Now I find that the real monsters that lurk under my bed are less tangible yet infinitely more scary.

The last few years have left me feeling as if I am at the centre of a series of ever decreasing circles. What exactly has brought me here?

Do we lose our identity as we grow older? This post finds me in reflective mood about who I really am.

It seems the annual talk of resolutions makes me adopt a reflective mood on a regular basis. Do you do the same?

What started with a simple object in a ten minute writing exercise, grew into the outline of a character in my head. Her name was Doris.