Category Archives: flash fiction
This last week has been a tale of two halves, I finished editing my book on Marie Antoinette, uploaded it to go on sale on 1st May and then I started to plan my next writing project. All good.
I realised that I haven’t done a lot of reading lately while I’ve been writing like a ninja and I felt that I had missed the lovely process of reading and being absorbed in another world with characters that you can learn to love or loathe as the pages pass by.
You know what? I set aside the writing and dedicated myself to reading, in the last few days I have happily devoured a book on creative writing – OK, that’s a bit workish, half of a historical biography on Queen Mary, wife of King George V and I tried to read Glenarvon by Lady Caroline Lamb, one time love of Lord Byron the notorious poet.
I say tried because her writing style suggested that her mind was on fire, it was so overwritten that it made simple melodrama look dull! Glenarvon was the novel she wrote about their affair so perhaps there was a lot of emotion to fire from her pen.
I may return to it on a day when I have energy to spare, it’s not a relaxing read. One day, perhaps.
Tomorrow, I start my next writing project, today you’ll find me luxuriating in a book. I love to do both and I often miss one when I do the other exclusively.
It’s true, they’re two sides of the same coin. One can’t thrive without the other.
The London Marathon was held today – big respect and congratulations to anyone who even contemplates running 26 miles – I quickly penned this tanka this morning…
I confess I’m pooped
In my sleep I’ve somehow run
The great marathon
Tortured for twenty six miles
Finished first, collapsed in style.
Have a great week.
Here we are at another weekend, another cold one here in the UK and I’m yearning for Spring, I love to see nature coming back to life and to feel the sun getting warmer.
It’s a hibernating weekend for me, reading fab books by the fireside and indulging in some edible treats.
I won’t be wearing a snowman onesie though, that would be a step too far!
I’ve spent most of today placing my recent books on to online retailers. I can only hope that the right cover has been uploaded with the correct text each time. Fingers crossed or I may get an e-mail asking why my Charles Dickens book only contains information on Tolstoy. Uh oh:-)
I’ve also taken a piece of flash fiction and turned it into a poem. It’s not based on reality, thankfully, although someone who read it did suggest an appropriate place to stick the door handle if it was real – Cheeky!
I hope you enjoy it.
In my head structures torn down, a tornado
Monoliths had been embedded moments ago
He’s not dedicated to us, a lost cause, no hope found
Twenty odd years of history razed to the ground
With his cologne filled air of self satisfied finality
I’m stunned, powerless, cut down cruelly
He tells me that I can rebuild my new life with zeal
Find love with someone who has more appeal
I try to believe that I’ll be better without him
As he insists it will be so I try to submit to his whim
He opens the door and goes without looking back
My name isn’t etched on his heart, it’s on the rack
He worships and loves her, Helen.
I’m the discarded ruin, Katherine.
Have a great weekend.
As the title says I’m a bit excited!
I pitched an idea to a local publication and they are mulling that over for their website.
I was pleasantly surprised and grateful when the editor suggested that I write an article about myself and life with O.C.D./P.T.S.D. for inclusion in their print magazine in a couple of months time.
I realised as I was writing the short piece that:
1. It means a lot to be living my writing dream.
2. The mental disorders didn’t hijack my life or my goals forever and I’ve come a long way in the last year or so.
3. It’s an opportunity to write about my life as I do on my blog, reach and inform even more people which can only help to banish the misconceptions about mental issues.
I’d call it a fabulously welcome early Christmas present!
I feel amazed when my work is accepted or gets published somewhere and I don’t ever want to lose that astonishment, it’s good for my soul!
A flash fiction piece made the grade the other day too!
I wrote this poem recently for my anthology It’s Christmas! I hope that you enjoy it.
Tommy Turkey: Legend
Farmer Jones had once had a kindly look
About his cheery self when they’d first met
But frankly, he’d blotted his copybook
When he’d mentioned their weights to the vet
This morning he’d told Tommy and his friends
That they were wonderfully plump, fat enough to go
As they had no pocket money for a day out to spend
They reasoned it was to Old Grisly Gobble & Co.
Tommy thought no chance! They’d taken a vote
Agreed to a mass exodus, they wouldn’t be Christmas dinners
Tommy had written Farmer Jones a firm farewell note
He was sure that hats would be doffed to the great turkey winners
In his turkey crown and cape Tommy had left the farm
He’d seen The Great Escape he well knew what to do
That night he started an “Eat Sprouts and do turkey’s no harm!”
Campaign with pigs in blankets on the evening news
Poor old newsreaders looked utterly bemused.
The note read:
Dear Farmer Jones,
Ho ho ho and off we go! With the ‘snips and sprouts we’ll not pout
With free flowing gravy fresh from the spout
Love (Yeah right) Tommy and his turkey heroes!
Happy “it’s nearly Christmas!”
Have a fab rest of the week.
Some fab stories on here, mine is at the bottom, 100 words maximum limit…glad to be included. Thanks! 🙂
Special thanks to Jessica Standifird for her editorial assistance. This week’s artwork is by Kate Salvi.
Leaving on a Ghost Train
by Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
The ghost train came to take me, the night after the dead took over. It came through the kitchen, blinding my sister and me with its melting light.
“Bugger off,” Margaret said, wrapping an arm around me. “You can’t have him.”
“All twelve-year olds work for the dead,” the train said in a Yorkshire accent. “They’re the most fit to serve the new order.”
“I’m not going,” I said. “Take the neighbors.”
The train plunged into my sister, wheels grinding up strands of red hair, eyes, spinning like hypnotic Ferris wheels. She waved and smiled, her smile turning to crinkled stardust, falling away.
by Joey To
Jane slipped her shoes off, then glanced at the longcase clock and sighed: 10 p.m. and unsurprisingly…
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