The Heart is a Library Hunter

My first memories belong to the surreal landscape of childhood. Cushioned in tenderness, they flicker a blurred reel of mango trees, mud pies and mosquito screens.

Occasionally, through the fuzz, concrete moments come into focus. For me, the first of those is the imprint of a rainy afternoon in a library. Continue reading “The Heart is a Library Hunter”

What Dreams May Come: Unleashing Creativity

by Brooke Hardwick

There are some cities that have only ever come to me in dreams. I am not talking about Paris or Prague. The cities that come to me are not real. They only exist in the garnet depths of night when I sleep.

Continue reading “What Dreams May Come: Unleashing Creativity”

What Are You Looking at? The Voyeur Inside Every Writer

I have a friend who is a psychologist. I have yet to see a person meet her and not worriedly suggest that she has been analysing them.

Little do they know that this couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s not my friend who’s watching them.

It’s me. Continue reading “What Are You Looking at? The Voyeur Inside Every Writer”