Thursday, September 30, 2010


I follow the baby around, wondering when he will learn what is dangerous and what is fine, how to be safe in the world.

Then I realise that knives will always be sharp, stairs will always be steep, and his bones will always be breakable.

I think I'm a really morbid parent, in between being quite crap at it.

Anyway, today I am waiting for the babe to wake from his nap so I can strap him to my chest and start to move pictures into the half-finished studio.

Tomorrow I will open my doors (fnar fnar, thank you) for the world - who I am fairly sure won't be in a big rush to come along. 'Publicity disaster, total fiasco, the worst organised event in history' - this is what they will be saying years from now! (I'm not being self deprecating, I'm actually being passive aggressive towards the fuckwit that [didn't] organise the event.])

Ah, my glittering career. Isn't it pretty? From a distance, this car-wreck affair looks quite glamorous, no? No? How about if you squint?

'Life is a shipwreck, but we sing in the lifeboats' - Voltaire - quote of the week, via Shanna Germain, who would certainly be my desert island companion of choice.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

It is goode to be frugall

To live in ane smalle house, with out accoutrements and unnecessarie embellishment. Tis goode to do with out sofa nor easy chaires, to sitte on the lap of one’s beloved. Tis goode, when done with the dayes work, to retire to bed, for there be no where else to go in ane smalle house. Each may warm each other by the application of hands, touche of skin and even perchance mouthes, if blankets on the bed of one’s beloved be thin and thread bare. Lament not an empty bellie, for it is said ye who is hungry fuck-es the hardest.

From a fragment of manuscript found, sorry, founde in the local Abbey. Probably.

This week I am hand-correcting brochures, sealing plaster, laying floors and trying to balance my tea intake with enough physical labour that I don't go all freakyweirdy. Back soon with more stuff!

Monday, September 20, 2010


I woke up early this morning, crept out of bed and walked silently out of the house. Left you curled warm in your sleep cocoon. I wore only my sleeping T-shirt, the thin cotton one with the snags and the dropped hem, trailing red thread. I walked out into the garden where the dew was heavy on the grass. My bare feet were soaked, so cold my bones ached. Cut grass stuck to my ankles. Shivers ran up my legs. No-one else was up, not even the birds. Everything was perfectly still. The air slid over me like a river.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Daylight Saving Time

In thirty years I have learnt how to kill time, spend it, waste it, mark it and make it. I have quality time set aside that I keep a careful watch over. There are rush hours crammed with crowds. Sick days written off. I have down time, like exhaled smoke.
For two weeks in the summer I vacate my life and go elsewhere to pass the time, frittering it profligately, tossing hours into fountains, baking whole days in hot, dusty landscapes. It’s then that I envy the wastrels, sitting silently on benches, watching the world pass with their mouths open.

Silent movie

I have grown skilled at moving without sound. When I get up from the bed and leave you behind, I rise like a ghost, curling silently, pulling myself into space and rolling and dropping to the floor without taking a breath, rustling the sheets, creaking the wooden bed-frame, thudding on the floor, letting my joints snap, or crying out loud.
I look back as I walk away, to watch your rosy mouth, your closed forget-me-not eyes. I watch your chest rise and fall. Such a small movement, one breath after the other. Just mouthfuls of air holding up the sky.

Monday, September 13, 2010

A day (or two) late and a dollar short ...

Happy Birthday the lovely, sweet and kind Danielle!

I'm sorry I missed it - and I hope you had a wonderful day full of pizza, beer and happy thoughts.



Thursday, September 09, 2010

A Todo

Like a dodo, only very much not dead.

My todo list is choking me. I want very much to keep posting flashes here, but I'm starting to hyperventilate lately so I'm pausing.

I have an art show in ooh, about three weeks. It's an open studio, and the studio is just a bit not actually built yet. Guuuuulp. Once we've done that, me and my magical, wonderful boyfriend, we will juggle a baby while actually painting some pictures hah no we won't. I will do some simple drawings on greaseproof paper.

I am trying to do my homework. It's hard, and I love it.

I am also trying to work out how to self publish a lovely little POD book of flashes. Wow, publishing. Not so much hard as really, really dull. Tax forms and ISBNs and blah. This is why it's easier to get someone else to publish you.

Oh yes, I may have a shot at a new publisher. If I can just knock out a novel over the next few weeks.

Am I writing this post just to scare myself, or am I actually trying to keep you lovely people up to date with what's happening in my life? Hm.

Onwards! Upwards! Hurrah!

Thursday, September 02, 2010

Uncommonly sexy


Here's a lovely review of Alison's Wonderland, from Ashley Lister at Erotica Revealed. Here's what he has to say about 'The Red Shoes (Redux)':

Characteristic of her[mine! he means mine!] style for making the commonplace uncommonly sexy, and delivering sultry, poetic prose.

As my tutor would say: Yowza!

Wednesday, September 01, 2010


I arrived in Madrid already half cut and reeking of lavender; dazzled by movement, aeroplanes and the subway lights. By the time I reached Puerta del Sol my bag was hanging open, purse gone. Lost, penniless and already forgetting the handful of Spanish that I thought I knew, I called my mother reverse charges. ‘Wire me money,’ I said, when I really wanted to weep and ask her to come and get me. There was an echo on the line, one of those awful delay-lays that make-ake you hesitate-ate to speak more-or. I missed home for the first time ever.

Hm. Madrid number one is in Frenzy: 60 Stories of Sudden Sex. Some random blogger trashed that story rather horribly, and now it feels a bit tender to think of. But maybe tender is good.

Maybe some time soon as I have no time what the fuck am I doing here you should see my to-do list maybe some time soon I will get back to posting proper blogs and fiction. For now this is what I'm doing. Crawling in the dark. Throwing words ahead of me.

It makes me nervous. Maybe nervous is good.

Picking Apples in Hell

Sex in the City: Dublin v. 4

Just received my copy of 'Sex in the City' Dublin! Hoorah.

Lots of lovely reads to be read in here, and it's great to be sharing pages with Craig!

Each of the stories in these books has a page of background from the author. They're fascinating to read, but I'm a little bit freaky about my story blurb thing. I wrote it when J was 5 days old. I'd had about two minutes sleep in a week and got up at 5 a.m. to try and write down my thinking behind the story.

Mostly, I don't read my work once published. Too scared. Like I said, a bit freaky.

Anyway, I like the title of this one. I hope I did it justice. I also hope I did a passable Irish accent - and that the characters ring true. It's a fairly intricate plot, for me. I hope it works. And I promise there are no leprechauns in it.

Well. Maybe one. An ironic one. But probably not.

; P

Table manners

We sit at the kitchen table to eat. I have a taste for salt, lately, and I’m cramming buttered rice crackers into my mouth, handfuls of food, not caring what goes on my face or in my lap. Our conversation is timetable negotiation; I offer you an hour, you haggle for more. Who will do the work and who will do the watching. Neither of us is willing to give in. I cut an overripe pear into slices. At last we can’t argue any more. I lean over to undo your trousers and kiss your stomach. The schedule is wrecked.