the crone

opening the door to ideas

My cat Jinx was found dead about 2 weeks ago. He loved being brushed, and I tweeted about collecting his fur in a pot, joking that ‘I could make another cat’. Not such a joke now. But I used his fur to make the Heart of Jinx. Then I made a cuddly Jinx out of …

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People often ask me, “Hey! How do you get all your creative work?” and “Why are you always in demand for copywriting?” and even, “Can you get me a job?” The answers are simple, if not overly useful. Ideally, you have to be very good at copywriting. Then, you should be really, really nice work …

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There’s something very sad happening in the creative industry. I’ve hesitated to talk about, because I hate to sound bitter. But here goes. It’s about the hiring strategy of ad agencies.  And before you assume this is all about me, it isn’t. I am not looking for employment. (Unless it’s really, really good. In which …

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I am writing poetic pieces on the fleeting joys of family life. Whilst missing out on my own family. And being a moaning haggard harridan when I do see them. I am prostituting my craft and soul for people to red line it, scar it. Chop it. Hurt it. Ah, poor me! I am but …

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I am not keen on the UK government’s decision to go ahead with a hugely expensive, contaminating nuclear power station when clean, low-cost, renewable energy seems so much more foward-thinking. By the time it’s built Hinkley Point’s technology will be almost redundant. So I wrote this — with apologies to Messrs Morrissey and Marr.

This ad has made me a bit angry today. Not just the fact that it shows the arrogance of a company (person?) who doesn’t care enough about the written word to check spellings. But because somewhere, some place, some poor uncertain, shy writer may actually PAY THIS PERSON TO REVIEW THEIR WORK. And that is very sad. …

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Been sharing some lovely unintentional Ivor Cutler poems. These make me smile. “Slippers For Feet” “Five Cakes. Eight Cakes. Served With A Jug of Cream.”   If you have never heard any Ivor Cutler poetry, and you love words and absurdity, you might like to discover more. Life in A Scottish Living Room Squeeze Bees Hello! How are …

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I suppose I ought to write something. Just so it looks like I am still around. So. Here it is. This. Also. This. When I’m feeling suitably writerly miserable, when all avenues to creativity seem blocked, when hard-fought written words are thrown away like litter, the cheery rhetorical question of this ad makes me want …

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There was a zombie woman on my early morning train. Her face was a skeleton. Smooth tea-coloured skin stretched over dry bones. Milky blank eyes of faint cataract blue. Colourless dry wisps of hair stuck to the dome of her skull. Her maw was opened. Dark. Like a tunnel. The dry lips strained. Mouthing. She stared forward. Focusing …

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Whales. Poor whales. Poor dead sperm whales, to be specific. Six of them have beached themselves on the east shores of the UK over the last few weeks. I don’t have any theories as to why they washed up. They were still alive (well, at first) so it wasn’t something as basic as their mighty …

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