Adam, beside cold water on a mountainside.
10 May 2026
In this issue: three friends who knew me before, one who didn’t, and the practice that turned years of silence into a book.
If you’re new here: I’m John-Paul Flintoff. I write, draw, and teach. A Speccy Man Has a Breakdown is a book I’ve just published – a limited first edition of 250 numbered, signed hardback copies – about a breakdown I had in 2018.
But first:
People who knew you before
This weekend, I’ve been in the Lake District with friends from university. Three of them appear in A Speccy Man Has a Breakdown.
We’ve walked up mountains. We (well, Adam) stood beside a tarn and contemplated getting in, then thought better of it.
Instead, he swam in Coniston Water at the end of our walk, with Will and Martin.
I stayed dry, making drawings.
It was cold, and they waded unsteadily over rocks that were variously slippery and sharp.
At risk of stating the obvious: it’s good to spend extended periods of time with people who know you well. They don’t need the whole backstory.
***
An unexpected reply
This week Paul, an old colleague from the Financial Times, watched a short video I’d posted on LinkedIn and left this comment:
“Dear J-P, I’m moved by your short video – and not a little shocked to hear of your experience. When we worked alongside each other at the FT, I was in awe of your writing skills (and overall charisma!) so I’m shocked to hear that this could happen to you, a person I would have deemed far too ‘together’ to suffer what you did. All my best, Paul.”
I replied:
“Thank you, Paul. That means a lot. I can’t claim to know how it works exactly, but depression crept up on me as it did on others I met in hospital. What makes it worse is the feeling of shame (‘I must be defective’). And the shame stopped me talking about it.”
That assumption – “I would have deemed you far too together” – is exactly what makes the shame so heavy. The book exists to put a small hole in that assumption.
A Speccy Man Has a Breakdown contains drawings from the psychiatric ward. A limited first edition of 250 numbered, signed hardback copies at £45, with a signed A5 art print tucked inside.
***
The course that made the book possible
The book didn’t come from nowhere. It came from a practice – small pieces, written short, told true. I wrote and laid out the interior in thirty days, with material I already had (mostly). And that’s what I teach on my Micro-Memoir course.
You don’t need a breakdown to write a Micro-Memoir. You don’t need a Big Story. Just a few small ones, told well, and printed as a book that will be treasured by people in years to come.
The next cohort runs soon. £150. Quarterly cadence. The Micro-Memoir page has the dates. Reply to this email if you’d like a nudge when bookings open.
Other world news in brief
A clock where the numbers are arranged in alphabetical order – eight, eleven, five, and so on. Looking at it does something strange to your brain. boat.horse/clock
Once you’ve been to school with someone, you remember them only as they were, not as they are. A piece by Hunter Davies from a 1995 Independent that has been kicking around in my head all week.
Texting your friends? You’ve granted WhatsApp a worldwide licence to reproduce and create derivative works from everything you send or receive. It is in the terms of service .
Housekeeping notes
The Writers Support Group takes place on the second Thursday of every month, once at 12.30pm UK and again at 6pm. Come to either or both. A good place to bring a writing project you want to talk through.
Unoffice Hours runs every Wednesday lunchtime – half an hour, one to one, just the two of us. Not a group thing. Book your slot
Micro-Memoir returns soon. See above. Reply if you’d like to be told when bookings open.
My website now has a Guestbook. Please sign! Say hello!