Category Archives: Creative Writing

Missing Out

Posted on December 21, 2018 by Stevie Mitchell

The entire business with the Christmas parties makes me look again to a thing I wrote (and am still writing) in slow bursts, between 2016 and mid 2018. A story for one voice, titled ‘Understand Me’. It’s a three part, … Continue reading →

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My October Symphony, Part 7 – Hoovering Up Shadows

Posted on October 31, 2018 by Stevie Mitchell

I do not hear the delivery man over the noise of the vacuum cleaner, but over the past year he’s become a usefully persistent knocker so eventually I do. I make a joke; I say: ‘sorry, I was hoovering. Once … Continue reading →

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Beachcombing

Posted on March 21, 2018 by Stevie Mitchell

March 21st. Something of a blogging fulcrum (which sounds like a fruity insult – ‘a rich epithet’, as an elderly neighbour of ours referenced last week, in relation to a phrase which had fallen from her lips), by which is … Continue reading →

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Streetlights

Posted on February 9, 2018 by Stevie Mitchell

About the new streetlights, the instinct is strong to refer to a ‘they’ who’ve made the changes. A Larkin mindset: world, unseen or in shadows, of clerks and cabinets. But that ‘they’ is gone, replaced by something glaring and tough, … Continue reading →

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Everything I Do Gohn Be Funky

Posted on December 21, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

It might have been in Crouch End, it might’ve been in Camden. Either way, a pub on a work night. The very early nineties. Open mic, I heard a lovely lilting version of Elvis’s G.I. Blues. And then the same … Continue reading →

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My October Symphony, Part 6 – Fishing with Dad

Posted on October 19, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

Dad, with some coaxing, sits down next to me on the bench outside his room. Shoulder to shoulder, the both of us facing the fence, beyond which the motorway sounds like the ocean. The cubes of beige cake on the … Continue reading →

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Yellow Morning

Posted on September 8, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

As quietly I spoon the coffee into the little basket, I hear the rain. On the big green parasol. All the leaves are friendly. It’s a yellow morning. Sometimes the cat wants to come inside, decisively, in rain like this. … Continue reading →

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Merely to Me

Posted on July 26, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

Merely at the end of July and there’s a clear whiff of Autumn moving in; here and thereabouts, in corners of the garden. It’s in the trees. It’s coming. The year as a mix-tape; the seasons on shuffle. Rain is … Continue reading →

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Eat One Of It

Posted on June 28, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

We know – trust me, we do – that there’s just been the one mouse living in the big gap in the slabs at the top of the garden steps. I mean, these last few months. And Steps, by the … Continue reading →

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The Clearout at the End of the Notebook

Posted on April 27, 2017 by Stevie Mitchell

Rationalising the contents of the little brick sheds. In the opening scenes, a Tennents Lager ashtray hits me soundly on the head. Slapstick or hospital drama. There are boxes on boxes of old branded glassware: some for brands which barely saw … Continue reading →

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