Julie Myerson

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Full name: Julie Myerson

Area of interest: Reflections on life and family

Journals/Organisation: Financial Times

Email: julie.myerson@ft.com

Personal website:

Website: FT.Com / Julie Myerson | http://www.guardian.co.uk/profile/juliemyerson

Blog:

Representation: contact information (British Council)

Networks:

Biography:

About:

Education: Bristol University: English

Career: Worked in publishing and as a publicist at the National Theatre; turned to full-time writing after winning the Elle magazine talent contest; wrote a series of columns for The Independent as well as reviews

Current position/role:

  • also writes/has written for:

Other roles/Main role:

Other activities:

Disclosures:

Viewpoints/Insight: Once I would have killed our dog to meet a writer. I still feel like punching the air every time I see Andrew Motion - The Guardian, 19th June 2006

Broadcast media:

Video: Regular guest reviewer on BBC2’s Newsnight Review

Controversy/Criticism:

Awards/Honours:

  • Mail on Sunday - John Llewellyn Rhys Prize (shortlist), 1994:
  • International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award and WH Smith Literary Award (shortlist) - Sleepwalking - 1994

Scoops:

Other: Married to Oscar-nominated screenwriter and director Jonathan Myerson

Books & Debate:

Julie Myerson Out of Breath.jpg

Latest work: Out of breath OCLC17523881 , 2008

Speaking/Appearances:

Current debate:

Financial Times: 'Home is where...'

Column name:

Remit/Info: Reflections on life and family

Section: FT report / house and home

Role: Columnist

Pen-name:

Email: julie.myerson@ft.com

Website: FT.Com / Julie Myerson

Commissioning editor:

Day published: Saturday

Regularity: Weekly

Column format:

Average length: 800 words

Articles: 2008

...no recent articles

  • Southwold summers - I first went there when I was eight. For us it was the treat place, the posh place we visited, rather than the place where we actually stayed - 9th August 2008 (Travel)

  • My goodbyes on a breath of spring - So, I’m sitting here at my desk on a perfect, bright Sunday and out there it really does look like spring has come - 19th April 2008
  • Big as a palace, sad as a prison - She was popular – easily the most popular girl in the class. In our plays, she always played the princess - 5th April 2008
  • A lifetime of ordinary dramas - You’d think we’d have enough time to get used to it. Almost 20 years of living right next door. And yet still our relationship with it was slippery and strange - 29th March 2008
  • A talk from a tentative teenager - I haven’t lived there in more than 25 years – even my mum finally moved away and left the area - 22nd March 2008
  • Everything that’s familiar looks different - I still remember it as a day, a moment, a feeling. A stark, bright morning at the bitter end of December, wedged between Christmas and the new year - 15th March 2008
  • Laughing all the way to the South Bank - The first time I ever went to London’s National Theatre, it was just for a drink. In London for the weekend, I was taken by a boyfriend – a man whose glamour only seemed enhanced by the fact that he knew his way around the South Bank - 8thMarch 2008
  • Life and death under the Tuscan sun - His stepmother was dying. Looking back, that was exactly how they put it. No vague euphemisms - 1st March 2008
  • There’s a message in the bottle - His house was a small one, right next door to ours. While ours was big and Victorian and set back from the road, his was a bungalow with just a small amount of front garden, gravelled over to make a space to park just one car - 23rd February 2008
  • Never got used to living in awe of Alice - The city where I went to university was built on tobacco and slave trade wealth. Vast, lavish and crumbling, it teetered on the edge of a gorge, its curlicued terraces spilling down towards the river and the docks - 16th February 2008
  • Sad, brown marriages, beige houses - It wasn’t anything special, just a little house by the side of the road, where we used to go and play sometimes. It was small and neat and new-built, the same as several others in the flat, mauve village where we lived when I was 12 - 9th February 2008
  • Second home but not second class - When, a few years ago now, we bought our little house on the Suffolk coast – our second home, our sea house, my dream house – it was, my husband said, on one condition - 2nd February 2008
  • The look in Camille’s eyes haunts me - The summer I was 16 – that long, parched, UK heatwave of 1976 – we were living in a house in the middle of town; the one with the stained glass windows, Hammer Horror turrets and monkey puzzle tree in the garden - 26th January 2008
  • Excitement and Eskimo ambitions - It starts falling somewhere in the middle of French, 16 or 17 minutes before the bell goes for lunch. Slowly at first – forlorn flakes squeezed from a heavy sky – but quickly getting heavier - 19th January 2008
  • Waiting for real life to start? - He lived in the flat above a friend of mine, 20 or more years ago. It was a block of serviced flats in South Kensington, London, one of those lonely, colourless buildings with a maroon-suited man on the desk, a cold lump of sculpture in the lobby and a lift which whisked you soundlessly from floor to floor - 12th January 2008
  • A sad-grand moment that never came - In the two years since we left our old neighbourhood, we’ve only been back a few times - 5th January 2008

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