Synopsis

You would think by now I would know how to make a book of poems. Apparently, I have written six books of poetry. But books are still a mystery to me. I begin, as most poets do, with one poem at a time. I make one poem and then stare at the terrifyingly bright world and convince myself I will never make another poem. Then, I somehow surprise myself and make another poem.  Read more

The bells of St. Mary-Le-Bow toll eleven o'clock. The narrow streets of London's East End are strangely deserted. Out of the swirling fog comes the clip-clop of horseshoes on cobble. A carriage appears. I squint, struggling to decipher the crest on the carriage door. From within the passenger compartment, a gloved hand emerges. Wait - is that a gun?

How difficult it seems, gazing back just seventy years to the late 1940s and 50s, to truly appreciate what a confusing and fraught era it was for our grandparents. The Soviet Union, recently an ally in the Second World War, was increasingly viewed as a threat with Stalin's imposition of the Iron Curtain and acquisition of an atomic bomb.  Read more

After all these years I can actually call myself a professional author. I've collected rejection slips, laboured in magazine writing, perfected my craft and built an audience until Lo! An agent came seeking me. Wanted to know about my book ideas. Wanted to represent me to editors. And proceeded to sell my book to my dream publisher.

Publishing is facing "industry-wide burnout" according to a survey conducted by The Bookseller, which revealed 89% of staffers responding to the survey had experienced stress during the course of their work over the last year, while 69% reported burnout.  Read more