It’s 2026! Suddenly we are a dozen days into January, and perhaps still considering a multitude of New Year Writing Resolutions. What shall I write next? What old piece of writing shall I revisit and edit? What writing project will be finished this year?

Of course, if you are writing you must also be reading. In the UK there is a huge drive towards 2026 being the Year Of Reading. Government Departments, Schools, Libraries, Literary Agencies, Trusts and Foundations, as well as Literary Festivals are all doing their part to positively promote the written word, whether in printed or digital formats.

As writers, reading is perhaps our greatest tutor. It introduces us to a vast language, writing skills and styles, it broadens our imagination, we can research information, and best of all, it’s thoroughly enjoyable, rewarding for everyone and great for our well being too. So while you are jotting down your list of writing projects for 2026, don’t forget to add in a little reading around the subject. As author, Stephen King says, ‘If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write.’ 

News – 2025 Fiction Competition Now Closed

A huge thank you to everyone who entered The Frances Copping Memorial Prize 2025 Fiction Competition. Our judge, Holly Müller, is currently working her way through the entries and we will announce the results in the weeks to come.

Writing Worth Reading

In this new section we will be sharing a piece of work written by a present or past member of Hay Writers’ Circle. For our first offering, HWC Chair, Corinne Harris begins with a poem. We hope you enjoy it.

“HUPEL” By Corinne Harris

I whisper to my big black cat,

into his twitching velvet ear.

I hold him close, upright, the way he likes,

his head on my shoulder.

He is thinner now.

The obsidian night of his coat is

scattered with snowy galaxies.

I remind him of his prime.

When he strode like Caesar down the road,

his tail a battle banner, ears alert for dissent.

I remind him of his might.

How he would cow the dog,

sitting magisterial in her bed whilst she cringed.

I tell him of his prowess in war.

Of his wounds proudly borne,

of his battle cry sounding plangent in the night.

I tell him he was a fine hunter,

sliding like satin through the night,

the lambent amber of his eyes turned to green searchlights.

Tracking, pouncing, biting –

feeling the crunch of tiny bones and the warm spurt of blood.

Slinking to my bed in the early hours,

with blood on his soul.

Breaking my sleep with triumphal purrs,

and kneading loamy paws.

I say, “thank you for staying with me.

Thank you for your warm-furred purry presence”.

I tell him he is my Panther Prince,

He is purring softly – it comforts us both.

Then the purrs cease and

he is taken gently from my arms.

On the steel of the vet’s table he is diminished.

I drop a last kiss

‘goodbye’.

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