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New writer 2024: Pip Osmond-Williams
Poetry
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Pip Osmond-Williams is a poet and researcher originally from north-west England and now living in Perth. Her poems have been published in Gutter, Poetry Scotland, Northwords Now, From Glasgow to Saturn, and Channel, and have been anthologised in New Writing Scotland (ASLS, 2019) and Island and Sea (Scottish Writers’ Centre, 2020). In 2020 she was shortlisted for Wigtown Festival’s Alastair Reid Pamphlet Prize and the following year won the Brian Dempsey Memorial Prize for her debut pamphlet Of Algae & Grief, which was selected as Poetry Book Society’s Spring Pamphlet Choice in 2022.
In 2019 Pip was awarded a PhD from the University of Glasgow for her thesis ‘Changing Scotland: The social history of love in the life and work of Edwin Morgan’. She is co-editor of The Collected Published Poetry of William Soutar (Tippermuir, 2024) and co-edits the online magazine The Bottle Imp.
Writing sample

Pip says:
'I'm delighted to receive a New Writers Award – it's a real honour and I'm immensely grateful to Scottish Book Trust for giving me the opportunity to focus on and develop my work, as well as to connect with the wider poetry community.'