Poem
Scratchy Jumper
A poem about the uncomfortable things we carry — the textures of memory, irritation, and quiet endurance.
Fiction, poems, notes, and long-form work
Freehand is the online home of N J Flynn.
A place for poems, short fiction, non-fiction, and novels in progress.
“Society here, lays in ruins — all the locals just embrace it.”
Northern Powerhouse
Featured work
Where to begin
A few starting points for new readers.
Poem
Northern Powerhouse
A poem about destitution, devastation, and decay — the slow unravelling of northern towns and the people left behind.
Copy & Commercial Writing
Words that work
Consumer behaviour essays, brand copy, and commercial writing — including the full copy for a live professional CV writing service.
Copywriting
Copy & Commercial Writing
A selection of commercial writing — including blog posts and marketing copy. Written to engage, inform, and persuade.
Blog Posts
Blog Post
Decision Making: One Cup at a Time
“My decision to buy Fair Trade coffee was initially an accident.”
My decision to buy Fair Trade coffee was initially an accident. A leftover bag of random coffee from a family gathering, used without thinking. I always read the packaging of everything I consume, not for health reasons, usually, more out of habit.
Intrigued by the Fair Trade label, the next thing I know, I am down a rabbit hole on the internet researching ethical coffee and the impact it has on farmers. Knowing that coffee farmers in Ethiopia and Colombia earn less than £2 a day made my decision to make the switch permanently to Fair Trade all the sweeter. The coffee tastes better, and I feel less guilty. The discomfort I felt during my research altered my purchasing behaviour entirely.
This choice is an example of cognitive affective hybrid decision making. Although initially cognitive, I looked into the Fair Trade process and the supply chain transparency. However, emotions also make an impact as I now experience alignment with my set of values. This approach creates a solidified change not based on ideology alone.
Fair Trade operates within the structure of capitalism, and as such, works to improve systems and conditions incrementally. Systematic change requires structural reform beyond individual purchasing. Fair Trade’s increasing visibility, however, provides further insight for consumers as ethical purchasing becomes normalised. Increased market demand expands supplier availability, making these ethical purchasing choices increasingly more available. There are often gaps between ethical attitudes and actual behaviour; making ethical decisions is not always the only factor when making a purchasing decision. The main commitment should always be to critically engage with these contradictions.
Blog Post
Identity
“Products don’t just express identity — they help to construct it.”
I spent three hours searching designer sites for a new blazer. Recently, I was made redundant. New jobs, new opportunities were on the horizon, and my wardrobe suddenly felt uninspiring. I decided to purchase a blazer priced far higher than I would normally consider. This is an example of high level ego involvement, as the product is central to my self image.
Ego involvement occurs when products communicate our identity or how we want to be perceived. The decision to purchase my blazer wasn’t about warmth — it was bought to signal competence and professionalism. This aligns with self congruity theory. I purchased an item to match my ideal self, i.e. who I aspire to be. Food shopping and other low involvement purchases generate minimal emotion but purchasing an item that affects how I’m perceived in interviews, and how I view myself, brought on careful internal deliberation. High ego involvement intensifies emotional and cognitive engagement.
When wearing the blazer, I felt taller, and more confident. My positive emotions helped to achieve a more confident self. When consumers engage with products that match their self identity, they experience increased self esteem. If my confidence relied entirely on designer goods rather than skill and competence, I’d be engaging in compensatory consumption — thereby artificially boosting my self esteem through purchasing rather than developing lasting confidence.
Did the blazer make me more confident and competent, or did it just make me feel that way? Both are true. Products don’t just express identity — they help to construct it. I do however remain cautious about developing over reliance on consumption for self worth.
Blog Post
Perception
“Same product, two completely different perceptions.”
My girlfriend and I needed a new sofa. Almost immediately after entering the store, she pointed at a bright orange monstrosity. Warm and cosy, she says. Ugly and overpowering, more like. Same product, two completely different perceptions. This highlights that perception isn’t objective but rather subjective — filtered and viewed through individual experiences and expectations.
The way our brains interpret sensory information isn’t universal. My girlfriend felt emotional warmth, and I perceived visual intensity. This illustrates a key psychological principle: the whole is greater than its parts. While both were looking at the same object, we were each processing it within different psychological contexts shaped by our varied preferences and experiences.
Colour psychology demonstrates that people respond differently to colours based on their cultural background and personality. My girlfriend eventually recognised how I felt regarding the brightness of the sofa, and I acknowledged her need for warmth. This resulted in a compromise — burnt orange — which satisfied both perceptions.
Brands should employ multisensory marketing that combines visual elements with sound and scent. Ambient music and scent in stores create an emotional context supporting emotional perceptions. Transparency about product characteristics also helps customers make decisions based on individual perceptions rather than manufacturers’ intentions.
Our sofa discussion wasn’t about the product — rather, it was about how our minds interpreted the same stimulus differently. Understanding this gap between perception and reality is essential for authentic consumer decisions.
Live Commercial Work
Brand & Web Copy
The CV Clinic — Full Site Copy
“Get Hired Faster: How a Professional CV Can Transform Your Job Search.”
End-to-end brand and website copy for The CV Clinic — a professional CV writing service targeting UK job seekers. Written from scratch, covering brand identity, service descriptions, UX copy, FAQs, and package positioning across three tiers.
The brief: Build a trustworthy, conversion-focused brand voice that speaks directly to job seekers under pressure — professional without being cold, reassuring without being soft.
The approach: Benefit-led headlines, ATS-optimised terminology woven naturally into copy, and a tone that positions the service as both expert and approachable. Every page written with a single conversion goal: turn a visitor into an enquiry.
View live site →Service & Package Copy
The CV Clinic — Pricing & Packages
“ATS-optimised. Interview-ready. Written around you.”
Three-tier service package copy designed to guide customers from awareness to purchase. Each tier is differentiated not just by price but by the story it tells about the customer’s ambition and urgency.
Essential CV — £75: Positioned for speed and value. One-page, ATS-optimised, ready to submit.
Professional Package — £125: The mid-tier anchor, combining the CV with a cover letter — the most commonly purchased combination for active job seekers.
Complete Career — £200: Premium positioning covering CV, cover letter, and LinkedIn optimisation. Copy written to make the full package feel like an investment rather than an expense.
Delivery format copy also written: PDF and editable Word document, with LinkedIn delivered as a personal implementation guide.
Marketing
Marketing Poster
Role Theory Disrupted
“Role fluidity replaces class-based conformity. Aspiration becomes decoupled from income.”
A research-backed marketing poster examining how Instagram algorithms disrupt traditional role theory — exploring the gap between working-class teenagers and the luxury influencers they follow, and what this means for consumer identity and marketers alike.
Available for Hire
Commission a Piece
Looking for sharp, purposeful copy that speaks to your audience? I’m available for commercial writing commissions — including email campaigns, blog content, product copy, brand voice guides, and marketing collateral.
Every piece is written with clarity, intent, and your reader in mind.
Get in touch →Poetry
Poetry
Poem
Northern Powerhouse
Destitute, and devastation, Like nothing before seen,
Fast foodbank Britain, Our nations new cuisine,
Deception, and dilapidation, All around I cannot face it,
Society here, lays in ruins, All the locals just embrace it,
Decay, and desolation, Such a distasteful scene,
This northern towns past life, Is lost like last night’s dream.
Poem
Inevitable
The pain I feel it creeping,
I just can’t give it the slip.
Has the reaper caught me up?
am I finally in her grip?
It seems that I’ve finally been shackled,
all I’ve got left is my mind.
Is all hope,
lost?
Poem
Scratchy Jumper
The restlessness is constant,
content to cave in my confidence.
Itching as if it’s a tickle on the brain,
Affecting my mental cognizance.
Sleepless nights, Sweat on brow,
Unsolicited thoughts that linger somehow.
Mentally anguished, physically drained,
Every second feels like it takes an age.
Poem
Masquerade
I’m sat alone staring through the panes of my window,
Strangers they sometimes pass me by,
often occupied by modern lingo.
I get a glimpse of what their life looks like,
and how it differs from,
or betters mine.
I wonder how to measure what is better, or even if better,
can be defined.
Poem
Clarity
A single strand of string unfurls,
Like a puzzle, becoming clear,
A reminder to us all, Of our place,
within the stratosphere.
Stories
Short fiction and freewriting
“It was the kind of morning that reminded him why he’d started working from home in the first place — and also why he’d been slowly losing his mind ever since.”— WFH
Long short story
Untitled
I often like going out for walks. Long walks. Long aimless walks where the path taken each time deviates from the last. Drawn along a path by my senses. Guided by whatever emotional compulsion I find myself in need of remedying. Today I find myself in need of the clarity and peace that only a walk through the alluring Yorkshire countryside could possibly grant. The country air, fresh and enchanting, despite the frequent fragrance of dung integrating itself inside of each crisp breath I take. Tainting the smell yet not diminishing from the overall satisfaction I obtain inhaling every time out here amongst this fascinating and tranquil landscape. To my left a gap in the trees brings in to sight a view across the valley. Splendid rays of sunshine begin to appear on the horizon, scattering hues of purple and red across the clear summer sky. Morning fog partially obscures a picturesque scene featuring rural farmland and protected biodiverse woodland. To my right an unfathomable depth of intense woodland and shrubbery. The trail, barely discernible from the surrounding overgrowth, interweaves through the trees. The birds in their dwellings sing the songs of a summer’s morning, providing an idyllic soundtrack to my stroll though Gods greenest of gardens. Across the treeline to my elation emerges a community of three fuzzy scarlet squirrels. Delighted at the chance to see any creature in its wild and uninhibited form, I begin to move closer. Regretting instantly the action I’ve taken. My feet sink into the soggy topsoil, and I slide forward uncontrollably. I wildly flail my arms around clutching at anything within reach in a vain attempt to stay upright and away from the boggy mess that has become this section of the trail.
I see the morning sky clearer now. It’s seeming laying flat on my back provides a much better perspective to look towards the heavens. Although its hard to take much solace in that when covered in more soil than is mentioned in the Parable of the Sower. The ground soggy, chilled, and irregular provides all kinds of discomfort for my middle aging body. I turn my head to the right. Squelching the ground underneath as I begin move. Slowly preparing my body to get up from this unwanted mud bath. From this angle I can marginally see through the dense brush that goes far beyond what they eye can detail. Something most unusual catches my eye in the near distance. At least unusual as far as not to be expected out here amongst nature where no tarmac roads exist for what is probably two or three miles. Appearing slightly blurry and distorted at this range but recognizable, nevertheless. A greyish blue tinge modern sedan style vehicle. Tinted windows front and back. Light grey dust fades into thick back sludge the further down towards the ground you look. Shredded and raggedy remnants of the forest floor protrude from the wheel arch entrenched to the metal, like stuck with adhesive. Curiosity gets the better of me. I ascend from my boggy berth. Sludge and who knows what else dripping from my body. To move closer and investigate this anomalous car sitting stationary between the concentration of woodland. As I inch closer weaving between trees. Making my way towards the current objective. A deep surly sounding voice begins to disseminate through the trees. echoing like a private conversation in church.
“I’ve got it boss, stop agitating so much. I’ll get it –“ the unknown voice says dispassionately. Not quite finishing his sentence as if cut off.
“I said ill do it! there’s only going to be pieces of him left when I’m done with ‘im” the voice says. Irritation beginning to assimilate into the tone now.
I position myself behind a tree. Attempting to stay hidden. Although not quite sure who I’m hiding from or where they are. My hearing tells me they’re near the car. But I cant see them from where I’m stood. My heart is pounding. A mixture of nerves and fear. Rows of sweat drip down both sides of my face despite the nip in the air. Over my temple and right under my chin. Dripping off like drops of rain on an umbrella. I take another look around, searching for the source of the voice. “What is going” on I ask myself confused. “What have I stumbled on.”
“I’m already at the place now. Very remote. Not a chance the body will be discovered” I hear from the same voice again sounding closer this time.
Panic is really starting to set in now.” Am I in danger here”? “Is he talking about me?” I wonder fearful of the answer. My eyes scan the landscape. Looking for any sign of movement. My face, intimately close to the tree I’m using as a shield. Its rough bark softly scraping my face as a peer around searching for anything identifiable.
“BANG, BANG, BANG” thuds throughout the land. Emanating from inside the filthy vehicle.
“Help me please!” Cries a secondary voice. Distorted as though muffled in some way. “Let me out of here” “I’ll pay up I swear” they shriek, stress, and panic evident in their voice.
“Quiet the fuck down now” shouts the first voice aggressively. “I’m on the phone.”
Taking another look around the landscape I finally now spot the source of the initial voice. On a large rock to the left of the car, maybe twenty metres from my current position, sits a monumental gentleman. Cinnamon whiskers adorning his overly large face contrasting with a total emptiness of fuzz gracing his scalp. Hands the size of boulders made evident by how miniscule a cell phone looks in comparison.
“Its not going to be like last time boss. Its my last chance, I know” I hear the behemoth say. “no one is every going to lay eyes on this guy again.”
He ends the call and slides his phone in to his left side denim jacket pocket. Muttering mostly unintelligible words under his breath while he paces back towards the car.
“I’m so fed up with this shit” I make out from the mumble.
“Please don’t do this to me, please I don’t wanna die” weeps the voice in the car, cracking with terror.
Finding out I’m not the target of this mountains plight lifts a giant weight off my shoulders. “I’m not going to die” I whisper to myself, allowing for a moment of elation before the realisation of the situation sets itself down on my shoulders. My heart beats as it would during a marathon as I prepare myself psychologically for what I know I must do. Helping others who need help is a main rational I have led my life by. Rejecting that now would invalidate who I am as a person. Perspiration builds up on my hands while I sweep away the branches obscuring my path. I stealthily make my way towards my destination. Towards danger. But more importantly, towards someone in need of help.
Chapter Two
“Hey, what’s going here?” I shout, emerging from the depths with far more confidence than I’m feeling inside. “Is somebody trapped in that car.” I say with the appearance of self-assurance.
“Get lost man. This don’t concern you” growls my foe. Authority resonating throughout his voice.
I pull out my phone. Gesturing into the air, phone in hand. “I’m calling the police” I say, determinedly.
“I wouldn’t do that” he responds back calmly. Lips curling at the edges into a brief smirk.
Looking down brings my phone in to focus and I begin hurriedly typing the number for emergency services. I’m engulfed by the man’s shadow as he starts to walk towards me. My soul and everything I’m made of reduces to the size of a grape as I retreat inwards. The mans hand reaches out towards mine slapping the phone from my hand in one fell swoop. Scraping the back of my hand with one of his monstrous nails on the way through. Blood trickling from my hand I lunge for the phone laying buried in the overgrowth. Only to be halted by the sight of a size thirteen boot crashing down and crushing my only hope of calling for additional help.
“Just be on your way mate, there’s really no need for you to get involved here” he gently states while brushing the remnants of leaves from his clothing.
“BANG, BANG, BANG” rattles from the sedan, timely reminding me the importance of the situation.
As the the banging continues, I seize the opportunity and charge head on towards my assailant. Having never previously partook in any physical altercations previous, I was hoping for a modern-day David and Goliath story. However instead I find myself resembling a squirrel caught by a dog. Tossed around almost for the fun of it.
Chapter Three
I’m lying on the ground again for the second time today, and its no more fun than the first time. My back bruised and battered from the impact. First with the tree and then with then ground. My vision is blurred and cloudy from the oozing wound that now takes refuge on my brow. I can barely make out the man who threw me walking away towards the car. Fun Had. Ant stepped on. Now back to real business it seems. He’s talking again. This time to the man locked in the car. I think. It hard to tell exactly what is happening right now. He’s making threats. Taunting his captive before unlocking the boot and finishing the job. I crawl along the woodland floor. Barely able to discern what’s in front of me. Hoping to get close enough to affect the situation while staying quiet enough as to be insignificant. Almost as I’ve been sent a miracle. I happen upon a broken branch sturdy and adequate to be used as a makeshift weapon.
“Are ya looking forward to digging your own grave kidda” he menacingly jokes to the man trapped in the car.
I slowly get to my feet. Remaining as quiet as possible. The sounds of the wind covering any residual noise I’m making. I gently creep forward towards the man. His back to me facing the boot of the car. The keys jangle like chimes in the wind as they’re pulled from his pocket to open the lock. I continue to sneak forward, still unnoticed, until within distance of the sinner. Not a natural with a weapon in hand I take a wild swing. Branch cutting through the air. It connects with nothing, and I’m sent spinning. Becoming enough of an irritant to take notice again, the man turns around. And as if by perfect symmetry. His face turns right into the still swinging branch. Connecting better than I ever could’ve hoped for sending him slumping to the floor. Out of breath and operating on instinct alone, I search the ground for the keys dropped during the confrontation. Quickly seeing the glint among the grass. I pick them up. Standing tall, proud of what I have achieved here today I place one hand on the cold metal surface of the car. And the other plunges the key into the lock. Ready to help whatever poor soul is trapped inside.
Chapter Four
“What the fuck have I gotten myself into now?” I ask myself while lying here engulfed by complete and total darkness.
“Help, Help, let me out of here. I’ll pay you what you want” I shout in despair, hitting my head heavily against what’s nearby attempting to make noise. Desperately wriggling around whatever container I’m locked in. fighting against the harsh rope like material wrapped around my limbs. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” I silently panic to myself, still struggling to get free from the shackles of my captor. I roll on to my left side catching my face on something sharp as I do. “Shit what is that” I exclaim to myself, face throbbing from the wound just incurred. “Yeah, what is that” I continue to ask myself, connections firing deep inside the brain. I attempt to shimmy my body one hundred and eighty degrees to place my hands closer to whatever caused said cut. I can feel the texture of the space through my socks. Soft, felt like material seems to adorn my entire prison. “What kinda place is this?” I wonder to myself as I feel for extra clues while simultaneously enduring the rigorous process of cutting my hands free. I can hear my captor outside taunting me.
“I aint gunna make this quick on you” he sadistically hollers through the darkness. “We need to take our time here with this one.”
My hands are finally free but maimed. The sharp object cut open a lot more than the rope tying my hands together, but we’ve no time to deal with that now. I quickly feel around for anything of use. Blunderingly catching myself on the sharp object again. I feel around further. I run my hands along a long smooth pole like object running the length of my prison. I find the sharp object from before. It’s connected to the pole. It feels like a shovel. Its hard to tell anything for sure in here.
“Are ya looking forward to digging your own grave kidda” echoes through the space. My captor clearly enjoying the mental anguish he knew he would be causing by now. I reach for the shovel. Clinging to it in desperation. My only hope of survival. My first and last form of defence. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest, wanting to escape away from the situation as much as I do. I try to calm my nerves. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. “You can do this” I say to myself trying to mentally prepare. “When the latch opens, Attack! No surrender! No Mercy!”
A scratchy noise emanates from the outside. Almost like a key sliding into a lock. I hear a bang from above me. Someone’s coming! “Am I ready?” I ask myself, no time to think about an answer. A blinding brightness swells from the opening until I’m surrounded by incomprehensible light. A hazy figure leans over me, blocking the luminescence. I know this is the only chance ill get to survive this. I must take it. After tightening my hands around the pole, I thrust it upwards with maximum force. Plunging the sharp end distantly into my future killers chest. They take a step back. My vision becoming clearer now as I steadily climb out of what I see now is the boot of a car. My assailant now fallen to his knees gesturing towards me for help. “hah, like I’m going to help you” I think to myself, relief now sending waves through me. I look around attempting to gain my bearings in this setting. “who’s that” I wonder to myself, setting eyes on an unconscious man laying in a heap next to the car. “None of my fucking business that’s who” I think to myself.
Freewriting
WFH
Oh, these days, a drab monotone voice echoing garbage information everyone’s heard a thousand times before. ‘Health and Safety’, seriously? Health and safety! Taking us through fire exits and best lifting practices. Were working from home for Christ’s sake, is there a more fitting depiction of pointless bureaucratic nonsense then I’ve yet to come across it.
Oh, these long tedious days. Laying on my bed straddled by my laptop completing training for my new work from home position. ‘Work from home? Sounds pretty cushy to me’ I hear you say. And you’d be right of course. What’s not easy about sitting in front of my new worn Acer laptop equipped with none of the latest technology the best minds in the world can offer, all day in my own home. My luxurious home. four walls lined with partially peeled aquamarine wallpaper, water stains dress the ceiling in what appears to look like a reimagined map of the globe. Tasteless grey carpet lays unstuck from the underlay across the floor curling ever so slightly in each corner of the room. A faint smell of confectionary adorns the room, it seems Dinah from number three’s back baking again. The handsome doctor must’ve broken up with her, it happens every couple of months or so. He becomes withdrawn, she becomes overbearing (their words precisely) and everything else just erupts from there. It always ends up in the same way. Dinah baking endlessly trying to fill a gaping hole inside, and the doctor in a strange bed, working to fill his own hole.
The natural light is dim and minimal, a small north facing window looks out towards freedom, only to be engulfed by the surrounding tower blocks whose size far outweigh this four-story block I’ve come to call home. There used to be a sign on the door outside saying number five, before it was stolen by some troublesome kids from the adjoining tower block. Now all that’s left is the imprint of what was, and the faint impression of the wood grain underneath the tattered glossy green paint reminiscent of British Racing Green used in the cars of days long gone. To the left of me in number three lives Dinah. To the right of me in seven lives Crazy Earl. Crazy Earl spends the best part of each day, sniffing glue from a bag. When he’s not sniffing glue, he’s bothering the locals around town, asking them to buy him the aforementioned glue from the Model and Train store. They finally banned him from the store last year for ‘lewd’ and ‘unbecoming’ acts, whatever that is supposed to mean. The man unequivocally has got some issues to work through. But damn if he isn’t fun to huff chemicals alongside.
Its nearly twelve, almost time for my daily midday medication and walk. By medication I mean Mary Jane. And by Mary Jane I mean good, old school, freshly grown marijuana. Now you might be starting to get the impression that I have a drug problem, but you’d be wrong, for me it’s the solution. The solution to the question, ‘does life require a purpose and a goal’.
My hound Shadow also provides solace from this world with her unwavering companionship. A black demon like Greyhound with the heart of a saint and the ego of a diva. When I fail the world, or the world fails me, Shadow remains steadfast in her excitement to see me each day. Greeting me with enthusiasm and two paws in the chest each morning when I wake up and every time I come home through the door. Not that I come home all that often, that would require me leaving. Entering a world that I do not understand and that shows little to no interest in understanding me. I’ve tried to participate and conform to societies pre-determined standards. Working a quotidian nine to five in an office, around colleagues so insipid, the most riveting thought to sneak out of their mouths concerns who’s slaving to make a drink for them that day. Three years cooperating in the daily march towards menial tasks and unoriginal thought, and my mind, the place where I feel most at home, decided it needed a break. The darkness took over enveloping what once felt controlled and unflappable. Instead of wearing the costume id become accustomed to wearing, I made a cocoon consisting of Sherpa blankets, soda bottles, candy wrappers and bad tv my new nest for what became the foreseeable future.
Walking in the park with my dog every day, during my break. Playing games while all the other not so intellectual people they’ve hired, catch up to where I am in the training. Not that I’m a genius or anything, its just everyone else appears to be part of an experiment in artificial stupidity. Not very professional on my part you’re probably thinking. But c’mon, who wouldn’t goof around in my position. What’s the alternative? Sit and listen to these people going on and on and over and over the same things. There’s only so much one man can tolerate in these situations, and I reached my limit ten minutes in. I’ve always heard patience is a virtue, but then I’ve never been described as particularly virtuous. I mean I remember this one time, in band camp……. Hah! I jest. That’s just a line from a favourite movie of mine. Or at least it was a favourite when I was a teenager, seems so long ago now and I’m an entire decade away from the person I was then. Any way I digress, back to the drawn-out monotonousness that has become the training for my new job. Customer Service Agent Klaus Michael. Where do they get off calling us agents? This isn’t the FBI. Closest ill get to catching a criminal is chasing your poor old nan for her late energy payment.
Novel in progress
Banana Split
Chapters
Coming soon
Contact
Get in Touch
Whether you’ve enjoyed something you’ve read here, want to follow the work as it develops, or just want to say hello — I’d love to hear from you.
I’m currently working on Banana Split, a novel — as well as a collection of poems and short fiction.
Professional Writing Services
Need a standout CV?
Alongside creative writing, I offer a professional CV writing service through The CV Clinic — crafting tailored, interview-ready CVs that get results. Whether you’re entering the job market, changing careers, or aiming higher, clear and compelling copy makes all the difference.
Visit The CV Clinic →All messages go directly to my inbox. I reply to everything.