PhD Writing

Walking out on Humber Bridge

Empty carpark two flights of concrete steps set into the steep bank then more-than-head-high railings: the bridge reaches over brown-topped trees; dual carriageway. Thick concrete fingers poke the air then railings drop to waist height. Walkway one-way out over the shoreline. Look back: disused windmill armless, blackshocked with window-squares of white. Above, in traffic lanes …

The Songbird

Winter: flawless, treacherous. Sleep will not come. The emperor rises, watches moonlit snow from his porcelain palaced chamber. He’s hugged in wide furs but the stench of wolf hangs about him and these pelts are streaked with the blood of fresh-kill. He throws open a window for the melt of snowflake on his tongue. Rough …

All About Whitby

Please note: this extract may contain language that some might find offensive. How do you see the north? Does it come to you redbrick-built, with satanic mills – vast edifices belching, roaring under hellish red-smoked skies? Regular churn and clatter of weaving looms – Spinning Jenny, Arkwright’s Water Frame – Arkwright! There’s a name! Where there’s …