APRIL
Writing Is My Superpower
Superman could fly. The Hulk had super-strength. The Scarlet Witch had magical time-warping powers. So, who is counting? I’ve got a superpower. I don’t fly. I’m not strong. I can perform an element of magic on a page, I suppose—but my superpower is writing.
It doesn’t arrive with a cape or a dramatic theme tune. I’ve never liked capes – they never look good on a 5ft 3 person like me! My superpower turns up quietly, usually with a cup of coffee beside me, and a mind buzzing with thoughts that refuse to stay neatly filed away. Writing is how I make sense of the noise. It’s how I turn chaos into coherence. It’s how grief becomes something that can be held, and how memories turn into something that doesn’t hurt quite as sharply when revisited.
I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. I have always had a notebook, back in my youth, they were called exercise books. Writing has always been my translator—taking feelings too big, too raw, or too tangled to say out loud and turning them into something readable. Something survivable. When life has knocked the wind out of me, writing has been the thing that helped me breathe and, in a way, survive.
My superpower does not save cities, but it does preserve moments. It captures people I never want to forget, conversations that mattered, and versions of myself that no longer exist. Through ink and keys, I can time travel—back to love, forward to hope, and sideways into “what if?” Writing lets me sit with my younger self, hold her hand, and tell her that she makes it through. That there is life after heartbreak. That loss does not erase identity.
There’s also mischief in this power. Humour lives here too. Writing lets me poke fun at the absurdities of life—the to-do lists that judge me, the social expectations that exhaust me, the quiet introvert navigating a world that insists louder is better. On the page, I can be sharp, reflective, sarcastic, tender, or brutally honest. I don’t have to apologise for any of it.
Unlike most superpowers, this one strengthens with use. The more I write, the braver I become. The more truths I tell, the less afraid I am of them. Writing has taught me that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s courage with ink stains. It has connected me to strangers who see themselves in my words and say, “Me too.” And in that moment, the power multiplies. It has also meant that people have left my life, not able to appreciate my thoughts and views as simply that.
So no, I won’t be smashing buildings or bending reality. But give me a blank page and a story that needs telling, and I’ll show you what real power looks like. It’s quiet. It’s persistent. And it changes lives—starting with my own.
MARCH
Where Ideas Go When You’re Not Writing
There is a quiet anxiety that comes with not writing. I hate it. I must write something daily – even if it just a few lines or an email. Something must go on paper. The anxiety sits somewhere between guilt and panic, whispering that ideas are evaporating, talent is dulling, and whatever spark once existed has packed up and moved on without leaving a forwarding address. For writers, not writing can feel like a small betrayal—of ourselves, of our craft, of all the words we haven’t yet set down.
But I’ve come to believe that ideas don’t disappear when we’re not writing. They simply change rooms or for me, they get added on to the “ideas” list.
When life is full—appointments, responsibilities, tiredness, grief, distraction—ideas don’t knock loudly. They hover. They slip into pockets. They appear while we’re busy doing other things. If you’re anything like me, they jump in my head at 2am (yes, I do have a notebook beside the bed!) An idea might be sitting quietly while you stare out the window. You don’t notice it because it isn’t demanding attention. It’s waiting.
We’re told that creativity thrives on routine, discipline, and daily output, and while there’s truth in that, there’s also another truth we don’t talk about enough: ideas need time to marinate. I started a book. A simple book based on life experiences. First draft…. not much good. Second draft – I tweaked it slightly and ended up abandoning it halfway through 2025. My third draft has got to ‘chapter titles.’ See…. ideas need to marinate.
When I’m not writing, I’m still observing. I’m still listening. I’m still absorbing conversations, moments, emotions, and the strange tiny details that later become sentences. The writer brain doesn’t switch off just because the laptop is closed. It watches. It collects. It stores things away without asking permission.
Ideas also retreat when we pressure them too much. If I don’t write something as soon as the idea appears, it goes. You can often find me tapping an idea into the note’s app on my phone in the middle of the night. (Is this why I have trouble sleeping sometimes, one wonders?) When writing becomes a task rather than a conversation, inspiration has a habit of stepping back. Not out of spite, but self-preservation. Creativity doesn’t respond well to being chased. It prefers to be invited.
There’s comfort in knowing that ideas are patient. They don’t operate on deadlines or schedules. They don’t mind waiting until you are ready to hear them properly. Often, when you finally return to writing after a break, the words arrive with more clarity than before. That’s not coincidence—that’s incubation.
So, if you’re in a season where writing feels distant or difficult, be gentle with yourself. You haven’t abandoned your ideas. They haven’t abandoned you. They’re simply waiting in the wings, rehearsing, refining, becoming what they need to be.
And when you’re ready—really ready—they’ll step forward.
Ink remembers. Inspiration waits.
FEBRUARY
Charlie Kirk said 100 books a year…
A family friend once said to me, “You always had a book in your hand, as long as I can remember.” Thank you, Tina Coveley, for remembering and sharing that with me. It is one of those observations that sticks with you because it’s so true.
The late Charlie Kirk once said, “I try to read a hundred, 120 books a year. I am always listening to stuff, always reading stuff. I don’t remember it all, but I remember a fair amount of it, and it creates you into a happier, deeper, wiser person. The more you dedicate yourself to reading, the easier debating becomes.” When I first heard that quote, I could not help but reflect on my own habits.
I started counting how many books I read in a year. On average, I land somewhere in the high seventies, occasionally pushing into the eighties. I don’t say that to boast, but to explain something fundamental about who I am. I can’t put a book down. I can’t walk past a secondhand bookshop without going in. Reading isn’t something I schedule; it’s something I live with, something I am.
Books have shaped the way I think, the way I debate, and the way I understand the world. I don’t remember every page or every passage, but each book leaves something behind—a question, a perspective, a deeper sense of curiosity. Over time, those small pieces add up. They make conversations richer, ideas sharper, and understanding broader. Reading, for me, isn’t just a habit. It’s just one way of learning and becoming a better person.
JANUARY
Good Reads- Last Years results and this year’s plans
A friend once told me that since I was little, I was never without a book in hand. Well, my friends, that has never changed. Here I am now at the grand old age of 54, and the new year is about to start for the Goodreads challenge. In 2025, I aimed to read 75 books. I had completed 68 of those before November started so had no issue cracking the magic number of 75.
In 2026, I am aiming for 80 books. Five more than last year! Up the challenge but up it slowly is my plan. With the number of books on my “to be read” pile, I am guessing I won’t run out of titles until about 2029!
