It’s 5:45 a.m., and about an hour ago I put the finishing touches to my final ever essays of undergraduate student life and printed them off. That’s it. I’m done. The end. I have to keep repeating myself, because I just. Can’t. Process this. Yet. Oh, hi there, adult life, didn’t see you sneaking up behind me. Thanks a LOT for the heads up, by the way.

But really, Iamexcited about the future. I’m taking a year off from education to write and, God, try (in vain, probably) to get published. I do quite like the idea of not being a student for a while, I think. I think.

I think.

Imagine one of your own characters has written you a letter. They might be thanking you for finally getting them together with the man/woman of their dreams or, more likely, they might be damning you for all the terrible things you’ve put them through.

Now write the letter, paying particular attention to phrasing - not just what this character would want to say, but how they would say it