'And so she took off, curving round the cliffs of Sully Bay. She kept going, tumbling over the boundless, silver sea, flying farther than she’d been in years. Finally, summoning the courage to fish again, she swooped, and she dove—but she failed.'| stingingfly.org
The gull lifted her wing and winced: the size of an eye, the wound was red and weeping. Inhaling deeply, she blinked and stretched out a leg. It was early morning, the town still and quiet. Across the rooftops the sun was rising, and the ferris wheel glistened in the yolk-orange light. This is happening, she told herself. Closing her eyes, she attempted to relieve the tightness in her chest, to bring lightness to her breathing, but then a mob of cawing crows swooped down beside her.| The Stinging Fly
We asked three writers and a visual artist to share their experiences of being part of the pilot scheme and tell us what they’d like to see happen next.| stingingfly.org
Gregor Montgomery, she told me, was a man of such standing, of such unimpeachable gravitas, that no matter the location of a party, he was surely known by at least two attendees in any given room at any given time before his arrival, such had his legend spread. All who had heard of this icon, … Continue reading "The Gregor Montgomery"| The Stinging Fly
The government’s Basic Income for the Arts (BIA) pilot scheme reaches three years in operation this month. The scheme was originally set to finish after this period, however an extension until February 2026 was recently granted by government.| The Stinging Fly
There’s a place on the road to the west where there’s a car park for a lake. Traffic signs announce a viewpoint with little triangles that are supposed to show there’s something nice to look at. People stop in the car park and sit on the grass drinking tea from flasks. We used to go there, when my children were younger. | The Stinging Fly
February 2020. I’m in Rome, on a short break with my sister. It’s two months away from the launch of my debut novel and I’m searching for shoes. Along Via del Corso, I find them, elegant and punky, with heels just the right side of negotiable. Undecided between the green and the black—which will work better with the silk pleated skirt I’ve been saving?—I uncharacteristically splurge and buy both. This giddiness is short-lived: in April, two weeks into lockdown, the novel is publis...| The Stinging Fly
There have been many surprises since I embarked on a career as a writer: the constant feelings of inadequacy, long bouts of creative constipation, the acute pleasure of getting pissed with other writers at literary launches, and the vast amount of time I spend planning and writing applications. If I could somehow conjure a world in which all these applications came to fruition – the residencies, collections, cross-disciplinary exhibitions, the visits to galleries and archives around the wor...| The Stinging Fly
When I was publicly announced as a Granta Best Young British Novelist, I was working in a wine shop. I felt insecure as no one else on the list seemed to work a job like mine, and I probably felt a little vain too: ‘Why is a Granta Best Young British Novelist being yelled at for shelving beer cans badly?’| The Stinging Fly
The noise from the pub cuts off abruptly as the door swings shut. She hesitates, not knowing where he has parked his car, and he gestures up the road towards the square. His other hand lifts towards, although does not quite touch, the small of her back.| The Stinging Fly
The alarm sounds. Waves three, four, five times the height of the two brothers roll towards them from the deep end. Low hum of the machine that generates the waves from somewhere unseen. Shankill Leisure Centre. Their father has brought them here, sits in the viewing gallery in his Liverpool tracksuit while the boys jump into the waves from the shallow end. The younger brother has never seen him in swimming trunks, let alone in the water. He doesn’t want to believe it but he’s sure their ...| The Stinging Fly
It’s in the car park we bump into them. I stand back like the other man, before our wives can have a go at introducing us. He makes a business out of locking up their Focus and I bend down to tie my youngest’s shoelace. Then I see the second one is loose, so I go to undo it and tie it again. It’s hard to get the double knot in it to come free and she won’t keep her leg still. The other man has found a smudge on his wing mirror so he’s at that with a lick of spit and a tissue. His fa...| The Stinging Fly
Under a roof that is not my own, in a modest home in Al-Shati Refugee Camp, I lie in the small bedroom of a child who, along with his parents, fled to the South of the Strip seeking safety, only to meet their doom there. I try to sleep, overcome by a fear that the family will return to surround me, bringing with them nightmares other than those currently hovering overhead. My wife and children lie beside me, war-weary and exhausted. I hear the rumbling of their stomachs and mine as the buzz o...| The Stinging Fly
