“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”
The change in her attitude was abrupt, to say the least.
One minute she was typing manically at her keyboard, excited and determined to fulfil an end-of-day deadline that had never truly been achievable. The next, she was ready to leave it all behind. Continue reading “Worth | 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”
Amber scanned the tower of books in front of her, but she couldn’t find the right one.
Her friend had wittered on about the book for hours, insisting that it was the best work of literature that the world had ever known. Amber was chuffed with herself because she’d predicted it would be the best work of literature the world would ever know as soon as she’d seen it in the bookstore eighteen months ago. Trouble was, she hadn’t got around to reading it yet. And now, she was out of the loop. Continue reading “Addiction | Flash Fiction”
George sank his sword into the dragon’s chest, and the beast’s furious bellows rang out across the land.
Blood poured from the wound and began to soak George’s sleeve. He grimaced and backed away, watching as the creature writhed in agony and tried desperately to remove the weapon which was lodged in its flesh. Continue reading “George’s Big Day | Flash Fiction”
Last year I wrote a blog post about how to overcome writer’s block, in which I recommended ignoring it and writing anyway. I mentioned that I try to adopt the attitude that writer’s block doesn’t exist, because resigning myself to writer’s block only makes the problem worse.
I do still stand by that to a certain extent, but I wanted to expand on it because overcoming writer’s block isn’t always as simple as completely denying its existence. Even if we don’t call it writer’s block, we can agree that there are always fluctuations in our creativity levels, the number of ideas we have, and the amount we write on a regular basis. We’re not all super inspired and eager to write every single day. We all go through phases in which we struggle to write, and it’s perfectly natural and normal.
But what’s the best way of dealing with it? Is overcoming writer’s block possible? Continue reading “How to Overcome Writer’s Block | Blog”
Bonnie and her mother both gasped as they entered Ragz N Bonez Clothing, but for very different reasons. Bonnie was overjoyed. Her mother was repulsed.
Bonnie threw her mother a warning glance – a look that said, “Don’t show me up” – before prancing to the nearest rail of clothes. She trailed her hand over the garments as though they had been spun from threads of gold. Continue reading “Distressed | Flash Fiction”