I recently had my first paper published in the National Association of Writing in Education’s, magazine, Writing in Education, as part of their NAWE Conference Special Edition. Titled “The (Un)Finished Memoir: Process as inspiration for the aspiring memoir writer”, the paper explores modes of writing for memoirists, and poses that positioning memoir as a process, rather than a finished product, might offer more bountiful routes to writing.
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06/08/2025 – On the change in website format – and some recent publications
To start, a little story. A friend of mine recently shared that he’d set up his own website. He’s a fellow writer, and I was incredibly proud of him for ‘doing the thing’, as we millennials say. With a mix of horror and amusement, I realised he had indeed set up his website. With the same damn template as mine. What started as panic and some kind of feminist frustration that he, a man, would have the audacity to choose the same template as me (don’t overthink it, I didn’t), turned into a moment of realisation. My former website was set up under ‘former me’. She even had a different initial in the middle of her names. So maybe it was a time for a change. If you listen to the Instagram therapy influencers, they’ll tell you that when a girl starts returning to pink, it’s because she’s healing. Well here I am, healed as hell, with a brand new pink website. How about that?
In other news, I’ve had two recent publication successes that I’ve neglected to share with you all. The first was with The Sheffield Review, formerly known as Route 57, my third time featuring in this magazine. However, this one felt like a big deal, because it was my first creative non-fiction piece, called ‘Extremely Profound Healing’. It’s my take on the ‘I met my younger self for coffee’ viral poem written by Jennae Cecelia. You can read it here.
The second, with Twisted Ink magazine, another South Yorkshire based mag. This one felt like a return, because I submitted some of my weird (read: unhinged) writing from the early part of my MA, when I was letting myself go in abstract words because I wasn’t yet ready to tell them in prose. Of my Extract from Fable, editor Heather writes: “Harley E. Ryley’s Fable is […] wonderfully weird, and you should take this opportunity to sit with her and languor in, and attempt to deconstruct, her world.” You can go langour in my world here.
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Meanwhile, on Substack…
It’s happened, I’ve finally decided to move my musings onto Substack, along with many people in the writing community. While I’ll still keep my website up to date with publication news and other bits about the services I offer, most of my writing itself will be over on Substack.
So if you’ve been following me on here and want to keep following my work, I’d love for you to head on over and subscribe (there’s a free option!). I’ll be sharing a weekly essay, as well as my ‘poems for life’ daily poetry/prose prompts.
Hopefully I’ll see you there!
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‘Connecting to Something Bigger than Myself’ in Heroica Magazine
I’m continuing to feel pensive about life and all things ‘the universe’ as I traverse the many ups and downs of life post-divorce. This essay emerged from a number of ruminations in my journal about the coincidences and seeming-fate-like instances that I seemed to begin noticing as life began to alter dramatically. I’m a staunch atheist, so this was something I found difficult to reconcile. Throw in an astrology app giving me sound advice at key decision points and what’s a girl to do but start questioning the world?
Writing this essay helped me to find some way of reconciling, and I’m so pleased to share that it’s been published by Heroica.
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‘I am a thing-told story’ and ‘In Guernica’ in The Sheffield Review
I am once again tentatively putting my work out in the world, after a relatively quiet period in the writing space (but not in the rest of life space!). I was really pleased to have two pieces accepted into The Sheffield Review this time, one poem and one piece of creative non-fiction.
Prose: Harley E. Ryley – Sheffield Review (wordpress.com)
Poetry: I am a Thing Told Story
What’s been interesting to see is how my writing has evolved over recent years. My poetry dominated the first year of my MA in 2021-22, and my creative non-fiction emerged in my second year in 2022-23. The themes are similar – selfhood, trauma, loss, memory – but the execution is very different!
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‘Divorce at Thirty’ in Heroica
Well, it’s been a hot minute. I’ve moved house, life has tumbled on in it’s unending cycle. I’ve not been writing much, but what I have been writing has been unsurprisingly divorce-related. I’m very proud that my latest piece about the experience has been published in Heroica this week.
A little flavour below, but you can read the full article here.
“I’m not starting again. Starting again would mean going back to the train station I was standing at when I was twenty-one. I can’t erase that journey, and I don’t want to. Now, I have a thousand options, a long list of destinations I could choose for my future. And because this is my metaphor, all the trains are on time, for once. I look at the board and think about where I want to go next.”
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Scraps #06
there is a palpable ache
a gap in our hearts
sorrow whistles in each rattling breath
you told me once
you were content with imperfect
showed me what it was
to rise up
to keep going
your laughter
called us out on bullshit
we’d thank you for it
you were the best of us
we’ll miss you
blank spaces where your reply
would have been
seats at a table
smile for the times you lit our lives
be grateful
we were part of yours
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Novel Slam 2023
I had my first experience of Sheffield’s ‘Novel Slam’ competition in 2020, sitting behind a computer screen, large glass of line just out of camera view. It was the first time I had ever shared anything to do with my first novel, Silent Tomorrow, with anyone. I was proud to have shard, and even prouder to walk away (to the sofa in my living room, because, lockdown) with first prize.
Three years on, and I found myself again considering entering Novel Slam. I knew I couldn’t go back with my first novel, and I also knew I didn’t have a second novel written yet. Yet, in standard ‘me’ fashion, I decided that didn’t matter. I’d enter, and I’d work it out in time. With 24 hours to go, I still didn’t know what novel I was going to pitch, never mind having written the pitch itself.
Then I remembered a short story I wrote about robot nannies. When I first wrote it, it felt ‘too big’ for its word count at around 1500 words, although I submitted it to the Blank Street Writer’s Anthology (available on Amazon!) in 2020. When I submitted it for one of my MA assignments in 2023, it still felt ‘too big’ though the story was now 6000 words. What if, I thought, this is my second novel? Of course, I am a romantic, and it felt poetic to return to a story from the same year I first entered Novel Slam.
So, I wrote the pitch, I edited down the first page to a 3 minute reading. And I entered it on the day. It was such a different experience to be in a room, surrounded by other writers all sharing their novels. The breadth of ideas and the sheer quantity of creativity was brilliant. People were warm and encouraging. There was a feeling of community and support. I was grateful that I’d decided to take a punt and be part of it. And I was stunned to make it through the first round (1 minute to pitch, title, first line) and even more stunned to find myself finishing in third place after reading my 3 minute extract from the beginning of the story.
A lesson to the perfectionist in me that sometimes it’s ok to go with what I’ve got and trust it. One of the things I keep finding with my writing is that you can never pre-judge how it will be received, and you can’t find out how it will be received until you share it. Not to mention this was definitely the encouragement I needed to turn ‘This Burning House Was Never Yours’ into novel number two…
Always grateful to Beverley Ward and The Writer’s Workshop for the fantastic community they’ve created. The Sheffield writing scene is a wonderful thing to be part of.
A few pictures from the night below.
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Scraps #05
“God, isn’t she gorgeous?” You speak to my husband. “I hope she’s your sister.”
She.
She.
She.
Third person isn’t my preferred participation in your dialogue.
“That hair.”
Always.
Always.
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Scraps #04
I love the way the streets gleam after the rain.
When I can see myself and the sky and my pounding footsteps in the slick gloss of each puddle. When everything seems possible, if only the sky would turn blue again.
Harley E. Ryley 