Julia Copus shares her diary in ‘My Writing Week’, encompassing a glitzy awards night in the city, the challenge of everyday administrative distractions back at home, and the role of dogs – the ‘heartbeat at my feet’ – in the lives of writers.
Charlotte Mew ought to be better known. Brittle, self-regarding and a hugely talented poet, she craved renown. Yet unlike her contemporary Virginia Woolf, Mew detested the gushing world of literary sociability: she shunned Woolf’s friendship, tripped up would-be patrons and snapped at offers of preferment. It cost Mew her reputation, says Julia Copus, but also her peace of mind.