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Creative continuity

  I’ve been knitting squares. It started as a learning exercise more than anything else, just getting used to the rhythm of it, the feel of the needles, the small discipline of finishing something properly. At first it was uneven, a bit tentative. Then, somewhere along the way, it settled into something fairly neat and even... I’ve mostly been working with what I have: creams, a few greens, the occasional pink. I do have a rather severe purple, but I’ve decided against it. It feels too declarative. I’m more interested in something like damson which is quieter, and with a bit more depth. I don’t have the right one yet, but that seems part of the process as well: waiting until something actually fits, rather than filling the space for the sake of it. It made me think, in a very loose way, about local making, how people have always produced things where they are, often without much fuss or announcement. There was a local maker, Mary Walker, whose work still gets mentioned. I don’t kno...
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Old houses and atmosphere

The  Green Knowe  books have such a distinctive atmosphere. The old house sits at the centre of everything, and time there never feels fixed. Instead of dramatic time travel, the past seems to slip quietly into the present. In  The Children of Green Knowe , when Tolly stays with his grandmother, he encounters the children who lived there centuries earlier; Toby, Alexander and Linnet: as if the house itself allows different periods to overlap. In  The River at Green Knowe , Tolly experiences the house in the Middle Ages in the same gentle way. There’s no explanation or mechanism; the house simply seems to hold those earlier lives within it. That sense of time folding softly back on itself gives the stories their quiet enchantment. Inspired by Hemingford Grey Manor where the author lived, the house feels ancient, calm and full of memory; a place where the garden, river and rooms all carry traces of the past. It’s the kind of atmosphere that stays with readers for decad...

Good news for 2026!

Good News Wednesday: I’ve had a really positive message from a client, that another contact has offered to help move a joint project forward. Encouraging momentum on both fronts.

Life update

I’m finding January a little draining. I don’t feel especially full of ideas, and I’m trying to let that be okay. I keep thinking we’re pressured to treat January like a 'new chapter,' but sometimes it’s just a continuation of tiredness  only with colder weather and higher expectations. For now I’m focusing on small comforts and steadier rhythms, rather than goals. If you’re feeling like this too, you’re not alone.

Happy New Year!

 

Looking Ahead: A Suffolk Mystery Cycle for the Seasons

I would like to share a brief glimpse of what lies ahead in my current mystery cycle, which will ultimately be brought together as a five-book box set. The Leiston Riddle – coming by summer ’26. This novel continues my interest in communities shaped as much by what they withhold as by what they reveal. It will be a story rooted in place, memory, and the unsettling persistence of unanswered questions hopefully fitting reading for a season traditionally associated with renewal and reckoning. The Middleton Mystery – completing the five book box set The Middleton Mystery  will round out the cycle and complete the five-book box set. This concluding story is intended to draw together the thematic and narrative strands that have been quietly accumulating across the series – offering resolution without neatness, and answers that arrive with their own costs. Taken together, these books form a loose but deliberate arc: stories connected by place, by moral pressure, and by the slow ...

Phone sense

It’s strange what stays with you. Not the noise but the faces – the way the air felt afterwards, brittle and off key. ‘They have taken my phone!’ she gasped. And sure enough two youngsters scampered off, booty in hand, leaping from the bus and into the crowd. For a moment I sat there wondering if I should offer her a banana – the only thing I had to hand – before realising it had gone soft and slightly rotten in the day’s heat. It was an absurd, although somehow easier to manage than the look on her face. She had two children with her, both wide-eyed and yet she was the first to recover ‘It’s alright,’ she said briskly ‘It was my work phone – I have another.’ The words were too tidy somehow, rehearsed even. For a moment I wondered if the whole thing was real, or some small performance staged for the inevitable audience – the kind of trick that only makes sense to an insurance firm. There was a touch of theatre about it all – as if she had played the scene before. Somewhere out in gangl...