So, it’s been a while again. I’m at a point in my life where not much of note happens, usually (unless you want a comprehensive list of everything I eat and all the exercises I have to do.) Above is a copy of a Lowry painting I did, for my grandparents’ wedding anniversary. They got it framed.

What else has been going on? I’ve been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos type 3, and now Fibromyalgia. There have been a lot of trips backwards and forwards to hospital, and to a physiotherapist, but I’ve been discharged now. Some people really suffer with these chronic pain conditions but I am refusing painkillers (I know, I’m a loon) because though I have bad days I prefer to be sore than feel sick and not know where I am or what in high hell I think I’m doing.

Some publications I don’t know whether anybody missed:



My story “Winter Queen, Summer Woman” appeared in Timeless Tales back in January.



and “Tower of Words” appeared in MIROnline in July 2016.



And “Sentience” appeared in Poetic Diversity in April last year.


These days I prefer to go by the name of Han instead of Hannah. This is because, being unhappy with living in a female body, and after a lot of thought, I have decided to transition into a man. This is only a social thing at the moment, the gender clinic I’m waiting to get into has a LONG queue (minimum waiting time is 18 months, it’s depressing) so I am unable to transition biologically, much as I need to. That, combined with having two incurable conditions…well, my head isn’t exactly full of sunshine at the moment. Hence the long silences, and I apologise for leaving you all hanging.



The Edge as The Sandman

Sandman poster edited

A painting I did earlier this year, in which I took a photo of U2’s The Edge and converted him into Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman. Because, naturally, I like all of these things/people.

A piece of flash fiction by yours truly will be appearing in November’s issue of Poetic Diversity. Have a nice day, people.

Moon-faced Witches

The Blackthorn Witches, siamese moths 001

A strange dream that I had: In a smoky yellow sky fly witches on brooms and other likely implements, in front of a dying sun. Their faces are the Moon, and the shadows on them are sad. Twigs are their hair, and their arms are dry branches. Their bodies are only desiccated leaves, thrown about by the wind.

Am I on drugs?…Only Ibuprofen.