On Writing Slowly
A defence of the unhurried draft: why the best sentences usually arrive late, and what a slower practice makes room for.
Essays on craft, cities and the small details that make a life feel considered. Written slowly, by one person.
A defence of the unhurried draft: why the best sentences usually arrive late, and what a slower practice makes room for.
Subtraction, one typeface doing most of the work, and a single colour used sparingly — a few principles I keep returning to when I make things for the screen.
Trams, tiles and the quiet streets above Alfama — a slow long weekend in a city that rewards walking uphill.
A defence of the unhurried draft: why the best sentences usually arrive late, and what a slower practice makes room for.
The unglamorous part: how a rough page becomes a finished one, with the marks I use and the order I use them in.
Subtraction, one typeface doing most of the work, and a single colour used sparingly — a few principles I keep returning to when I make things for the screen.
Trams, tiles and the quiet streets above Alfama — a slow long weekend in a city that rewards walking uphill.
Forty extra minutes, one wrong turn, and a city I thought I knew.
Five small lessons from a tool that has not changed in four hundred years.
What happens to your sense of scale when there is nothing to measure it against.
A small argument for the best chair in any room.
Pruning, thinning and the surprising overlap between a small garden and a draft.
Twelve hours, one sleeper berth, and the best view I have ever had of absolutely nothing.
Four things worth your time as the evenings draw in, none of them urgent.
On the particular hour when the day tips over and everything on the water goes gold.
Why I have started leaving a little space in every day for nothing at all.
A flat landscape, a single tree, and the case for travelling in the off-season.
A deliberately small system: one notebook, three kinds of entry, and a weekly review.