although I wasn’t picked to win the prize of $50, I had fun writing them. By the way, no mirrors or partridges were hurt in the writing of these whimsical yarns. Merry Christmas, and hope you have one free of pine toilet cleaner.                                                 ...

Since moving to Scotland in 2013, I’ve seen more wildlife than the entire 45 years I lived in England.  Seriously. I’m not just making this up for the sake of fiction. While out walking or driving in the daytime, I’m regularly treated to the common garden birds and crows, but spread some love in the form of oats and uneaten rice cakes, and the local woodpecker comes knocking. Rabbits frolic on the lawn as mummy rabbit teaches them … rabbity hops and cute nose twitches. There are the toads that can leap across the entire road before we pass them at 45 miles an hour. And if you’re really lucky, a red squirrel will scamper up a nearby tree – with a nut clamped in their jaws, ear tufts swaying in the breeze. Driving home late at night, a different kind of clientele frequent the roads and pathways as if they’re challenging you to a round of the retro 80s computer game about a boy on a push bike who’s thwarted at every opportunity by cars, animals and bins as he tries to deliver his ...

I’ve been quiet on the blog front. Studying for my MA, breaking my elbow, and then within the classic writer’s rule of three, I had little spare time and energy to blog. However, I recently bought two beautiful notebooks in TK Maxx (one with Chinese artwork and the other a hare) to encourage me to journal again. I decided that one was to be notes on the novel I’m currently writing, and the other, a travel journal. I used to do the latter in my 20s and 30s, but somewhere in the business of life I fell out of love with a handwritten record of any holiday or event, leaving my photos in the Google ether to tell a story instead. I’d gone to TK Maxx with the intention to buy photo frames, and after circling the shelves numerous times, I saw a rack of notebooks inspired by British artists, instead. Distracted, I ended up picking two for me, and one for my daughter. And then I chose two photo frames. I queued up at the cash tills to be served by a worker who had seen me frittering around the p...

The run-up to Christmas is always a time of reflection for me. How the year has gone, what I’ve got to look forward to over the coming month, but also fondly remembering those we used to celebrate with. The long dark nights, log fires, and a steaming cup of tea often inspire me to write ghost stories about the return of the ones we love. I hope this short story gets you in the spirit. The Christmas Habitué It was Christmas Eve and Florence heard a gentle click of the front door and then the stamp of snowy boots. ‘Derek, that you?’ she said. ‘Hello Ma!’ he said, picture framed by the doorway in his army uniform which had been pressed to an inch of his life, ‘could murder a cuppa!’ As he rubbed his ashen hands above the red coals of the fire, she shuffled to the kitchen in a pair of oversized green woollen socks. Returning with a teapot for two, he was gone; just like every Christmas. She smiled and then cried, just like she always did. (This story was first published by Friday Flash Fic...

Stories are a beautiful blend of truth and fiction, and when something comes from your own life experience it can give a realistic heartfelt atmosphere that will, hopefully, resonate with a reader. My latest short story, Finding My Beat, is a contemporary realism tale of a young woman recently split from an abusive boyfriend who returns to live with her parents. Grieving for the life she had of euphoric nights dancing to rave music, she discovers that a new life is only just the flip side of a vinyl. But looking for a place for this story was initially difficult. Thanks to mentoring by Carol McKay 2023 Scriever for The Federation of Writers (Scotland), I was able to improve the story and gain the confidence that it was worthy of a home other than on my PC. Thinking outside the box of traditional webzines, I discovered Rave One , a British rave music website. They were actively looking for blog articles and after sending them Finding My Beats, they offered to publish it. But Stu ...

Recently I pondered the alternative uses of a bin, and came up with the following: A filing cabinet, a bowl to be sick in, a cupboard for the food I hate, a knight’s helmet for a toddler, a trap for a slinky spider, a shoe for a drunk, and a trash can for an American. How versatile are bins, eh? (Photo by Taylor Flowe on Unsplash )

I was asked earlier this year to be a judge for the website Friday Flash Fiction’s writing competitions. I was delighted and honoured that I would be able to read and review the many entries that I had once only been a participant in, and it was indeed a real treat. My favourite in the 2023 Andrew Siderius competition was The Apple by Alex Blaine and although it made the shortlist, it didn’t win. However, it’s a story that has never left me. And here’s my review as a judge too: 'The first sentence of this story hooked me in from the start because it set the scene for the reader immediately. The writer had considered language choice throughout the piece because it conveyed strong imagery, a sense of place, and visualisation of the characters. The last line was equally striking with an analogy of a golden apple with a rotten core to an SS soldier. I shuddered with fear for the elderly man as the story finished, leaving the reader to imagine (with dread) the outcome of this act of he...

My cat injured his ‘knee’ six weeks ago. Yes, who knew cats have knees, but they do. The vet’s advice was to keep him in the house, in one room, for at least a month in order for his cruciate ligament to heal. Huh! My cat loves the outdoors. In fact, and especially during the summer, he spends more time outdoors than indoors; only returning for food and a quick pet. So, we compromised – he was kept indoors throughout the house initially for a month and we now keep him in just overnight. So, at 4am every day, we have our usual routine; regular as hands on a battery-powered cat wristwatch. He starts by panting his dead mouse-tainted breath in my face and then sits down next to my pillow. He’s usually satisfied with a few strokes, but if I stop, he will walk onto my bedside table and sniff my diffuser – nonchalantly dipping his belly hair into my glass of water as he does so. If that fails to get me up, he then walks over the top of me like an elephant wearing stilettoes. Having had...

My daughter left home to live in America last year and misses our cat so much that I have to send her regular updates about him – either by photo, text or call − to reduce her catsickness. A highlight of these mewsletters is ‘silly sleeping position of the day’. Here’s a few examples:   They all look incredibly awkward, but to him, they’re a show of affection towards me (paws pointing towards me), that he feels at ease with me (paws stretched out), and that he’s safe in my company (back to me). If I tried to copy him, I think I would fall out of bed or wake up with a sore shoulder. And who are we to judge his sleeping position when he could be equally perplexed as to why we sleep on our backs with our arms above our heads? But his eccentricities give my daughter a sense of connection to home and to a much-loved cattastic family member. So ... never underestimate the power of a pa...