It felt a touch brutal. Like signing my own death warrant. And like they wanted me out. It wasn’t even a friend they were lining up to replace me. Maybe I should leave after all. In my head it was 50:50. In case I left - and just because - I’d been clearing out: old notes and notebooks, clothes, junk. Everything I had was junk.
My flat was small, top floor of a city tenement. What would otherwise be the living room became my studio, lit during the day by the industrial skyline through ill-fitting French windows which opened onto a tiny balcony. I slept in a box room just off the front door, and, when not painting, washing or cooking, spent the rest of my time in a white-walled annexe with only a sofa, laptop and bookcase. Such was my life. All else I’d left behind.
Lily is based in Hertfordshire. She graduates in September with first class honours in Media and Creative Writing and received a prize for the highest mark in her programme. Lily writes young adult fiction and is currently seeking representation for a coming of age novel. When she isn’t writing, Lily runs her own business selling handmade gifts [...]
We're very pleased to bring you an interview with Maria Clark, whose story 'Letters of Love' was shortlisted for the Sunderland Short Story Award 2018. You can pick up Maria's story, as well as the other stories shortlisted here. Maria Clark I began writing by accident. The day I could hold a pen to paper and [...]