Book Review Roundup. Poetry, Sci-Fi & Fiction.

All of Me by Shannon O’Connor

‘isn’t it ironic how time changes memories what we do remember and what was once important fades away like it was nothing’

Loved the poems in this collection, I found them really easy to connect with. Solid, well written poetry.

⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

On a Scale of 1 to 10 by Ceylan Scott

I had been looking forward to reading this for a while, and I finished reading it in one afternoon. I liked the story, I liked the characters (well, apart from Dr. Flores) and I loved the descriptions of a few of the characters and there were phrases or sentences in the writing that were so poetic and exciting to read (does that make sense?)
There were parts that could potentially be triggering for people. I’ve read a fair few books set in psychiatric hospitals and On a Scale of 1 to 10 ranks highly among them.

⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

Doctor Who At Childhood’s End by Sophie Aldred

I enjoyed reading this. At Childhood’s End was a nostalgic ride through space, Perivale, and an alien planet. The 7th Doctor made an appearance, with his umbrella!
I do think the Doctor traveling with 3 people is a bit much. In this story, Graham and Ryan are great, but Yaz might as well not been there. Especially as the writers went down the path of there being jealousy between Ace and Yaz, which was briefly explored and then dropped. I loved this story asked questions about life after traveling with the Doctor, and how it might change you.
Ace is the main focus of this story and her character arc just never ends, does it?
She pinched an alien pod before UNIT could get their hands on it! The Squidget. Adorable.
I want more Ace stories like this.

‘Three suns sat like cigarette burns in the filthy tarpaulin of the sky’

⭐⭐⭐⭐/5

contains aff. links

Joy is

fresh air / a breeze against my face / sunshine shadows / warmth / reading poetry / faded books / laughter / music / movement / rainbow colours / something discovered, something familiar /

@k_lpoetry

Writer Shelby Leigh shared a prompt on Instagram asking what is joy to you? It was a good prompt to reflect on.

at the door – a poem

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

my backpack sits slumped over

from where it was thrown –

coming in from going out –

gathering dust –

and when lockdown was announced

there the backpack remained –

the shoes piled around it,

like loose stones around a rock –

the contents of time suspended –

loose mints, and receipts –

a water bottle, and pens separated

from their lids –

pads and wipes –

lip balm –

a notebook –

and until i remembered

to throw it in the bin –

some days later into lockdown –

a half-eaten lunch –

i didn’t dare to peel back the foil it was wrapped in.

Kate ©

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this continues to surprise me

i suffer (i sUfFeR) with depression and i am a writer. i am a writer who likes to share their work and sometimes that can become draining causing burnout – sharing on social media, updating a blog, Patreon posts, readings, sending subs out to publications etc.

if you’re a writer who likes to share their work, self-promotion is very important. It can consume you. i don’t do much of it anymore because of my aforementioned depression.

When i am depressed i do not want to share my writing. i don’t even want to write. i don’t want to do anything.

It can be difficult to recognise when you have stopped sharing.

i only notice when i have edited some of my poems, i have liked them, and i felt like sharing them. Then i’m like wait i want to share something new? and i realise it has been a while since i really wanted to do that. For me, sharing my poems is about connection. One thing you don’t want to do when depressed is be connecting with people. There’s a disconnect. And wanting to share signifies i want to be vulnerable and open again. 

i feel with depression so much shit builds up – it’s like a dam waiting to burst. And it’s a relief to be able to finally let it out. Which with poetry is a great combination. Any writing.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Poem. For those who are curious.

for those who are curious


the wonder

in sights and sounds

as the senses meet

the shadow of the trees branches

on cobbled streets

as suitcase wheels bobble

and twist on them

people have stopped, to find a lighter in their pocket,

to call to someone,

the yellow of umbrellas flashing across puddles

then the violence of honking cars at cars not breaking

a man seeking reason, expressing relief

whilst speaking to a woman, and trying to put an arm across her shoulder

cigarette smoke snaking over

wonder is at the heart of all

which is curious

digging out the whys and identifying all the little details.

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