Emilie Turner Author
In Florence, paint was labour before praise,lapis crushed slowly, billed to velvet names.A chapel ceiling learned to lift its gaze,while bankers hid their logos in the flames.The patron leaned back, squinting at the Lord,"More gold, less hunger. Make the shadows clean.Could God look wealthy? Could belief affordto feel eternal and still sell the scene?"The painter… Continue reading It Was Only A Tool: A Poem
For a long time, I thought editing was mostly about fixing things. Tightening sentences and cutting adverbs and making sure the grammar behaved itself. Editing, to me, felt like a slightly apologetic activity. Something you did after the real, creative work was done. Then I spent years immersed in literary theory. And slowly, almost against… Continue reading What Literary Theory Taught Me About Editing My Own Work
I stay home with three children I start most mornings already tired I do not feel in control of time The house fills quickly with noise Everything I do is unpaid work I rarely think about myself I rarely think about myself because I am responsible for the children There is always more practical work… Continue reading Life of a Stay-At-Home Mother: A Poem
By the time the bell rang for third shift, everyone was already quiet. Not the kind of quiet that comes from discipline. The kind that settles into a body, into bone and muscle, because noise has proven, over and over again, to be a mistake. The waiting hall was full, but it barely felt occupied.… Continue reading Within Parameters: A Short Story
I am writing about being tired. Not the poetic kind. Actual tired. The kind that sits in my shoulders at 2:17pm. Not the poetic kind. Not the kind that makes things feel meaningful. The kind that sits in my shoulders at 2:17pm. The kind that makes simple sentences feel long. Actual tired. I am tired… Continue reading Tired: A Poem
As a mum of three kids all under four, balancing nappies, school runs, snacks, and bedtime stories with writing a novel feels like the ultimate juggling act. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this chaotic journey, it’s that editing and revision are where a story truly comes together. You write that first draft,… Continue reading Uncovering the Secrets of Manuscript Editing and Revision
The kettle clicked off, too loud in the quiet kitchen. It was the kind of click that felt accusatory, as if it was pointing something out. You asked for this, it said. You’re supposed to do something now. She didn’t move for it straight away. Her phone was on the bench, screen still lit, the… Continue reading I Just…: A Short Story
The pomegranate was already on her plate when Persephone sat down. The table was carved from a single slab of black stone, polished smooth by centuries of use. It reflected everything dimly, like water at night. Her plate held the usual offerings: grey bread dusted with ash, a glass of clear wine that smelled faintly… Continue reading Persephone’s Pomegranate: A Short Story
When they first learned to toddle on uncertain, dimpled feet, they pulled away with bright delight to find the world was sweet. . They wanted doors left open, wanted room to run ahead, and yet the dark would find them still curled in the middle of our bed. . They marched through school with backpacks… Continue reading What Comes Back: A Poem
O my family,small collection of noise and need,you rise with the sun and scatter crumbslike evidence of joy. Youone year old,still learning the grammar of the world,speaking in hands and eyes,teaching me that love beginsbefore language ever arrives. Youtwo years old,all insistence and wonder,a will made of lightning,testing gravity, patience, and mercywith the same fearless… Continue reading Ode To My Family
Emilie Turner 