‘Look, a starfish, bright orange. Look at it.’ Sophie points to the ripples in the rock pool, her pigtails drop down over her cheeks, cover the freckles that have faded in the sun. ‘Billie, look.’ He is further from her, closer to the shore. He jumps across the rocks, one leg followed by the other, to where she is crouching down, pointing.
The wind stirs up the water. It is difficult to see beneath the surface. He scrunches his eyes almost shut, but not quite. ‘It was there, I promise,’ she insists, but he is unsure, wonders if it was worth the distance. He had been disturbed from scooping up mounds of volcanic sand into a cracked blue bucket that he had found outside the barn this morning. He had wondered if it was there to be used or whether he should have left it alone. There had been lots of old deck chairs lined up against the stone wall, the wood frames held together by sun-bleached fabric a few rips and holes. They had looked as though they were waiting to be used or restored. Nothing looked as though it had been let out for some time and he had decided that the bucket, at least, deserved some time at the beach. There hadn’t been anybody about to ask… Read the rest of the story online in Vending Machine Press
There is something about flash fiction that captures a moment perhaps more sharply than a short story, if that is possible. A snapshot of everyday life, of feelings, thoughts, moment. I enjoy reading and writing flash and have been following Flash Fiction Magazine for a while. There are some great stories. Today they published my second story, It’s Dorothy.
The early morning light pierced through the kitchen window, catching the edge of the table. Dents left from an old mincer had been ingrained along the edges, and there were strokes of felt tip pen in an array of colours left by the grandchildren during a recent visit. Signs of life, she thought. Kitchens are the hub of the home, her mother had said, but life as she knew it had come to an abrupt end last night when she had received the call…. continue reading at Flash Fiction Magazine.
After a break from blogging, I’m back with some short story news. After 8 years in Vienna, Austria, I am now back in the UK and a collection of my short stories is due to be released soon as an anthology. I’m really excited about the collection, which includes many stories published in literary magazines, and several anthologies as stand alone stories.
The other news is that my story, Lines in the Sand, will be published by Unthank Books in Unthology 8 in November. My work will be published alongside some wonderful writers, so I am thrilled to be a part of this publication.
And one of my stories has gone into this wonderful collection, Hearing Voices, which will soon be published by Kingston University Press. It includes work by Pulitzer Prize winner, Anthony Doerr and is an exciting mix of stories from locations as far flung as Ithaca, Nairobi and the surface of the moon!
Thank you for all of your comments and interest in the blog.
One of my short stories, A Question in a Gallery, has just been published in Issue 5 of Spontaneity Magazine. It was written in response to this image of Waterloo Concourse by photographer Mark Charlton, also published in Spontaneity. Spontaneity is a new arts journal which seeks to link prose to visual art, poetry and music, and is one of the most original journals I have read in recent years. Dip into their pages and see what you find. It’s truly inspirational.
A Question in a Gallery
‘Mind the gap, please.’ The voice sounds cool, void of emotion.
I push through the doors, the signs for St Paul’s Station lining the walls as though I might miss my stop. I have managed to avoid the rush hour, having taken the day off work. The air is thick with anticipation, or maybe it’s fear. I don’t know.
I weave through the tiled corridors and find the bottom of the escalators. There are more signs – the St Paul’s wording replaced with To Street, like an instruction on a board game. Posters pull me into a world of colour and cabaret. A woman holds the hands of two small children, as they pass me travelling in the opposite direction. They fight over who will hold the moving handrail. Her face remains unchanged, as though they do not exist…
Continued at Spontaneity.
This is a short post to say that my flash fiction piece, My brother was a kangaroo, is today’s featured story on http://t.co/cCJ3XsOlVl