As part of our ongoing interview series with the 2025 Hay Festival Writers at Work, writer and artist Tom Cardew to tells us about his current projects, how he explores ideas, creates new work, and what he hopes to see for himself and other writers in Wales in the future.

Tell us about your writing life. When did it start? What does it look like now?  

My association with writing had initially formed from an incarceration culture at school: that English was a subject you try your best to get through, head down, shut up – pure survival mode – not something creative, expressive or interesting. This began to change at university where I was studying architecture and found writing to be a useful way of getting ideas out in describing the building designs I was working on: the journey from outside to in, the texture of the walls, the cold metal on contact with skin when turning a door handle, the way light breaks up spaces. It also helped that I wasn’t getting shouted at by the people on the table behind me any longer. From that point on, I began to find books that resonated with me, often ones with a distinct (and Welsh) sense of humour. Lately, I write in different modes: sometimes for fiction and as a means of pushing different projects forward, like a new exhibition of film work I’m working on. And also shopping lists on post-its when I go to Lidl and need more of those little cucumbers.

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m becoming more of an alien the more I write: what do these ‘humans’ do? Let me just observe and take notes. Just for a moment. Interesting… That might be why I write, actually.”

What kind of writing excites you most?

Writing that is daring and that challenges assumptions and expectations, that has a sense of humour, that is weird, unsettling, strange, eerie and, through all of that, through their absurdism, surrealism and collapse of logic, feel more real for doing so. Ottessa Moshfegh’s McGlue and Ross Raisin’s God’s Own Country really surprised me and were brilliant, recent reads.

What are you working on right now? 

I’m working on a few projects at the moment. The main work is the editing and structuring of a first draft proper of my novel, A Burning Mattress. It’s set in the post-industrial South Wales Valleys, a few miles north of where I grew up, and broadly covers grief, masculinity, and the ways trauma reshapes people. I’ve recently completed a prose poetry collection, Material Disturbances, so at this point I am looking for a publisher to take it on, having had it shortlisted by several publishers recently. Outside of being a writer, I’m also a visual artist and am working on a new body of work centred around a new short film, that connects myth, superstitions, paranoias and avatars of death between Breton and Welsh culture. I’ve been supported by the Institut Francais (Fluxus Arts Projects) and the Arts Council Wales, along with their partner organisations, so it’s been really great to have that wider sense of community and connection through this project. I’m also developing a set of public sculptures for a village outside of Bath, which also involves a lot of research and writing to formulate the actual end product.

Images via Tom Cardew

Where do you write?  

All over the shop – at home, cafes, libraries, sometimes little notes in my phone when I’m on a train, sometimes ideas at night, on waking up, if I manage to catch them. More than writing, I spend my time sieving the quick bursts of writing that I do, with the editing process being more methodical and time consuming than the act of putting words down on the page.

When do you write?  

I’ll do quick bursts of writing followed by lots of editing and staring at those words, shuffling them about, trying them this way, then that, back to front, upside down, until I reckon that I’ve got it. So, the practice of writing is really like 10% writing, maybe less, and the rest is then sieving the writing in different ways. So those quick moments of actual writing, they happen at any time, but the editing I try to keep to blocks of work-like hours during the day or evening, when I’ve got time.

And… why do you write?

I’d say writing feels like, well – a really expedient way to attempt to explore ideas on a really foundational level. Figuring out language and the potency of story. Also, it’s a good way of clearing the head. The more I write fiction, and fiction from a third person perspective, the more I feel like an observer of something almost already existing. But possibly also a bit of a puppet master, too. Sometimes I wonder whether I’m becoming more of an alien the more I write: what do these ‘humans’ do? Let me just observe and take notes. Just for a moment. Interesting. They drink this thing called ‘water.’ Intriguing. I must know more. (Twiddles long, spindling fingers, golem-like. Et cetera.) That might be why I write, actually.

“A working writer needs public spaces, like libraries, to work and read in, and it needs people, the public, to have access to their books.”

Is there a book or author that has influenced you?

I’m a big fan of Ottessa Moshfegh. Her short stories, McGlue, My Year of Rest and Relaxation – all fantastic. Weird, unsettling and humorous stories that do something surprising, and whose voice is really unique. I quite like reading things that are close to horror and comedy, that are objectively awful, and are on the very edge of sanity, but still somehow manage to feel real, compelling, unsettling.

Tell us about something you are really proud of.  

I’m proud of being selected to be a member of the Writer’s at Work programme this year at the Hay Festival and really can’t wait for it to get started.

What’s the best advice you’ve been given as a writer developing your practice?  

Well, I’d suggest the advice that I haven’t followed (but should) which is to commit to a structure for your long form writing (novella, novel) and trust it. Equally, connect to other writers and get their take on your work, offer to read theirs and make sure you feel a part of a community of writers, however small. I have a tendency to hide away and write things that never see the light of day, so definitely I would say: share your work, ask for feedback and treat the connections and community as an integral aspect of your writing practice.

There are so many ways to have a creative career. What would life as a ‘working’ writer look like for you?

I suppose, the regularity of it. Being a writer who writes daily – and one who earns a living through their writing – would be the ideal scenario. A balance between being holed away and writing new work, new ideas, new characters, observations, scenes, plans for structures, and then a wider sense of being connected to other writers and people in the industry who are passionate about stories, reading and literature.

But of course, there is and has been an ongoing crisis of funding to be able to be a ‘working’ writer in Wales. This programme and the Hay Festival are incredible, but despite these successes, literature as an industry, along with all areas of culture in Wales, is really struggling, and this should be acknowledged. There needs to be more funding and more pathways for aspiring writers to become ‘working’ writers in Wales and the UK. More pressure is needed on the Senedd members, more pressure on the quangos that distribute funding on their behalf. It’s important they understand that they need to increase the opportunities for writers to become working writers here, so that future generations can enjoy Welsh culture of this period, of now, in the way we read literature or enjoy art from 30-50 years ago. Writer’s need teeth. But, this goes beyond writers – the Senedd’s failure to implement the Assets of Community Value, which would have provided a right to buy for brick and mortar assets such as libraries and community centres, has resulted in a sell-off of integral public places. The knock-on effect of that is, of course, a distinct lack of these spaces to read, to engage with culture, to come together as a community, and downstream of all that, to become a writer – one who, however tangentially, speaks to and for a diffuse and diverse Wales. Even this week (mid-May 2025), the Labour-run Caerphilly council pushed ahead, despite backlash, with closing libraries in Abertridwr, Nelson, Llanbradach, Bedwas, Abercarn, Machen, Aberbargoed, Deri, Oakdale and Pengam. A working writer needs public spaces, like libraries, to work and read in, and it needs people, the public, to have access to their books.

Writers at Work is a creative development programme for Welsh writers at Hay Festival, with the support of Literature Wales and Folding Rock, funded by Arts Council of Wales.

Offering a fully-programmed ten days of creative development opportunities, Hay Festival Writers at Work allows the selected writers to engage in Festival events, attend workshops with publishers, agents and, crucially, with established international artists.

Check out some of our recommended events for this year’s Hay Festival here, including showcase readings from the 2025 Writers at Work cohort.