A woman sits silently next to me as I drive to work, her body burnt beyond all recognition. They’re not always so vivid but they all want me to tell their stories.
I’m a student of Creative and Professional writing at Wolves Uni. Where some amazing tutors past and present are helping me find the stories in all the noise.
I have so many travel memoirs to write, some of them true, some not quite as true and some that blur the lines (even I’m not sure.) But apparently in Creative Non-Fiction…that’s allowed.
My Daemon’s name is Jack and he’s taken the form of a Brindle Staffy.
Outsideleft exists on a precarious no budget budget. We are interested in hearing from deep and deeper pocket types willing to underwrite our cultural vulture activity. We're not so interested in plastering your product all over our stories, but something more subtle and dignified for all parties concerned. Contact us and let's talk. [HELP OUTSIDELEFT]
If Outsideleft had arms they would always be wide open and welcoming to new writers and new ideas. If you've got something to say, something a small dank corner of the world needs to know about, a poem to publish, a book review, a short story, if you love music or the arts or anything else, write something about it and send it along. Of course we don't have anything as conformist as a budget here. But we'd love to see what you can do. Write for Outsideleft, do. [SUBMISSIONS FORM HERE]