Photo Source: Snappy Goat When I was a child I used to read the paint-cards. You know—the colour-samples: twenty-four shades of Mushroom to Camel; twenty-four varieties of red or almost-red or not-so-far-off-reddish. Twenty-four almost imperceptible steps of white to yellow, and each with its own unique name, some so exotic I had to read the dictionary too. Mimosa, Magnolia, Cowslip, Primrose—all stood ranked between Cream and Pale Lemon. Part of me didn’t see the point of so many...

Photo Source: Pixnio I’ve heard there are writers who never touch paper. People who scribe with never a pen. Who twinkle stylish fingers over smooth ubiquitous screens, ushering sentences towards paragraphs with the airiest of gestures. I don’t. I have met them online, where intangible things flip in and out of sight and yet exist with preternatural permanence. In virtual encounters with simulated faces, I hear it’s easier done this way. Text is more malleable in digital form:...