From Short Fiction

‘Walt’ / Louise Warren

Issue 9 of The Lonely Crowd features three new poems from Louise Warren, including ‘Walt’, which she discusses here. Don’t miss Louise reading these poems at our London event this Thursday. I have always loved the films of Walt Disney, especially the earlier ones. Fantasia, Pinocchio, the original One Hundred and One Dalmatians with its hand…

On Writing ‘Sound of the Riverbed’ / Dan Coxon

‘Write what you know.’ For many years it was advice that I tried to follow, a mantra so prevalent in creative writing teaching that it surely couldn’t be wrong. Except, of course, that it is. Or not wrong exactly, but misguided, and limited, and – more importantly – limiting. Taken to its logical conclusion, ‘Write…

On Writing ‘Detroit’ / Anne Hayden

When I first started writing short stories a few years ago, it didn’t take long for a pattern to emerge: I kept setting them in the dead of night. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, I’m no stranger to the small hours. I’ve spent most of my professional life working the evening shift in newsrooms,…

Writing ‘Waddington’ / James Clarke

Where I’m from, you don’t have to travel very far for the towns to peter out and the hills to start bulging from the ground. I have become very interested in these edgelands, zones where the urban meets the rural, in particular, areas where brown belt land has at some point transitioned back to green.…

Readings from The Lonely Crowd: Cardiff 10/05/18

The Lonely Crowd will be previewing their forthcoming ninth issue at Little Man Coffee. Co, tomorrow evening from 7pm. Martina Evans will be reading poems from Issue 9 as well as a selection from her highly praised new collection Now We Can Talk Openly About Men. Recent Welsh Book of the Year-winner John Freeman reads…

Writing ‘Arrest Me, For I Have Run Away’ Stevie Davies

George Eliot said that the novel, ‘like crystalline masses … may take any form, and yet be beautiful; we have only to pour in the right elements – genuine observation, humour, and passion.’ I have always loved the way Eliot angles this image of crystal masses: the freedom it accords to the novelist. Her remark picks up my memory of schoolgirl experiments in the chemistry lab: we left a dish containing a solution of chemicals; when we came back a week later, it had branched into a multifaceted cluster of crystals, in a structure amazing to the imagination.