Diane Foster
Bio
I’m a professional writer, proofreader, and all-round online entrepreneur, UK. I’m married to a rock star who had his long-awaited liver transplant in August 2025.
When not working, you’ll find me with a glass of wine, immersed in poetry.
Stories (226)
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The Kinks’ “All Day and All of the Night” Belongs Among the Greats
There’s a moment, about twenty seconds into “All Day and All of the Night,” when Ray Davies’ voice cracks just slightly on the line “I’m not content to be with you in the daytime…” It’s not a flaw, it’s the sound of something raw and urgent, the kind of imperfection that makes rock ‘n’ roll feel alive.
By Diane Foster5 days ago in Beat
Five Stars for Dying
The day I was killed was the best day of my life. It just did, mostly because it got me out of Wednesday. The universe that morning was calling the roll, and I was not so much as present. My toaster felt the need to turn my bagel into a mini frisbee.
By Diane Foster10 days ago in Writers
4 Types of Creative Blocks
Let’s be real: when your brain feels like a stalled engine, being told to “just start” or “push through it” is about as helpful as a screen door on a submarine. We’ve all been there, staring at the blank page, cursor blinking in mockery. But what if I told you that “creative block” isn’t one big, scary monster? It’s more like a squad of different gremlins, each with its own specialty in shutting down your ideas. And you can’t fight a Motivation Gremlin with the same stick you’d use for a Perfectionism Gremlin.
By Diane Foster14 days ago in Writers
How to Get on Santa’s Naughty List
By the second week of December, the coal scuttle sat by the hearth like an empty mouth. Mum kept saying it was fine, in the same tone she used when she said the roof only leaked “a little” and Dad’s cough was “just winter.” The truth was in the air anyway. The house had a brittle cold that clung to your fingers, that made the kettle take forever and turned your breath into a steady little ghost.
By Diane Foster18 days ago in Fiction
The Kiss of Rome
Marcus Tullius had always believed the Empire eternal. Marble gleamed beneath the sun, aqueducts sang with water, and senators spoke of Rome’s destiny as though Jupiter himself had carved it into stone. Yet beneath the Senate’s grandeur, Marcus carried a hunger that no feast could sate, a hunger for a kiss, for something human and fragile amid the Empire’s iron perfection.
By Diane Foster27 days ago in Writers
The Ash of Second Chances
The bell above the door didn’t chime; it gasped, a breathless sound of old brass waking from a century-long nap. Elias stepped out of the relentless, greyscale rain and into the shop. The air inside was dry and smelled of ozone, beeswax, and things that had been forgotten in attics.
By Diane Fosterabout a month ago in Fiction
