Cease The Day

Photo by Michał Bielejewski on Unsplash

You know the failure to prepare is to prepare to fail saying? Well, I prepared my socks off to read my poem online at an event. I rehearsed it, recorded it and pinned up print-outs in large font, in case I forgot the words. Half-way through reading out my poem, the doorbell in my house rang. It’s an extra-loud doorbell so I can hear it when I’m in my office. I remembered what my old drama teachers said. I acknowledged the interruption, then simply carried on. Apparently it was someone asking if we wanted double glazing. We already have double glazing in this rented house. Ah well.

Today has been a good week for my writing, quite possibly the most productive week I’ve ever had. I could really do this writing gig full time (if I had a private income).

  • I agreed edits and signed a contract for one of my short stories to be published in a lit mag later on in the month.
  • I read the critical feedback, then amended and submitted a story for publication in an anthology in September.
  • I wrote the beginning of a short story for a class I’m taking online, and then read it out in class.
  • I read my poem out in a zoom. Hopefully, it’ll make it into their anthology.
  • I submitted a bio, photograph and recording of myself reading out a poem for an event and anthology in Glasgow in November. That’s a big one. Internationally big.
  • Oh, and this was released……

The People’s Poem. Written and performed by residents of Leicester, which incidentally, was the most locked-down city in Britain. Inspired by The Leicester News’, ‘We’ve Missed You’ campaign.

Yup. That’s me folks. The one at the beginning with the moonface. Honestly, this project was so much fun to do. I loved every minute!


So, I was thinking about taking a short break from this blog for a bit. I will still maintain the diary of what I’ve been up to aka Neverthless She Persisted. I’d like to see this hiatus as a natural summer holiday pause or end of season one.

You can find me on Twitter @nicolawitters (Sometimes I remember what a man once said to me. “Is Witters your maiden name?” He clearly didn’t know me or how long I can babble on for !)

Thank you for all of your support so far. xx


My new boots.

I’m delighted that HAIKU SALUT, one of my favourite electronic bands has a new album coming out.

The Hill, The Light, The Ghost is out at the end of August. Here’s their new video to tide you over while you’re waiting, during these lazy, languid, long summer days, or washout, humid, hayfever-ish, thundery ones.*

*delete as applicable

For One Night Only

I’m reading one of my lockdown poems online in a Zoom session in a couple of weeks. I have so many versions of me practicing reading it out aloud on my iphone so far….. Learning lines is hard.

It’s an event from Liquid Amber Press, who are an Australian publisher of poetry.

If you would like to be there (virtually), please click here for a free ticket!

Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash

As has become usual at the end of a post, here is one of my favourite songs. It should have been Glastonbury sometime around now, but, you know, things happen. I was at this Glastonbury in 1999, and actually watched REM sing ‘Losing My Religion’, although this video is a better view than what I had!

124. They Never Leave Their Wives

Photo by Plann on Unsplash

This, like all my short stories, is a work of fiction. It was inspired by a newspaper headline prompt on the theme of lockdown in a creative writing/flash fiction zoom class hosted by the author SJ Bradley. Thanks also to Comma Press and North West Libraries Reader Development Partnership.

Photo by Malik Skydsgaard on Unsplash

It’s not limbo. It’s purgatory. No, it’s hell. He’s all I think about. I should be baking sourdough or banana bread, or getting through that pile of hardbacks, painting watercolours, or even doing jigsaws like every other saddo, but I can’t focus.

Every day it’s the same. I start getting properly ready about 4pm. At 5:30, give or take, he goes for a run and rings me. I imagine him all hot and sweaty. If he doesn’t ring me on time, then I know he’s not alone. He says he sometimes pretends he’s listening to his voicemail, so I only get a breathless “hi”. Then I have to wait until he gets home. That’s the best bit of my day. The muted zoom call while he’s in the shower. We have about fifteen uninterrupted minutes to watch each other.

Oh God, what if he’s recording those and putting them on the internet!

I don’t think he knows that I activated his find my phone app, or he’d have said something. I keep thinking that I might drive to that woodland area where he runs, just so I can bump into him accidentally on purpose, but what if he’s got his kids with him? It would be just my luck to get questioned by the police for going out of area to exercise.

It’s not fair. He’s stuck in a loveless marriage with two ungrateful teenage kids and a fat nagging wife, while I’m here all alone, in this flat, wasting one of my hot years. Every other woman stopped wearing a bra months ago, and slobs around all day in pyjamas, eating what they want. Not me. Full make-up and matching lingerie, just in case he facetimes me from the supermarket car park.

I can’t stop worrying about whether he’s cheating on me with his wife.

Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash