#33 Dylan McNulty-Holmes, writer & editor
'I’m about to finish filling my 33rd MUJI B5 brown notebook'
Dylan McNulty-Holmes is a writer and editor living in Berlin. His writing has been illustrated and made into a T-shirt, live-scored by a disco band, and published in places like Redivider, ANMLY, Pilot Press’ ‘Responses' series, and The New Welsh Review. In 2022, his interactive piece ‘Half a Million Mothers' was shortlisted for the New Media Writing's Chris Meade Memorial Prize, and he is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. His debut chapbook, Survivalism for Hedonists (Querencia Press), is out now.
Where do you write?
A whole buffet of different places; I try not to be too fussy about it. I have a desk in the corner of my bedroom, but even when I’m at home, I don’t consistently sit there to write. Most days in the summer I’ll sit at my dining table, next to my balcony doors and the sunniest spot in the apartment.
Outside of my apartment, I also write in libraries (particularly the tiny and adorable Bibliothek am Wasserturm, where I’m currently sitting), on long-distance trains and planes, in writer friends’ apartments, in workshops, art galleries, and cafes (particularly Coffee Circle in Mitte, where I’ve written many of the pieces I love most).
What can we always find on your desk?
More coloured pens than anyone has any need for. I’m about to finish filling my 33rd MUJI B5 brown notebook, which I’ve used consistently since I moved to Berlin, nine years ago. At least one tarot card. A variety of cool rocks.
Morning writer or late-night words?
Ideally: in the morning, with coffee, after reading excellent poems. More often than not: whenever I have time.
Coffee, tea, nibbles?
Coffee! Ideally made by my partner, the best coffee maker in the world. I am massively biased, but they also have the most elaborate coffee-making setup I’ve ever seen. We’re talking world-class hand-grinder, a pouring kettle that heats to a precise degree, and multiple different pour-over contraptions. They heat the cups before they serve the coffee. It’s unreal!
What's your most tempting distraction?
A quick round of Fall Guys: a video game where you’re a bean who has to complete a series of obstacle courses.
What's that we hear on the speakers?
Right now? Anjimile. (Headphones though, not speakers. I’m in the library, and I’m not a monster).
Have you got any pre-writing rituals?
The only consistent one is making sure I have water on my desk. If I’m unsure of where to begin, I read poems. If my head feels a little busy, I use Lynda Barry’s Four Minute Diary to focus and just get started. (I also use Lynda Barry’s Writing the Unthinkable exercise often when I’m trying to write around specific images/memories).
Perfect bookshop to hide on a rainy day?
It would be remiss of me not to mention Another Country in Berlin. I owe a lot to them as a writer, a reader, a former confused baby queer, and a general human.
One bookshop I don’t think I’ve seen mentioned here is The Golden Hare in Edinburgh (UK). Every book I’ve bought from there has blown me away. They have a particularly good selection of works in translation: I’ve got books by Cristina Rivera Garza, Juhani Karila, Pak Kyongni, Ariana Harwicz, and Gabriela Cabezón Camera. All incredible, every single one.
What's your most treasured book?
When I first moved to Berlin, with one piece of hand luggage, thinking I’d stay for a month, the single book I brought with me was a copy of ‘Magpie Words’ by Richard Caddel.
Favourite word in the English language?
Faff. I love introducing non-British people to faff. I love the cathartic release when you have faff to deal with, or you’re frustrated with any kind of faffing around, and you spit out the word faff and instantly feel a bit better. I need to use faff in more poems. More people need to embrace faff.
Dream writing location?
One day, I’d love a whole studio to write in. It would be a maximalist nightmare. So many cool rocks. There would also need to be enormous windows—or big glass doors, which opened directly onto a garden. And since this is my dream location: that garden would have a pool, but that pool would somehow not be a disaster for the environment. Maybe it backs on to a lake instead? Why not?
Three writers (dead or alive) to have dinner with?
Angela Carter, Lou Sullivan, Audre Lorde—to thank them, but also I just think this would be an unbelievably fun night.
One poem that has changed your life:
Recently: ‘The School of Australia’ by Chen Chen, about (among other things) the ways those we love let us down, as well as the ways we internalise and perpetuate that disappointment. It ends with a gorgeous reminder that 'You’re already a glittery stretch / of dream', and that so much of the capacity for care we seek from others exists inside ourselves. It found me when I needed to be reminded of that exact thing.