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Lia Louis blog posts

Writing When Time Runs From You



I'm in my bed in the dark, a snoring one year old squashed into my side, a crick in my neck, and the sound of a rainforest downpour echoing around the room (the baby won't sleep without it. Just one of his many Mariah-Carey-Dressing-Room-esque requests). This is how I write now. Not all the time - no, sometimes, I am lucky enough to sit in perfect silence, at a proper wooden surface, with notes and coffee and everything. But mostly, this is how I write. On my phone, in the notes app, in a window of time I have grabbed with two hands from a speeding conveyer belt, and wherever I may find myself in that moment, however inconvenient, however far from ideal.

Before my life got as busy as it is now – before three kids, I suppose – I wrote at my laptop in uninterrupted silence, on that proper wooden surface I mentioned, feeling almost like a real writer – you know, the ones who sit at walnut desks, listening to Mozart and drinking coffee from tiny mugs with tiny handles. I’d …

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Let Writing Be Your Rescue

Lia Louis

Regular Writers & Artists blogger Lia Louis on the sheer joy of writing for no one else but yourself.


I can't remember the exact time that I started to write. I know I was young, I know it was before we had a computer in the house, and I know that as often as I wrote stories about magic trees and wizardy caretakers, I wrote long, thoughtful rambles about life, space, and sometimes, the cute boy in the house opposite who I thought may have smiled – or perhaps, Dear Diary, it was wind – at me. I wrote when I had everything and nothing to say, and needed to make sense of things. I wrote because it helped me think and stopped me thinking all at the same time. I wrote because I couldn’t find the right words to say out loud, and I wrote because I had thoughts, fears and secrets but no person I trusted enough to keep them. I wrote because it grounded me, and also sent me up, up and far, far away. I wrote because it was an antidote to an awful day, and also, sometimes, the …

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Take The Leap

Writing a set of goals and new year’s resolutions on the first page of a brand new notebook is as much of an end-of-year tradition for me as eating cold turkey sandwiches and pickled onions from the jar in my pyjamas, and eating mince pies because ‘we’ve got to get rid of them. While it isn’t unheard of for me break in the first two or three pages of my notebook with reams of resolutions, this year has been different. I haven’t bothered making a list at all. Instead, I plan on doing my very best to do just one thing this year: take the leap. 

In September of last year, I won a writing competition. My first writing competition, and if I’m being honest, my dream writing competition. I won the 2015 ELLE Magazine Talent Contest. A competition I never, ever expected to win. A competition I almost didn’t enter at all. 

I can’t tell you the amount of writing competitions I have planned to enter, and the amount of entries I have begun to write, and sometimes …

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The Magic of Writing

When I sat down to write this blog post, my intention was to write something else – a post about a different subject entirely. I had it all mapped out; scribbled notes, bullet points, the whole caboodle. But then something happened. I accidentally opened an old document on my desktop. At first, I didn’t recognise it. Then I read it. It was something I had completely forgotten I had written. And as soon as I read it once, I wanted to read it again. And I liked it. Enjoyed it, even. And then I couldn’t shake the giddiness and dreaminess I felt afterwards. Because it was grand, the whole discovering-words-you-forgot-you-wrote-and-finding-them-like-a-folded-fiver-in-an-old-pair-of-jeans thing – really bloody grand. And then I couldn’t help but think about all those other delicious moments in writing; the big things, the small things, and the smaller ones. Those little bursts of pleasure, excitement, victory, bliss, fulfilment. The magic. Because it is. Writing is magic. 

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Why You Should Write That Story

The most important thing a writer has is their story. At first, I thought it might be having the latest, all singing, all dancing writing program, or a neat writing desk with piles of colour-coded notes and no coffee rings or two day old bowls of crusty cereal. I even thought it might be the skill of being able to use words like floccinaucinihilipilification in a sentence without breaking a sweat, or having a lovely email from a lovely agent that quite liked your sample chapters. But it isn’t. (Although these things are still quite glorious.) The most important thing you have as a writer, is your story. That story. You know, that thing that won’t leave you alone. That project that you know, deep down, beneath all those grisly, foggy layers of doubt and ‘should I?’’s and ‘can I?’’s, can only be written in the way it needs to be written, by you. It’s that story that scares you, and probably excites you in equal measures, and that story that sometimes feels far, far …

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