Nothing to say

‘You’re late,’ the new book says. It is seated at my desk, sleeves rolled up, a mug of steaming coffee … More

The new book

It is drizzling. The house is empty, the road outside quiet. It’s just as the book said it would be, … More

‘Was it good?’ the book says. ‘Was what good?’ ‘What you’ve been up to,’ the book says. ‘When?’ ‘You know … More

The terrible poem starts with an idea. The terrible poem knows it is the best thing that has been written. … More

Tomorrow I will be taking part at the Wenlock Poetry Festival in an event with Roz Goddard. We will be … More

Ordinary morning sounds from outside drift into the room where I am working. Birdsong. A car being parked. The noise … More

‘You looked, didn’t you?’ the book says. ‘What?’ I say. ‘Before you started this.’ ‘What?’ ‘At your stats. You couldn’t … More

‘What are you waiting for?’ the book says. ‘I’m not ready,’ I say. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I’m not ready. … More

The book does not know I have left the house without it. Though it is sunny and warm I have … More

I am having a clear out. I am putting my notebooks, drafts and scraps of paper into a box file. … More

Nothing much is happening. The book has gone out for the evening, leaving me alone, with, well, just me. I … More

‘I love this time of year. Easter, the Masters. My birthday.’ ‘Does that mean we can expect the traditional order … More

The book is already seated at the desk when I enter my office. Papers and books are strewn over every surface. … More

The book is unwell. It sends its best wishes to all readers who have been asking after it. It may … More

‘I’m going away for a bit.’ ‘Can I come?’ says the book. ‘I was hoping to leave you at home,’ … More

‘Wake up!’ The book is shaking me by the shoulder. It is very dark, no sign of light at the … More

‘People are talking you know.’ It is mid-afternoon and I have crashed out for a nap. The book has come … More

I wrote a book with my coat I wrote with the coat of my childhood and I wrote with … More