t: @thecommonbreath
e: editor@thecommonbreath.com

The Works In Progress literary community blog takes its name from the musician Tim Buckley's beautiful album of demo's, alternative takes, b-sides, and rarities, released in 1999 (you can read The Common Breath editor Brian Hamill's essay on Buckley here). In the same spirit as Buckley's album, the WiP blog is a place for writers to publish new works of fiction and non-fiction as they are written, to have this work made accessible online and for free, and to be promoted by The Common Breath, with no concern for 'marketability', or any other such depressing rubbish. The only criteria for inclusion is literary quality, irrespective of how conventional or experimental in nature the writing may be. We have no interest in writing to themes or writing for competitions - artists should be free to create and submit whatever they like.

Inclusion in the online blog is the first step towards further opportunities with The Common Breath, as in future we aim to release multiple different forms of publication. You can follow @thecommonbreath on Twitter for frequent updates, and should send submissions to editor@thecommonbreath.com. If you particularly enjoy any of the blog stories/essays at any time, please tweet @thecommonbreath and let us know!



The new online source for all your book recommendations ... click here to read more

Fiction - Autumn / Winter

Benny and Sandra
by Frankie Gault

Sandra brought a cup of tea intae the livin room. Pulling a wee table from a nest of three, she put it in front of Benny, smiled and said How ye feel noo? ... click here to read more

by Ross Wilson

Ah dunno likes. Ah heard thum speakin last night, the nurses like. Nae pulse, they said. Nae pulse, he’s deid. Fuckin deid? Ah dunno, seems hard tae take in ... click here to read more

by Kris O'Rourke

The party is over. Teddy and I are drinking in the kitchen to stave off the shakes; he has a guitar. He is playing all the greats: Dylan and Townes Van Zandt and Warren Zevon. Suzanne disappeared some time ago ... click here to read more

Duck Feet
by Ely Percy

Ma da’s got bad feet. He says it’s cause when he wis wee his mother made him wear shoes that didnae fit him ... click here to read more

The Hour Passed Like A River
by Neil Campbell

You went in at lunchtime with the lads. Played darts and had a few pints. The cricket was on TV. Orange buses went past the window ... click here to read more

Holy buttons, sad but dignified
by Bechaela Walker

She sat at the full-length streaky café window overlooking the carpark and thought of how empty the train had been—how did they keep running such services? ... click here to read more

by Jim Gibson

There’s no one else to talk to so I might as well make the most of it. It’s a horrible thought but I can’t help thinking that his life is sort of like an animal’s, you know? ... click here to read more

The guy in the library
by Evy Tam Liu

It was as unexpected and brief as the appearance of the sun that day; that sun that shone in through the windows and skylights of the library café as we spoke. A day that had started out dark and cold, the wind and rain falling, hurrying me along from my flat to begin a long day of study ... click here to read more

Spilled Milk
by Victoria Briggs

I’d been working all summer as the receptionist in a corporate art gallery in Midtown. While I knew next to nothing about art, neither did the clientele – that’s why they bought their office wall fillers from us and not some gallery with exposed pipework over in Brooklyn ... click here to read more

Communique II: The Aporia of Francis Barrett
by Joey Simons

A hundred years ago today, our esteemed authority, Francis Thornton Barrett, Chief Librarian of the Mitchell Library, was cremated in Glasgow amidst riot and insurrection. That his centenary be celebrated in similar fashion, with explosives planted in the heart of Collegelands, is but a modest objective in the great battle the lies ahead; not, this time, for the spoils of war or mere economics, but for the preservation of knowledge itself ... click here to read more

Spark in the Night
by Sean Adams

The two boys were flinging stones at the rats behind the Dolphin Takeaway. It was late, too late for Gary at least, but the earful he'd get when he returned home would at least add a bit of drama to the night. The rats had been there for a few weeks now. They'd appeared out of nowhere ... click here to read more

A Real Rain
by Ian Farnes

The Scottish voice is reassuring and trustworthy. Studies show as much. There are a lot of call-centres in Glasgow. The one I work in is next to the Mitchell – Europe’s biggest public library. I cross over the bridge at Charing Cross at least four times every workday, going between where I work and the library ... click here to read more

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