Almost everything not quite everywhere all at once

Down the stretch of Halmtorvet before it becomes Sønder Boulevard, tourists towed their reluctant suitcases, navigating the urban obstacle course: cobblestone edges, narrow pavements, other tourists. If you weren’t careful, you could absentmindedly step into a cycle lane and risk a different kind of confrontation.

The last time I visited in Copenhagen must have been nearly ten years ago. Impossible: to shake the feeling that so much has changed in time so brief. An act of folly, perhaps, to retrace my past steps seeing as I’d never been any good at documenting my dérives; ten years ago, I’d have shot with a film camera and the archives had been neatly filed away somewhere at home—not any use to me without physical access to them while on the road.On a sunny afternoon, people lingered around the Kalvebod Bølge, walked, swam, rode bicycles in defiant violation of signs prohibiting cycling along the water’s edge. Children perched at the top of monkey bars and ate ice cream. At some point, we got a little lost searching for the entrance of Danish Architecture Centre and ended up in the bookshop—an irony, considering clear signposting is a fundamental to good design. But I was buoyed by an entire bookcase filled with the discourse on sustainability; it’d been a long 

I was incredibly fortunate to be a recipient of one of the bursary places for this year’s Milford SF Critique Week, which took place at Gladstone’s Library during September 12th to 19th. While my own usual critique group takes inspiration from the Milford method, the condensed process of working through different pieces every afternoon for the five days in a row is quite the experience. It taught me a commitment to writing—and to our writing peers—unlike any other format I’ve encountered. For the curious, Vera Brook wrote a wonderful account of her experience.

During my stay, the window of my room faced the charming St Deiniol’s Church (and its persistent bells). One morning, I woke up much too early and was greeted by a breathtaking view of the church, with Venus, the Moon and Jupiter in alignment in the early dawn sky.

I left the Library with fond memories, new friends, and a wish to return someday.

October came around quickly, and so did this year’s Mo Siewcharran Prize Ceremony, whose entrants submitted non-fiction proposals to the theme of “Reclaiming History”. I wasn’t able to attend last year’s Ceremony because I was out on the open sea, so it was a true delight to mingle with past and new winners alike.

Congratulations to all long-listees, finalists and to this year’s winners!

I’ve pulled back from social media for the bulk of this year, caving into my natural tendency to focus down when there are projects to complete.

A number of good things have happened this year that I’m excited about:

• My short story collection Futures to Live By is available now! Limited edition hardbacks and paperbacks are available directly from NewCon Press, paperbacks and e-books from major retailers. I’d love to know if a particular story resonates with you.

  

   

• Back in early spring, “For Tomorrow’s Moon” was included in Our Dust Earth by Air and Nothingness Press. It’s set within a backdrop a few shades darker from my norm—Our Dust Earth is a mini-RPG in the dying earth genre. My story in this volume is about love and the seeds of rebellion, but best of all, as a polyglot myself, I thoroughly relished the chance to indulge in my passion for language and poetry.

• “Emily’s Farewell Coat” was featured in Vivid Worlds by The Slab Press. We packed out a room at EasterCon Belfast for a joint book launch this year alongside Sara K Ellis with If the Stars Are Lit (Luna Press). I very lucky to get to read some my words alongside Cécile Cristofari, who read from her story “Tractors in the Mist”. Incidentally, Cécile’s award-nominated short fiction collection Elephants in Bloom (NewCon Press) is an engrossing read, and her new novella Cities Are Forests Waiting to Happen (NewCon Press) is currently available for pre-order.

• “Coriander”, my story about food and cultural heritage, was released on Earth Day this year in a volume edited by the formidable Susan Kaye Quinn, featuring wonderful stories by esteemed past guests of the Bright Green Futures podcast. We had a short conversation on the podcast about it too.

• I took part in Fitzrovia Futures, a fascinating community project that uses participatory foresight and applied science fiction, bringing together subject specialists and the local community in conversation to explore what’s possible (and what’s preferable) for the London neighbourhood of Fitzrovia in the 2050. For the project, I wrote a 1500-word story called “Appendix: Witness Interviews Transcripts” that explores a collision between two tiers of society that are far from equal.

• Last year, Susan Kaye Quinn and I collaborated on an article called “How Solarpunk Can Help Us Rewild Our Lives”, which was published this summer in issue Volume 8 Number 2 of The Ecological Citizen, in which we explored how narratives can prepare a prepare us for a shift toward a sustainable world, techniques to commune with nature, and how we might take positive action.

Rabbit Holes, Loosely Defined

• A couple of summers ago, when I spent many afternoons writing in the garden of a local community centre, I briefly befriended a magpie. You, too, could be friends with one.

• Butterfly, or moth? It’s far likelier to be a moth, but the definitions are somewhat murky, it seems.

• I feel justified, for having a weakness for cute things.

  • “It is a perfectly normal response to the overwhelming amount of dopamine being released into your brain. All of a sudden, you are flooded with stress-relieving hormones and you instantly feel happier.”

• So I didn’t know about these mobile houseplants when I wrote “The Perpetual Metamorphosis of Primrose Close”. Now I’d really like one at home.

 

I’d like to take a moment to pay tribute to Dave Gullen who left us much too soon. I first met Dave through Spectrum Writers London in late 2020—a time when our critique sessions and write-togethers moved online because of Covid-19. During those days, we had a virtual drop-in room where Dave, myself and others frequently wrote together at the same time on a near-daily basis, then rewarded ourselves with some banter and free-flowing brainstorm sessions. Later on, I’d meet up with him and Gaie at conventions once those resumed in person. Kind, funny, and a tremendously skilled writer, Dave had always been gently generous with his wisdom and experience. (And as I write this I know he’d have chuckled and protested at my use of the word ‘wisdom’, but I shall stick by it because it’s true).

We’ll miss you, Dave.