Happy Birthday, little book.

Basic Nest Architecture is one year old today, or hereabouts. Hasn’t it grown? And what a lot of teeth.

Way back before I ever held it in my arms, I said I’d share my BNA playlist, so I thought it was about time.

As with all my playlists, the basic rules are just that they have to be made from songs I already have. Some of the songs here actually appear in some way or other in the poems, but some are quite oblique connections that probably only really make sense to me. There’s a couple where I couldn’t choose one song over another eg. ‘Strength in Winter’ has Basia Bulat’s ‘Once more for the dollshouse’, which was instrumental (boom boom) in the writing of it, and used to give it its epigraph until it got squished off the page, but also ‘Lion with me’, which I can’t separate from it since Jenn played it at the book launch. Some are cheating slightly: two of the rabbit poems have a variant mix of one song, not because I don’t have other rabbity songs in my music banks, but because that song and those poems are really wrapped around each other for me.

There are a lot of repeats of artists here, just like there a lot of people I listen to a lot, and were listening to a lot during the writing of the book, who don’t appear. I had difficult decisions to make over for eg. which songs I love that feature deer to choose. It probably says something about the collection and/or how I think about it that the playlist is strummy and a bit melancholy on the whole.


Colony Collapse Disorder – To the Country, Laura Veirs

Buzz Pollination  – Honey, Tori Amos

The New Path  – The Wrong Side, Thea Gilmore

Jack Daw –  Magpie to the Morning, Neko Case

A short history of the moon  –  Calling the Moon, Dar Williams

Heron/Snow  – Follow the Heron, Karine Polwart

Kindling – Cloud on my tongue, Tori Amos

Stay Apparatus – White Horses, Jenn Grant

Roadkill Season – Pheasant feather, Josh Rouse

Miracles of Light – Woman King, Iron & Wine

Lake Fever – Lake Fever, The Tragically Hip

When I lived alone  – Sound and Vision, David Bowie

Sister, Running – Run, Basia Bulat

Rabbit in morning – Rabbit Heart, Florence + The Machine

Athena Glaukopis  –  This Tornado Loves You, Neko Case

Illustrations of Grasmere Church  – The Bell, First Aid Kit

Potnia Theron  – Crystal Creek, Dar Williams

Waking the Well – Cool water, Laura Veirs

A history of flooding  – The Water, Feist  // Flood, Rae Spoon

In the city I was born in – Field Below, Regina Spektor

Moon Salutation – I wish I was the Moon, Neko Case

Strength in Winter – Lion with Me, Jenn Grant // Once More for the Dollshouse, Basia Bulat

Moving – If it Rains, Basia Bulat

Dreams – In My Dreams, Jenn Grant

Tiny Glass Horses – Tiny Glass Houses, Amelia Curran

Rabbit in Twilight – Evening, Wilderness of Manitoba

Other People Dream of Foxes – Portions for Foxes, Rilo Kiley

 Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, Neko Case

Fox in the Snow, Belle and Sebastian

Foxes Mate for Life, Born Ruffians

Doll Parts –  Doll Parts, Hole

Perihelion – Night Still Comes, Neko Case

Dreaming the Organ – Playing to the Firmament, Dar Williams

Gloria – Paradise Mountain, Jenn Grant

Sky, falling – Heavy Ceiling, Said The Whale

Solistitial – Summer Fires, Wilderness of Manitoba

Begin – In the Blue Moonlight, Joel Plaskett

The Centre – Mtn Song, Evening Hymns

Rabbit in hiding – Rabbit Heart (Jamie T and Ben Bones remix)

Cannulation – Adventures in Solitude, The New Pornographers

Causeway – On My Way Back, Tony Dekker

Imaging – Heavy Ghost, Kashka

Fog/Fox  – Red Fox, The Choir Practice

The Glorious Fellowship of Migraineurs – Pray Headaches away, Diane Cluck

Free Night – Galaxies, Jenn Grant

The Test – When Under Ether, PJ Harvey

With Feathers – Heart of my own, Basia Bulat

The Canon of Proportions – Man, Neko Case

The Invisible – Leave My Body, Florence + The Machine

Untethering – The Fighter, Jenn Grant

Hope Cove – The Cape, Martha Tilston

Basic Nest Architecture – Wasps of Rain, Laura Veirs

Year of Libraries

2018 seems to be panning out as a year of libraries for me. I’m gearing up for my month at Gladstone’s Library in February, and can now reveal that Basic Nest Architecture was chosen as one of New Writing North’s Read Regional books for 2018. The Read Regional scheme pays for writers to do events in libraries around the North, bringing talks and workshops into communities.

I’ll be doing several events, mostly with this year’s other Read Regional poet, Anthony Dunn:

Hebden Bridge Library, Cheetham Street, Hebden Bridge, HX7 8EP
Thursday 29 March, 7.30pm (Exploring Poetry Workshop at 6.30pm)

Community Hub Central, 124 York Road, Hartlepool, TS26 9DE
Thursday 5 April, 5.30pm (Exploring Poetry Workshop at 4pm)

Robinson-Gay Art Gallery, 3A Market Street, Hexham, NE46 3NS
Wednesday 2 May, 1pm (Part of Hexham Book Festival)

Keighley Library, North Street, Keighley, Bradford, BD21 3SX
Saturday 2 June, 3pm (Exploring Poetry Workshop at 2pm)

The range of books chosen is fantastic, and I really enjoyed hearing about them when we all met up in the Autumn: from crime to historical fiction, nature writing, innovative children’s fiction, a superb feminist picture book, and poetry of course. I’d highly recommend getting to some of the events if you can. Sadly, the fabulous Jenn Ashworth couldn’t be there on the day we all gathered at the Lit and Phil in Newcastle. I think someone should photoshop her into this group shot.

Group picture.jpeg

I’m also doing an event in Leeds Library on March 17th, as part of Wildlines @ Leeds Library. Though Wildlines is not directly to do with Read Regional, its linked by association, as it’s being organised and hosted by one of my fellow Read Regional authors, Richard Smyth. I’ll be reading with Zaffar Kunial on the Saturday evening, but the whole three days of events looks fantastic, asking questions like ‘Who gets to write about nature, and why? Is there a place for politics in nature writing? Does the North have the nature-writing it deserves? And why does nature writing matter?’





I’m not sure how to reflect on 2017. Personally, as politically, its events will be sending out after-shocks and having knock-on effects for longer, and in stranger ways, than I can begin to imagine.

At the very end of February, my first poetry collection was published, something I’d been aiming for for so long, that I still keep half-forgetting it’s actually real now. It did a lot to change the course of my year, carrying me to some joyful readings and festivals, and enabling some other things to be set into motion. Most of all, it emboldened me to stick to my decision not to apply for full-time work when my post at Strathclyde came to an end in August, and to focus on writing instead.

Partly this move was born from exhaustion and a desperate need to look after myself and my own work for once. When people have asked me what I’m doing now, I’ve found myself referring to it as a gamble, as a deliberate speculation. I hear myself telling a story about how I made a choice, but really, there was no choice. It’s hard enough being a writer in academia at the best of times, trying to squeeze two lives which both want to dominate into your brain and body at all times, but when you’re trying to manage chronic illnesses too, you end up with nothing left for yourself, let alone anyone close to you. My time at Strathclyde coincided with life-changing diagnoses. I signed the contract as a person who had been told by several consultants that there was nothing wrong with them at all, and closed it with two genetic, chronic conditions that need constant management, and bring a trail of co-morbidities and complications with them. It became more important to me to live as well as I can, day by day, than to achieve the things I used to think important.

So 2017 has been the year I decided to become a dedicated refusenik, to turn away from the productivity drive. I’m lucky that I’ve been able to: the measly 3 weeks of statutory redundancy pay tacked onto as much of my salary as I could save up has given me a bit of cushion to prop me up this Autumn. I’ve been lucky to have had more paid readings with the book, and a few other little bits of paid writing work. Most of all though, committing to not committing to full-time work has enabled me to apply for opportunities I wouldn’t have been able to in previous years, and some of them have come through shining.

They are the tip of the submission iceberg, of course: I’ve had as many rejections and disappointments as any other year (which are manifold, and wondrous in their variousness). What has amazed me is that I’ve also had some very exciting acceptances which are making 2018 seem both fantastical and terrifying as a prospect.

Here’s my 2017 a glance, both good and bad, and you can see how it’s weighing up just now:

Bad Things from 2017

  • Lots of EDS clumsiness, including smashing my favourite mug, ironing my stomach in May, breaking my toe crossing the room in October (just about healed now) and finishing the year with a great oven burn on my wrist. Thank goodness I had burn plasters left over from the iron incident.
  • Lots of the usual writing disappointments, topped by an unsuccessful job interview which cost me £300 in travel, accommodation, and changed plans.
  • Not being in control of my iron levels because Oh-Captain-My-Captain has been largely uncontactable for most of 2017.
  • The uncertainty and instability of having no guaranteed income.
  • Preparing for the winter solstice by having needles stuck in my thyroid.
  • Knowing I have to have more needles stuck in my thyroid in January.
  • The endless, planet-eating fatigue.
  • Not winning any money in the poetry lottery.
  • Winning a poetry prize, which ended up costing me more than the (non-monetary) prize was worth.
  • Not having students – I miss you!
  • Being really slow at getting on with my projects.
  • Burying a lot of mice, voles, and one juvenile rat.
  • The bad politics.
  • The bad things.
  • Not spending enough time with friends and family.
  • Did I mention the fatigue?

Good things from 2017

  • Dream readings, including Hay and Wigtown. If I had such a thing as a bucket list, there’d be some big ticks on it now.
  • I got a second niece.
  • Being picked as one of the four writers-in-residence at Gladstone’s Library for 2018, and everything that has followed (everyone is So Nice). This is my first residency, so a really big deal for me.
  • I got interviewed for some amazing positions I was honoured to be considered for, and had some lovely interview experiences.
  • My book is a real book! And lots of people seem to have liked it, and no one has [publicly, or in my sight] said it’s the worst thing ever yet either.
  • Spending more time with family and friends.
  • Spending more time with friends has meant spending more time on frivolously delicious essential things, like swimming in waterfalls with Emily Hasler.
  • Meeting new friends.
  • Being able to enjoy the autumn and the run up to Christmas without marking.
  • Reading. Actually finishing books.
  • Reading some really amazing books.
  • A truly magical book launch, thanks to so many people who helped make it happen, and who came along.
  • Winning a poetry prize which took me to a really heartening reading event, a chance to catch up with some old friends, and a remarkably nourishing residential course which brought new friends.
  •  The installation of a cat flap making it no longer in any way deniable that NotOurCat lodges here.
  • The good politics. Speaking about it.
  • Running the poetry reading group at Dove Cottage over the winter: such a pleasure to sit around the fire reading poetry, and so great to see such insightful readers.
  • Positive reactions to my book now it’s out in the world. I’ve been really touched by some mentions on social media, and a few really thoughtful reviews. A massive highlight of my year was Kim Tillyer drawing on ‘Jack Daw’ in a piece for a Cumbria Printmaker’s exhibition in Grasmere. Also overjoyed to see Jackie Morris tweeting about liking the book, because her work is just so magical. Also for the book to be named by John Clegg as an LRB Bookshop poetry debut of the year.
  • Making plans, and feeling hopeful about them.
  • Being picked as one of the 2018 Penguin Random House WriteNow Mentees. This has given me such an enormous boost, both in support of making the time and space for writing, making this ‘year of writing’ gambit seem almost sensible, and for the project. I’m getting increasingly anxious about the writing again now, in the lull before we start to work with editors, but it’s given me renewed faith in both the project of the book, and the project of the life.
  • Getting really good at catching live rodents by hand when NotOurCat releases them into the house.
  • Despite horrific late Summer/early Autumn weather, I kept swimming outdoors until the end of November. I missed out December, through ice and snow,and rain and just not feeling quite strong enough. Hopefully I’ll get back in in January.
  • Festival green rooms making me feel really fancy.
  • Winning a giant toy rabbit and a £50 voucher for naming a polar bear in a Christmas display. [edit: Will’s mum, who is tending said rabbit until we can get to Suffolk, begs to inform all readers it is only large, not giant]
  • The company of good-hearted poets.
  • Being braver, about all sorts of things. Saying what I need and don’t need. Working out what I can and can’t do, and communicating it. Going in the water, even when it’s cold and raining.
  • Writing.

My goals for 2018, if we can call them that, are much the same:

  • Refuse productivity for productivity’s sake.
  • Be kind to myself so I can be kind to others.
  • Swim!
  • Pace.
  • Spend time with loved ones and lovely ones.
  • Pass on the good things to others who need them.
  • Sleep.
  • Try not to break any bones or injure myself too badly.
  • Write.

Autumn Happenings


It looks like this Autumn is going to be particularly eventful for me.

On Saturday September 16th I’m going to be borrowing a time-turner to do two events in one day. In the morning, I’ll be reading for Caught by The River at The Good Life Experience in Hawarden in Flintshire.

In the evening I’ll be back up in Grasmere for a reading and discussion to close Dorothy’s Colour, an exhibition of art and poetry by Zoe Benbow and Sarah Corbett, at The Wordsworth Trust. 

dwcolourposter copy


The following weekend I’ll be over in Newcastle for the Penguin Random House Write Now scheme, getting advice on a non-fiction project I’m working on. I’m so thankful to have been chosen for one of the writing days, and hope it will help me move forward with the book.

The weekend after that, I’m returning to Wigtown Book Festival, where I’ll be reading with Claire Askew. I’m very excited that this means we’ll be there for the festival ceilidh, and will try to have a) recovered from my last ceilidh injury by then, and b) acquired some ankle support. Will has been reading bits of Diary of a bookseller to me to get us in the frame. We were intrigued that the book covered the 2014 festival we were at, and relieved not to recognise ourselves in the pages.

A little over a week later, I’ll be in London for the launch of the 2018 Gladstone’s Library writers-in-residence programme, celebrated with an evening at the National Liberal Club on Monday October 9th. I’m going to be in residence in the library in February 2018, and will be posting details soon of the workshop and talk I’ll be doing as part of my residency.

The following weekend sees me crossing the North yet again for the Durham Book Festival Rich Seams Northern Poets event. I’m beginning to think I need a dragon, or to learn to travel by map. The other poets featured are Degna Stone, Kim Moore, Malika Booker, Mark Pajak, Melissa Lee-Houghton, Pippa Little, Ruby Robinson, Zaffar Kunial, Vidyan Ravinthiran and Seán Hewitt, and we’ll be introduced by Durham Book Festival Laureate Andrew McMillan. You can support the production of a special vinyl recording of this event through Unbound. Rewards include the chance to have a poem commissioned by whichever of the poets you choose, or to meet the poets backstage for a post-recording drink.

I’ve then got a little gap, before reading with Elizabeth-Jane Burnett at Kendal Mountain Festival, Saturday 18th November. I can’t wait to read Swims. There’s a great literature programme at KMF this year, with lots for everyone.

Lit Fest speakers digital_bodies of water and stone

Somewhere in between all this I’ll be making shiny jar-fulls of jelly, trying to keep swimming outdoors as long as I can hack it, running my poetry reading group at Dove Cottage each month and, oh, writing, of course.






Mid-mid, most inclined

It’s the year’s midpoint; midsummer’s day. In Cumbria the longest day seems to be marking the end of a small but impressive heatwave: the storm arrived around the solstice hour itself. Today has been a mixture of warm rain and steaming sun.

Avoiding even touching on the state of the nation(s), it’s been an interesting few months.

One of the highlights of this Spring for me was reading with Emily Blewitt, Siobhan Campbell and Rhiannon Hooson at the Seren Poetry Gala at Hay Festival.

Amy Wack, Siobhan Campbell, Me, Emily Blewitt, Rhiannon Hooson

At home in Grasmere, we celebrated the launch of Basic Nest Architecture, with featured poets Mark Ward and Megan Beech, and a magnificent performance from Jenn Grant and her band. This still seems like a particularly unlikely dream.


Last week I travelled down to Cambridge for the Rialto Nature and Place Prize reading, which was a warm and inspiring event, championing the capacity for poetry to forge connections between humans and the non-human world.

A Midsummer Night’s Frog

From August onwards, I’m going freelance. I’m really looking forward to it, though not to the return of financial insecurity: it is a truth universally acknowledged that you can have time, or money, but not both. I’m hoping to use some of my time taking the book to exciting places, as well as working on various new writing projects. The rest of 2017 is already dotted with events near and far, including:

  • Guest Poet reading at The Garsdale Retreat, on ‘Writing The Land: Crafting Poems from Inspired Communion’ with Helen Moore, Sedbergh, Wednesday August 23rd 2017.
  • Reading for Caught by The River at The Good Life Experience, Hawarden Estate, Flintshire, Saturday September 16th, 2017.
  • Durham Book Festival ‘Northern Poets’ event, Saturday October 14th. Details tbc.
  • Reading at Kendal Mountain Festival. Details tbc.
  • Throughout the autumn and winter I’m also going to running a monthly Poetry Reading Group in Dove Cottage for The Wordsworth Trust. It will be on the first Thursday of the month, October – March, 7.30-9pm (except January, when the cottage is closed). The poems will be picked to reflect the seasons, taking us from Autumn, through Midwinter and back out into Spring. No prior poetry reading experience necessary!

Here is a flashback to an earlier Summer Solstice, with less appropriate weather, and some things that may or may not have happened outside the poem.


from Basic Nest Architecture


We are drawn by a map of sweet ash winding

through the twilit streets. There should be three fires:

one of clean bones, one wood, one both.


We have only split logs and white wax to offer

and a tithe of furred moths, and a swan’s egg washed

to the shore in a flood, two days earlier.


We pass the sloshing oval from palm

to palm, cold as stone, full

of things that will not happen. We float


wreaths from the candle-lit jetty to the dark

fretful heart of deepest water;

bunches of foxgloves and elderflowers;


give ourselves to the lake to slake

the calamitous storms of the future; muttering

moonshine, mid-mid, most inclined,


axial tilt. We drink. We burn

the sickly half-year, leap the flames

solemn, hallooing. Our voices spin


round the dish of the vale, which is also a crater,

which is also a wheel. We want to sing

through the centre but the night is too light here, cloud


confusing the jagged horizon. We try

to feel it. 23.09. Maximum

cant. The exactness anachronistic.


Mid-mid most-inclined we chant

like a hymn or something older.

We will wash our faces with cold grey dew.


We will sleep with flowers pressed under our pillows.

We will run the streets naked at three in the morning,

the sun almost starting to rise.