#To this day theres still one massive rock on the property. It was most likely too big to get rid of. Its almost the size of a small house

[mrfoox]

Ok I've said it before but if I'd somehow get access to a couple millions I'd use it to fix up my grandma's child home

It was the first place my old grandparents owned their own land after many years going from different yards to work as staff.

The house is in bad shape but there's so much history there I wish I could preserve it

[thicctoasts]

Now Entering: Breezy, West Virginia

CHAPTER ONE

"5 coffees please, the others will be here soon"

"Any creamer hun?"

She sighed knowingly, "yes, lots please. Thank you."

The pudgy waitress walked off with her notepad, never once looking up, or if she did, wasnt phased by what she saw.

She returned in no time with the coffees and the girl at the table muttered a thank you before turning to the jar of sugar at the table. Although she did lift the sugar with her hand, her spoon levitated as she flicked her wrist, stirring the sweet little rocks into the bitter dark void of her Waffle House mug.

Wait.

An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Who was watching her?

For the most part, she was alone, although the two men in the corner booth, obviously blitzed out of their skulls, gave her little reassurance.

"RAHH!"

Two arms wrapped around her middle suddenly from the booth behind her, causing her to yelp and send the spoon rocketing into the soft ceiling tiles, embedding itself with a soft 'thunk'.

A fit of laughter erupted from the booth out of her field of view, but given the wheezes, she could Identify that laugh nearly anywhere.

Still rigid from the startle, she turned around and glared at the figure writhing with laughter in the booth. "Bunny what the Devil is wrong with you!?"

Bunny wiped a tear from her eye, "HAHA gotcha K! Man, for a malevolent being you sure are easy to scare."

Bunny swung around into the booth beside K, placed a kiss on her cheek (a platonic ritual between the two that has been present for years) and picked up a laminated menu.

"The others going to be here soon?" Bunny asked, eyes scanning over the options of different waffles available.

"Yeah, Cyphus and Rose and Nola are all coming together tonight." K panned, taking a long draw of her coffee.

The waffle house was at the very edge of the small town, next to the truck stop where vacationers and haulers would stop for lunch and gas and be on their way. There wasn't much else in this area of town, no traffic lights, no other buildings, just the one main road that went in and out of Breezy, West Virginia in the span of about 10 minutes. Being close to 2am, however, the town and all its edges were virtually abandoned.

The cowbell above the door thunked, signaling someone else was here, and judging by the Crowd entering from the black of night, it was exactly who the two girls were waiting for. Nola finished tying her red-violet hair into a braid as she entered the threshold, careful not to knock her antlers on the sides. "Ew who let you two in here?" She joked as she took a seat on the bench across from the girls, immediately grabbing 3 creamers. Rose and Cyphus followed, Cyphus slithered to the waiting area and grabbed a chair to place at the end of the table. Her half-snake, half-human body never sat well in booth benches anyway. Her mottled skin seemed to enhance in hue and vibrancy as the plain black coffee passed her lips and she cradled the cup between her hands. Rose poured one creamer into her coffee and threw it back like a shot of hard liquor. It was often a hard gamble if Rose didnt have copious amounts of caffeine coursing through her veins at any time of the day. "You know Magic cant protect you from cardiac arrest." Bunny mumbled into her barely touched coffee. She raised her eyebrows, and motioned her half empty cup in Bunny's direction, "We'll see when we get to that point." She spoke with her characteristically neutral but sarcastic tone. The pudgy waitress came back, glanced up at the table consisting of 2 witches, a demon, a monster, and an urban legend, and sighed as she looked back at her notepad. Her fading red lipstick moved as she droned, "Yall ready to order?" As she tacked on her well meaning customer service smile.

The collection straight from a ghost hunting blog ordered their food, got refills on coffee, and began to wait. Bunny pulled off her dark red beanie- her favorite, as it fit her head and was made by a friend- and her large rabbit-like ears flopped out and instantly twitched, shook, and perked up. "Guys! You'll never believe what I found at the thrift store!" She shuffled in her small backpack under the table and pulled out a clunky, black box with a massive lense.

K's eyes widened as she grabbed the box, "Holy shit is that an old Polaroid? Does it still work?"

"Yeah it does! I took a couple practice pictures with some film I bought for it! It works great! I wonder why someone would donate this?" Bunny mused while pointing the camera at her friends and looking at them through the viewfinder.

The waitress came back with the plates of their food, Dark Lunch as the group called it, (past a midnight snack, but before breakfast), and glanced up at the camera before placing Nola's peanut butter waffle down in front of her.

"Polaroid, huh? Havent seen one of those in a long time. It still work?"

Bunny smiled and nodded as her ears flopped along with her head.

"I can take y'alls picture if ya want." She offered, taking the camera as it was handed to her. The mishmashed family grouped together over the table and smiled, some making silly smiles and the others looking more stoic and calm. Right as the camera clicked and flashed, the door-bell thanked, and all 12 eyes flashed to the two police officers in the doorway.

"Evening Brady, Finchworth."

"Evening Diane." The taller officer spoke, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his cropped, though curly red hair. The two officers took the seats at the bar, the shorter officer staying quiet and opting to smile and wave at the monster mash, rather than speak up like officer Brady. "Good evening ladies," Brady said with his comforting smile, "how darks the coffee tonight, Cyphus?"

Cyphus chuckled at the very accurate comment and mused, "almost as dark as the bags under your eyes, Brady!" He smirked and took a sip of the water the waitress brought him without asking. The entire town of Breezy knew Officer Brady was the glue holding the towns laws, domestic issues, and even acting as a court official. He works countless hours, works near constant overtime, and rarely has a day off.

The photo was finally printing out of the Polaroid. Bunny took it and shook it as she turned to her snake friend. "Oh leave him alone Cyph. Hes the hardest working soul in this town! Without him and the others Breezy would turn into Lord of the Flies in a matter of days." She exaggerated sarcastically, but as she did, it was always with a grain of truth. "Hey, Brady! You guys made it into our photo!" She teased as she held it up and turned around in her booth to face the policemen.

"Oh honey we're sorry, I could take another one for you? Hey is that a Polaroid?" He and officer Finchworth looked curiously at the little square photo.

"No, no! It's okay! You guys are here nearly as much as us, you belong in the picture too. It's good!" Bunny giggled and smiled at the officers and the photo before passing it around the table then placing it in her bag.

Around 10 minutes passed, filled with banter, chatter of the day, and consuming the unhealthy amount of cheese and hashbrowns they ordered collectively.

Seeing as everything was attended to, Diane, the waitress, leaned over the counter to speak to the men.

"Hows that case been going for you boys? Any new leads?"

"Not a one." Finchworth shook his head and placed his somewhat round chin in his hand. "Just another call about holes in the ground."

Rose looked up from her eggs and froze, listening.

"Another one?" Diane huffed, clearly empathizing with Finchworth's frustration.

Officer Brady piped in, "yeah! The Eugene's farm this time. Big, deep gashes in the crop fields that hurt the plants and the livestock. Everything is fine except the topsoil and earth is all charred and burnt. Sometimes the animals fall in and get hurt or they get burnt too. But theres no evidence of anybody. No kids with lighters or shovels, not a trace of anything."

The air grew tense as Officer Brady's eyes flitted over to lock with Rose's now wide ones.

"What?" Brady challenged, with fear edging his voice.

"That's been happening to other people too?" Rose swallowed heavily. "Its been happening on the edges of my property in the woods. My cats are afraid to go outside and my birds wont nest in the trees because they're afraid more will fall."

Officer Brady dug in his pocket for his notepad and pen.

"Rose, hun," he stood up and motioned to the door, eyes a little too wide for comfort, "step outside with me please."

[nebwv]

Now Entering: Breezy, West Virginia

CHAPTER ONE

“5 coffees please, the others will be here soon”

“Any creamer hun?”

She sighed knowingly, “yes, lots please. Thank you.”

The pudgy waitress walked off with her notepad, never once looking up, or if she did, wasnt phased by what she saw.

She returned in no time with the coffees and the girl at the table muttered a thank you before turning to the jar of sugar at the table. Although she did lift the sugar with her hand, her spoon levitated as she flicked her wrist, stirring the sweet little rocks into the bitter dark void of her Waffle House mug.

Wait.

An eerie feeling crept up her spine. Who was watching her?

For the most part, she was alone, although the two men in the corner booth, obviously blitzed out of their skulls, gave her little reassurance.

“RAHH!”

Two arms wrapped around her middle suddenly from the booth behind her, causing her to yelp and send the spoon rocketing into the soft ceiling tiles, embedding itself with a soft ‘thunk’.

A fit of laughter erupted from the booth out of her field of view, but given the wheezes, she could Identify that laugh nearly anywhere.

Still rigid from the startle, she turned around and glared at the figure writhing with laughter in the booth. “Bunny what the Devil is wrong with you!?”

Bunny wiped a tear from her eye, “HAHA gotcha K! Man, for a malevolent being you sure are easy to scare.”

Bunny swung around into the booth beside K, placed a kiss on her cheek (a platonic ritual between the two that has been present for years) and picked up a laminated menu.

“The others going to be here soon?” Bunny asked, eyes scanning over the options of different waffles available.

“Yeah, Cyphus and Rose and Nola are all coming together tonight.” K panned, taking a long draw of her coffee.

The waffle house was at the very edge of the small town, next to the truck stop where vacationers and haulers would stop for lunch and gas and be on their way. There wasn’t much else in this area of town, no traffic lights, no other buildings, just the one main road that went in and out of Breezy, West Virginia in the span of about 10 minutes. Being close to 2am, however, the town and all its edges were virtually abandoned.

The cowbell above the door thunked, signaling someone else was here, and judging by the Crowd entering from the black of night, it was exactly who the two girls were waiting for. Nola finished tying her red-violet hair into a braid as she entered the threshold, careful not to knock her antlers on the sides. “Ew who let you two in here?” She joked as she took a seat on the bench across from the girls, immediately grabbing 3 creamers. Rose and Cyphus followed, Cyphus slithered to the waiting area and grabbed a chair to place at the end of the table. Her half-snake, half-human body never sat well in booth benches anyway. Her mottled skin seemed to enhance in hue and vibrancy as the plain black coffee passed her lips and she cradled the cup between her hands. Rose poured one creamer into her coffee and threw it back like a shot of hard liquor. It was often a hard gamble if Rose didnt have copious amounts of caffeine coursing through her veins at any time of the day. “You know Magic cant protect you from cardiac arrest.” Bunny mumbled into her barely touched coffee. She raised her eyebrows, and motioned her half empty cup in Bunny’s direction, “We’ll see when we get to that point.” She spoke with her characteristically neutral but sarcastic tone. The pudgy waitress came back, glanced up at the table consisting of 2 witches, a demon, a monster, and an urban legend, and sighed as she looked back at her notepad. Her fading red lipstick moved as she droned, “Yall ready to order?” As she tacked on her well meaning customer service smile.

The collection straight from a ghost hunting blog ordered their food, got refills on coffee, and began to wait. Bunny pulled off her dark red beanie- her favorite, as it fit her head and was made by a friend- and her large rabbit-like ears flopped out and instantly twitched, shook, and perked up. “Guys! You’ll never believe what I found at the thrift store!” She pulled her small backpack out from under the table, unzipping it, and rifling through the contents of the seemingly bottomless bag. Carelessly, she pulled out a rubber ducky, a lighter, a hairbrush, a large kitchen knife- K happened to glance over the second the knife hit the table, eyes widening and her face stuttering in shock before teleporting the knife to who knows where before Bunny or the staff could notice. After a large collection of miscellaneous objects have been dumped on the table, Bunny lets out a small “aha!” and pulls out a clunky, black box with a massive lens.

K’s eyes widened as she grabbed the box, “Holy shit is that an old Polaroid? Does it still work?”

“Yeah it does! I took a couple practice pictures with some film I bought for it! It works great! I wonder why someone would donate this?” Bunny mused while pointing the camera at her friends and looking at them through the viewfinder.

The waitress came back with the plates of their food, Dark Lunch as the group called it, (past a midnight snack, but before breakfast), and glanced up at the camera before placing Nola’s peanut butter waffle down in front of her.

“Polaroid, huh? Havent seen one of those in a long time. It still work?”

Bunny smiled and nodded as her ears flopped along with her head.

“I can take y'alls picture if ya want.” She offered, taking the camera as it was handed to her. The mishmashed family grouped together over the table and smiled, some making silly smiles and the others looking more stoic and calm. Right as the camera clicked and flashed, the door-bell thanked, and all 12 eyes flashed to the two police officers in the doorway.

“Evening Brady, Finchworth.”

“Evening Diane.” The taller officer spoke, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his cropped, though curly red hair. The two officers took the seats at the bar, the shorter officer staying quiet and opting to smile and wave at the monster mash, rather than speak up like officer Brady. “Good evening ladies,” Brady said with his comforting smile, “how darks the coffee tonight, Cyphus?”

Cyphus chuckled at the very accurate comment and mused, “almost as dark as the bags under your eyes, Brady!” He smirked and took a sip of the water the waitress brought him without asking. The entire town of Breezy knew Officer Brady was the glue holding the towns laws, domestic issues, and even acting as a court official. He works countless hours, works near constant overtime, and rarely has a day off.

The photo was finally printing out of the Polaroid. Bunny took it and shook it as she turned to her snake friend. “Oh leave him alone Cyph. Hes the hardest working soul in this town! Without him and the others Breezy would turn into Lord of the Flies in a matter of days.” She exaggerated sarcastically, but as she did, it was always with a grain of truth. “Hey, Brady! You guys made it into our photo!” She teased as she held it up and turned around in her booth to face the policemen.

“Oh honey we’re sorry, I could take another one for you? Hey is that a Polaroid?” He and officer Finchworth looked curiously at the little square photo.

“No, no! It’s okay! You guys are here nearly as much as us, you belong in the picture too. It’s good!” Bunny giggled and smiled at the officers and the photo before passing it around the table then placing it in her bag.

Around 10 minutes passed, filled with banter, chatter of the day, and consuming the unhealthy amount of cheese and hashbrowns they ordered collectively.

Seeing as everything was attended to, Diane, the waitress, leaned over the counter to speak to the men.

“Hows that case been going for you boys? Any new leads?”

“Not a one.” Finchworth shook his head and placed his somewhat round chin in his hand. “Just another call about holes in the ground.”

Rose looked up from her eggs and froze, listening.

“Another one?” Diane huffed, clearly empathizing with Finchworth’s frustration.

Officer Brady piped in, “yeah! The Eugene’s farm this time. Big, deep gashes in the crop fields that hurt the plants and the livestock. Everything is fine except the topsoil and earth is all charred and burnt. Sometimes the animals fall in and get hurt or they get burnt too. But theres no evidence of anybody. No kids with lighters or shovels, not a trace of anything.”

The air grew tense as Officer Brady’s eyes flitted over to lock with Rose’s now wide ones.

“What?” Brady challenged, with fear edging his voice.

“That’s been happening to other people too?” Rose swallowed heavily. “Its been happening on the edges of my property in the woods. My cats are afraid to go outside and my birds wont nest in the trees because they’re afraid more will fall.”

Officer Brady dug in his pocket for his notepad and pen.

“Rose, hun,” he stood up and motioned to the door, eyes a little too wide for comfort, “step outside with me please.”

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger. The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

  Magdalena Ball

was born in New York City, where she grew up. After gaining an honours degree in English Literature from the City University of New York (CCNY), she moved to Oxford to study English Literature at a postgraduate level. After a brief return to the US, she then migrated to NSW Australia, where she now resides on a rural property with her husband and three children. While in Australia she received a Masters degree in Business from Charles Sturt University and a Marketing degree from the University of Newcastle. Magdalena runs the respected review site Compulsive Reader. Her short stories, editorials, poetry, reviews and articles have appeared in a wide number of printed anthologies and journals, and have won local and international awards for poetry and fiction. She is the author of the poetry books Unmaking Atoms, Repulsion Thrust and Quark Soup, the novels Black Cow, and Sleep Before Evening, a nonfiction book The Art of Assessment, and, in collaboration with Carolyn Howard-Johnson, the Celebration Series poetry books Sublime Planet, Deeper Into the Pond, Blooming Red, Cherished Pulse, She Wore Emerald Then, and Imagining the Future. She also runs a radio show, Compulsive Reader Talks. In addition to her writing, Magdalena is a Research Support Lead for a multinational company, and regardless of what she’s doing, will usually be found with a book or two in one form or another, sneaking time for reading.

The Interview

1. When and why did you begin to write poetry?

I honestly cannot remember a time when I wasn’t writing poetry. It feels very natural to me to express myself poetically, probably because I grew up with a lot of poetry around me, from Dr Seuss and Maurice Sendak to the songs my mother, who was in a rock band, was writing and singing or the poetry my uncle set to music including literary giants like Edna St Vincent Millay, Frank O’Hara, WB Yeats and Emily Dickinson. Poetry has always been part of my environment. I created a lot of handmade ‘zines, themed booklets and celebration poems for friends when I was growing up, but my first official publication was a full centre-page spread in a Greenwich village magazine while I was an undergraduate. I’ve lost the publication now though I kept the clipping for years, but the buzz of that first publication was pretty intense.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I think I’d have to say my parents. They both read to me a lot – and there was poetry in the children’s books I loved (Sendak and Seuss come to mind immediately because I also bought and read many books by those two authors for my own children, but there were many books I loved when I was very young like The Story of Ping by Marjorie Flack, Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, and Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crocket Johnson, all of which became introductions for me to what language can do as an art form, and how poetic language in particular can convey complex ideas in ways that jump past the intellect using rhythm, correspondence and imagery. I always had a visceral response to the books that were read to me, perhaps because my parents were very good readers and tended to act out the work and engage me in the process by talking to me about what they were reading, letting me fill in words and take over when I was ready. I’m deeply grateful to them for this early gift, which to be honest, I didn’t properly recognise until I was much older. Beyond being read to, I was pretty heavily influenced by my uncle, the composer Ricky Ian Gordon, who not only set a lot of superb poems to music – the sound of which formed a backdrop to my childhood as I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house where Ricky, who is only 10 years older than me, was growing up, but also he was always recommending and gifting books to me. I remember a book pack he gave to me when I was around 12 after he read some of my poems. I still have the books, which include Plath’s Ariel, Sexton’s Live or Die, Brecht’s Manuel of Piety and Rimbaud’s The Drunken Boat – none of which were age appropriate (!) but they certainly left a mark on me – like many young women I became a bit obsessed with Plath in particular for a while! Even now, when I see him he’ll usually recite a poem by heart to me from someone he personally knows or has recently discovered which will immediately blow me away.

3. How aware were and are you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t suffer from imposter syndrome regularly as a writer. However, I have always been a confident reader. The delight I take in other people’s words is something that has bolstered me since I was very (possibly too) young. I think it’s fair to say that nearly all writers, no matter how famous, need and love attentive readers and reading is my happy place. So whenever I don’t feel like I’m writer enough to match the company I’m keeping (and that company may be on the page rather than in the flesh though I have been lucky enough to meet some intimidatingly good writers), I’m always able to fall back on the joy of delighting in the words of others. It’s a great privilege I think to be able to just pay attention to art that is exquisite. The sheer joy of that deep engagement is something that I think transcends age, fame, and even genius. It’s connection that is very primal and powerful and wipes out jealousy, intimidation and domination. That said, I’m always actively seeking diversity in my reading as I’m conscious that the “dominating presence of older poets” is really partly determined by a canon that isn’t necessarily very diverse. I’m actively trying to read as diversely as possible, not only because it is healthy to be exposed to what challenges you, but also because nuance and exquisite beauty can often be found in under-represented writers that isn’t so easy to find in some of the bigger, more famous names that are treated as “classics”. So I will sometimes deliberately resist that domination.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I think it would be a rare day when I didn’t write something, but aside from that I just write whenever I can, often in brief snatches here and there, or while everyone else is watching television in the evening once the hubbub of the day has eased off. I have done things like pulled my car over to the side of the road to write something down that came to mind; written poems during business meetings; stirred something on the stove with one hand while writing with the other – you get the idea. I have three children and a day job so can’t really be precious with the time. Poetry is particularly flexible that way and can be fitted into a tight schedule but I have to admit that fiction is harder for me to write in short bursts which is why I’ve been writing a lot of poetry over the past few years.

5. What motivates you to write?

I’m not really sure what motivates me! It’s kind of instinctual. If I don’t write almost every day I find I’m not at my best – I get cranky – some variation of hangry – like there’s a hunger that needs satiating. Being able to sit down, even for just a few minutes, and put something down in writing is part of what my body needs each day – like food, water, exercise, sleep. It’s just part of how I live in the world. I get a lot of pleasure from extrinsic motivations like publication, praise (poets seem to me to be particularly supportive of one another and I’m so grateful for the gorgeous community I feel very much bolstered by), the odd tiny financial reward, and being able to perform/read/connect with readers – they’re all really wonderful perks, but the practice of writing is something I do regardless of those things.

6. What is your work ethic?

I was born and raised in New York, and it may just go with the territory but I think my work ethic has always been a little bit too strong. I have really tried to ease back on my work ethic – to be more present; to take more time on quality over quantity; to slow down a little bit and not feel like I have to be ticking every box on a daily to-do list. That said, I’m always feeling the tug to get one more thing done today. I’m trying to plan a little bit less, and to be more open as I get older.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

See question 2. The writers I read when I was young have had a massive influence on me – they’ve helped formed my identity and not just as a writer. I honestly don’t think I’d be the same person if I hadn’t read so much Maurice Sendak as a child. I still get a little shiver of excitement thinking about Little Bear’s trip to the moon or that wordless page of the wild rumpus in Where the Wild Things Are. I also was heavily influenced as a young adult by writers like Czesław Miłosz who I saw perform at Princeton when I was about 17, and I used to hang around the St Marks Poetry Project around that time hoping one day I might just end up having a conversation with Patti Smith, Jim Carroll, Allen Ginsberg or Anne Waldman. I was always too shy to approach them (see question 3), but I knew very strongly then that this was a place I felt at home and that theses were voices that resonated with my young self. I took a lot of that in and it helped form my identity.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I love so many writers that the answer to this question could go on for about 20 pages! It never fails to amaze me how much superb work just keeps coming out. I’m very lucky to be a book reviewer and so I get a lot of books. I certainly don’t like everything but I get at least one book a week that is excellent, often by someone I never heard of before. I know that the minute I commit a name to paper I’ll have missed out someone critical or maybe I’ll read someone tomorrow and by the time this goes to air I’ll be sad I didn’t include them. So instead of answering this question I might just ‘gather some paradise’ (to steal a phrase from the wonderful PoemTalk podcast) and talk about a few poets that I’ve recently read whose work I like. Please note that this is a snapshot of the work I’ve been in contact with over the past month or so and is in no way comprehensive! Tracy K Smith’s latest book Wade in the Water is just so good. You can read the title poem here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147467/wade-in-the-water Another poet whose work gets me everytime is Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead. I don’t even know why but the book has brought me to tears several times and even now, I’m thinking of the title poem. I’m right in the middle of reading Anne Casey’s Where the Lost Things Go which is just so warm and lovely – so rich with empathy and compassion, and so very relevant. Another book I recently read and loved was Ali Whitelock’s And My Heart Crumples Like a Coke Can, which is hysterically funny, raw, sad and uplifting all at the same time. Both Anne and Ali are people I recently met and immediately became friends with – it was like we’ve known each other for years and we instantly began planning collaborations, tours, tweeting about one another’s work, etc. I’m so happy to give their wonderful books a shout-out.

9. Why do you write? Probably answered in question 5.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

At the risk of sounding like Yoda (it wouldn’t be the first time), there is no ‘become’ – if you want to write, write. Don’t waste too much time dreaming about it or making elaborate promotional plans (something I have been guilty of). Just get on with it. Write what you like to read best or what you feel compelling to write. Or pick a competition and begin working towards a submission. Push asdie the doubt and discomfort and that stupid “monkey” voice at the back of your head that says you’re not up to it, and just get on with it. No one is a ‘natural’ – first drafts are almost all bad, every writer no matter how well-respected is struggling with what they’re working on now, and the only way to get good at writing is, like anything, regular practice. You have to fail. It’s part of the learning curve – so get on with the failure, accept it, become comfortable in its presence and keep going. When you’ve got enough material or when your material fits a market, submit it somewhere. Then repeat the process. The one other thing you must do is to read, a lot, and diversely. If, like me, you’re nervous about promoting your own work or you’re uncertain that what you’ve done is great, then promote someone else. Shine a light on the wonderful, especially where it’s underrepresented. Everyone has the power to do that these days – leave a review, buy someone a book for a present, talk up what you love. Then get back to the table and make your own beauty. There’s no magic formula and raw talent that isn’t utilised is nothing. (may the force be with you…)

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’ve just had a poetry book published by Flying Island Books titled High Wire Step, and I’ve got another one coming out in April from Girls on Key Press titled Unreliable Narratives. Neither of those were planned this time last year and I’m really pleased with how they came together and the incredible editorial support I had on both books (I’m very grateful to Kit Kelen and Anna Forsyth respectively). I’m still a bit in promotion mode for these two and there are launches and performances planned at the Newcastle Wrtiers Festival this year and throughout the early part of 2019. I have begun working on a new book of poetry (I’m always working on a book of poetry ), and I am still working on my third novel, a sci fi which is proving to be quite difficult. One of my resolutions for 2019 is to either finish the thing or call it. Every time I sit down to write it strikes me as being too good and too far along to abandon but then I get distracted and it drifts away from my mind and the desire to work on it recedes. This is the year I either finish, or make the call. I also have quite a few multimedia/anthology collaborations in-hand, which I’m very excited about. I can’t divulge, but good things are on the horizon.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Magdalena Ball Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.