The strain was beginning to tell on Marcie. She had gone through dry spells before; every author did. This was different, though. It had been nine weeks and four days since the flashing cursor on her laptop screen had edged eastwards.
Marcie had tried every time-honoured, hippie-blessed, sing-in-a-circle-kum-bye-ah cure that internet search engines could be sent to fetch. Nothing had worked. Continue reading “The Strain of Writing”
Late afternoon sun would glint off the sewing needles as they darted in and out of embroidery. Low staccato chatter reverberated around the circle, the sound of court ladies who didn’t need to concentrate on what their quick hands were doing. An idle listener might mistake what they heard for tittle-tattle, harmless enough even in Puritan England. Nevertheless, for those in the sewing circle there were tales within tales, patterns in the stitches for those careful enough to look. Scandal could be conferred with a raised eyebrow and gossip smothered with a press of lips. Continue reading “Needled”
The grass has been needing mown for a while now. Over the weekend it was (thankfully) raining, so I decided to haiku my way out of a chore…
Untamed grass sprouts long.
Borders burst under brute green.
Roots clasp strangled stones.
‘What would you stop at to help the people you love most? Well, you obviously don’t love anyone very much if your love is contingent on them always staying the same.’ Continue reading “Book Review – Home Fire”
Sometimes I wonder if I’m in the right family, I really do. I’ll sit here in the evenings with everyone around me, eager to shoot the breeze, keen to discuss the day’s goings on. Not for them, though. They’ll sit there, mouths hanging open, guts spilling over the sides of sofas, expressions glaikit as they chew their way through a Chinese or an Indian or a fish supper. Continue reading “A Part of the Family”
A little op-ed piece this morning…
It can be easy to become numb to the wackiness of the internet. Today, an unscientific trawl from my laptop reveals that not only has a widow been brought to tears after opening an envelope left by her late husband, but that someone started a rumour that Cardi B’s real name is “Cardigan Backyardigan”. Leaving aside the unsustainable level of background knowledge I would need for either of these stories to matter to me, I can think of no circumstances which would prompt me to snap at this click-bait. Continue reading “Why not? I’ll tell you why…”
I’m delighted my short story ‘Phish on the Line’ is featuring in the ‘Dirty Money’ issue of Shooter literary magazine edited by the fantastic Melanie White. There’s corruption, materialism, and some creative accountancy. What’s not to love?
Cover courtesy of Youheum Son.
Continue reading “Phish on the Line”