Category: WRITING

  • WRITING WRAPPED 2025

    WRITING WRAPPED 2025

    So, because I am a very particular type of person, I really like data. Anddd, I track all my writing sessions on a spreadsheet. So I thought it would be fun to share my 2025 Writing Wrapped!

    A couple of explanations before we dive in:

    1. I try and record all my writing sessions on my computer even if they’re editing sessions, which means sometimes the word count actually goes down, but I still track it.
    2. I don’t record time I spend writing or editing off my computer–for example, I print off my first/second drafts and do paper edits, then transfer those to the computer. I track the latter but not the former.
    3. I also don’t record time I spend tootling around in my drafts, brainstorming, studying craft, writing blogs, feedbacking, browsing Reddit, crying, or any other kind of writing-related activity.

    The Data

    First off, the totals: in 2025 I wrote 128,607 words over 316 hours. I deleted about 16,704 words for a net total of 111,903 words.

    I wrote two novels (THE FEY ARCHIVES and SPARK). I finished and edited THE FEY ARCHIVES after May 2025 and in total wrote 52,954 words and put in 136 hours into it (I already had a half-finished draft when I came back to it).

    I wrote the first draft of SPARK in October/November 2025, then edited into the second draft over December and a little into January. For SPARK, I wrote 75,653 words and put in 100 hours (so far).

    I also wrote a couple of short stories (which I do track) and poems (which I don’t).

    The Graphs

    Here’s a graph showing writing time in hours (the line) and word count (the bars). You can see months where I wrote far more (e.g. Oct/Nov when I was drafting SPARK) and months where I edited far more (e.g. Jun/Jul, December). Look at the bars go up after I handed in my PhD in March and finished my work contract in May!

    In terms of word count, my most productive month was October, where I wrote 39,920 words. In terms of writing time, my most productive month was June, where I worked on my writing for 58 hours and 26 minutes.

    My most productive day of the week was Thursday, followed by Monday and Sunday…

    …and my most productive times are 11am–12pm and 8–9pm! Hmm, I wonder when I’m having lunch and dinner…?

    What have I learned?

    #1 Account for fallow periods

    The rhythm of how I like to work emerges in this dataset: high periods of intensity followed by periods of rest. When I’m drafting, I can easily write between 2k-4k words a day, but that’s not a sustainable pace for longer than a week or two.

    Breaks are not only important on the micro-scale (daily breaks) but also in the larger picture (like between projects). In September, for example, I took a month off writing, mostly because we were doing some renovations, but also because I had finished a project and needed a break to gestate the next.

    It’s important to fill these fallow periods with rejuvenating activities like reading, watching new films, going new places, resting, going outside. Anything to fill your creative cup and let your brain recuperate from the intense energy it takes to write a story. Otherwise it’s easy to languish in a pit of despair as you fall from the high of writing a first draft back into the abyss of turning your word vomit into something readable.

    #2. Find the pattern of working that suits you

    I’m obviously inclined to do two sessions, one in the morning and one in the evening. I think that I edit better in the morning and draft better at night. And in between? I’m reading, doing errands, hanging out, cooking, or doing other bits of work to pay the bills.

    Other people might like to work early in the morning and get it out of the way or they stay up til 3am writing in the dark. Whatever works for you and your schedule, go with it. Consistency is far more important than the “right time”.

    #3. Make time

    This is probably the most annoying thing about writing, but you have to show up. It takes time. A book takes hundreds of hours to write. The hours listed here only account for a fraction of the actual time spent writing a book—it doesn’t count time spent thinking, plotting, brainstorming, figuring out plot holes, staring at the bathroom ceiling while you waste away in the tub, or anything else.

    You have to make that time appear from somewhere. I say no to a lot of things because I need to make time to write or even just to be on my own and think, especially in the evenings. It’s a tricky balance to figure out—and I haven’t figured it out 100% yet—but you do have to make writing a priority.

    Credit

    I used a spreadsheet which is freely downloadable from thespreadsheetwiz.com. You record the date, time and word count of every session as well as your energy and focus and it works out tons of stuff for you. It’s been really helpful. For 2026, I’m trialling my own sheet design which allows me to track ‘type of work’ I’m doing (e.g. drafting, tootling, revising) so I can get a little bit more granular with it.

  • gender is a poem

    gender is a poem

    A collaboration between me and participants during the Queertawe exhibition at Volcano Theatre Swansea, July 2025.

    gender is a housefire
    gender is a mess
    gender is the unexamined empty space
    gender is afraid
    gender is the most-cited author
    gender is the thing
    gender is the hip new thing
    gender is enough
    gender is a tickbox exercise
    gender is mandated
    gender is created
    gender is flotsam
    gender is the peeling sticker
    gender is the drawer you don’t wanna open
    gender is out of control
    gender is a plaything
    gender is the only thing worth talking about
    gender is domesticated
    gender is dead
    gender is a subscription service
    gender is this quarter’s KPI
    gender is fearfully and wonderfully made
    gender is quiet here
    gender is quantum
    gender is mine all mine
    gender is pot-bound
    gender is leaking from my pores
    gender is gonna fix everything
    gender is behind us
    gender is just ahead

    gender is only the beginning
    gender is mine to explore
    gender is only temporary
    gender is self-defined
    gender is making me look for the exits
    gender is what you make it
    gender is loving yourself
    gender is everything I want it to be
    gender is a work in progress
    gender is a charcuterie board
    gender is a cup of tea with optional sugar
    gender is oops the paint dripped
    gender is be bold
    gender is fucked
    gender is fluid
    gender is unique to each person
    gender is [child’s illegible handwriting]
    gender is beautiful
    gender is a reminder
    gender is busting out all over
    gender is not what you are
    gender is quite often decided for me
    gender is cool
    gender is suffocating!
    gender is flipping coin
    gender is infinite ♾️
    gender is existing in the chaos between order
    gender is chaotic + beautiful
    gender is like the sea + fluid & beautiful
    gender is very confusion
    gender is whatever I want it to be
    gender is a game I don’t want to play
    gender is squirrels
    gender is none of your business
    gender is meh? boring!
    gender is better when you’re a poof
    gender is AAAAAA
    gender is unlimited
    gender is just the thing
    gender is a social construct
    gender is a tool of oppression but also a description of love
    gender is defining & not defining at the same time

    @poetry.is.ted

  • When I came out to my family in that Airbnb in Rome

    shortlisted for the Poetry Wales Award 2024-25

    A ghost lodged itself in that hollow place behind

    my collarbone. I turned counsellor in my sister’s grief,

    soaked up her wine-slick tears as I assured her that I was sane,

    that I’d be the same, that I wouldn’t change, not really.

    (I was a small thing then and didn’t know how I would grow

    around the ghost). Just bowed my head and held them all.

    My sisters and our mother asked their questions and we laughed

    around the new sounds unconvincing: son, brother.

    My stepdad sat still in the corner. After, I smuggled my shade

    on the plane back home then tried to find a place to put her. I

    looked in all the drawers for space but they overflowed

    with cups and plates, the Christmas tree, prom dresses,

    make believe. I combed through my journals for an empty page

    but they all blurred before me. I went into the garden

    to see if I could find a pot to put this seed in, but everything

    was frozen shut. I was frozen shut. There was a cold ghost inside

    me and a burning. I had never carried a ghost before and

    I didn’t know what I should do. I was prepared for pain but not

    for this. I didn’t know I would get a ghost. I went to bed and we curled

    around each other like parentheses: the new me and the old me /

    the same me and the changed me / the beginning and the end