Filth by Marianne Beyer

Foul, it was foul. Naida clamped her hand over her nose, but it was too late. Trapped inside her nostrils, the fumes were spreading to her brain, dissolving it. She gagged and her hand scrambled to extract three mints from the box she kept ready in her pocket. No sucking now, this is an emergency.

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Guest Article : The Pros and Cons of Prequels, Sequels and Spin-Offs

 by Frank Westworth
Illustration: Bradley Wind

There is something monstrous frustrating about writing. And writing provides an essential release from the frustrations of writing. Does that read like nonsense?

I’ve been writing full-time since 1988. I write mostly non-fiction about motorcycles, with cars thrown in on occasion. Writing about a personal obsession is a dream occupation, is it not? It is; there’s nothing subtly clever in that comment. But it’s also monstrous frustrating. Editors make constant demands on authors. I know this to be true because I’ve been a full-time editor for exactly as long as I’ve been a full-time writer, and I make the same demands on myself as on the authors whose copy I buy: wordage, style, structure, syntax. I do this because The Reader demands it. Monthly magazines survive only if they appeal sufficiently to The Reader, and the magazines I’ve edited have been survivors. Mostly.

Art by A.J. Grace-Smith

Running late sorry! Start without me or you’ll freeze. Will find you when I get there. Soon as poss! Tim x
            It was supposed to begin at Tate Modern at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. The location had been his idea. Being early had been hers. Her idea hadn’t been a good one.

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