In March I got my first ever short story acceptance from a magazine. I was overjoyed — like, bouncing off the walls. I was finally a writer, finally one of those people who share their personal news on the Substack feed. But when the dust settled, the existential pondering began.

Did this mean I’d finally written something good? Was it as simple as producing similarly good stuff and finding the journey plain sailing from now on? Of course not, on both fronts.

What the experience made me realise is that, when you think you might have written something decent, then you probably have. I’m not an avid submitter — sometimes I just write for fun, other times I abandon ship during or after the writing of a piece for submission. But I have submitted a fair few stories over the years and some of those I knew to be decent and others I realised in hindsight were really quite bad. Of those I describe as decent, one received external validation. That does not mean the others I suspected were decent, were not in fact decent. I will stop saying decent now.

So what? So, unfortunately some external validation is often required before we start taking ourselves seriously. But going forwards I will absolutely be kinder to myself and my writing and learn to be my own judge before seeking approval at the altar of literary magz. Because it’s needle in a haystack stuff; it’s about compatibility, timing and a host of less predictable factors.

This edition is full of meandering murmurations, as per usual, but there’s a writing theme throughout and I hope you find some nuggets to take away into your own creative practices.

But first, a little housekeeping if you’ll allow me. There’s a good chance you’re new here so I want to clarify that I write all sorts of nonsense alongside this newsletter, which I roughly divide into two camps: Lit with Lyds (reading guides and deep dives) and Penny’s Worth (my attempt to make sense of all the rest). Please do toggle your preferred sections on/off in the settings so you don’t end up having to read about adult acne when you came for the seasonal reading lists.

Now, let’s begin.

All the times Anne of Green Gables spoke to me this month:

“There’s such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I’m such a troublesome person. If it was just one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn’t be half so interesting.”

“We pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, but exact their dues of work and self denial, anxiety and discouragement.”

“Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.”

Word of the month

Tintinnabulation: the ringing or sound of bells (noun).

What’s on my desk?

A glorious set of 100 collectible Studio Ghibli postcards from one of my favourite stores, Scripted in Oxford, and a little book of 2900 stickers I got for a criminally low price in Sostrene Grene. Reading The Correspondent has done it’s work; I’m sending more analogue messages to my friends.

Loving:

Project Gutenberg. I know this is the worst kept secret in the reading community, but I’ve only really tapped into this goldmine recently. I’ve started tutoring a boy in year eight and needed to reread Animal Farm within 24 hours; PG delivered.

Oh and if you don’t know, it’s an extensive online library of full classic texts where the copyright has expired or gone unclaimed.

Loathing:

Collagen ADs. How can there be so many types? How can you all be rated #1 in the UK? What if I LIKE my fine lines?

Recommending

Arvon masterclasses

The Arvon sometimes feels like hallowed halls to the mere budding writer, with its famous residential courses and uber-successful alumni, but it's actually an extremely friendly and accessible organisation. I registered for their online masterclass in fiction with Jill Dawson, subtitled: Have you got a novel in you? Jill was magnificent. She didn’t use a single slide, she just spoke to us like a proper human about the practicalities of writing and taking ourselves seriously. I settled in at 7pm with a gin and tonic and half an Easter egg and came away at 9pm with reams of notes, a new sense of creative mindfulness and the soothed feeling that comes from being part of a community — even if only for two hours. See this month’s reading spotlight for my thoughts on Jill’s new novel, Pixie.

A comforting culture pod

If you find the podverse a little overwhelming, cosy audio choices that are virtually impossible to turn into 16:9 soundbites might be the tonic you need. Recently I’ve latched onto In Our Time (Culture) from BBC Radio 4, which has episodes on an astonishing range of topics but with a heavy focus on literature. I’ve listened to an episode on Little Women and have ones on other classics and various elements of Shakespeare lined up. Melvyn Cragg is dour and funny and unintentionally soothing.

Gracious debate on the role of fiction

I’m currently reading Dead and Alive, Zadie Smith’s latest essay collection, and am greatly enjoying it; she’s a class act. Several have appealed, but the one that’s lodged itself into my brain and refuses to leave is ‘In Defence of Fiction.’ If you’ve not come across this masterpiece yet, which tackles the question of the relevance of novels today and what we’re entitled to write about with remarkable intelligence and grace, then you can read the original on the New York Review of Books.

“The old - and never especially helpful - adage, write what you know, has morphed into something more like a threat: Stay in your lane. This principle permits the category of fiction, but really only to the extent that we acknowledge and confess that personal experience is inviolate and non-transferable. It concedes that personal experience may be displayed, very carefully, to the enemy, but insists it can never truly be shared by them.”

In Defence of Fiction, Zadie Smith

Substack gems

• How to Create Characters That Emotionally Resonate from

• Should an aspiring novelist do a Creative Writing MA? from

• This is how you write (Part 2) from

Reading diaries

Missed by Spring reading guide? Here it is again.

In the spotlight: Pixie by Jill Dawson

It’s funny how your relationship with a book evolves over the course of the different touch points you have with it.

I chose Pixie purely based on its stunning cover art. I then realised it touches on Obeah — Caribbean witchcraft — and the origins of the Tarot — two areas of personal interest for me.

I learnt it’s based on the life of a real woman living and working in the early 20th century: Pamela ‘Pixie’ Colman Smith.

Finally I realised I was attending a masterclass via Arvon with its author, Jill Dawson, just as I was starting to read.

Now, I find it hard to articulate how I felt about the novel, perhaps because of all those touchpoints clouding my judgement.

What did I love? The close first person narrative and wonderfully unique voice Dawson has given to a historical figure. The subject matter itself is rich, of course — “the most famous occult artist you’ve never heard of.” Pixie’s life story is fascinating on many levels and Dawson traces a compelling Bildungsroman as she grapples with her complex and often opaque identity, with traces of Obeah and other spiritualist practices set alongside lesbian love and Bloomsbury style social circles.

The pacing didn’t always agree with me, as some milestones in Pixie’s life were skipped over and others dwelt on in great detail; the challenge, I suppose, with fictionalising a real life.

Briefly noted

• Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare: this was the first of the plays in my year with Shakespeare that made me feel like I desperately needed to see a performance to make sense of it. In lieu of a theatre production, I watched the 1993 screen adaptation featuring Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branagh. It didn’t resolve all the plot holes, but they brought Beatrice and Benedikt to life beautifully.

• Reading Lessons by Carol Atherton: Atherton’s book should be required reading for anyone interested in the role of English in the curriculum and the worrying decline in reading in teenagers. Mapping the journey we take at school through the books we read, from An Inspector Calls to Macbeth, Atherton recalls the conversations she’s had with her students about their characters and themes — helping them make sense of their own messy adolescence. I loved it.

• Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome: I woke my partner up within the first chapter of starting this. It’s truly laugh-out-loud funny, even if there’s next to no plot and it reads like a meandering diary entry.

• Anne of Green Gables by Lucy M. Montgomery: Perfection on a plate; I don’t know what took me so long. I wish to move to Avonlea.

Currently reading

• Dead and Alive by Zadie Smith

• Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

Up next

• The Tempest by William Shakespeare

• Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConnaghy

• Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

This time last year I wrote about my complicated relationship with spring, and while the positives and drawbacks I describe in that piece remain true in my mind, I’m pleased to report I'm looking forward to the blustery season with its added daylight hours and teeming wildlife much more this year.

Over the madness of the past couple of months, I’ve noticed something I’ll call the paradox of productivity. By that I mean that we simply can’t plan for productive periods in our creative lives. Such a disrupted routine, revolving around an enormous milestone, ought to have been a completely fallow period creatively. Not so: I spent the days around my wedding and the week of my honeymoon hastily jotting down the ideas that were clamouring for my attention. In fact, the break with routine seemed to be fuelling this influx.

And yet, now I’m back to my schedule of allocating an hour or so before and after my working day for writing, I’m finding it much harder to make breakthroughs.

I’m sure there’s all sorts of psychology behind this, but my main takeaway is we are not fully in charge of our creative lives; we need to be open to receiving and transmitting even when we thought we were in a no-signal zone, and accept with a weary sigh when it’s just not happening — even when all the conditions are right.

Word of the month

Vernalagnia: otherwise known as spring fever, this word describes the romantic fever brought on by the onset of spring.

What’s on my desk?

Tulips! For a short time, anyway, before my cats tried to eat them. I appreciate this is a privileged problem, but many of my favourite flowers are toxic to cats, including the spring stalwarts tulips and daffodils. I’m putting out a plea for good alternatives, please. You might say — pop them somewhere out of the way, and surely they won’t eat them. Reader: my cats will eat them.

Loving:

Handwritten post! Yes, there’s a lot of admin involved in a wedding, but a massive upshot has been the many heartfelt missives exchanged with loved ones. I’ve been slotting carefully selected digital camera shots into thank you cards, while receiving very sweet post myself from all over the country.

The effort! The smiles! The lifeline a postcard or little parcel brings amidst an onslaught of bills! Funnily enough, I’ve just started The Correspondent by Virginia Evans and Sybil Van Antwerp definitely gets it. If you want to level up your personal stationary stack, take a look at my local: Wildflower Illustration.

Loathing:

It’s one of my resolutions this year to be part of more live audiences, but the COST of concert and theatre tickets is utterly insane. I refrained from following that with ‘these days’ as I was born in 1998, after all. But seriously, send me your (legal) tips and tricks for catching a London show at a decent price.

Recommending

A print magazine for female writers

At the beginning of this year, I took out a subscription to Mslexia on a whim. I’m so glad I did! As well as publishing original pieces of short fiction and poetry, Mslexia is packed with writing tips, courses and competitions. It’s a comforting and inspiring read, printed on lovely paper that’s perfect for reading in bed on Sunday mornings.

Yoga for writers

As part of my ongoing rejection of gyms and like establishments, I’ve recently returned to an old faithful in Yoga with Adriene. Adriene is an extremely zen and not-at-all annoying instructor operating out of YouTube and often accompanied by her gorgeous dog Benji. What I realised this time around is she has special classes for writers and creatives. The perfect midday break to get the creative juices flowing and do something about that neck pain.

An old but gold adaptation

On a recent Saturday evening I persuaded my husband (!!!) into watching the 2015 adaptation of Far From the Madding Crowd. It didn’t disappoint! The pastoral settings were exquisite and Bathsheba, Oak and Boldwood were all beautifully characterised. I’d always seen Troy as a blonde somehow, but he was terrifically nasty. My husband cheered at the climax of the Christmas party scene, he was that despicable.

Substack gems

• Author and Literature PhD student has joined Substack and is posting the most astonishing deep-dive guides to literary periods and plenty more besides.

• Continuing my theme of thoughtful giving and receiving, I enjoyed this piece by on unique and genuinely helpful gifts for hosts.

• I’ve been dipping back into copy work, the easiest way to hone your writing craft, inspired by ’s recent article on the practice.

• I can finally admit I have no idea what literary fiction really is, but I’m a little closer thanks to ’s recent dissemination of the term.

Reading diaries

In the spotlight: A Family Matter by Claire Lynch

As I continue trying to balance the many thousands of old books I’ve never read with newly-published titles, I picked up this slim volume a few weeks back. Wow. A Family Matter broke my heart slowly and stealthily.

The author’s note at the end discloses the statistic that lesbian mothers lost custody of their children in 90% of UK divorce cases during the 1980s. Lynch takes this chilling fact and brings it to life in a tender and original tale of two adults doing what they think is right within a deeply flawed society — and how those decisions shape the child caught between them.

The prose is deceptively sparse, as this becomes such a page turner I finished it in two sittings and am yet to stop thinking about it. A Family Matter just became the first debut to win the Nero prize in its history, and rightfully so.

Briefly noted

I finally finished The Lord of the Rings! Over the course of just over a year, I’ve read from The Hobbit through to The Return of the King, and what a journey it’s been. The Fellowship remains my favourite of the books and films. I’m still dubious about Frodo, and I still worship the ground Samwise Gamgee walks on.

In other news, a niche theme has emerged in my reading: Irish Rachels. Is this a nineties thing? Were they all called Rachel? The Rachel Incident and Rachel’s Holiday were both enjoyable reads, but reading them so close together meant I kept confusing the one who’d left Ireland for New York with the one who left Ireland for London.

• A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: Goodness me, a 40-page description of purgatory and hell nearly finished me off. Not an enjoyable story, but then again it contains some of the most beautiful prose passages I have ever read.

• The Other Queen by Philippa Gregory: I’ll read anything Gregory writes. This one is a multi-perspective from Mary Queen of Scots, her guard / friend / lover the Earl of Shrewsbury and his wife, Bess of Hardwick.

• The Rachel Incident by Caroline O’Donaghue: Really excellent. Full of heart, unexpected twists and wry humour.

• Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keyes: Not my thing, per se, but a solid dark comedy with an unreliable narrator. Is anyone watching The Walsh Sisters?

• Atonement by Ian McEwan: I’m not sure how I feel. I couldn’t say I enjoyed it, but I did admire it.

• I Feel Bad About my Neck by Nora Ephron: My highlights were the titular essay and On Rapture.

• A Brief History of English Literature: Everything an overview should offer. Clear, concise and compelling. Genuinely improved my understanding of the macro about one thousand fold.

Currently reading

• Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

• The Correspondent by Virginia Evans

• Reading Lessons by Carol Atherton

Up next

• Pixie by Jill Dawson

• Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

• NW by Zadie Smith

By the time you read it, however, I will be winging my way across the Atlantic as a legally married woman. I am deeply looking forward to eight hours on a plane without updates on the Epstein files — and my honeymoon, of course.

It’s safe to say, then, that this newsletter nearly didn’t come to be. I’ve had a few things on my plate. However, in the frozen wasteland that is January I also had a lot of time to sit tight and absorb culture in all its restorative forms, and there were simply too many things I want to share with you that couldn’t wait until March.

So it’s been an unusual start to the year for me, but I’m determined to do January differently going forwards. I’ve decided the whole New Year mindset is quite frankly insane, and we’d do better to extend the festivities until February. I don’t mean I’m going to keep an inflatable Father Christmas outside my house until spring, but I do believe we’ve lost our way by making such a sharp left turn away from joy as soon as the calendar flips over.

We can learn a lot from the hygge concept popularised by Scandinavian communities, who live in almost complete darkness during the winter months, but also by looking back further in the history books. What happened to twelfth night revelries, or the ancient British folk festival, Wassail, traditionally held in January to bless apple orchards, thus ensuring a healthy harvest and warding off evil spirits?

I learnt about that last one in ’s January Notebook and came away with plenty more food for thought besides. Going forward, I’m leaning into year beginnings that involve lots of light, laughter and gentle goal-setting.

Word of the month

Not a word, but rather a lexicon love. I recently heard Caroline O’Donaghue talk about the notion of ‘a real shepherd’s pie of a book.’ She was, at the time, sat in a pub reading a novel while eating a shepherd’s pie. The idea is that the book is so good you can only consume something that’s viable to eat one-handed while you’re reading.

Loving: Using M.A.S.H as a writing prompt. Sorry if you have no recollection of playing this as a teenager, but it was the pinnacle of entertainment and you should immediately Google it. I recently came out of the game with the following to kickstart some flash fiction:

• Object: My favourite coat

• Obligation: To keep smiling

• Secret: Preferring one cat to the other

• Desire: Inertia

Loathing: Umm, all the rain? Usually I’m a fan, but I feel slightly damp all the time.

Recommending

• on the 10 best novels she read in 10 years as a literary editor.

• on how to find the good stuff on Vinted.

• taking down the book snobs.

• By Thursday’s Child: obsessed with this illustrator’s quirky prints and cap collection inspired by Lily Allen’s West End Girl.

Film: Hamnet

There is, of course, an enormous amount of discourse around this film. I sobbed and sobbed, at both the book and the film, but don’t buy into the criticism that it’s mere ‘grief porn.’ It’s hard to watch and I wouldn’t have got through it without a large gin and tonic, but I think that’s because it unflinchingly actualises something we never dare to look directly at if we haven’t experienced it ourselves: the possibility of losing a child or close family member. My main comment on Hamnet is the Casting Director deserves their own Oscar. I came away with a huge crush on Jessie Buckley (sorry Paul), and utter astonishment at the skill of the child actors who were so crucial to the storytelling. Back to Jessie: brave, soul-destroying yet life-affirming, imperfect perfection. No notes.

Podcast: Bookshelfie — The Women’s Prize podcast

This new (to me) podcast has a wonderfully simple premise: female guests share the five books by female authors that have shaped their lives. Its Desert Island Discs but with the emphasis, thankfully, on the books. I’ve only listened to two episodes so far and have already been touched by the refreshing takes aired. Exhibit A: the great :

“Sometimes readers — usually male readers — say ‘so much is happening in the world, I want to follow it, so I read about technology, finance, economics, politics… but I don’t read fiction, my wife reads fiction.’ As if it’s a woman’s domain. And I feel sad when I hear such things, because i think we live in a world where every one of us needs to connect with our emotional intelligence — I don’t know a single person who doesn’t need to do that. But also I think in order to understand the world better we need fiction; fiction gives us the emotional intelligence and empathy we need to make sense of the world.”

Reading diaries

In the spotlight: The Land in Winter by Andrew Miller

Ok I know we’re only 1.5 months into 2026, but this is the one to beat this year for me. The Land in Winter is set during the big freeze of 1962-3 — one of the coldest on record in the UK. Miller uses these extreme circumstances to create a dramatic backdrop to what may otherwise seem (at first glance, anyway), fairly ordinary lives.

The novel is concerned with two couples: Farmer Bill and his wife Rita, and Doctor Eric and his wife Irene. There’s drama of the Emmerdale sort unfolding in this rural setting — affairs, medical emergencies, car crashes — but it’s all firmly within the realm of possibility. In fact, what I love most about Miller’s storytelling is the sheer credibility (and that’s coming from a fantasy fan).

The sixties details are wonderful; the space race, the bleak sceptre of war and the growing emancipation of women are all prevalent in a way that doesn’t feel shoe-horned in. I’ve seen this book described as slow paced and reflective, ‘glacial’ according to one punny Guardian critic. But I found myself unable to put it down, so invested was I in the lives of these heartbreakingly ordinary, hopeful and fearful characters.

My year with Shakespeare

2026 is my year with Shakespeare — a deep dive into the written plays, catching as many performances on screen or in the theatre as I can, and exploring retellings and biographies of the Bard.

Following Hamlet, my most recent adventure was The Winter’s Tale and I loved it. It wasn’t so much the story itself I adored, though jealousy has to be one of the most timeless plot drivers, but the characters. Specifically, the female characters. Hermione, Paulina, Perdita! Wonderful, strong-willed, individual women. Some of Paulina’s speeches had me gasping, as well as that love declaration from the amorous Florizel. It’s going in my spring, rather than winter, reading guide because of all the wonderful descriptions of pastoral Bohemia.

So that’s one of the great run of tragedies and one of the later Romantic comedies ticked off… where to next? A straight up comedy for spring, methinks, with Much Ado About Nothing.

Briefly noted

I’ve had such a stonking start to the year on the reading front that none of these really deserve to be briefly noted, but alas such are the constraints of time and space. Go, read them all!

• The Full Moon Coffee Shop by x. My January in Japan book of choice. Talking cats, astrology, gentle course-correction. Comforting perfection. Very little plot, lots of vibes.

• His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. Read them as a child, I think, and could remember little more than the armoured bears. Very scary for children’s books. The Subtle Knife is the best one and you can’t persuade me otherwise. Ruth Wilson’s audiobook narration is what bedtime story dreams are made of, if it weren’t so full of horrors.

• Hamnet by Maddie O’Farrell. Sensual, earthy, breathless. I loved the way O’Farrell creates and bravely holds suspense in the opening chapters. Perhaps a tad too obviously ‘literary’ in places for me.

• Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy. My first ever Hardy and I definitely want to unpack this more. WHAT A STORY?! Bathsheba is definitely going down as one of my favourite heroines of classic literature.

• The Rachel Incident by Caroline O’Donaghue. So warm and fizzy, like I knew any novel of Caroline’s would be. A girl and her gay best friend, coming of age the hard way in recession-stricken Cork.

Currently reading

• Cheerful Weather for the Wedding by Julia Strachey

Up next

What’s in my honeymoon suitcase? I’ve opted to take two chunky secondhand paperbacks that have been taking up space on my shelves and look like they’re longing to be devoured and covered in suncream: Atonement and Rachel’s Holiday. Wells, on other hand, is a rather smart Penguin Archive I’m hoping to read in one sitting on the plane.

• Atonement by Ian McEwan

• Rachel’s Holiday by Marian Keynes

• The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

That’s a wrap. See you on the other side!

There is an important moment which WILL happen (it just depends how soon), where mud will streak through the snow or an ink blot will smear the notebook, and initial panic gives way to a sort of relief. The worst has happened and it’s not that bad; it’s just a new year after all.

I’m a paid-up member of the resolutions club — I am, at the fibre of my being, a planner and a goal-setter. But I’m also aware this is a double-edged sword, which is why I set resolutions in a very particular way this year — one that prioritises joy and stops making me the problem. You can read them here.

I skipped into work on Monday as peppy as it gets, only to be felled by the largest and most time-pressurised task known to man landing on my desk. I had to dig very deep, but I just about held onto my resolution to romanticise being a frazzled English woman á la Bridget or Iris.

We’ve got a long way to go in 2026, so let’s buckle up and enjoy the ride (read: medicate with books).

Word of the month

Apricity: the warmth of the sun on a cold winter’s day.

Loving and loathing

Loving: Vinted. Literally why have I ever bought anything new in all my live-long days? Ok, I'll draw the line at underwear. Especially delighted to see as their new books ambassador; a fabulous pairing.

Loathing: ‘Ins and outs’ — I get the premise, but life is not a trend. Also, apparently ‘not texting back’ is ‘out’ and I’m not falling for that propaganda; not texting people back is a survival strategy.

Recommending

If December was the month of gift-guides on Substack, then January is the month of resolution-setting. I’ve deeply enjoyed a few pieces, but especially sharing her approach to the Era’s Method. What I love about it is she approaches her planning in three-month chunks, identifying the fact that one year can contain multitudes and a single attitude, approach or to-do list is unlikely to sustain you for the duration. This is especially true of my 2026, which on paper looks like three different lifetimes.

While on the subject of pressure, I was grateful for ’s article on eating disorders. One of the very worst things about getting older has been realising quite how many eating disorders — in all their different, nuanced manifestations — surround me. What makes this so much more difficult is that we have no acceptable language through which to discuss it, even if it's harming loved ones. This piece weaves personal experiences with broader observations, and I was so glad someone was brave enough to write about it.

Finally, I was thrilled to access Adam Kirsch’s article, ‘Reading Is a Vice’ in The Atlantic via a gift link I stumbled across on Instagram. Truly, those are the thrills I’m seeking this year.

The article makes an argument I wish I’d thought of myself: pointing out the moral and democratic duty to read is just about the worst way to get young people reading — instead, we should sell it for what it is: an affliction, antisocial, worldview-warping: in other words, a vice!!!

“Telling someone to love literature because reading is good for society is like telling someone to believe in God because religion is good for society. It's a utilitarian argument for what should be a personal passion.”

Podcast (series): Friends Thru a Lens via Sentimental Garbage

If, like me, Friends leaving Netflix at the end of December felt like a personal affront, I’ve got just the thing. Caroline O’Donoghue’s swept in and saved the day with a new mini series. There are seven episodes, all pushing over the 1.5 hour mark, and each analysing Friends through a different ‘lens’ — weddings, Phoebe’s childhood, the holidays, Joey’s acting career etc. If you only have time for one, make it ‘Relative Values’ with Dolly Alderton; not just an epic dissemination of the family dynamics that shape the series, but hilarious (of course) and packed with advice for writers.

Desert Island Discs: Lorraine Kelly

I dip in and out of Desert Island Discs (the podcast version), but I’m so glad I reached for this out of January boredom. Lorraine needs no introduction, of course, but gosh she’s just such a perfect embodiment of light and dark, warmth and fury — loving hard but taking no prisoners. Highly recommend for insights into her fascinating upbringing, the seismic stories that defined her career and her Shackleton obsession.

Reading diaries

My year with Shakespeare

2026 is my year with Shakespeare — a deep dive into the written plays, catching as many performances on screen or in the theatre as I can, and exploring retellings and biographies of the Bard. I kicked the journey off in the best possible way, with Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent by Judi Dench.

The structure is a sort of memoir meets love letter to the playwright, with fellow thespian Bernard O’Hea recording a series of interviews with Judi about the many parts she’s brought to life. I knew this already, of course, but the woman gives new meaning to the word iconic — I laughed out loud so many times, from her utter disdain for The Merchant of Venice to the tales of her backstage debauchery.

I decided to start with Hamlet and I LOVED IT. It’s taking every shred of my willpower not to write a literary analysis of The Fate of Ophelia by Taylor Swift, but my god I can see why that character captured Taylor Swift’s imagination. I also really enjoyed the introduction by Professor Cecil Watts, which described the two critical camps surrounding this play: that it’s an incoherent mess representing a low point for a great author, and that it’s a fabulously nuanced experiment with realism. Naturally I saw none of that in the text, just a great story, which is why I always read the introduction last rather than first. Interesting, nonetheless.

Finally, I have begun Hamnet with bated breath. I feel an odd sense of trepidation when it comes to reading something so highly regarded, let alone the hype surrounding the film coming out this weekend, so I’m taking my time with it and letting it all soak in. Full review to come in the next instalment of Murmurations.

The 2026 core curriculum

I’m taking a slightly more structured approach to my reading this year, if anything to alleviate some of the agonising indecision that strikes whenever I need to pick my next read. Of course, this includes my year with Shakespeare, but also some classic authors I have NEVER read: Thomas Hardy, who?

I’m hoping this approach will stop me buying more books, too. One can hope.

Briefly noted

The easy reads that kept me warm over the festive period.

• Uncharmed by Lucy Jane Wood: Very good, this girl knows what she’s doing and it’s only her second novel. It didn’t quite live up to Rewitched, her debut, for me, but I think the storyline of the first was just a little more me.

• The Cricket on the Hearth by Charles Dickens: I’ve been picking something new from my volumes of the Christmas Books each year, and I loved this one. The idea of the cricket on the hearth intrigues me as a recurring motif in classic literature, and this story had such a genuine moral message.

• The Burning Issue of the Day by T.E Kinsey: sometimes I feel like the only person on earth who knows about the wonderful Lady Hardcastle mysteries, but I know this can’t be true, as Kinsey would do just fine with or without me. A lady gentlewoman and her maid-meets-sidekick solve a litany of grisly goings-on in the fictional village of Chipping Bevington.

Currently reading

• Northern Lights by Philip Pullman

• Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell

• Hawkfall and other stories by George Mackay-Brown

Up next

• The Land in Winter by Andrew Miller

• The Winter’s Tale by William Shakespeare

Can you tell I’m a deeply seasonal reader?

Until next time!

In the last edition of Murmurations, I pledged to enter wood mouse mode for the rest of the year — no striving or exerting allowed. As with any goal, there have been relapses in the form of partying and anxious spirals, but actually my comrades in Brambly Hedge have some things to be proud of. I’ve baked muffins and eaten many a mince pie, I’ve wrapped gifts while listening to audiobooks and I’ve spent my work-from-home lunch breaks making paper chains.

Most importantly, I’m getting better at the whole ‘saying no’ thing. The ultimate test came recently when, despite having made some important decisions regarding my future career, I was offered a promotion of sorts in my current job and felt myself swaying on the spot. It was a sharp reminder that we are absolutely, well and truly conditioned as human beings to say yes to everything — especially if it equals more money and status.

That was a particularly gruelling chapter of the month gone by, but I feel like superwoman now I'm out the other side with my head held high and my identity — shock — still in tact.

When I was little, the first poem I knew off by heart was Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (apparently children don’t know any poems by heart these days, which makes me sad). However, it’s a different and arguably more famous poem of his that’s been at the forefront of my mind for the last few weeks.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken | Robert Frost

If you’re wrestling with a decision, keep those words at the front of your mind heading into the new year.

The most cortisol-spiking time of the year

Wood mouse winter or not, there’s no denying that the close of the calendar year brings an onslaught of obligations, from Christmas shopping and social engagements to closing work projects.

Here are three things I’ve noted down over the past month which seem like a good idea but will derail your mental health:

1. Shopping the sales

I fall into this trap every year. Trawling websites for fear of missing out, only to either buy something I hate deep down or walk away with decision fatigue and no acquisitions, having wasted several hours doom-scrolling. The golden rule, as I see it, is sales purchases are a good idea in just two scenarios: a) you have an extremely specific target, know where to get it and know what sort of money you’re going to save or b) you stumble across something totally unexpectedly and buy it instantly in a fit of joy. Any sort of scouring or ‘just looking’ is simply not worth it: the sales will defeat you.

2. Succumbing to organised fun

No one will remember if you were at client crazy golf in a few month’s time. Take a day off, literally — it’s never as fun as they make it sound.

3. Being a domestic goddess

You don’t need to make an advent calendar entirely from gingerbread. Hand-embroidered stockings are not essential to the festive season. Last year I attempted Christmas cookies and my kittens kept jumping on the counter and wading through the dough and I ended up in tears.

Ok, cheerier things to come…

Word of the month

Eucatastrophe: the joy of the happy ending.

This one came from On Fairy Stories, J.R.R Tolkien’s famous essay which I finally made time to read. It’s as wonderful as everyone says it is.

Loving and loathing

Loving:

• Velvet socks

• Retro Christmas lights

• Vintage mulled wine glasses

You can keep your minimalist Christmas.

Loathing: Microsoft Teams

It’s too late in the year for meetings that could have been an email.

Recommending

Substacks that made me snort

Because a little laughter goes a long way in December.

• This hilarious romp through the absurdities surrounding the Peltz-Beckham marriage(s) from was a tonic, even if I am always embarrassingly behind on the celebrity lowdown.

• The worst person in the world by — a fabulously reassuring piece on being annoyed for no reason at all.

Gift guides worth your time

I wasn’t on Substack this time last year, and I'm astounded by the number of gift guides available over here. I’m a sucker for a gift guide, but if another one suggests I gift my mother a build-your-own bouquet Lego set I’ll scream.

Here are two I actually enjoyed:

• A Very Whimsical Christmas Wishlist from

• My literary gift guide by

Podcast: ill advised with Bill Nighy

I consume a lot of podcasts, and many of them are within the ‘self-improvement’ genre. Sometimes these contain absolute gems that have genuinely revolutionised my life, but most of the time they’re just there for reassurance. Also, it gets old trying to be a better person.

That’s why I’ve fallen hard for Bill Nighy’s new podcast, ‘ill advised.’ The premise is that Bill offers agony aunt style advice with absolutely no authority to do so, because he’s grumpy about lots of things, has unpopular opinions on most things and does not live in any way like an ordinary person.

Bill unpacks problems from a few contributors in each episode, which range from someone’s horse suddenly being in a mood with them to the correct sort of shirt collar, and then gives listeners a mini playlist and a book recommendation for the week. It’s silly and refreshing and comforting, with the introduction varying slightly each week but usually including something along the lines of: “If you are socially adept and enjoy healthy relationships, there’s nothing for you here.”

Oh and the voice. Listening to Bill has the same effect on me as listening to jazz.

A (non) guilty pleasure film

One evening earlier this month I found myself unable even to read, I felt that overstimulated. I ended up watching Netflix’s new Champagne Problems until well past midnight, and it was just what the doctor ordered. An endearing American woman, a handsome French man, the beautiful settings of Paris and the vineyards of Champagne… lots of clichés and stereotypes, naturally, but this has a genuinely appealing narrative and made me laugh AND cry which is all I can really ask from these films.

Reading diaries

Frankenstein update

A few weeks ago I finished this wonderful novel and proclaimed that it’s the best I’ve ever read. Two related things have happened since I finished Frankenstein.

Firstly, I watched Guillermo del Toro’s new adaptation and it left me weeping but also feeling a bit cold. Let me try to explain. I think I watched it too soon after I read it for the first time — like, a week or two after. The novel was too fresh (and exalted) in my mind, so the film was always going to jar.

HOWEVER. The Creature is acted wonderfully, and the scene of devastation in the cottage is rightfully elongated in the film compared to its rather sudden coming and going in the book. Other choices I feel more ambivalent about, including the whole William and Elizabeth thing. But my real bugbear was that Victor is grievously dislikeable from the beginning of the film — arrogant, chippy and selfish. In the novel, my empathy for Victor fuels the moral dilemma I feel once he becomes firmly pitted against the Creature, but in the film I'm rooting for the Creature from the off. Anyway — just in case you needed another opinion on the film.

Secondly, I spent the day in a local secondary school and observed an A-Level English discussion on Frankenstein. Let me tell you: I had to sit on my hands to contain my enthusiasm in that lesson. I appreciate the majority of students are there to get a grade, rather than fall passionately in love with the novel as I have done, but it was still so uplifting to hear their takes and observations on Shelley’s classic, including some perspectives I would never have thought of.

Finally, a question. Which is the best Mary Shelley biography to read? There are so many…!

Advent by Gunnar Gunnarsson

This felt like an early Christmas gift, even if it was a gift to self. Truth be told, I bought it because I simply couldn’t resist the cover of the new edition (see above), which is among the most compelling I’ve ever seen.

Advent is an Icelandic classic, first published in 1926. Unusually, it was originally written in Danish as Gunnarsson — though a native Icelander and never straying from his homeland for subject matter — was living and studying in Copenhagen.

It tells the story of a man, his dog and his sheep who set off on the first Sunday of Advent each year to save sheep who have been left behind during the autumn roundups.

Our hero, Benedikt, is getting older and weather-beaten by his annual expeditions in treacherous conditions. There are religious overtones throughout in the traditional sense, but there's also something… divine? sacred? about this novel on a more subliminal level.

It's not moralising enough to be a fable and it's certainly not a fantasy, but this tale of solitude, endurance, communion with nature and man’s everlasting friendship with animals leaves you wanting to be a better person.

I can’t wait to revisit this one this time next year.

Briefly noted

Where I try to describe other recent reads in just three words…

• Katabasis by R. Kuang - Hellish, clever, stressful

• Somewhere Beyond the Sea by T.J Klune - sequel, queer, zeitgeisty

• Still Writing by Dani Shapiro - original, empathetic, motivational

Currently reading

• Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (reread)

• Shakespeare by Judi Dench

• Hawkfall and other stories by George Mackay-Brown

Up next

I’m planning to continue my little Shakespeare moment to close out 2025…

• Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell

• The Winter’s Tale by William Shakespeare

After stressing myself out for the majority of September and October, I’ve decided I’m officially going to have the November and December of a wood mouse. I'm going full Brambly Hedge, making my own soups, saying no to plans, pausing projects and prioritising health. Simplicity and consistency is going to be the mantra. Absolutely no striving or exerting allowed. They did have 9-5s and hen dos in Brambly Hedge, right?

On the theme of simplicity, I recently wrote about dismantling my notebook system which was quite frankly getting out of control, so have a read if you are also collapsing under a system of your own making.

Literary festivals are drawing bigger crowds than ever, according to the BBC, which is heartening news in an otherwise rather bleak reading landscape.

I’m lucky enough to live in Cheltenham, where the literature festival rivals the races for bringing in visitors from all over the country. I snagged an afternoon ticket to see Samantha Harvey interviewed by Liv Chapman, which was the highlight of my month.

Anyone who has read Orbital will have felt, like me, that an extraordinary process must have been behind those 147 pages of sheer beauty. It was fascinating to hear Harvey talk about the hand-drawn (!!!) orbit maps which informed the sixteen orbits she describes in the novel, and the hours she spent watching live footage from the ISS spacecraft during lockdown.

There were also wonderful insights into the style of Orbital, which she said drew heavily from mechanisms more commonly found in poetry than novels. Indeed, she asked herself: “Can I do with these words what a piece of music or a painting does?” which is just lovely.

Word of the month

Tsundoku: the act of buying books and letting them pile up. I feel seen.

Loving and loathing

Loving: Monsoon x Sarah Corbett-Winder

I’m not a huge fashion fiend but, every so often, a collection drops that makes me yearn. These wonderful designs feature all I could ever want from a wardrobe: knitwear embroidered with ducks, fringed tartan and frilly jumpsuits. Perfect for my new life as a wood mouse.

Loathing: Dialogue without speech marks

This feels very grouchy, but many a contemporary novel I’ve read this year would have been better if the dialogue was in speech marks. Just… why?

Novel update

First draft word count: 32,124

We’ve done better over the last month in terms of racking the words up, but I'm convinced the quality is possibly irreparable. I’m pondering taking a pause on this until the new year, because I’m caught between constantly thinking about it and not having the mental energy to do it any justice right now.

What's on my desk?

My very first Tarot deck!

I just moved a few notches further along the ‘woo spectrum.’ I’m surprised it took me this long, to be honest. My experience to date is a couple of question-led Major Arcana readings and, far more simply, taking a card off the top of the deck to use as a springboard for journalling.

I am very open to tips for the beginner Tarot reader and how to use the practice to fuel creativity.

Recommending

Non-fiction November

I have a very similar relationship with non-fiction reading as I do with exercise; I always feel much better for it but it’s tricky to get going in the first place. If this is you, too, then allow my non-fiction November list of favourites to inspire you.

• Memoir: Educated by Tara Westover

• Craft: Still Writing by Dani Shapiro (currently reading and it’s SO good)

• Diary: Madly, Deeply — The Alan Rickman diaries

• Author biography: Shirley Jackson — A Rather Haunted Life by

• History: Elizabeth I by Alison Weir

• Introspective: How do we know we’re doing it right? Essays by

Gift ideas from

As the drum beat of hyper-consumerism draws closer with Black Friday and the run up to Christmas, I’m loving seeing Hannah’s recommendations for handmade and thrifted gift ideas in my feed. They’re so creative and a timely reminder that, nine times out of ten, a thoughtful and personal gift will go a lot further than something in a branded box.

Wednesday

It is incredibly rare for me both my and my partner to be on the same page about a TV show. Films we can do, but sustaining the same level of interest in a series is hard. Enter Wednesday! I sort of knew I’d love it, but I wasn’t sure if it would be a little too YA for him. Wrong. It’s just got such an atmosphere about it, I think in large part because of the incredible soundtrack but also due to the setting and filming styles. I’m no cinema nerd, but I’m guessing that’s the Tim Burton effect. Jenny Ortega is, of course, the star and her unapologetic sense of self is a balm to my own anxieties. If you’re not already on the bandwagon, what are you waiting for?!

Podcast: Family Secrets from Dani Shapiro

As you can tell I am fan girling Dani a bit right now, as I'm reading and loving Still Writing. Family Secrets does what it says on the tin; Dani begins with her own story which is also the subject of her memoir, Inheritance, and then interviews a different person each episode about the scandal or discovery that shook the foundations of their life. It’s fascinating and documentary-esque, making you look differently at nature vs nurture and questions of identity.

The Lily effect

Amidst all the horrors, we’ve been utterly spoilt with new albums in 2025. My inner thirteen-year-old is most delighted with Hayley Williams’ Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party, but of course it’s Lily Allen’s West End Girl that has caused the biggest splash.

With her signature sing-song voice and lyrical prowess, it’s an utterly damning account of her recently dissolved marriage to David Harbour. There has been much *discourse* on the album, naturally, but I really enjoyed this in defence of the crazy ex girlfriend.

Also, everyone is going WILD for the artist behind her cover art — Nieves Gonzalez — and I am one of them. I need blue puffer black cat lady on my wall.

Reading diaries

I’m beavering away at the second instalment of my seasonal reading guides, making sure you have plenty of stores to see you through the Winter, so stay tuned for that coming soon to an inbox near you.

In the spotlight: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Now, I can be overly fond of a superlative, BUT: I honestly think this could be the best novel I have ever read. I came for the supremely gifted nineteen-year-old author carving out a brand new genre, but I stayed for the story.

So what IS it about Frankenstein? Well, the writing is — of course — magnificent. I adored the multi-layered approach to storytelling, from Captain Walton to Victor Frankenstein and even — especially, in fact — the creature himself. The use of letters and shifting perspectives is extraordinarily well-executed.

But my very favourite element? THE SETTINGS. Shelley has such a talent for this; I truly felt I was right there on the placid lakes of Geneva or the windswept shores of Orkney. I thought Wuthering Heights was supreme for turning landscapes into characters, but Frankenstein might just take the biscuit.

I have heard excellent things about the film and you may well have watched it by the time this newsletter lands. If so, please let me know your thoughts on book, film and book meets film in the comments.

Briefly noted

Where I try to describe other recent reads in just three words…

• Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson: Claustrophobic, immersive, dark

• Audition by Katie Mitamura: Clever, confusing, intimate

• Rewitched by Lucy Jane Wood: Heartwarming, romantic, witchy

• Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman: Magical family saga

Currently reading

• The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser

• Still Writing by Dani Shapiro

• Mythos by Stephen Fry

Up next

Katabasis by Rebecca Kuang — it’s time.

My vow for the rest of autumn is to try and live more closely to the way I think I do — in tune with the seasons, accepting energetic and fallow periods as they come, being more present and spreading more joy. After all, that must be what it’s all about.

In this month’s newsletter, I’m paying tribute to my literary hero, sharing the poem I’ll read at my granny’s funeral and — as always — sharing lots of reading updates and recommendations with you all.

The queen of Octobers

There’s no way I wasn’t going to dedicate the October edition of my newsletter to my literary hero, Shirley Jackson. This is her time, when readers and non-readers alike pledge to pick up The Haunting of Hill House or We Have Always Lived in the Castle. But there is so much more to SJ than the novels — and short story — which made her famous.

When I strolled through my local charity bookshop a few years ago, an uncategorised volume lying face up on a nearby unit caught my eye. It was Life Among the Savages, one of Shirley’s memoirs. I bought it on a whim and devoured the thing, completely unaware that this was THE Shirley Jackson - Hill House Shirley Jackson.

Her descriptions of topsy-turvy family life made my sides ache with laughter and I was just utterly captivated by the easy style of this author.

Years on, I've read many of Jackson’s short stories, the two aforementioned novels, her two memoirs and a brilliant biography of the author by which fed my insatiable appetite for all things SJ. I finally bought Hangsaman recently, so I’m really looking forward to that.

Here are a few of my favourites facts relating to the elusive and, often, reclusive author:

1. Jackson’s refusal to shy away from talking about the home in both her fiction and non-fiction work drew criticism from her feminist contemporaries, including Betty Friedan — author of the The Feminist Mystique. Through her self-deprecating portrayals of the struggling housewife, such a school of thought argued, Jackson perpetuated the misogyny rife in America at the time. I take quite a different view, but that’s a story for another time.

2. She’s rumoured to have snogged the poet Dylan Thomas on her porch. I find the idea of these two oddball geniuses sharing a private moment of passion during a gathering wonderful, even if it’s total nonsense. Not ideal for Shirley’s husband Stanley, of course, but then he was chronically unfaithful himself.

3. The New Yorker received more mail about Jackson’s short story, The Lottery, than any single piece of fiction they’d previously published. There were admirers among the writers, but there was a lot of outrage, too. Jackson kept 150 of the letters in a personal scrapbook. Luckily, she seemed to take feedback in her stride. One letter in response to a disgruntled reader says, “If you don’t like my peaches, don’t shake my tree.”

4. Sj was a devoted fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers — her and Stanley spent many hours watching baseball in front of the TV. But in true Jackson fashion, something very ‘good American’ had to come with a twist, and she sustained a long-standing joke with her editors at Farrar that she employed witchcraft to sustain the Dodgers’ winning streak.

5. She rarely left the house in the last years of her life. Suffering from severe agoraphobia — perhaps a culmination of the multi-layered unfriendly and judgemental receptions she’d received throughout her life — Jackson went from being reclusive by nature to an actual recluse, preferring to stay at home with her cats. She did, however, find her way back to writing in these dark years and was in the middle of two novels when she died.

“I must lose that sense of inferiority, but not go so far as vulgarity, and, above all things, I must cultivate charm, and ‘seek out the good in others, rather than explore for the evil.'"

A diary entry from 15-year old Shirley. The quotations at the end suggest the imperative comes from someone else — likely, her mother Geraldine. Luckily for her readers, Shirley never did follow her advice to steer clear of evil.

Novel update

First draft word count: 26,733

Ok this is truly dismal progress vs last month’s update, but I offer up two excuses: 1. I’m in the thick of it with work. 2. I downloaded Plottr and am busy making the most of the 30-day free trial to try and work out what on earth is going on.

What's on my desk?

Finally bought a big old chunk of a dictionary in a charity shop. Because yes, our phones can do everything for us now, but it’s nice to undermine their power sometimes.

Poem for a funeral

It’s often said that everyone dismisses the humanities until they have a wedding or a funeral to plan, and this is oh-so-true. I was set the task of choosing and delivering a reading for my Granny’s funeral, as different members of the family proffered their opinions about the most appropriate themes — granny the lifelong gardener, granny who retired by the sea, granny who loved classical music and reading, granny who was stoic and as British as it gets. All agreed, though, that it should not be gloomy.

After much overthinking, I landed on the following from Iris Hesselden:

I am there

Look for me when the tide is high

And the gulls are wheeling overhead

When the autumn wind sweeps the cloudy sky

And one by one the leaves are shed

Look for me when the trees are bare

And the stars are bright in the frosty sky

When the morning mist hangs on the air

And shorter darker days pass by

I am there, where the river flows

And salmon leap to a silver moon

Where the insects hum and the tall grass grows

And sunlight warms the afternoon

I am there, in the busy street

I take your hand in the city square

In the market place where the people meet

In your quiet room — I am there

I am the love you cannot see

And all I ask is — look for me.

Recommending

Life-affirming essays

October has brought a sudden, unexpected and fierce desire to explore the prospect of a career change. I’m talking a full 360. While I sweat over a pros and cons list which has developed into exactly the sort of spreadsheet I hate in my current job, I found a particularly refreshing read from titled, appropriately, “literally just do things.” Well, quite. We tie ourselves up in knots about taking a step which is, nine times out of ten, unlikely to blow anything up and entirely reversible. Forward momentum and less navel-gazing is the motto for 2026 (yep, I’ve given up on growth for 2025 already).

Part of the upheaval rollercoaster I’m currently riding are the simultaneous desires to throw away everything I own and buy more and more stuff. Tricky, but — to be fair to myself — a somewhat inevitable symptom of the endless stream of pro or anti-consumerism messages we’re consciously and unconsciously fed.

It all comes down to identity, of course. I learnt about the Diderot Effect recently and fell down a bit of a rabbit hole, culminating in this powerful piece from on how the idea of all our possessions needing to complement one another extends to less literal identity tags, such as world views.

I came away from the piece realising that you can’t go too far wrong if the things you own make you truly happy and you stop caring about whether they tally with each other or the expectations of society at large. The same goes for hobbies, career decisions, political stances and… well, everything — every choice we make. In other words, we should value rather than fear incongruity. Real lives can’t be condensed into a Pinterest board.

What we could do instead is savour the incongruity of our anomalous beliefs, and use them as a spur to create a distinctive story about ourselves; one which doesn’t fit the ones on offer. A world or worldview can be coherent without being “consistent”, like the prefabricated versions that are constantly being pushed on us.

Podcast reccomendations

I, like most of the UK it seems, have fallen for the charms of Philippa Hall and her podcast ‘Quick Book Reviews.’ The concept is quick, spoiler-free book reviews interspersed with interviews with authors and publishing professionals. I enjoyed listening to her interview with Dan Brown while I approached the end of his latest novel, The Secret of Secrets (see below). I was, however, shocked and horrified to learn that Brown hasn’t read a novel in EIGHT. YEARS. while working on this book. I get it, because the level of research that will have been required for such a dense and twisty novel must be enormous, but I just don’t think I could EVER?

In non-bookish podcast news, I am really enjoying ‘The Wellness Scoop’ with Deliciously Ella and Rhiannon Lambert. If you, too, get completely baffled as to whether bananas and avocados are now bad for you or whether you ought to be embracing ear acupuncture to cure cortisol face then this is a refreshing tonic in the age of viral media. I’m not saying Ella and Rhiannon are exactly paeans of relatability in terms of their respective backgrounds, but they’re committed to delivering an interesting, no-nonsense podcast on what we ought to really invest time and money in and what is — quite frankly — TikTok crap.

Illustrations

One of the unexpected silver linings of joining the Substack community has been the stream of stunning visual art on my feed. I came to deliver words and read words, but I’ve found myself totally dumbfounded by something I sadly lack — sheer artistic prowess.

One of my absolute favourite accounts to follow here is ’s. Karolina’s wonderfully cosy and whimsical illustrations include Alfred the mole, who is in the process of getting his own short story, and a host of other mammals, winged beasts and bugs. I smile every time I see one on my feed, and I think that’s what Substack should be all about.

Reading diaries

A week or so ago I posted a note admitting I have never read Dracula nor Frankenstein and asking which should be my priority. Let me tell you, Frankenstein took this impromptu poll by storm. The results were conclusive, to say the least. The funny thing is I now want to read Dracula more out of pity, but I’ll probably not read either until next autumn because of my dangerously overstuffed TBR. Thanks anyway.

In the spotlight

The Gilded Butterfly Effect by

This campus novel comes out on 21 October, and I felt very blessed to receive an advance reading copy in September. The Gilded Butterfly Effect is a a college sorority twist on dark academia, following the intertwined narratives of two very different young ladies as they navigate the utter shitstorm that is coming-of-age in a heavily pressurised environment.

Those of us who attended British unis where life revolved around pints and pesto pasta can’t help but be fascinated by the high-end nature of ‘Greek life,’ which Colley dissects with razor-sharp commentary in this novel. It’s a story about the ‘beautiful and damned;’ young people who jog until they’re sick to make up for a night’s substance abuse. People who are damaged by their privileged but soulless upbringings and seem stuck in a vicious cycle of trying to become something different from their parents but lacking the script to do so.

The Gilded Butterfly Effect is not for the faint-hearted, nor for those who need their academia to be cosy and comforting or to feature — you know — academics. It’s for fans of modern ‘sad girl’ literature, confronting themes and morally dubious characters. An obvious comparison, due to the central theme of beautiful people numbing themselves with an endless supply of drugs, is My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. The writing, which vacillates between fast-paced dialogue and haunting streams of consciousness, actually put me in mind of Ali Smith — one of my all-time favourite contemporary writers.

Briefly noted

• The Secret of Secrets by Dan Brown: Listened on audio and, while I did really enjoy it overall, I’m not sure I was quite so immersed as I have been in previous Professor Langdon novels. It’s ambitious and research-dense, and — while I found the concept fascinating — I wonder if this came at the cost of the story somewhat.

• Emma by Jane Austen: Loved it. The last of the big Austen six for me, and I think it nudged itself into pole position.

• Stardust by Neil Gaiman: I wasn’t as captivated as some readers, but a worthy reminder that fairy tales are for adults, too, and fantasy novels don’t need to be part of a six-part series to pack a punch.

• Muddle Earth by Paul Stewart: Reached for this during a particularly rough week. A wonderful, wonderful reminder of the powers of pure, unadulterated imagination and probably my all-time favourite comfort read.

• The Hidden Language of Cats by Dr. Sarah Brown: An absolute must for anyone with feline friends. Line it up for non-fiction November, folks.

Currently reading

• The Faerie Queene by Edumund Spenser (see you in 2035 when I finish this one)

• Rewitched by Lucy Jane Wood

Up next

It’s got to be Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson and — most anticipated of 2025 — Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier, at long last.

The dusty heat of August had me longing for autumn’s reprieve, and I suppose I got what I wished for because at the time of writing it has done nothing but rain for three straight days. But hey, we’re bookish people, and bookish people thrive in the rain (so long as they don’t have to go out in it — curse having to earn a living).

However. One week in to a new month and I’m already fraying at the edges as my to-do lists start to feel insurmountable. This is silly season at my corporate job, I am running my first half-marathon in two weeks and I’m getting married in five months. I’ve had more than a couple of wobbles, feeling like something’s got to give — and the novel project always feels like the most easy one to scrap.

At the end of this newsletter, then, I share some really great articles I’ve read during this period of overwhelm right here on Substack that serve as a worthy reminder that doing fine is sometimes just as good as doing the most. I’m still out-and-out romanticising the season, of course, but trying to do so in a less frenetic and also less consumerist way.

I’m leaning into novelty rather than newness. I’m determined to bake a blackberry and apple pie using foraged blackberries, I’ve curated an autumn film bucket list (see below) and I’m making a habit of listening to ghost stories while trudging through piles of freshly fallen leaves. It helps that I have two black cats, who supply all the vibes at this time of the year without the need to buy anything stuffed from Home Sense.

I’m trying to remind myself why I began my many side projects — writing fiction, writing on Substack, sharing my reading journey on social media — and that none of it was ever meant to be about metrics or schedules.

One project I am really enjoying is the first of a series of seasonal reading guides and I’m very excited to share that with you in the next couple of weeks. For now, here’s what I'm reading, writing and recommending this month.

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Novel update

First draft word count: 22,790

I’ve not even hit the volume of my undergraduate dissertation yet, but given that was on child mortality in ancient Rome, I am at least fairly confident this will be a more cheerful read.

What’s on my desk?

Two utterly gorgeous and completely different bookmarks. After a summer of using everything from train tickets to index cards to mark my place in suncream-ravaged paperbacks, I'm back to treating my books with care and that starts with a good bookmark.

The first is a Brambly Hedge design I got at Hatchards, which screams autumn comfort reads. The second I picked up at a market in the south of France and was immediately besotted by the clear resin with touches of gold.

Word of the month

• Sussurus: from the Latin, meaning “a hum” or “a whisper.”

“… and the night was filled with a slow, sad, susurrus whistle, like the wind fingering the pines, which was not, however, the sound of wind in the pines but the breath of thousands of sleeping men.”

From All the King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren, 1946

Autumn films — the bucket list

Work is set to get pretty crazy for me as we get further into autumn, but luckily we have a fair few Friday and Saturday nights free (a blessing). I’ve compiled this list partly to trick my partner into watching films with me that wouldn't usually be to his taste, on the grounds that they are on theme, and partly to work my way through some seasonal classics that have somehow evaded me to date (unwatched are marked with an asterisks — please don’t yell at me).

• Kiki’s Delivery Service

• You’ve Got Mail*

• Hocus Pocus*

• Shaun of the Dead

• When Harry Met Sally

• Corpse Bride*

• Dead Poets Society*

• Sleepy Hollow

Kiki’s Delivery Service deserves some elaboration. I only watched this for the first time in early August and I’d happily watch it again weekly. I adore all the Studio Ghibli films I’ve watched — the mesmerising landscapes and soundtracks in particular — but this one could have been written for me. A good witch, a black cat, a coming-of-age! PERFECTION.

Anyway, please do comment your autumn must-watch films and we’ll try to add them to the agenda.

Reading diaries

In the spotlight: The Mirror and the Light (trilogy)

I read Wolf Hall back in 2020, nabbed from my Dad’s bookshelf during the dark depths of lockdown.

Fast forward to 2024 and, wanting to continue the trilogy, I reread it via audiobook. Holy hell (sorry, Sir Thomas More), the next time someone tells you audiobooks are a poor cousin to reading a physical copy, tell them to go and listen to the tremendous narration of Ben Miles in this trilogy.

It makes sense, given he played Cromwell in the stage adaptation that Mantel herself was heavily involved in, that Ben was a natural fit for this epic feat. He brought the characters to life in a way that transcends the many centuries between us at Henry’s tempestuous court, making it easy for the listener to distinguish instantly between the grumblings of four or five late-middle-age Dukes and Earls.

Bring up the Bodies remains my favourite of the three, solely because Anne Boleyn is the object of my utmost fascination and I really felt her absence in The Mirror and the Light. That being said, as puts it, the finale is truly Mantel at the apex of her powers — deftly capturing all the nuance of Cromwell’s character as he meets his unfortunate end. There was a pit in my stomach for the duration of the final few chapters, so effectively has she invested her readers in his fate.

My favourite character across the entire trilogy? It has to be Christophe, one of the few fictional characters, and a source of light relief and plain humanity in the darkest depths of despair.

Over 100 hours of audiobook listening time later and — silence. Until the next reread, of course.

Currently reading

I guess old habits die hard, and I’m back to reading multiple books at once. On the plus side, they’re all excellent:

• The Hidden Language of Cats by Dr Sarah Brown

• Dark Moon Tales by Amaris Chase

• Emma by Jane Austen

• Good Girl, Bad Blood by Holly Jackson

I started the Good Girl’s Guide to Murder series purely for some YA genre research and you best believe I am now hooked.

Recently finished

• One Day by David Nicholls: Loved it, loved it, loved it. Everything a modern day romance ought to be. Only wished for longer with the characters, and possibly first-person chapters. Nicholls is the master of wit, warmth and humanity.

• Cyanide in the Sun and Other Stories of Summertime Crime: Eh, it was ok. My first British Crime Classic and I think I’ll try a novel rather than short stories next time. There was a lot of repeat themes and there’s only so many poisoned sandwiches and ‘accidental’ drownings one can take.

• My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante: Extraordinary, obviously. Full essay here.

• The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han: Another YA research read. Not for me.

Up next

My seasonal guide, ‘Autumn reading: rituals and recommendations,’ will be in your inboxes soon, but for now let me introduce you to my to-be-read pile, which may or may not be obeyed over the next three months.

*Podcast recommendation*

I have started listening to a great new podcast, “Is this book a classic?”, whereby the hosts alternate between discussing a designated classic, like Wuthering Heights, and then a newer novel with the potential to become one, such as My Brilliant Friend. They measure the books against Italo Calvino's "Why Read the Classics?" essay, which claims the classics share a set of defining features. An exercise of the utmost subjectivity, of course, but fascinating nonetheless.

Starred Substack reads

OK, you can’t star a Substack essay but you can like / restack / save. These four made a mark on me over the last month.

• I read this article two days ago and have not stopped thinking about it since. Ever since my former job working for a tech start up in the employee experience space, I’ve become intensely interested in the system of work and its sheer ludicrousness. I am also very much a part of this system — especially in my current role — and sometimes experience a minor existential crisis when I think about it too much. But this article from is a nuanced and refreshing take on the chaos, reminding me that I can thrive within rather than apart from such a system and that — actually — the state of play is evolving to favour the innovative employee over the big corp.

• This post from delivered me some home truths. A compulsive planner, susceptible to misalignment burnout, with a full-on corporate job, a novel-in-progress, a Substack and my very own wedding in February starts to look a little like a recipe for disaster the longer I stare at it. This article on evolving your planning to be kinder to yourself in the last three months — the most intense part of the year — is wholly reassuring. “Q4 planning should feel like putting on a cozy sweater, not squeezing into clothes that don't fit anymore.” Yep.

• Staying on the above theme, I found this read from a timely reminder that the grass is, in fact, not always greener on the other side. After 17 years as a self-employed novelist and journalist, Katy went back to an office job as a copywriter to stabilise her income. The unexpected silver lining? Human connection, routine and a renewed drive to write her novels. A reminder that your job doesn’t define you, and one I related to intensely as a former copywriter turned marketing manager harbouring daily wishes to throw in the towel and make a go of something more creative full time.

• This one’s not about surviving overwhelm, but it is hella comforting. I recently discovered ’s Substack and adore her stories of life as an American living in Ireland. Her article on pasta — quite possibly my favourite thing in the world after books — and fighting for her right to worship it in a land of potato lovers is just my type of nonsense.

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Thank you for reading Murmurations — it means an awful lot.

This newsletter is free to read, but please consider donating to Bookmark, the charity I’m running a half marathon for IN TWO WEEKS (help).

We’re all here because we love the written word in whatever form, but more than 1 in 4 children in England leave primary school unable to read well. This is an inequality problem, of course. Bookmark connect disadvantaged primary schools to 1-1 reading mentors, helping those who are struggling to learn to read and instilling a reading for pleasure culture in schools. You can donate here and I thank you very much in advance.

I’ve been amused by the Goodreads v Storygraph debate on here recently, and what a non-reader would make of such a niche concept as how you track, rate and discuss your books.

Bookstagram turned me off rating books, because I couldn’t distil all the subjectivity associated with a book review into a number between one and five. What’s more, how I feel about a book often evolves over time — I need a digestion window to work out those feelings. What hasn’t changed is my inner need to document what I read and when I read it (Storygraph all the way — lblundell_23).

This website, set up by Dan Pelzer’s daughter Marcie, collates the handwritten and typed up logs Dan completed each year from 1962 until his death in 2025. He read 3,000 books, averaging about 80 a year.

Browsing these preserved lists, squinting at fading typeface and scarcely legible writing, I was amazed to find that every book was borrowed from a library. The man read an incredible quantity of non-fiction on everything from geography to misogyny, so you just know he will have been a fabulous conversationalist.

You can see him fall in love with various authors and devour their oeuvre over a few months — 1996 was his year of Edith Wharton. His children can map the arc of his life through what he was reading at the time, including the books that kept him company while he awaited news of their births. This legacy, both as a personal gift to his family and a public one for nosy book lovers everywhere, is enough to convince me of the value derived from our desire to document.

On that note, here’s what I’m reading, writing and recommending this August.

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Novel update

First draft word count: 17,429

Still not sure what genre it is.

What’s on my desk?

A new feature! Taking advantage of Murmurations’ embryonic state to experiment, so bear with me.

Two things to spotlight:

1. Novel planning workbook

Now, I know what your thinking — is this like, a paint-by-numbers but for writing books? I can relate, and felt slightly ashamed when I bought it. But, now? I am loud and proud about my workbook! It comes from the people behind National Novel Writing Month and is great for when you’re scrabbling around for plot ideas or need to get a stronger handle on your characters. There are loads of exercises in it and I dip in and out, rather than progressing from start to finish. Much like my approach to writing the bloody thing, actually.

2. Something far less practical and much more beautiful

I’ve never seen anything quite like this before, and am curious as to whether you have. My Dad gave it to me for my birthday and it’s by a fellow exhibitor at the Salcombe Art Club this summer — Caroline Barker. It makes for a lovely desk feature in amongst more utilitarian monitors and staplers, plus it’s a gift you can be sure no one else will give them.

Word of the month

• Sapiosexual: being attracted to someone’s brain. Nice.

Reading diaries

My Brilliant Friend read along— week one (and a half).

I’m thrilled to be taking part in My Brilliant Ferrante, a month-long deep dive into the anonymous Italian novelist, Elena Ferrante, organised by . It’s strange limiting myself to 90 or so pages per week, especially when the writing is this good, but I’m trying to embrace a slower pace.

This first section introduces Lina and Elena as young girls living in Naples, witnessing violence on a daily basis and fighting to attend school for as long as possible. As they grow into teenagers, it’s clear they are frenemies — dependent on one another in different ways and jealous when the other progresses further. The best part so far has to be when the girls are gifted some money by the local mafia-esque Don and they spend it on a shared copy of Little Women, which they read side by side.

As you read Ferrante you wonder how and why it’s so good. There’s little flowery prose — in fact the writing feels immediate and universal, which is all the more magical for the fact its translated from the original and no one knows who the author is.

The read along marks Women in Translation month, an annual event to celebrate unique voices and highlight the gender imbalance in translated literature. It’s only right, then, to talk about Ann Goldstein, Ferrante’s translator. My favourite fact about her is that she only started learning Italian at the age of 37, which means there’s still hope for me.

Ann brought Ferrante to the anglophone world, and frequently discusses her works with students and literary audiences, continuing to bridge the gap between the beloved novelist and her followers. Both would, surely, be dream dinner party guests.

Recently finished:

• Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld

• Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis

• Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert

It’s been an outrageously strong reading month. I loved Lucky Jim so much I’m writing an essay on it, so I’ll save my thoughts and exaltations for later.

Romantic Comedy -

Am I in my romance era? I’m certainly reading more of them than usual this summer, which I guess makes sense as my work-in-progress hinges on a romance and, you know, summer.

I enjoyed this from Curtis Sittenfeld, though I didn’t love Noah as a hearthrob. Heroine Sally is brilliant and so are the descriptions of her work and colleagues at The Night Owls, which is essentially Saturday Night Live. I enjoyed this from, which compares Romantic Comedy to Seven Days in June by Tia Williams, which I’ve not read. Rena’s series ‘love at the line level’ is great for working out the sort of romances that appeal to me and why.

Madame Bovary -

Blimey O'Reilly this was fantastic. It’s a slow burn, and for at least 100 out of 330 pages I was so aggravated by Emma's awfulness combined with the boredom of her life in various Norman towns I thought I’d never warm to it. But! But!

While I never fully came around to the story, I fell hook, line and sinker for the way Flaubert told it. I couldn’t look away as Emma self-destructed, her house of cards collapsing in painful slow motion. I’m now fascinated by Flaubert, and how a provincial member of the bourgeoise could have written this novel, just before his thirtieth birthday, and so brilliantly excavated the darkest depths of the female psych.

The themes of science vs religion, reason vs desire, reminded me of The Brothers Karamazov, but the storytelling is much more succinct. Who knew Flaubert pioneered a new literary style with this novel, inspiring the likes of Kafka and Sartre? Ok probably a lot of people, but not me.

Up next:

I’m experiencing that mild panic when one season is drawing to a close and you want to fit the right reads in or you’ll have to wait until next year. By the time you’re reading this I’ll be on the French Riviera for my brother’s wedding, and in my suitcase is Cyanide in the Sun: And Other Stories of Summertime Crime, which marks my first ever British Library Crime Classic. I’m hoping the short stories format enables me to get some good reading done amidst a whirlwind of family time. I’m also packing You are Here by David Nicholls, because its just so obviously going to be a great read and that’s the sort of certainty I need in this late phase of summer.

Recommending

I’m on a TV roll! (Read: I have watched two series’ this year).

I spent late July and early August watching Too Much, the new 10-episode series directed by Lena Dunham, about a heartbroken American girl who comes to London with work, expecting to live out her best Jane Austen life. On her first day, she discovers ‘an estate in Hackney’ means something quite different from the country estates in her favourite period dramas, and inadvertently sets herself on fire with a candle.

The show is ever so slightly ‘too much’ for me overall, but our heroine Jessica is not. I love her, and her ugly chihuahua Astrid, with my whole heart. I feel lucky that I’m blissfully unaware of Lena Dunham’s personal life, so I can enjoy it without having to engage with the speculation of her fans and critics that it is her own revenge story.

It’s outrageous and will make you belly laugh. Jess reminds me of me and my close friends, who have definitely all been considered too much at times. For me, having attended an English boarding school and lived in London for a while, Felix and his social circle fell a little flat and prompted big and small cringes throughout.

Jess for Queen, though.

And she has a wonderful collection of nightgowns.

Oh and the hot priest from Fleabag is in it.

• Podcast: on “In Writing” with . Bella Mackie, author of How to Kill Your Family and What a Way to Go is known for being ultra no-nonsense, which is often a welcome antidote in the creatives-being-interviewed space. I recently discovered In Writing and am working my way through some of the backlist. Bella is refreshing on not being confined to a genre and writing books when you’ve never been trained to write books.

• Podcast: with . I listened to this while cleaning my kitchen one Sunday morning and, let me tell you, Gretchen’s infectious energy dragged me through those chores. Best known for The Happiness Project and the Four Tendencies Framework, she is someone who loves a project and sets herself a lot of goals, which I can relate to. I ended up taking the Four Tendencies quiz and came out as an Upholder, which is no great surprise. Later down the line, I'm planning to use this quiz as a character development tool for my novel.

• Adored this article from on her coming-of-age Summer working as a ‘dogsbody’ in a hotel in North Yorkshire. First jobs are always formative, and young Wendy is mocked for being from the south (of Yorkshire) and cuts her hospitality teeth in an environment that’s equal parts harsh, loving and hilarious.

• Unmapped Storylands from is one of my very favourite Substacks, and her recent article on the disappearance of languages and the meaning they take with them gave me much pause for thought. Did you know there are over 200 different words for rain in Hawaiian?

• Who doesn’t love two book nerds in conversation? Highly recommend and in conversation in Pandora’s recent post.

• Last but not least, the article that’s rightly rocked Substack over the last month. You Were Lied to About Exercise is an absolutely fascinating read from and exactly what I needed to hear right now, as the Instagram algorithm is attempting to convince me to do a variety of sadistic challenges to become perfect before my wedding in six months. It includes plenty of science as well as wit and humour in every paragraph, and is well worth the long read.

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Thank you for reading Murmurations — it means an awful lot.

This newsletter is free to read, but please consider donating to Bookmark, the charity I’m running a half marathon for in September.

We’re all here because we love the written word in whatever form, but more than 1 in 4 children in England leave primary school unable to read well. This is an inequality problem, of course. Bookmark connect disadvantaged primary schools to 1-1 reading mentors, helping those who are struggling to learn to read and instilling a reading for pleasure culture in schools. You can donate here and I thank you very much in advance.

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While every man and his dog was at Glastonbury, I was at Hyde Park BST to watch Olivia Rodrigo. I had no idea the average age of her fan base was 10, but I was delighted to be among them. The girl can perform.

Us older fans had our moment when Olivia brought out Ed Sheeran to sing A Team. We sung each and every syllable with hands clutched to our hearts and lighters in the air while the kids looked on without a clue.

Olivia was the headline event in my best friend’s birthday weekend, which annually manages to reach the scale of the Queen’s Jubilee. The bumper bender spectacular prompted some thoughts on wellness.

I’m not sure I ate a fruit or a vegetable for two days and I certainly didn’t go on any runs. I teetered on the edge of sunstroke a few times and I lost my voice before Olivia’s set had even begun. I ate coffee cake which had actually burnt in the force of the sun’s glare, a crispy cold pint in the other hand. This Substack won’t be no.5 rising in wellness any time soon.

But here’s the thing; these golden days are when I feel most well. Sleeping on the floor of my friend’s tiny Peckham flat next to a giant vase of sunflowers, belly laughing until we cry as we debrief on the night before’s events, screaming at the top of our lungs the lyrics to our favourite songs, doing an al fresco wee just out of view of security because — well, because needs must.

Wellness, for me, is giggling while we redo one another’s suncream in the beer garden. It’s trying to guess how I got the 12 new bruises I woke up with. It’s being surrounded by people who know you inside out and love you for your Dad dancing, not your skincare routine.

At the height of summer, when the evenings stretch on interminably, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in that sweet spot of chaos when you know you’re all feeling the exact same euphoria.

Novel update

First draft word count: 10,921

Miscellany

There is some *good news*! Does anyone remember such a thing? Well the government has announced a National Year of Reading and it certainly made me sit up straighter in my languid summer slow-decline-toward-death.

The initiative is designed to reinstate reading for pleasure and improve literacy skills which is, of course, what wonderful charities like Bookmark have been doing all along. Did I mention I’m running a half marathon in September to raise money for them? Training is hot and horrible work, so please donate if you can.

Words of the month

Quotidian

I just love that such a pretentious-sounding word literally means “of or occurring every day; daily.”

Vestibule

This was one of my main takeaways from reading Beautyland. Before that, vestibule always recalled the Friends scene — “I’m trapped in an ATM vestibule with Jill Goodacre” (if you know you know). I love how versatile the word is, used for specific types of buildings, parts of your ear canal, spacey sci-fi stuff and churchy stuff. I think it basically means “the bit before the main bit.”

Clangour

Read this one in Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis and it perfectly sums up my theory that summer is just an assault on the senses. Clangour means “a continuous loud banging or ringing sound.” Brings to mind Thursday bin collection.

Loving and loathing

Loving

There are far too many apps out there that promise to tangibly improve our madcap lives before inevitably getting deleted after a week. Not so with Picnic (its laughable that this would be sponsored coverage but I will caveat that it’s not anyway).

Picnic lets you delete 100 photos per day from your camera roll but in a very fun ‘swipe left, swipe right’ way, much like a dating app. I have also taken out pay-as-you-go unlimited options for one week when I know I’ll be travelling or sitting around waiting a lot.

I can’t tell you how much clearing out your camera roll brings back a teeny tiny sense of control over your life.

Loathing

Not doing one this month because everything out there is grim enough. Just call this the Positive Polly newsletter.

YOUR beautiful books about nothing much at all*

We’re clearly all craving a slower pace, because my recent article on novels that appear to be about nothing much at all but affect us profoundly had a lovely reception and prompted a flurry of your own recommendations. I’ve collated these below so we can all wallow happily in the nothing-but-everything club.

Reading diaries

Recently finished

Let’s hear it for the girls…

• The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo

• Beautyland by Marie-Helene Bertino

• Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood

• Gliff by Ali Smith

The Familiar knocked it out of the park for me for several reasons: a) I truly nailed it when it came to matching book vibe with holiday vibe — I may have been in Palma, not Madrid, but I was feeling very *señora* while reading this. b) It’s historical fiction with a side of magic. It’s Hunger Games meets Goblet of Fire meets ACOTAR. Enough said. c) It’s incredibly well-written and I got completely immersed in it. Kudos, .

Gliff was also very, very good. I usually shy away from dystopian themes (the real world is close enough), but Ali Smith does it with her usual panache and astoundingly original style. I think I might reread How to be Both or The Accidental this summer.

My foray into the young adult world paid off with Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood, which was very soothing indeed. It’s a like if The Great Gatsby was set in Cornwall but without the detestable characters — lovely stuff.

It can’t all be good news, I’m afraid, and I didn’t gel with Beautyland. On paper it was just my type; aliens, coming-of-age, friendships and family dynamics, but somehow I never got sucked in. I did gain a new found appreciation for the word vestibule, however.

Current reads:

• Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis (physical)

• The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel (audio)

• Scene and Structure by Jack Bickham (Kindle - it’s basically a textbook, but very good so far)

Up next:

I’m very excited to take part in ’s August read-a-long of My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante; a title I’ve been putting off for far too long.

While the nights are long and insufferably hot, I think I’ll also reach for “You Are Here” by David Nicholls.

Beyond that, I’ll be going where the mood takes me.

Recommending

I’m notoriously not a telly person, much to my fiancée, best friend’s and mother’s outrage. I struggle to commit to anything besides reruns of Gilmore Girls or Schitt’s Creek when I could spend that time reading or writing.

However, the stars aligned for me to watch Jane Austen - Rise of a Genius on iPlayer and I did not move from that sofa for the duration of the three-part docu-series. I also cried a lot.

I adored the dramatic vignettes with Emöke Zsigmond bringing Jane to life so wonderfully, as well as the interviews with the likes of Candice Carty-Williams, Dr Paula Byrne, Helen Fielding, Greg Wise and more. Not for the first time I felt quite overcome with a debt of gratitude to Jane and everything she struggled on for.

On the poddy front, ’s interview with Mark Haddon, author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, was so good I listened to it twice. He’s refreshingly dismissive of author success myths and hilariously honest about his own path to success — the sort of content we need amidst the deluge of ‘do this and you’ll achieve X.’ My favourite bit was Mark talking about going to see Curious adapted for the stage in Denmark:

“The only words I could understand were “shit, fuck and Didcot Parkway.”

And, as always, some lovely Substacks I’d read if I were you:

• Don’t pretend you don’t love snooping on opulent properties. This roundup of majestic properties for sale from the Hollywood Hills to York, England was a blessing from . Come for the tarot scenes painted on the ceiling, stay for the cabin in the woods in Northumberland. All would convince me to embrace summer more than my furnace-esque Victorian terrace in Cheltenham (I love you really, little house).

• I’ve been struggling to find a good rhythm with my journalling or — dare I say it — morning pages lately, and its showing in my chaos. I saved this list of journal prompts for July from to refer to when the creative rivers are running dry.

• could easily retreat into the privacy of stardom and pretend all is well, but she doesn’t and I love her for that. She’s been sharing some great pieces about writing insecurities, imposter syndrome, motivation and more over on the and I particularly enjoyed this piece on why we’re always trying to think about getting ‘over there’ instead of looking at where we are now — a dangerous loop that leads to nay contentment and much self-chastising.

• I’m seeing a few posts about carving out at-home reading or writing retreats this summer, which is naturally much easier said than done. From my side, one of the cats would escape onto the roof or our ceiling would spring a leak (two real, unrelated incidents) about ten minutes into such an exercise. I enjoyed this from on experiencing a false start after the best intentions, but showing up the next day anyway.

  ---

Thank you for reading Murmurations — it means an awful lot.

I doubt this newsletter will ever be paywalled, so instead of buying me a coffee or whatnot please consider donating to Bookmark, the charity I’m running a half marathon for in September.

We’re all here because we love the written word in whatever form, but more than 1 in 4 children in England leave primary school unable to read well. This is an inequality problem, of course. Bookmark connect disadvantaged primary schools to 1-1 reading mentors, helping those who are struggling to learn to read and instilling a reading for pleasure culture in schools. You can donate here and I thank you very much in advance.

There are considerably more recipients of Murmurations #2 than there were Murmurations #1 and I’m trying and failing to be nonchalant about that. Whenever I have to make a presentation at work I find the only thing that calms me is picturing everyone naked so — if it’s ok with you — I will do the same while I write this edition.

It’s been a rocky month so far. The news cycle has never looked worse. I’ve had a possible bout of Covid (who is she?), corporate chaos in the day job and the usual difficulties of getting any answers on ‘women’s health.’

Luckily, my recent reads have been pure solace and escapism.

I now divide the general public into two camps: those who know and cherish a little book called The Fortnight in September and those who have never heard of it. I have successfully transitioned into the enlightened group, and am telling anyone who will listen they must read it.

I’ll be writing a little more on this novel soon, but for now these artists’ impressions of Bognor Regis in the 20th century will give you an idea of the vibes.

While we’re on theme, I have been setting up an Instagram account for my Dad’s artwork. After a Fine Art degree at Oxford, he spent over 40 years in corporate leadership roles before retiring straight into a pandemic. After some grappling with the aimlessness of retirement, he has rediscovered painting and now has one on display at the Salcombe Arts Club — his first exhibition since University.

He specialises in landscapes, but my favourite of his works is this portrait of our cats. If you’d like to be his 32nd follower, it’s @andy_blundell_art.

In other news, I unexpectedly started writing a novel.

If I’m ever a literary star I will have to thank my cats in my award acceptance speech. Their usual witching hour stretched from midnight to 3am last week, and I eventually gave up and migrated to my desk — eye mask still attached to forehead. I felt like I’d been given the gift of time and needed to use it wisely.

There is no outline, no time frame. I keep accidentally slipping from first person into third, and I can’t decide if it’s for adults or young adults. But I’m telling the story I’ve been wanting to tell for ages, and it feels good.

In this month’s edition of Murmurations, I share my current loves and loathes as well as what I’m reading and recommending. Before we begin, some Rumi:

Story Water

A story is like water

that you heat for your bath.

It takes messages between the fire

and your skin. It lets them meet

and it cleans you!

Very few can sit down

in the middle of the fire itself

like a salamander or Abraham.

We need intermediaries…

Rumi

Miscellany

Today’s smartphone has 100,000x the processing power of the computers that first put men on the moon. Isn’t that terrifying?

I discovered this fact when reading a review of A Man on the Moon by Andrew Chaikin in the latest edition of Slightly Foxed, a quarterly readers’ journal I look forward to receiving in the post on a quarterly basis.

I was lately lying on the beach in South Devon with my best friend, who was reading Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier. She broke our companionable silence to say, “isn’t slattern such a fab word?” I pondered, and realised I didn’t know the exact meaning, so she supplied ‘a slightly tarty and feral woman.’ A quick Google came up with ‘a dirty, unkempt woman’ — fairly close. We are cultured but slatternly women.

The lingo I’ve jotted down this month tend towards insults, so if anyone has grieved you lately consider calling them atrabiliarious — melancholy or irritable.

In more elegant news, if June were a cake it would surely be this one by :

Loving and loathing

Loving: Desert Island Discs

Don’t all yell at once, but I’m listening to Desert Island Discs for the first time ever.

In the last month I’ve listened to around 15 episodes, usually on long runs. Highlights so far have been Nick Hornby explaining the concept of an iPod to Sue Lawley in his 2003 episode and Nigella Lawson’s brilliant take on diet and appetite some fifteen years before the Ozempic debacle:

“Every now and then, there’s something on the front of the newspapers that says there’s a fabulous new drug which allows people to feel full up. I always feel this is a very mistaken way of looking at it because I’ve always thought that those of us who eat a lot — it’s not because we have huge appetites, it’s because we have this great genius where we can eat when we’re not hungry.”

Nigella Lawson, Desert Island Discs, 2003

What I love most about DID is it makes you realise that popular culture is far from fleeting or transient — there’s so much continuity despite technological and trend-led developments, and that’s reassuring.

Listening to Helen Fielding and Emma Thompson’s episodes back to back was so moving and empowering, not least because both are so closely inspired by a fellow female legend — Miss Austen.

Loathing: Sprayed edges and matcha lattes

I fear these might cause controversy. I’m all for beautiful covers and jacket designs, but messing with the pages themselves just feels wrong to me. Am I crazy to want my books to be books…?! Worse; people have begun calling them spredges.

As for matcha? I’ve tried, but I’m not joining the ranks any time soon. Adding pumps of vanilla syrup and strawberry jam doesn’t make it taste any less like inhaling a mouthful of freshly cut grass. I’ll stick to coffee.

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Reading

Currently reading

I am deep into Origin by Dan Brown, doing my Robert Langdon homework before Secret of Secrets comes out in September. I credit Brown with getting me back into reading and clearly remember the week I spent at my parent’s house a few years ago when I stayed up reading Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code until the early hours of each morning. No one does page-turners like Brown, and Origin has all the intrigue and pace I remember from his others. Though Origin was first published in 2017, Brown is on the money when it comes to how AI will impact the creative world and I enjoyed his nuanced interpretation of whether this is good or bad.

Recently finished

I’ve already waxed lyrical about this book in this newsletter, and I suspect there’s more to come, so for now I’ll leave you to admire the beautiful Persephone edition.

My other recent conquests have been Three Days in June by Anne Tyler and Book Lovers by Emily Henry.

I enjoyed Three Days in June but I’m not sure I appreciated it fully — it was my first Anne Tyler and her pared-back, conversational prose caught me off guard. The short novel tells the story of a divorced but amicable couple navigating their beloved daughter’s wedding. It’s sweet, tender and perfect for the season, but it didn’t captivate me.

I swallowed Book Lovers whole during a short trip to the seaside and was easily sucked into Emily Henry land for the weekend. I struggle with contemporary romances, but I enjoy the ‘other stuff’ in Henry’s books — the literary contexts, the family dynamics, the sense of place. Every so often a line like, “a feeling like a scorching hot Slinky drops through me,” does have me wanting to throw in the towel, though.

Dipping in and out

I’ve been slowly making my way through The Mythology of the British Isles by Geoffrey Ashe since I picked it up on our trip to Dartmoor back in April. It offers some fascinating insights into things like hillside figures, stone circles, giants, Druids — basically pure summer solstice vibes. Geoffrey usually follows an epic account of a captivating legend with a complete debunk, which spoils the fun, but presumably he wouldn’t be allowed to sit at the historians table otherwise.

Up next

Oh god, it’s truly anyone’s guess at this point. Summer by Edith Wharton seems like a natural pick on the classics front. I’m also lining up a few coming-of-age and Young Adult fiction titles to inspire my own work.

Help needed; unpick my TBR before it swallows me whole…

Recommending

Podcast: Not Too Busy To Write by

I love finding a new podcast, and this one is really delivering so far. My favourite episodes so far have included writing personal non-fiction with , author of How to Stay Sane in a House Share, whose book I have since recommended to many of my late-twenties friends living with housemates. I also LOVED Sarra Manning on writing romantic fiction. Sarra is so candid and hilarious about the writing process and I came away with lots of actionable tips for getting a story down on paper, even if its not my genre. She calls herself a ‘word count slut’ — enough said.

Article: On reading while the world moves on by via

With so many of us on here to share our thoughts on reading, I sometimes worry there’s nothing much left to say. Enter Bel Hawkins, who shares her unique perspective on why she reads as someone with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). In this guest essay on , Bel discusses her convalescence periods which often come around unexpectedly and mean pausing freelance work and social commitments, meaning she finds herself in bed surrounded by books. What’s really interesting (but startling obvious when you think about it) is that reading quality works as someone with CFS is a means to still feel like you’re being productive during otherwise fallow periods. I don’t have CFS but I love the notion of continuous learning through books, and thought this was an excellent piece.

Article: Embrace the Mess by

Every so often an article pops into my inbox that I needed. As I flounder in the quagmire of giving shape to my novel idea, Will’s instruction to ‘write yourself clear’ keeps sounding in my head. The only way out is through; you’ll never be fully ready, and the idea will never be fully-formed — because those things happen in the process of doing:

“So let phrases crash clumsily onto the page, even if you end up deleting them later. Stumble willingly through the creative fog. Give yourself permission to craft mediocre sentences. Welcome the mess: it’s not your final destination, but it’s inching you toward it.”

Thank you very much for reading Murmurations — it means an awful lot.

I doubt this newsletter will ever be paywalled, so instead of buying me a coffee or whatnot please consider donating to Bookmark, the charity I’m running a half marathon for in September.

We’re all here because we love the written word in whatever form, but more than 1 in 4 children in England leave primary school unable to read well. This is an inequality problem, of course. Bookmark connect disadvantaged primary schools to 1-1 reading mentors, helping those who are struggling to learn to read and instilling a reading for pleasure culture in schools. You can donate here and I thank you very much in advance.

Murmurations can mean: a) speaking quietly — writing on Substack often feels like murmuring into the void, or b) the name given to a flock of starlings taking flight at once — reflecting the subtle power of this community.

Other contenders for the newsletter name were “desirable disaster” and “a delightful detriment.” I scribbled these in my notebook during a talk by the wonderful Dr. Tabitha Stanmore on the history of witchcraft and feminism. These were some of the choice words used to describe women in malleus maleficarum, the inflammatory text on witchcraft written by Heinrich Kramer, who was surely one of the first incels to be given a media platform.

Something quite powerful happening that evening in the Parabola Arts Centre in Cheltenham. A 99% female audience thrummed with restless energy as Trump and Vance were frequently used as the butt of jokes. We all emerged into the late summer evening with an undeniable sense that, while we’ve come pretty far since the widespread witch trials of the 17th century, we’ve not yet come far enough.

Staying on theme, I was entranced by these images of black cats and their owners lining the streets of Hollywood to audition for a horror film. As the mother of two gorgeous black beasts myself, I totally understood the complete self-confidence all these people felt that their cat would surely be recognised for its star quality.

Lastly, before I delve into what I’ve been daydreaming about, reading and recommending, my recent article is sort of a ‘what I did on my Easter holidays’ but for adults. It’s an exploration of Dartmoor through the mediums of novelists, poets, myths, legends and folklore. It’s also a love letter to shepherds huts. Read it here.

Miscellany

Until recently, the only penguin varieties I was aware of were the standard one and the Emperor one. LITTLE did I know there are 18 species of penguin, and they have some incredible names. You’ve got the little one, which is often called the Fairy Blue Penguin, and some of his comrades include the Macaroni Penguin and the Chinstrap Penguin. Fascinating.

Last weekend it was my turn to pick the film and I went for Four Weddings and a Funeral. I was flabbergasted when, after a halfway point Google search, I found out Hugh Grant was THIRTY in this film. Why does he look like every 19 year old in my freshers year at Durham?

I’ve been noting down words I come across in novels, poems and articles which are either completely or somewhat new to me. I then either try them out on my tongue in solitude or shoehorn them into everyday conversation to confuse others.

Here is this month’s list:

• Fluvial: within or of the river

• Aestival: of or relating to summer

• Rubicund: having a ruddy complexion - or me, after too long in the beer garden

While we’re talking lexicon, I recently asked a friend what she was up to and she replied: “just zenning.” There and then, a new and glorious verb was born.

Loving and loathing

Loving: LILACS.

For years, my mum has tried in vain to transfer her appreciation of seasonal flora and their accompanying gardening obligations to me. Reader; a change is occurring. I’m mesmerised by lilacs all of a sudden!

They’re everywhere, crowning each tree like upside down ice cream cones dipped in kaleidoscopic sprinkles. I’m ducking with deference from the low-hanging boughs on my morning walk to work, and dodging the ones seeping through front garden railings on my runs.

I know I’m not alone in being a late developer of such appreciations. Here’s an extract from Spring: The Story of a Season by Michael Morpurgo — my non-fiction read of the year so far.

“As a child, I don’t think I had any early understanding of the seasons. I lived them, of course, knew well that the cold gave my toes chilblains, knew there were sometimes leaves to scuffle through, that I could play out late when the days were warm and long, knew there was a time when flowers and trees blossomed, when birds nested. But I was hardly aware of the rhythm of the seasons. I suppose it’s not surprising. We have to have lived a few years to comprehend how and why the seasons happen. But as children we live intensely for the now, and have little sense of the passing of time.”

Loathing: Strava.

Strava is the new LinkedIn when it comes to toxic social networks masquerading as something wholesome.

I recently redownloaded it in an effort to track my progress ahead of an upcoming half marathon, and now I’m remembering why I deleted it in the first place.

Exhibit A: “Just a tiny 5km this evening — already did a triathlon this morning.”

Honestly Steve, there’s just no need.

Exhibit B: “Slower pace than usual today to spend some quality time with Ellie.”

Thoughts and prayers to Ellie for the amount of mansplaining no doubt endured on her morning run.

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Reading

Currently reading

I’m STILL reading The Brothers Karamazov and am beginning to think long books are simply incompatible with the way we live now. Yet I also don’t want it to end. More on that disconnect in my next post.

In the two months I’ve been reading The Brothers K I have started and finished lots of less intimidating titles:

Recently finished

The Convenience Store by the Sea by Sonoko Machida

Cosy Japanese lit at its best. I bloody loved it. Yes it’s a little ‘no plot, just vibes’, but sometimes that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. The lives of several residents of Mojikō, a Japanese seaside town, converge around their local convenience store. The manager has an unexplainable star quality and his own fan club. Employees and patrons are variously obsessed with Manga, basketball and sweet treats, and struggle with everything from their love lives to thwarted ambitions and adapting to retirement.

Conclave by Robert Harris

I missed the delights of Stanley Tucci in the cinema so went for the next best thing; the audiobook. The naming convention, the smoke, the robes… why is it all so weird, and so alluring? Robert Harris, with his nose for breathing life into the past, is in peak condition here. His earlier work, Pompeii, is actually the reason I studied Ancient History at university — that, and because it was first on the alphabetical course list.

Dipping in and out

Everything is Music by Rumi

Look at me, I’m very high-brow. I actually really struggle with poetry — sometimes I get it, most of the time I don’t. I was eager to try some Rumi after reading The Forty Rules of Love by , where the famous poet is a character. My impression so far is… was this guy really writing in the 13th century? How is his style so transcendent?

Up next

Three Days in June by Anne Tyler.

I’m excited.

Recommending

Podcast: with

I’m yet to listen to an episode of the London Writer’s Salon podcast I didn’t enjoy. They have a real knack for choosing guests and picking their brains to get the listener what they need to hear. I’d not come across Eleanor until I listened to this episode, but I was soon smiling on my morning commute to work. She is utterly no-nonsense about the shitstorm that is trying to succeed as a writer and dealing with copious amounts of rejection. She is useful and enlightening on her own journey of serialising her novel on Substack and pursuing Indie publishing routes. Well worth a listen.

Podcast: Book Chat with and Bobby Palmer — Anna Karenina

When Book Chat was no longer available on a monthly basis on Spotify, it was the closest I’ve ever come to full Karen style outrage. My fiancèe once wrote to M&S because they changed the recipe for their vegetable couscous and I mocked him heavily at the time. When I was deprived of Book Chat, I got it. BUT, it’s back! On Substack! For free! I tuned in gleefully to hear Pandora and Bobby discuss Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, the famous Russian tome from Leo Tolstoy. They bring their usual wit, humanity and personal takes to the conversation and it was a particular delight given I’m currently battling my way through Dostoeyvskey’s The Brothers Karamazov. Highly recommend if you’re interested in the classics and whether or not massive books are worth the time investment.

Newsletter: from

If you’re not subscribed to this you must be mad. It’s actually the reason I joined Substack and, to my mind, is the definition of an effective newsletter. Each Friday, bookseller Katie Clapham delivers her ‘receipt from the bookshop’ which she writes throughout her shift. It includes descriptions of all customer interactions and books sold which is just fascinating if you’ve ever harboured dreams of being a bookseller, but it’s also a glorious celebration of the mundane. Boiler issues, unpacking boxes, making tea — the delightful crap that makes up life. Receiving this every Friday is genuinely therapy.

Newsletter: from

Jami is organising an initiative called 1,000 words of summer, which begins on 31 May and runs for two weeks. I’m still deciding whether I’ve got it in me right now to show up and write every day for a fortnight, but this article in her newsletter Craft Talk definitely moved me closer. In discussing the question of ‘why bother’, which I think all we aspiring creatives feel quite often, Jami talks about something called the seedling stage. This resonated with me:

“Maybe you’re just trying to find your way into writing after a long time away from it or maybe it’s the very first time you’ve ever tried to write. Either way, these are early days for finding your voice, your interests, what you might want to write. Your seedling stage. All you want to do is poke around in the dirt and see what you can find out about yourself.”

Article: on Sense & Sensibility and the art of adaptation

I followed Claire’s journey of rereading S&S (my favourite Austen novel), working her way through the various film and TV adaptations, reading companion pieces, literary criticism and critics reviews before this beauty of a long read finally dropped in my inbox. I love that Claire took the time to truly try and know this book, which feels refreshingly slow and intimate amidst the onslaught of 250 years of Austen celebrations. She’s particularly great on the Marianne and Eleanor sisterhood, the queen of Austen Emma Thompson, and the connecting threads that tie different interpretations together.

Thank you very much for reading the first instalment of Murmurations.

I doubt I’ll ever write behind a paywall on Substack, so instead of buying me a coffee or whatnot please consider donating to Bookmark, the charity I’m running a half marathon for in September.

We’re all here because we love the written word in whatever form, but more than 1 in 4 children in England leave primary school unable to read well. This is an inequality problem, of course. Bookmark connect disadvantaged primary schools to 1-1 reading mentors, helping those who are struggling to learn to read and instilling a reading for pleasure culture in schools. You can donate here and I thank you very much in advance.