Tag: mental health

Interview by Idle InkSep 23, 202312:44 pm

INTERVIEW: Josh Rank

Josh Rank is a debut writer with guts. In his first published novel, The Present is Past (from Unsolicited Press), he tells the story of Mary, a middle-aged teacher whose life has been thrown into disarray by dementia. Whilst less courageous writers would perhaps tip-toe around the subject of cognitive decline, Rank immerses the reader in disorientation – the story is dream-like, infused with magical realism, blurring our concept of memory and pushing the limits of reality.

Rank was kind enough to answer some questions about his writing process and how his own family’s experience with dementia prompted him to write a book about it.

Poetry by Idle InkMay 6, 20239:26 am

It Makes Me Think of You by Jamie Kim

I do not remember how it feels to be twelve,
but most of the time it’s all I can think about.
Sometimes I think you’ll rise up from the grave,
Sometimes I can not believe that you’re dead,

I have always found desperation beautiful,
And maybe this is all a baptism,
But I wish they’d have told me it hurts so damn bad.

Essay by Idle InkApr 1, 202312:11 pm

In Pursuit of Small Plates and Financial Autonomy by Leah McDonald

Today Sib told us that London has been named the Greatest City in the World and then we all laughed.

On the way home from the office my phone broke and I held back tears on the Northern line. Just this morning I told El I didn’t think it was normal how tired I was all the time and then I googled is it normal to feel exhausted all the time in January. Thomas and I went to sleep at half past nine all week and we didn’t even have sex.

Essay by Idle InkFeb 4, 202312:03 pm

When the Hills Fell by Sarah Harley

I grew up believing we lived in the mountains, surrounded by fir trees. When the tops of the trees began to flutter, I hid inside a cupboard, afraid that the hills would fall in on us.

In the evenings, my father built the nightly fire outside in the garden. The smoke came through the window. Inside, my mother sat in the brown chair smoking her last cigarette of the evening as she drank the next drink, watching the night fall softly and regretfully around her. They did not speak.

Flash fiction. by Idle InkFeb 4, 202312:02 pm

White Paint by Zary Fekete

Nick bought paint, white paint. Enough white paint, he thought. He also bought all of the brushes and rollers that the man suggested should go with it. The man knew plenty about painting houses. Done plenty of painting, myself. What you need is probably 5 gallons. Now, do you need brushes?…

Nick started with the back room…with the closet in the back room. It was a basement apartment. It was once part of the main house upstairs, but the kindly upstairs couple had turned it into a basement apartment for people who needed a place to get back on their feet. They had sealed off the upstairs at the top of the old stairs but kept the stairs themselves, in case they should ever want to open the place back up again. As it was, the stairs now just went up and ended against the wooden boards which sealed off the upstairs from the down. The stairs were there, but went nowhere.

Poetry by Idle InkJan 7, 202312:15 pm

The Bird in the Cage of my Heart by John Tustin

The bird who sits in the cage of my heart
Won’t stop singing his off-key off-kilter
Out-of-it songs
And the dog who is tethered to a leash in my head
Won’t stop barking at the bird that sits
In the cage of my heart.

Fiction by Idle InkJan 7, 202312:13 pm

Self-Care by Jane Idrissi

“Your father nearly broke his back trying to carry your sister upstairs”.

“I swear to god -”

“We just can’t understand her, she was doing so well”.

Kay almost laughed.

“If you could come over, try to talk to her, she listens to you…maybe if you were here?”

“Seriously?”

“You’re too hard on her”

“I’m done”.

Flash fiction. by Idle InkDec 3, 202210:52 am

The Metrics of a Day by Alice Wilson

Today I walked six thousand and thirty-nine (6,039) steps which I appraised as ‘acceptable’.

I consumed five hundred and thirty-one (531) calories for breakfast in the eating of one bagel (254) with cream cheese (100) and smoked salmon (177).

I shed twelve (12) tears whilst crying on the phone to my dad about the fundamental question: “Am I willing to be hurt in the same way by this person again?”, which I resented but had to concede was #growth.

Fiction by Idle InkDec 3, 202210:49 am

Changes by Vanessa Santos

The train ride had been long and tedious. Evelyn, muscles sore and on the brink of falling asleep right where she stood, dragged herself along the cobbled stones without paying her surroundings any notice. Claude had seemed high-spirited on the train, doing his utmost to draw her excitement out, but now he, too, was quiet. It was dusk and the day had been dull and grey, so that darkness was not so much falling as thickening, expanding to kill the last hints of light. The town was quiet, the sound of the suitcase wheels dragging on the pavement the only thing they could hear. There was no one in sight as they navigated the narrow streets, seemingly twisting themselves deeper into the heart of the small town.