Welcome to The Cyndependent! I’m so glad to have you here! Now fair enough, I know I can’t see you but I’m sensing you’re a good ‘un.

This website is my little world I suppose. It’s the place you can get to know me, read my articles and follow my journey (sorry to use the word ‘journey’ but despite knowing my way around Thesaurus.com like a local I couldn’t find anything that worked better) as I write my Very First Novel.

Who are you Cynthia?

Ooh good question. And one I ask myself regularly, plaintively in the mirror. So, the brass tacks. My name is Cynthia Bifolchi and I’m twenty-nine. A scary age. In my youthful arrogance I scoffed at those beset with the ‘nearly thirty willies’ but now that those willies have come to claim me I think perhaps I deserve it for being so smug.

Why do you keep saying willies?

Ah will you stop.

What’s your background luv?

Well you’re thorough anyway! Okay, I have a Masters in Journalism and I write content in my day job as well as on a freelance basis. I also co-wrote the script for three episodes of The Great Irish Bake Off, something I’m very proud of because I blimmin’ love cakes. I’ve interned in a magazine, a production company and worked in roles as diverse as a breakfast roll-maker, a shelf-stacker, a  pre-school teacher, a t-shirt printer, a vintage bag flogger, a bowling alley staffer and a clothes shop assistant.

And now here I am, writing my first book!

I love a good breakfast roll. Tell me about your process?

Wow, really? Okay. Well the breakfast rolls were just a matter of assembly to be honest; don’t go stingy on the ketchup or bacon and you’re laughing.

 Anything else we need to know?

Well I remember blushing deeply every time a good looking bloke asked for extra brown sauce, but to be fair I was a fourteen year old girl in a hairnet.

No, no,  not about the breakfast rolls! Anything else about YOU?

Oh right! Erm, I live in Dublin in a small rented flat, sorry I mean apartment, with salmon pink carpets, mental-looking curtains that have an air about them I can only describe as Cuban Fiesta and a kitchen so tiny that if you placed an Argos catalogue in the middle of the floor you’d be hard pushed to find the space to walk around it.

I’m in good enough health except for a bit of anxiety, a small skin issue behind my neck (might be related to the anxiety) and a gammy baby toe.

Are you single?

Oo-er you’re keen! I hate to break it to you but I live with my fiance Alex. He’s really tall, mad into tennis ( it’s a new thing—all of a sudden it’s all tennis this and tennis that and “where are my shorts!?” ) and finds about 50% of my various neuroses ‘cute’ which I have to say is good going. He also likes calling me fantastically ridiculous terms of endearment like ‘Your Worshipfulness’, ‘Triumph’, ‘Prize’ and ‘Precision’.

Er, okay. So, tell us about your writing hunzo?

I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. From earnestly writing short stories swollen with superlative adjectives in primary school to responding to depression at seventeen with (shockingly terrible) angsty poetry on subjects varying from the life of a sad pimple to a put-upon vending machine in a leisure centre.

I write because I love to, because I need to and even though the process can fluctuate between painful and euphoric and everything in between, I keep going, I keep trying. I’d go a bit mad if I didn’t I think.

What do you like to write about?

Everything. Anything.  Small things, funny things. Life. It’s all relevant. But it’s writing honestly, without compunction I’m more concerned with—even at the risk of looking like an eejit. How can I make a connection with my reader if I show only a carefully cultivated version of myself? I think sharing who you are, explicitly, unashamedly, is the biggest gift you can give to another person (followed closely of course by Miu Miu shoes).

As David Brooks (an eloquent man if there ever was one) said: “We are all stumblers, and the beauty and meaning of life are in the stumbling”—so let’s share our glorious stumbles!

Quite. Sure go on, we want to know what we’re dealing with here. Any pics?

Yep, I took this one especially. I had been rained on prior to having the photo taken so this botched straightener job was the best I could do with the hair. I have keen eyes and a warm smile though, which is what I was trying to achieve.


Ah you’re grand.

Grand? Is that it?

No… er I meant lovely. You’re LOVELY.

No, no, it’s okay, you said grand first. That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Grand it is.

Ah, now. I didn’t mean to upset you.

Just go. Diggins will see you out.

I… I…

Just GO!