Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š (@flint_writes) header
Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š (@flint_writes) profile picture

#LittleDeaths #OtherWomen Longlisted: #WomensPrize, #DEP17, #CWA Gold Dagger, @TheakstonsCrime Crime Novel of the Year. Amazon #1 bestseller

Joined June 2013
If you’re leaving Twitter, find me in the other places: - Threads as flint.writes - Blue Sky as @emmaflint.bsky.social
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
It's #Halloween and every year we like to carve a #Pumpkin from our collection of @PenguinBooks. πŸŽƒ We're up to our elbows here in juicy plots and seedy characters. Luckily there's not much pulp fiction. πŸŽƒ
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
[Violence against women is the] "single greatest human rights violation of our generation." "I do what I do in my mother's name, because I couldn't help her then. Now I can." -Sir Patrick Stewart
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
In 1952, an English teacher named Cecil Dormand secretly paid for a dirt-poor 11-year-old to take a drama course. He never told him and the boy didn’t find out until decades later. By then, he was a knight, that little boy’s name was Patrick Stewart. He was born into a poor family in Mirfield, a small mill town in Yorkshire and his father came home from World War II a violent man, and he was violent toward Patrick’s mother. Young Patrick learned exactly when to step between his father’s fist and his mother. An English teacher put a copy of Shakespeare in his hand and told him to get up and perform. He never stopped and left school at 15. By 19 he was completely bald... most agencies told him he'd never make it because of that. In 1987, the LA Times called him an β€œunknown British Shakespearean actor” when he was cast as Captain Picard. Then he became one of the most famous faces on Earth. You’ve probably heard that part. Here’s the part you haven’t: He spent decades as a patron of Refuge, sheltering women and children from domestic violence. But he never stopped trying to understand his father. He dug up a 1940 newspaper clipping that said his dad had come home with severe shell shock. He went to France and walked the ground where his father’s unit was pinned down under bombing for hours. He learned his father had PTSD, and nobody ever helped him. So Patrick became an ambassador for Combat Stress, a charity that helps veterans. In 2013, a young woman at a Texas convention told him she was a survivor of domestic violence. He asked, β€œMy dear, are you okay?” Then he hopped off the stage, held her, and told her: β€œYou never have to go through that again, you’re safe now.” At Dragon Con, a Make-A-Wish girl dressed as Spock came to meet him. 2,000 people were waiting for him to speak... he sat down and talked with her for 15 minutes, making all of them wait. He told her that since they were friends now, whenever she saw him on screen she could wave and say, β€œHello Patrick.” After 9/11, he felt helpless, so he brought his one-man A Christmas Carol back to Broadway for a full week of charity shows. He played every character himself and donated every cent. In 2019 he did it again, and every dollar went to feeding hungry New Yorkers. In 2017, he fostered a pit bull named Ginger, who had been rescued from a dogfighting ring. She was his first dog in more than 50 years. He couldn’t bring her home to England, so he found her a family. Then he kept fostering more. When he said he was done with Star Trek so many people told him the show had gotten them through the hardest times of their lives. So he wanted to see if Picard could do it one more time. Rest in Peace, Sir Patrick πŸ––
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Rob Delaney posted this at the other place, and it made me laugh
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
In celebration of the gloriously imminent weekend, here is one of my favourite Armstrong and Miller sketches featuring the RAF pilots wot speak yoof and dat, innit blood. Any sketch that bears the sentence β€œNo way, you massive gaylord. What are you going to do, shoot me in the head with your gun? This isn’t Nazi Germany!” in what is supposed to be Nazi Germany, is liable to make me guffaw, but the whole thing this is an absolute belter. Incidentally, did you know that Ben Miller is a distant cousin of Abraham Lincoln. It's true! Good day to you.
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Look at that smile!! πŸ’•πŸ’•πŸ’•
Lovely Nina just cannot stop smiling now that her growth has gone and she has her freedom ❀️
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Staff repositioning the Stones at #Stonehenge today ready for the the end of British Summer Time on Sunday ⏰⬅️ #BST #clocksgoback #thattimeofyear πŸ˜€ Lighter mornings, darker evenings and a WHOLE extra hour in bed! πŸ™
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
I had no previous idea that this existed. Marc Chagall - utterly entrancing- windows inΒ All Saints Church, Tudeley, Kent.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
The government has until December to decide whether to pull the NHS out of its Β£330m contract with Palantir - a US spy-tech firm that has facilitated genocide in Gaza. Andy Burnham needs to pick a side. We have picked ours.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Time for this weekend’s β€˜elephant done by a medieval artist that had never seen one’ - 10th century, Morgan Library & Museum, MS M.644, f. 79r
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
What I find insulting is that many of the people running Google claim to be fans of Tolkien. If they were, they would know it’s generally not a smart idea for wizards of tech and industry to attack an ancient forest.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
In 1941, a Spaniard walked into the British embassy in Madrid and offered to spy on the Nazis. The British turned him down. So he went to the Germans instead, pretended to be a loyal fascist, and got hired as a German spy. His plan was to lie to them for the rest of the war. It worked better than anyone could have imagined. His name was Juan Pujol GarcΓ­a. Before the war he had tried his hand at running a chicken farm and a movie theater. He had no spy training. What he had was a deep hatred of both fascism and communism after the Spanish Civil War, and an incredible imagination. The Germans gave him a codename, invisible ink, money, and orders to go to Britain and recruit spies. He didn't go to Britain. He went to Lisbon, Portugal, and made everything up. Using a tourist guidebook, maps, magazines, newsreels, and a British railway timetable from the library, he wrote long, detailed reports about life in England. Military movements. Morale. Ports. He'd never been there. He made mistakes. He didn't understand British money. He once reported that dockworkers in Glasgow would do anything for a liter of wine. The Germans loved him anyway. Then British codebreakers reading German messages noticed something strange. The Germans were hunting for a convoy that didn't exist, based on a report from some agent in Britain they'd never heard of. The British went looking for this mystery spy. They found Pujol. In 1942 they finally took him on and brought him to London. Now he had real help. MI5 gave him the codename Garbo, after the actress, because they thought he was the greatest actor in the world. Together with his British handler, Pujol built a fake spy network for the Germans. It eventually had 27 imaginary agents. Each had a name, a personality, a job, and a backstory. A Welsh nationalist. A Venezuelan student. A Greek sailor. Some of them recruited their own imaginary sub-agents. When they needed to explain why one agent had gone quiet, they killed him off. They even put a fake obituary in a Liverpool newspaper. The Germans reportedly paid a pension to his widow. Who also didn't exist. Then came D-Day. Hours before the landings, the British let Pujol send a message warning the Germans that the invasion was coming in Normandy. It was timed so it would arrive too late to matter, but it made him look brilliant. Three days later he sent the most important message of his career. Normandy was a trick, he said. The real invasion was still coming, at Calais, led by a huge army under General Patton. That army was fake too. But the Germans believed him. German forces that could have been rushed to Normandy were held back near Calais for weeks, waiting for an attack that never came. The Germans were so grateful they awarded him the Iron Cross. A few months later, King George VI made him a Member of the Order of the British Empire. He's one of the only people known to have been decorated by both sides of the war. After the war, afraid of revenge from surviving Nazis, he faked his own death from malaria in Africa and disappeared to Venezuela, where he lived quietly running a shop. For decades the world thought he was dead. In 1984, a British writer tracked him down. Pujol came back to Normandy for the 40th anniversary of D-Day and met veterans who had landed on the beaches. Some of them thanked him.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Thoughts & prayers for the Daily Mail’s special correspondent, Thomas Markle, at this difficult time.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Best social media advice of the day!
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BLEED HEAVIER AT DAWN, LADIES
"If we make tampons free women will abuse the system" fuck you think we're gonna do? Start eating tampons?
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
Stop using names like Storm Austen or Storm Boelo. Let's call them Storm Exxon and Storm Shell, just to remind us who's to blame.
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Emma Flint (flint.writes on Threads)πŸ“šπŸ’€πŸ–€πŸ“š retweeted
I had a fess published a few years ago about how I couldn't connect with my lifelong pals cos all they wanted to do was booze and take coke. I told them how I felt, turned out they thought the same and now we climb Munro's on Sundays. Lads, talk to your pals.
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