I bought this short story collection on impulse when I was perusing the pretty anthologies section in Waterstones. I love short stories and I love dogs – I didn’t have to think twice. But I’ve got to be honest – I’m a tad disappointed. Continue reading “Dog Stories, Short Story Collection | Book Review”
Laughter is the best medicine, but when healthcare comes at a price it is only the rich who are lucky enough to try the tonic.
Jacques made a sound living from flogging laughter, but it was a miserable job. He spent his days trawling the streets, waiting on jokes and witticisms before pouncing upon those who heard them.
As soon as the laughter came tumbling from his victims’ mouths, he’d leap upon them and capture it while it was still fresh. Continue reading “Laughter is the Best Medicine | Microfiction”
“There was no lamb left, love,” said Frank, as he dumped his shopping bags on the kitchen floor.
“What do you mean?” said Rita, a small flutter of panic running through her.
“No lamb joints,” Frank said with a shrug. “No pork, either, as I thought that would be second best. All they had was chicken, and all the big ones had already gone. Supermarket was jam-packed.”
“But you went early. How could they run out of lamb and pork when you went first thing? You did go first thing, didn’t you? You didn’t sneak off somewhere else first?” Continue reading “Bank Holiday Misery | Short Story”
Please forgive me while I interrupt the regular writerly Sunday blog posts on this platform in favour of a bit of a WHINGE.
I’m overwhelmed. Not by writing, (well, I am a bit, but no more than usual), but by life. Continue reading “A Whinge | Blog”
“I’m the most vital ingredient in this dish.”
“Rubbish!” cried Tom. “I’m a beef tomato. Like, the king of tomatoes.”
“You’re just the fat tomato,” sneered Moz, “that’s all. Meanwhile, I’m buffalo mozzarella. Buffalo beats cow any day.” Continue reading “Food Poisoning | Microfiction”
Lisa winced and shuffled in her seat as her stomach churned and bubbled. She cursed herself for eating beans for lunch.
“You okay, there?” said the painter, having noted his muse’s discomfort.
“Fine, yes. Sorry,” Lisa said, blushing. Continue reading “Smile | Microfiction”
Something that I’ve been struggling with recently is defining my genre. Right now, I pitch my tales as “speculative” because this seems to me to be the most professional way to define “weird shit” which is, apparently, what I tend to write.
People have told me I have a “style,” but when I ask them what that style is, they say, “Um, well, I dunno. It’s just kinda weird.” Helpful. Continue reading “I Don’t Know What My Genre Is (Or If It Matters)”
I blinked and then April was over.
I’ve no idea where this month has gone. It seems as though I frittered it away on wedding planning, gardening, and whinging about the weather. I’ve been lazy with both writing and reading this month, and I’m honestly ready for May to come along and reinvigorate me with some summery inspiration. But this is England, so it’ll probably just rain some more. Continue reading “April Reads | Book Review”
Lily had never felt less notable in her life. But that’s exactly what she was going for.
Her usual attire of black skinny jeans, metal band tee, leather jacket, and shiny, silver Chelsea boots was gone in exchange for tracksuit bottoms, an oversized hoodie, and plain, white trainers. Even her purple hair had been pulled back into a bun and hidden beneath a black beany hat. Continue reading “Undercover | Microfiction”