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Uncanny Stories by May Sinclair

May Sinclair is in danger of being lost under a mountain of critical essays; smothered by scholars of literature and psychoanalysis alike, apparently determined to claim her as one of their own; and dissected by biographers until every word on the page is weighted with biographical reference, no matter how tenuous. Her fate is partly [...]
Beginning, or Not

This fall I’ve been trying to start a new novel. I hate this stage and will do anything to avoid it. One morning I was actually thankful for the dead mouse smell in the basement, so that I could otherwise occupy myself for another three hours.
It’s not just the fear of failure that keeps me [...]
Cardio Sprint On A Tightrope

I know I must be a writer because I have procrastinated writing this piece for weeks, promised myself that I’ll sit and properly cogitate it before I lay finger to keyboard, promised I’ll make a list of what I want to say, and yet here I am, throwing myself onto the page before I’ve had [...]
On Inverted Writing

‘There’s rosemary that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember; and there is pansies. That’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for you; and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me: we may call it herb grace o’Sundays: O you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy; I would give you some violets [...]





