Scratchings on the Page

Thoughts, Stories and Randomness from the mind of a writer



Letter: “Say that one more time. I dare you.”

*I just want to put a warning up here because I'm furious about this, and I have directly quoted this guy a couple of times. It's deeply upsetting to me, and I don't know how other people are going to... Continue Reading →



So. It transpires that I have missed the one year anniversary of this blog. That's just so typical! I spent last month worrying that I would forget about it, then manage to do exactly that. So while I'm calling this... Continue Reading →

Can’t speak

My little sister turned thirteen today. Aside from making me feel old and jealous (she got loads of Harry Potter stuff), she reminded me a lot of myself. Getting Facebook, that's what I did the evening of my thirteenth birthday.... Continue Reading →

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

I'll come straight out and say it: if I had read the book, nothing would have convinced me to go into that cinema. As it was I spent large portions with my eyes closed and my ears blocked. It was... Continue Reading →

I am not a Nazi What do people judge me for? Where do you want me to begin? You judge me for my hobbies, my talents, my personality. You've never liked the violin. You can't get into fantasy—you never read. You don't understand how... Continue Reading →


Earlier on today I posted something which I could never have predicted. In itself that isn't entirely unusual. I have posted many things like that over the past month: posts which reveal a part of me which I don't usually... Continue Reading →

My favourite things

I know I'm not necessarily a normal teenager. So do my parents. They know I have my little (or not so little depending on how you look at it) obsessions, but I don't think they know how many I truly... Continue Reading →

For one moment (Or: What Happens on NCS…)

Your friend comes up to me at lunch. I’m sat on the lawn, basking in sunlight and daisies, and his words are like a bucket of icy water which disrupt the peace I adore: of the sun on my face... Continue Reading →

Review: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

I’ve been meaning to read this for at least the past year, yet somehow I never got around to it. I don’t know actually. It was good, certainly—more that good—but it’s difficult to describe. It was unlike any Gothic novel... Continue Reading →

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