I’m not the kind of person who can write their way out of writer’s block by aimlessly typing shapeless rubbish into a Word Doc until inspiration hits.

I’ve always stood by the theory that editing something, no matter how awful, is better than having nothing to edit. Although, writing content that you know to be bad, even as a draft, can be dispiriting and physically painful.

On a good day, my head is brimming with words that fit well together and lines of poetry that have distinct rhythms and messages. At times like these, I find my notes app full of bits and pieces of writing that have the potential to become entire poems or prompts for short stories. This is great, I’m sure you’ll agree, we all feel incredible when this is the case.

However, there are always dry spells, times when nothing we write seems to sound even remotely interesting, our poetry falls flat on it’s face and our scripts are dull. For me, times like these are incredibly frustrating, but I’ve found that, like an illness, the pain can be alleviated in several different ways.

We all write under different circumstances, but there are some common denominators. I often find that I write best after reading work that that sparks interest.

The poetry I currently write is heavily influenced by the work of the Beats and the New York School of Poets. If I look back on a time-line, I see time when my work was particularly influenced by Auden and Eliot.

Some phases pass, but many stick and become an amalgamation of your influences. The writers who you admire and emulate are often the ones that succeed in replenishing your flow. So when I’m short of ideas, I’ll flick through Birthday Letters, or Lunch Poems to recharge my battery.

Additionally, quotes can also be incredibly helpful, whether it’s quotes about writing, or quotes on certain subjects and themes, I feel that they are a quick fix to help sustain your writing. You may have a collection of favourite quotes that you can assemble into an accessible collection and come back to when you’re stuck in a rut.

I think non-fiction writer have less trouble with this next issue, but poets and screenwriters and novelists, I hope you can relate.

Occasionally, I feel like a fraud because I’m have no idea what I’m writing about and that is detrimental to my mentality. I become stuck in a stuttering cycle of writing and stopping and considering, until I run out of juice.

In my opinion, one of the best solutions to this problem is to defraud yourself. Writing about hiking? Find a mountain to summit, pack your own bag, experience the tumultuous weather, then transfer this experience to your work with the reassurance and support of your genuine experience.

Secondly, I think it is equally, if not more important, to remember this one truth: YOU ARE A WRITER. You are a creator of worlds and people that would not exist if it wasn’t for you! You are a creator of fiction and fantasy and infinite circumstances. It’s important not to doubt your own rules, because YOU MAKE THE RULES. Sure, you may have to sit down and untangle messy plots and patch up holes, but in the end, you have the final say.

Thanks for reading this post and leave your thoughts below, how do you fight writer’s block, what advice do you have and do you agree with what I said?

ALSO, if anyone would like to request a specific topic for the next WRITE OUR AGE, I’d be happy to take requests in the comments. I’d love to hear what you guys would like to see.

SHARE this post on Facebook or Twitter with anyone you think would like to read it and give us a LIKE if you want!

Until next time,




2016 has got off to a brilliant start in terms of TV and cinema. We’ve been treated to releases such as The Danish Girl and The Revenant. The BBC has also been good to us, with mind blowing adaptations of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None and Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

Let’s have a look at what the rest of 2016 will bring:

SUICIDE SQUAD [Action/Adventure/Fantasy]

Release date: 05.08.16

Plot: A secret government agency recruits imprisoned super villains to execute dangerous black ops missions in exchange for clemency.

Director: David Ayer [Fury, Training Day]

Writers: John Ostrander, David Ayer

Suicide Squad features an all star cast, here a just a few:
Jared Leto [Fight Club, Dallas Buyers Club]
Viola Davis [The Help, Doubt]
Cara Delevingne [Paper Towns, Pan]
Ben Affleck [Gone Girl, Good Will Hunting]

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLLQK9la6Go

ME BEFORE YOU  [Drama/Romance]

Release: 03.06.16

Plot: Lou Clark knows lots of things. She knows how many footsteps there are between the bus stop and home. She knows she likes working in The Buttered Bun tea shop and she knows she might not love her boyfriend Patrick.
Will Traynor knows his motorcycle accident took away his desire to live. He knows everything feels very small and rather joyless now and he knows exactly how he’s going to put a stop to that.
What Will doesn’t know is that Lou is about to burst into his world in a riot of colour. And neither of them knows they’re going to change the other for all time.
Based on the book by Jojo Moyes.

Director: Thea Sharrock [The Hollow Crown, Henry V]

Writers: Jojo Moyes

Cast [starring]:
Sam Claflin 
[The Riot Club, Pirates of the Caribbean, Love Rosie]
Emilia Clarke
[Dom Hemingway, Game of Thrones]
Janet McTeer [The Woman in Black, Cat Run, The White Queen]
Charles Dance
[Game of Thrones, The Imitation Game]
Brendan Coyle [Downton Abbey, Noble]
Matthew Lewis
[The Harry Potter Franchise, The Rise]

Trailer:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4pEn72mPeM



Release: 21.12.16

Plot: A spacecraft traveling to a distant colony planet and transporting thousands of people has a malfunction in its sleep chambers. As a result, two passengers are awakened 60 years early.

Director: Morten Tyldum [The Imitation Game, Buddy]

Writer: Jon Spaihts

Jennifer Lawrence
[The Hunger Games, Joy, Silver Linings Play Book]
Chris Pratt [Guardians of the Galaxy, Jurassic World]
Michael Sheen [Frost/Nixon, The Twilight Saga]

HOW TO BE SINGLE [Romantic Comedy]

Release: 12.02.16

Plot: New York City is full of lonely hearts seeking the right match, and what Alice, Robin, Lucy, Meg, Tom and David all have in common is the need to learn how to be single in a world filled with ever-evolving definitions of love.

Director: Christan Ditter

Writer: Abby Kohn, Marc Silverstein, Dana Fox, Liz, Tuccilo

Dakota Johnson [The Social Network, 50 Shades]
Rebel Wilson
[Pitch Perfect, Bridesmaids]
Leslie Mann [The Other Woman, This is 40]
Damon Wayans Jr [Let’s Be Cops, Big Hero 6]

Trailer:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrDI4-BSovs


Release: 29.04.16 [UK]

Plot: Political interference in the Avengers’ activities causes a rift between former allies Captain America and Iron Man.

Director: Anthony Russo, Joe Russo

Writers: Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Mark Millar, Joe Simon, Jack Kirby

Chris Evans [The Avengers, The Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America]
Robert Downey Jr [Iron Man, The Avengers, The Avengers: Age of Ultron]
Scarlett Johansson [Lucy, Captain America: The Winter Soldier]
Antony Mackie [The Hurt Locker, Captain America: The Winter Soldier]
Martin Freeman [Sherlock, Fargo, The Hobbit]

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVdV-lxRPFo


Release: 17.06.16

Plot: The friendly-but-forgetful blue tang fish reunites with her loved ones, and everyone learns a few things about the real meaning of family along the way.

Director: Andrew Stanton, Angus MacLane

Writers: Victoria Strouse, Andrew Stanton, Bob Peterson

Idris Elba
[Thor: The Dark World, Luther]
Ellen DeGeneres [Finding Nemo]
Kaitlin Olson [The Heat, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia]
Dominic West [Pride, The Wire]

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JNLwlcPBPI

ZOOLANDER 2 [Comedy]

Release: 12.02.16

Plot: Derek and Hansel are modelling again when an opposing company attempts to take them out from the business.

Director: Ben Stiller

Writer: Justin Theroux, Ben Stiller, Nicholas Stoller, John Hamburg

Ben Stiller
[The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Zoolander]
Olivia Munn [Magic Mike, Iron Man 2]
Penelope Cruz [Blow, Pirates of the Caribbean]
Will Ferrell [Get Hard, Daddy’s Home, Anchorman]
Owen Wilson [Marley & Me, You, Me and Dupree]
Macaulay Culkin [My Girl, Home Alone]
Benedict Cumberbatch [Sherlock, The Imitation Game]
Christine Taylor [The Wedding Singer, Zoolander]

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CL4LNWHegk


Half a decade ago, I started high school. I had a pink Puma rucksack full of crap I would never use and fish out from the deep dark depths of it at the end of the year. My blazer was as stiff as the ironing board it had been soldered against and I wore these translucent pink Ghandi glasses that made me look like a bug – the usual.

Since then, I have perfected the art of being a model student and am eager to pass my golden notes of wisdom onto you.

#Lesson 1:
Do not introduce yourself to teachers as ‘Viktor Pickles.’

Avoid producing self portraits that look like this:image (4)

Know that this is not an acceptable thing to draw in your history book: image (1)

Under no circumstances is it acceptable to eat fajitas in class.

Try not to fart in assembly and blame it on your friend.

Learn to spell correctly:

Just because Scout is wearing a ham costume in To Kill a Mockingbird, it does not permit you to proclaim her as ‘dead meat.’

Holden CAULFIELD, not Holden Cauliflower.

If you still can’t spell ‘difficulty,’ I suggest you read Matilda.

If you were meant to colour it in, just colour it in. image (6)#LESSON 11:
If you can’t draw, you can’t draw.

Please learn how to spell
photo#LESSON 13;
Develop all points fully to avoid confusion and private meetings with your English teacher.
image (8)#LESSON 14:
Don’t giggle when being told off.

Know when to ask for help.
image (7)#LESSON 16:
Try not to insult children by calling out: ‘YOU THINK YOU’RE SO COOL, HANGING OUT NEXT TO THE FIRE EXHAUSTER, BUT YOU’RE JUST LAME.’ =__=

If you’re 12, you may not realise this, but swearing in every sentence is not okay. Please stop.

I hope you enjoyed this post and if you did please give it a like or maybe share it with a friend. All pictures and examples used in this post are my own and not intended to insult teachers, pupils or anyone in anyway.  =]


I have dreams that would make great screenplays and should probably be illegal. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘I don’t have enough for intensive therapy, please just stop at ‘illegal.’ I consider myself to be doing you a favour here, okay? These ideas I’m sharing with you are free for you to use at anytime what so ever. Aspiring screenwriters with no inspiration – I’m talking to you.

Somewhere around the last week of my 2014 summer holiday, I woke up brimming with adrenaline and sweating from all outlets. My dream: a modern day Hunger Games that took place right in my school building, wherein all pupils who failed the half term maths exam were put into the reaping. I spent an exhilarating few hours bounding over toilet cubicles like some kind of mutant werewolf and inexplicably ended up in a sterile white basement with a life sized marble statue of Buddha who had a scented candle melted to his forehead. At some point I was shot in the hand by the girl who scored 3% more than me and my goodness did it hurt. I’m sure there’s some kind of psychological reason for why I dreamt that I wound a dozen rolls of Andrex around myself and pasted myself to the art room wall with PVA, but that would make great entertainment.

My next venture into the hidden depths of my subconscious revealed the adrenaline junkie side of my. I went skydiving above Paris with a faceless friend and landed in a fountain in a town square. Unknown to me, the fountain was sacred and my dear friend had decided to empty the contents of his bladder into the clear pool of blue (I know him to be male, because I’ve never seen a girl pee so comfortably whilst standing upright, and also he didn’t wash his hands, so come on.) We were promptly arrested by the French authorities and interrogated by the FBI which was all very puzzling because I only scraped an A in my MFL language test last year and once told my French teacher that the holiday resort gave me three pigeons to make mushroom sausages with. Earnestly, I told the French police that I went with my mother and sister to the cinema yesterday and I liked the movie, but the popcorn was dry and bad. Needless to say, they were unimpressed and had just danced an Irish jig around the table before I woke up and realised I’d forgotten to complete my chemistry homework.

I’ve saved the best from last and all you cartoon fans out there may want to resist the urge to read on.

When I was about 6 or 7 I had this recurring dream that would one day become the root cause of my phobia of wheelie bins. I must have dreamt this same dream 10 or 15 times and I think it deserves a mention. It starts with a crumpet at my child-minder’s house, there I was enjoying my crumpet and thinking about the next three when the doorbell rang. It was Goofy, but not the lovable bubbly Goofy you and I are accustomed to, but his Goofy had a uni-foot, two oversized feet that merged into one huge foot, attached to a single oversized thigh. Now I have no idea what the hell was wrong with me, but when this monstrous Goofy said: ‘I’m here for Vivien.’ I obligingly went along with him. He would carry me down the street and throw me in one of three wheelie bins, leave me there until it was dark, and then take me back to the child-minder’s where my parents were waiting.

I make Stephen King look like a candyfloss unicorn, I know. God forbid my kids refuse to eat their asparagus, Goofy’ll come knocking. I’m joking, I hate asparagus.

If any of you reading this are psychologists or analyse dreams or whatnot, let me know if I’m insane in the comments below and for any screenwriters who become famous for their unique story line about Buddha’s adventures in creepy Goofy land, you’re welcome.



For a Quiet Carriage there is a surprising numbered of yobs behind me, chattering and screeching away like a family of chimps. From what I can gather, the guy behind me (we shall call him Gareth) is a budding actor who is on his way to an audition in London. His clarion voice is now informing me that, not only had he played a dingo, but he has also been offered a position at the company of a successful business person, which he feels ‘positive, positive, positive’ about. Unfortunately, it seems that he is prohibited to give away any details about his shiny new job.

Here are 3 things I can safely tell you about Gareth:

  1. He lives alone and has great conversations with himself.
  2. He talks to strangers on trains.
  3. He is a grade A bullshitter.

Anyway, nevermind him, let’s discuss the free Wi-Fi on this train that doesn’t actually work – actually, that’s boring and you didn’t come here for boring, so I’ll tell you all about train stations instead.

I’m joking, don’t worry.

Here’s a couple in front of me now (we shall call them Cameron and Susan – Sameron) and they just shared a croissant, which was cute while it lasted, but now they’re both staring at the empty wrapper with their hands on their knees- apparently catatonic. I have a feeling that this is their first date and Cameron’s mum didn’t coach him past the croissant.


Gareth is still talking. It seems that he has found a buddy to talk football with (we shall call him Ron,) Ron’s currently raving about Aston Villa and Gareth is listing doughnut preferences. The telecom just advertised the tuck shop in carriage A – I think Sameron should invest in a family sized bag of Doritos, I’m having serious concerns about their lack of movement.


I’ve just moved places and now have a spiffing football commentary being fed into my left ear. Ron has found a new friend, who swears an awful lot (we shall call him Bucky.) Bucky’s Adidas trainers have crept dangerously close to my leg.

I think he knows I’m writing about him.


There’s a woman at my 11 o’clock who is drinking (what I assume is coffee, but since I can’t see it, it could be straight vodka for all I know) from a cup with a moustached man on it. I shall tell her telepathically how cool it is.

Bucky’s just complained about how idiotic some football fans can be and how much he hates flat lemonade. Now he’s opened two large cans of larger at the same time to prove his point.

Fun fact: Bucky is afraid of tunnels.

Ron’s just announced his phobia of flying and that he shits himself every time and doesn’t leave his seat.

I hope he wears a nappy.


Sameron update: still catatonic.

Apparently, the thing I’ve nudged with my foot for the entire journey is Ron’s right foot.

Fun fact: according to Bucky, he is okay with the Tube, as he is only scared when he goes through dark tunnels at ‘top speed.’

An old man has moved to the seat on my left (let’s call him Roger) with a can of Stella Artois on his table. I originally thought he was doing origami but, as it turns out, he’s hand rolling an impressive collected of cigarettes.

Origami is healthier, kids.


I’ve discovered that the secret to walking down a turbulent train is to step very rapidly and latch onto heads with a claw like grip.

Fun fact: Ron buys his jeans from the women’s section of Topshop.

Gareth has quieted down, I think he found something to eat. Susan has resorted to eating chunks of her Aloe Vera lip balm and Roger is still rolling cigarettes – maybe he’s entering a competition.


The train has arrived at London Euston and Gareth just left.

I shall miss him.

Bucky’s real name turns out to be Ross, but he’ll always be Bucky to me. He complained noisily about his flat larger and left too.

Fun fact: if you listen closely, you’ll discover that everybody is slightly nuts.


Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?
September something 2007.

I doubt you remember, but this happened to be a rather significant day for me, ’twas the day I started 3rd grade at a new school, with new peers and new teachers. All of them yet untouched by my existence. I was determined to blown them away with my rosy character and make a lasting impression on their lives.

My seven-year-old self had been both anxious and silently elated all morning, whilst you were still nestled in my intestines, seemingly dormant.

During assembly, the headmistress launched into a spiel about leaves in the spring and I felt you poke at my innards, demanding my attention. Silently, I commanded you to sit and wait nicely like a polite fart, but you jabbed at me rebelliously and sneered at my reaction.

In hindsight, I must admit that you put up quite a fight, I lasted all of two minutes before you came shooting out of me like a party popper, shedding your misunderstood cheer all around where I was seated.

I wonder if you saw the way a circle immediately formed around me, how the other kids pulled exaggerated faces of disgust and pinched their noses, as if I were a field of potently smelling manure, and the way the teachers sniggered inconspicuously under their hands, coughing to cover it up.
You evoked quite a reaction you.

Not only did you publicly humiliate me- no, that I could have forgiven in time- but your carelessness resulted in my telling of a lie.

‘It was her!’ I jerked an accusing finger towards the poor girl to my right, she gasped indignantly and shook her head.

‘It was!’ I screeched ‘it wasn’t me, it was her!’  

The girl in front of me whipped around and sneered.

‘Don’t be stupid,‘ she said ‘Jasmine doesn’t fart, you liar.’ 

And I’ll stop there, as I don’t feel like recounting the next ten minutes where I sat in my circle of shame and waited for ‘LOSER’ to come out of the label printer.

Now, I didn’t write this letter to blame you for anything, I think you’re fully aware of what you did. I also realise that the I owe you an apology. I should not have been ashamed to admit that I was responsible for you and I am sorry for how I made you feel.

You must be sick of being disapproved of every time you show yourself, sick of being the punch line to an innumerable amount of jokes.

Ever since the very first recorded joke in 1900 BC:

“Something which has never occurred since time immemorial; a young woman did not fart in her husband’s lap.”

You have been degraded and laughed at by small children and adults alike.
It’s a hard life.
I’d like you to know that you have nothing to be ashamed of.

You are just as important as any other bodily function. You are a unique blend of Hydrogen, Oxygen, Nitrogen, Carbon and Methane and don’t let anyone tell you any different.
You are important and at least one human knows that.

Your friend,


COMMENT, LIKE, SHARE and FOLLOW me for more.

Bye for now, I’ll see you in the next blog post

Viv 😉


I’m awfully sorry about your quiche matted carpet and Uncle Jim’s bruised belly and I know I probably should have waited for her to blow out the candles before eating. Please accept my heartfelt condolences about Bubbles too, he had a good run – are you sure I can’t help you extract him from the radiator?

On a big standard day, my social incompetence and I manage to co-exist swimmingly. Dinner parties, however, are a whole new kettle of fish. They provide the ultimate platform for public humiliation, larger and more well lit than Times Square on New Years Eve.

My very first experience of a dinner party was really more of a tea party. I was around 8 years old and had been invited to a house belonging to a friend of the vicar, along with some other kids from Sunday school, for sandwiches and squash.

So there I was, seated on the floor with a cup of strong blackcurrant squash, sipping from my cup as if it were a hi ball of bourbon and I a jaded war veteran, wise and windswept. The squash was far more concentrated than my mum ever allowed for me to drink and a deep, royal purple.

After setting my cup down, I engaged in the re-telling of old war stories with the ex-marine to my right and showed him my medals. Feeling rather parched from all my tale telling, I reached for my hi ball to find that it’d emptied its entire purple contents across the thick ivory carpet.

As I goggled at the bruise that had bloomed, the cup rolled a few inches to the right, mocking me.

‘Too busy to pay attention to me, huh? Look where that got you, jaded veteran my ass. ‘

Like any other normal person, I leapt up and apologised to the host for my clumsy mistake.

Is what I should have done. 

Instead, I backhanded the sneering cup under the sofa and shifted myself over the squash drenched carpet. Now if I could just sit there until the house became derelict, I would be fine. 

‘They’re going to report you to the police,’ The cup hissed from underneath the sofa ‘or even worse, call your mother.’

I continued to press my buttocks into the stain and felt the dampness begin to soak into my jeans and pass through my skin. I wondered what Ribena would do to me if it entered my bloodstream.

‘How about you tell them that you’ve acquired an illness that results in you spontaneously pissing purple, berry scented fluid?’  The cup suggested. After a few moments of careful consideration, I hissed back:

‘That’s stupid, they’d get worried and check with my mother. Now shut up and be a cup.’ 

A few Emerils later, people began to ascend from their seats and file out of the room. Utterly mortified, I remained where I was, buttcheeks clenching in fear and my face contorted with horror. To our superviser, I must have looked severely constipated, as she urgently attempted to usher me out.

I have to tie my laces, you go first,’ in my nervous state, my voice came out as a strained whisper and I barely noticed her glance at my Velcro straps before she left, clearly convinced that the child at her feet was seconds away from producing a pair of incense sticks to perform a demonic ritual with.

With the place now blissfully empty, my purple ass leapt up and slipped out of the house gleefully scot free.

I realise now, of course, what an asshole move that was and if the host of that tea party is reading this – I’m sorry and hit me up if you want to press charges.

But as you can see, dinner parties and I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot and our relationship was only destined to worsen.

In my opinion, the most dreadful type of dinner party is where the food is laid out buffet style and you get to serve yourself on a paper plate. Before you get the wrong impression, let me just mention now that I would usually be thrilled at the prospect of unlimited shrimp toast, but with so many watchful stares following you around whilst you pile your plate with a socially unacceptable amount of food and infinite opportunities for catastrophe, shrimp toast begins to look less appealing.

I mean, one minute I could be sprinkling my salmon with pepper and the next, have the host SCREAMING what the hell I was doing to her grandma. 

Don’t even get me started on the paper plates, flimsy flimsy things that bend all which ways whilst you attempt to pile obscene amounts of food onto it. You end up having to perform some sort of frenzied waltz, tripping over a pair of Crocs and nearly splitting your head open on Uncle Jim’s beer belly, to get to your seat.

Once seated, you discover that it is near impossible to spear anything with your fork without the plate sinking into the crevice between your knees. A few bites later and it ends up looking like you’re trying to engulf your meal with your thighs.

And finally, I doubt I have to alert you to the fact that you’re spending an ENTIRE night in someone else’s house, filled with THEIR PRIZED POSSESIONS, children and idiotic goldfish that leaps behind the radiator when you tap the glass.

So by the time they kick you out onto the front porch with a pending restraining order, not only have you used their deceased relative as seasoning, but also made their little brats cry, ruined their upholstery, and slaughtered their dear pet.

You should have just stayed in with pizza and Netflix.

Comment below any stories you have of eventful dinner parties and please Like, Follow and Share if you enjoyed this post.

EMAIL ME with any questions or queries.
Thank you for reading and I’ll see you in the next blog post.

Viv 😉


Hello there and welcome to my very first blog post, may this be the commencement of a long string of entertaining, if not slightly useless, articles that will garnish you day like that unnecessary sliver of orange that clings to your margarita glass- pretty, bright and good for your health.
So I don’t know about you, but the summer vacation bears a certain amount of expectation for self-improvement for me, and with that comes stress- barrels of it. Waking up each morning is like having a gallon of cold milk forced up your nostrils. The prospect of filling a blissful day of Nothing with Something Productive seems like an impossible task. The robustness of my self-motivation resembles that of an egg shell- if I’m peckish, it’ll most likely crack and end up amongst tea leaves and mouldy lemons.

I am currently one week into my seven week stretch of Nothing and so far, I have consumed thrice my body weight in cereal and read two chapters of The Great Gatsby, thus realising that Buchanan is pronounced boo-can-un and not buck-a-nun, which sounds suspiciously like a wild party game.

This afternoon, after polishing off my third helping of Country Crisp, my eggs felt reasonably un cracked  and I finally felt the deep rumble of inspiration that lead me to this post – on the other hand it may have been indigestion. Either way, I was doing Something, I was creating Something, and it felt good.

So to my fellow noodles, do not despair, these event-less times of dangerous Nothing call for creative measures. If you feel your eggs cracking, create the most supreme sandwich the world will never see and share a full bellied laugh with the closest person to your right, take up the glockenspiel, dress the neighbour’s cat, do anything and have it be enough.