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To live to grow takes work. Like dough repetitive actions combine and stretch and mould. Too dry is no good. Too wet is no good. The key is time and patience to achieve and be elastic and stretchy malleable and flexible. However at times the work must stop. Be like dough to rise properly there comes a time when you need to rest.

You’ve heard maybe seen in the movies of the green screen. Where the actor can be anywhere any time in any world only limited by the imagination of the creator of the images superimposed behind. Now move your thinking to the world outside the world of green of leaves and grass. A green screen of nature of your own to have your own adventures be in your own world. To be the actor in your own story only limited by your imagination. So get outside and breathe and absorb yourself

A silver mirror or muddy own? Either way, on a still day you reflect the world above and yet, do you? When you shimmer in the breeze, or a being has disturbed your slumber, do you truly reflect or represent a different world? If I put my face to you and lowered through your tensile surface, would I see a reflection of other possibilities, other places and times? Reflections have such power: a picture fed back, though back to front; showing a different view point. Even ripples

Driving along low autumn sun through the windscreen making me squint and peer to see the road ahead. lined with golden trees as I drive through the maelstrom of blowing leaves some slapping the windscreen others whirling by. Pulling over I get out and peer up and down the road. No one coming empty and so I run laughing jumping spinning trying to catch as many wishes as I can. Still no traffic and pause stop still panting but this time waiting for the wishes to come to me. Wit

Well now! It's been a while since I posted on my site and New Year felt like an appropriate time to give an update on what's been going on with my writing. My debut novel, The Awakening, through Rowan Prose Publishing, is due out in April 2027. It feels like a very long way away but I'm sure time will speed up once I receive my first edits toward the end of this year. My front cover is confirmed and signed off which makes it feel very real (and very exciting). Beyond that it'

By Neil Bailey If you’re a writer who hangs around on X (or any social media site), you’ve probably seen this message pop into your DMs at least once a week: “Hello [your name], I came across your amazing profile! What are you currently working on?" Soon followed by, "I can connect you with my agent who’s looking for new authors!” Or maybe: “I’m a professional editor who’s worked with bestselling authors. I’d love to help polish your manuscript!” And for about half a second,

By Neil Bailey Weaving ideas together So here I am again. Another idea. Another shiny, exciting, completely unplanned story that’s marched into my brain shouting, “Write me next! You know you want to." Sound familiar? You try to ignore it. You tell yourself, “No. I’m busy with my current work in progress. I will not be distracted.”  You scream to your new shiny idea like Gandalf, "You shall not pass!" But before you know it, you’ve opened a new document. You've spent hours co

Let’s be honest. Rejection hurts. Especially when it’s rejection for something you’ve poured your heart, caffeine, and late-night sanity...

Many a writer has been there, including myself. You start with a brilliant idea. The opening sings, the characters feel alive, the...

White horses gallop free manes of spray whisked away in the wind Wave upon wave of equine splendour speeding by mouths foaming fountains...

Puffs of pink. Rolling balls of cottonwool float in the distance, in the early morning sky; the sun not yet up. But its presence is felt...

and how I make it work for me Writers love to argue about tools. Scrivener versus Google Docs, notebooks versus apps, even typewriters...

Lost in the world around me, as if detached from everything; a ghost among the living. No sensations. No breeze can be felt,...

Broken bricks and masonry, old slates and slabs; smashed and discarded, left behind. And yet... What stories do you hold? What lives have...

Where are you sleep when I need you? Lying in the dark: waiting, wishing. Awake despite the late hour. Tossing and turning, twisting,...

As I sat yesterday  In a queue of cars  A woman caught my eye  Late fifties  At a guess.  Not a beauty  Not in bright clothes  Not...

There’s a special kind of panic that comes when you realise your own story has outsmarted you. This happened to me mid-way through...

Lined  Lived in  Lived  Experiences  triumphs  failures  learning  etched on our bodies.  A map of our past  no key  but a picture  of a...

Why couldn’t you see me  For who I was?  For who I was trying to be?  For the me I was offering  The me that was yours  The me who stood...

Making friends with the blank page