Mandy Pannett lives in West Sussex with her family. A teacher for many years, she has worked with all ages and abilities including special needs children (her favourite). She now works freelance as a creative writing tutor and has run residential and day workshops across the country as well as working with many local groups.
Her poetry has been widely published, both internationally and in the U.K., in journals and small press publications and has also been translated into German and Romanian as part of thePoetry tREnD and Poetry pRO projects. On several occasions she has been a prize winner in national competitions and has judged poetry competitions herself for Sentinel Literary Quarterly, the Slipstream Poets and Excel for Charity.
Four poetry collections have been published: ‘All the Invisibles’ (SPM Publications), ‘Bee Purple’ and ‘Frost Hollow’ (Oversteps Books) and ‘Allotments in the Orbital’ (Searle Publishing) She has also produced ‘Boy's Story’ - a CD of poetry and original music. All are available from the author.
She has twice been selecting editor forSouth Magazine, an associate editor for the ezine ‘Muscle and Blood’ and is one of the poetry editors for ‘The Right Eyed Deer’.
Her novella ‘The Onion Stone’ is her first venture into prose. As an armchair historian this has been a pleasure to write.
- The Onion Stone
And perhaps it wasn’t the end of the story, because there was still the copy of the letter which Ellis clutched, unread at the meeting. Perhaps the day will come when someone might discover it again and claim it as another scoop. Or when the safe box is opened and the original of the letter, flimsy and time worn, is finally revealed. The letter that may be the missing bit of the jigsaw, the last thread of the web, the final words of the curse, the dying flame of the fire, the glitter of a dragonfly’s wing seen out of the corner of one’s eye, the final shape of a shadow. Whatever. Call it what you will. Words are the greatest deceivers of all.
(From ‘The Onion Stone’ Pewter Rose Press)
- All The Invisibles
... I was used to this: a sudden
appearance of all the invisibles, something
slanting or something blue, a lattice
of light through a leaded window as you,
my directional compass-rose, would sense
the silences moving the air: a man or horse
carved into grass, the last-rung bell of a church
gone under the sea.
(from 'All The Invisibles' Poetry Collection, SPM Publications)
- Bee Purple
- Frost Hollow
- Allotments in the Orbital
- Boy's Story