New postcard for WDTL

The poem, written by Sue Dawes, was designed to go with the picture of ‘Pearl’ , a graphite on paper portrait, of a young girl with plenty of attitude.  The artist is Robert Priseman.  Sue is working on a series of poems about ‘unspoken things’.  The postcard is available to collect at Firstsite and Wivenhoe Railway station.

New Postcard for Words-down-the-Line

Off the Rails Wivenhoe have produced a Spring postcard on the theme of ‘Woodland’, which is available to collect from the station and Firstsite (amongst other places).  The poem is by local writer Helen Ivory and the image is by local artist Olivia Browne (who is also displaying her work at the station gallery).   The card is produced by Sue Dawes.

The latest art and writing from Words-Down-the-Line

christmas postcard2christmas postcard

The latest from Words-Down-The-Line, a poetry postcard for Christmas.  The poem is by Candyce Lange and the card, beautifully illustrated by Charmaine McKissock (local artist and dyslexia specialist).

Words Down the Line features local writing, is produced free of charge and given to commuters in Wivenhoe and beyond. The printing of Words Down the Line is currently funded by a small donation from Wivenhoe Soup and printed by The Press Gang in Brightlingsea.

The writing is edited and produced free of charge by Sue Dawes.

Freedom Poems


The Poetry Wivenhoe ‘Freedom Poems’ booklet, was released last night on World Poetry Day.  Twelve of the winning poems were read by their authors.  ‘Brushwork’ by Sue Dawes, on Page 13, takes the form of a villanelle.  More information about the poetry group and where the book can be purchased here .



Can you judge an author by their book?

The Devil in the Snow by Sarah Armstrong
Guest blog piece by Sarah Armstrong, author of two novels published by Sandstone Press: ‘The Insect Rosary’ and ‘The Devil in the snow.’
Can an author be judged by their books?
I think it’s inevitable that readers conjure a picture of the author from the characters and events they choose to write about. I think this perception can also hamper writers who are starting out, that people will confuse them with the things their characters do. I was lucky to have this association broken early, by one of my favourite writers as a child.
I loved John Gordon’s books, but they terrified me. The Giant Under the Snow was one of those novels which absorbed me so completely that, when my dad opened the door to tell me to switch the light off, I screamed because I thought he was a leather man, come to get me. Men made of leather, the giant Green Man lying just under the surface of the landscape, the black dog – I can see now how the folklore of East Anglia underscores Gordon’s novels, but then it was all terrifying because it was set in the present. School children on trips came across powerful icons of past power.  In The House on the Brink, something which seems to be a log is moving silently and relentlessly across the fens. I see now that they were intended for teenage readers, not ten-year-olds, which makes sense.
I was terrified by these novels, and yet compelled to read just one more chapter. Maybe I just didn’t want to switch off the light. Surely the author would be suitably disturbing too.
But he wasn’t. I met him a few times, between the ages of five and ten in the late 70s and early 80s, and he wasn’t scary at all. In fact, at our last meeting, he gave me the idea of a story, involving a mummified hand in a museum. I started to write that story, but never finished it. Yet I can see in my own writing a strong interest in another, ancient world just under our own, one that we know without realising it. The banshees and fairies of The Insect Rosary, and the devil and shaman of The Devil in the Snow are almost slippages between that world and this. Folklore links history with beliefs and threats and curses, and our local tales in the east are faithfully recorded by people like the Foxearth and District Local History Society. Our giants, walking corpses and dragons live on, even ‘The Naked Ladies of the Melford Disaster’.
I get the impression when teaching that some readers still believe that the writing reflects the author, and some writers who believe that a writer must exclude themselves from the ordinary world and immerse themselves in a different way of living. From an early age I saw that writers of the stories which most disturb us were real, and often very nice people – the uncanny can be accessed by anyone. However, as I become older, I have to admit to a growing fear of the countryside, the open spaces and the hidden past. I think John Gordon might have to take responsibility for that too.

Essex Belongs to us

Sue dawes’ historical short story, ‘Boudicca’s Revenge’, which was shortlisted for the Legendary Women Competition, has been published in this Essex Creative Writing Anthology.  It was her first attempt at creative historical fiction and the short story, initially 2000 words, was reduced to just over 500 for the competition.  If nothing else, it showed  how many words can be edited out and yet the story remain the same.  Boudicca is now judged a heroine but she was a soldier and thought nothing of massacring whole towns. Sue doesn’t think her strength or actions would be considered quite so affectionately in the modern world.

Artifice, a short story by Sue Dawes

Sue Dawes’ short story ‘Artifice’ was one of the three winning crime short stories published in ‘Bloody Hull,’ which was a book given out as part of the Hull Literary Festival.  The competition ‘Dead Pretty City’, was for a short story of 2000 with the words ‘Dead Pretty’ included in it. Originally short-listed for the CWA Margery Allingham prize, it was re-worked for the competition.  As usual, the protagonist is not what she seems.

Read: Artifice

Mind The Gap by Sue Dawes

Mind the Gap by Sue Dawes was published in ‘New writing’ in Mslexia.  The judge said:  ‘Mind the Gap’ managed to say so much about the taboos surrounding the empty nest syndrome in little more than 1000 words.  From the first sentence  (I will pull the construction apart, twig by twig so they cannot return) I felt I was in the arms of a brave and confident artist.  Each platitude and assumption about the bereft mother (‘you’ll be lonely, what will you do’ ‘But what if they want to come home’) is matched by the exhilaration of a mother liberated from the selflessness of raising three boys.

Read: Mind the Gap

Mentioned in a study about motherhood