That time of year thou may'st in me behold When handkerchiefs, and tissues too, do hang Upon this nose that drools, producing coughs, Harsh hacking coughs, where late my sweet voice sang. Okay, “sweet voice” is a lie. When I sing, I sound like a cross between Bob...
It's the autumn of 1978 and I've just moved into a flat in Liverpool. A new friend is watching while I unpack my books. After sorting them by genre (novels, poetry, plays, biography, criticism, history), I start to alphabetize the fiction by the authors' last names....
So you want to be a girl sleuth? Good for you! There are worse ambitions. I was never any good at sleuthing myself, but I think I can help you in a few easy steps. First, are you a girl? Or a boy who identifies as a girl? If you’re a boy who identifies as a boy, “girl...
It’s beginning to look as if the only way I can fit all my books into my house is to move myself out. Why am I surprised? It’s not as if I haven’t lived here before. I know the equation: lots of tall windows plus two sets of French doors = beautiful light minus space...