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Day 17 - The Door You Didn’t Take
Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
What if one small moment, missing a train, answering a call, saying yes instead of no, changed everything?
Today I want you to write a poem that begins with a moment of divergence: a version of your life that could have been, or one you’re just now stepping into.
Where does this path lead? Who do you become on the other side?
You might start with:
* “The door clicked shut, and I almost didn’t look back.”
* “In another version of me, I stayed.”
* “Spring always smells like something I nearly lost.”
Buy the magazine here.
The Aftershock Review is an intervention—a rupture in the poetry publishing scene. Survivor-led, trauma-aware, and artistically fearless, it was conceived from bed by editor Max Wallis, who was disabled throughout 2024 with complex PTSD.
This debut issue brings together over 50 poets, aged 17 to 89, whose work confronts trauma with clarity, compassion, and craft. This is not a wellbeing project.
This is literature forged from survival—poems shaped by psychosis, PTSD, cancer, addiction, injustice, and the griefs that leave lasting marks. But crisis is not our only mode. This issue also celebrates queer love, tenderness, defiance, and reinvention.
In early 2025, we raised £7,000 through crowdfunding and private donations—proof of the hunger for work that speaks from and to the aftershocks.
Alongside leading voices such as Hugo Williams, Gwyneth Lewis, Inua Ellams, Joseph Fasano, and John McCullough, we honour the late Jackie Hagan—an outstanding performance poet whose voice continues to shake the world.
Spanning sections like A Furious and Tender Reckoning, Naming the Damage, Psychosis / Madness / Survival, Pop Vision, and Queer Inheritance / Queer Disclaim, this issue is a testament to resilience, resistance, and radical craft.
Founded in the North West and shaped by a queer, disabled, and neurodivergent editor, The Aftershock Review is more than a magazine. It is a space where poetry refuses silence, where survival becomes language, and where trauma is transformed.
Made from bed.
Built by community.
This is poetry that fights back.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
View all episodes
By Max Wallis' Daily Aftershock Writing Prompts (The Aftershock Review)Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
What if one small moment, missing a train, answering a call, saying yes instead of no, changed everything?
Today I want you to write a poem that begins with a moment of divergence: a version of your life that could have been, or one you’re just now stepping into.
Where does this path lead? Who do you become on the other side?
You might start with:
* “The door clicked shut, and I almost didn’t look back.”
* “In another version of me, I stayed.”
* “Spring always smells like something I nearly lost.”
Buy the magazine here.
The Aftershock Review is an intervention—a rupture in the poetry publishing scene. Survivor-led, trauma-aware, and artistically fearless, it was conceived from bed by editor Max Wallis, who was disabled throughout 2024 with complex PTSD.
This debut issue brings together over 50 poets, aged 17 to 89, whose work confronts trauma with clarity, compassion, and craft. This is not a wellbeing project.
This is literature forged from survival—poems shaped by psychosis, PTSD, cancer, addiction, injustice, and the griefs that leave lasting marks. But crisis is not our only mode. This issue also celebrates queer love, tenderness, defiance, and reinvention.
In early 2025, we raised £7,000 through crowdfunding and private donations—proof of the hunger for work that speaks from and to the aftershocks.
Alongside leading voices such as Hugo Williams, Gwyneth Lewis, Inua Ellams, Joseph Fasano, and John McCullough, we honour the late Jackie Hagan—an outstanding performance poet whose voice continues to shake the world.
Spanning sections like A Furious and Tender Reckoning, Naming the Damage, Psychosis / Madness / Survival, Pop Vision, and Queer Inheritance / Queer Disclaim, this issue is a testament to resilience, resistance, and radical craft.
Founded in the North West and shaped by a queer, disabled, and neurodivergent editor, The Aftershock Review is more than a magazine. It is a space where poetry refuses silence, where survival becomes language, and where trauma is transformed.
Made from bed.
Built by community.
This is poetry that fights back.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe