Witch- A Flash Fiction

Witch- A Flash Fiction

Dad called my mother’s mother a witch. He said she saw a dancing sprite weaving in and out of flames, cast like a shadow on her bedroom wall, the night before a fire stole her middle child. The green curtains that hung on his bedroom wall were deemed to be the cause,...
Dipping A Toe in the Self-Published Water

Dipping A Toe in the Self-Published Water

It has taken me a long time of debating with myself whether or not to self publish my short stories. Part of me worries that they’re not good enough; part of me worries that I will be tarred with the same brush as some self-publishers who are happy to put their...
Glasgow Style

Glasgow Style

  ‘Hello there, doll,’ he says. ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling. ‘Mind if I sit here?’ He points to the barstool beside her. She sighs. ‘If you want to.’ ‘You’re no from around here, are you?’ ‘How observant.’ She attracts the barman’s eye. ‘Ah’ll get that for you, love.’ ‘I...
Kissing Frankenstein & Other Stories

Kissing Frankenstein & Other Stories

As part of this year’s National Flash Fiction Day celebrations, the lovely and talented Rachel Carter set up a blog to find the best flash fiction written by the people of the West Country. As a result of this brilliant project, Kissing Frankenstein & Other...
It’s Not easy Being Green.

It’s Not easy Being Green.

[tweetmeme source=”nettiewriter” http://www.URL.com] Kevin hated waste. He despised the plastic packaging on the fruit and veg in the supermarket, and knew that the contents would wither, shrivel and turn into maggot-infested goo long before the wrapper...

Prizes, Jobs and Nick Knowles.

It’s been a while, I know, and I have all kinds of excuses but no good reasons. Anyhoo, this is a ‘catch-up’ kind of post, so bear with me.* Firstly, I came third in the FlashBang Fiction Competition and you can read my prize winning story, ‘The Magician’, here....
Moth

Moth

[tweetmeme source=”nettiewriter” http://www.URL.com] I read my book until you come to bed, unsmiling and unwilling to look me in the eye. You pull your t-shirt over your head and throw it at the basket, missing. It lies there, crumpled and sullen, daring...

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