Pencils and what-not, ipads, laptops, phones, we can write with anything these days. Yet there are still times when the words flow like cold porridge. The solution is two interlocking things. One is that if you’re a writer, you need writing time, lots of it, securely ring-fenced, guilt-free. The second is being among other writers, especially warm, supportive darlings who are fun to be with. The combination is sometimes known as Writing Buddies.

From this month (February, 2026), I am starting local ‘buddies’ groups, for writers to get together in person for special time like this:

On the SECOND SUNDAY AFTERNOON of each month between 2 and 4pm, we’ll be in The Old Curiosity Shop, Harbour Street, Broadstairs, Kent. Next is 8 March – I’ll confirm dates here as we go, depending on demand. And:

On the SECOND WEDNESDAY EVENINGS of each month, you’re invited to Chapters Coffee & Books in Sturry High Street, near Canterbury. We’ll gather from 6.30pm for two hours writing and socialising between 7 and 9pm. If you’d like to write through the whole two and a half hours, feel free. Our next date is Wed 11 March. If you drop by the shop, Maurice there can add you to his WhatsApp group and keep you in the loop 🙂

I hope you’ll find a time to suit you. This is just informal gathering, not a workshop or course – you’re welcome to join me to concentrate quietly on your own writing and meet other writers. Please bring your writing materials and enough £ to buy your refreshments.

If you can’t join us, you’ll find some prompts below – happy writing 🙂

What is this day with two suns in the sky?

Day unlike other days,

With a great voice giving it to the planet,

Here it is, enamoured beings, your day!  

(Quatrain, Rumi, 1207-1273)

You, Beloved, who are all

the gardens I have ever gazed at,

longing. An open window

(You who never arrived, Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875-1926)

The highway is full of big cars

going nowhere fast

And folks is smoking anything that’ll burn

Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass

And you sit wondering

where you’re going to turn

I got it.

Come. And be my baby.

(Come, and be my baby, Maya Angelou, 1928-2014)

A sad sort of rain,

today, and I inside, alone,

look at the pictures I took of you

in London and Paris and Spain.  

(Rain, Margaret Newlin, 1925-2005)

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face

 (When you are old, WB Yeats, 1865-1939)

Agony! Pain hangs in my heart. Is it she?

It cannot be. Walk on. In the blue, a star.

(The street in shadow, Antonio Machado, 1875-1928)

Last night at my daughter’s, near Blaine,

she did her best to tell me

what went wrong

between her mother and me.

‘Energy. You two’s energy was all wrong.’  

(Energy, Raymond Carver, 1938-1988)

This is the room I could have never been in.

This is the room I could never breathe in.

Sylvia Plath, Ariel (1965)

***

Love, love,

I have hung our cave with roses,

With soft rugs —

***

This is the time of hanging on for the bees — the bees

So slow I hardly know them,

Flying like soldiers

To the syrup tin

Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, volume two (2005)

You want to cry aloud for your

mistakes. But to tell the truth the world

doesn’t need any more of that sound.

(Oliver, The Poet with his Face in his Hands)

I have a little dog who likes to nap with me.

He climbs on my body and puts his face in my neck.

He is sweeter than soap. (Oliver, Percy, Two)

How the distances light up, how the clouds

are the most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how

*

the wild flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrance

different, and sweeter than any you ever stood upon before —how

*

every leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.

(Oliver, Bear)