Short Story and Flash Fiction Writer
He rolls over in bed to find her side empty and cold. There’s an envelope on the pillow with his name penned in her hand. Already he knows she’s gone.
He checks every room of the house, just to be sure. And then he pulls back the curtains in the living room and peers out at the creatures outside. They’re still there, dependable as ever. But she’s gone. Continue reading “You’re Right | Flash Fiction”
The mug sits unwashed on the kitchen table, a layer of white fuzz growing on the surface of the dregs of tea inside it. A smudge of lipstick is on the rim, and there’s a fingerprint made in chocolate on the handle.
The rest of the kitchen is pristine. Every single other mug, cup, glass, plate and bowl is dutifully washed, dried and put away immediately after use. But the mouldy mug remains on the table, as it has for three weeks now.
I’m up to my neck in editing right now (why did I ever think it would be a good idea to enrol on a novel-editing course at the same time as editing a collection of short stories which I plan to self-publish next month? WHY?!), which explains why I’ve been so utterly awful at replying to lovely comments and keeping up with everyone’s latest posts. Sorry about that. Hopefully I’ll have a little more time to catch up next week.
I’m also struggling to find time to pen all the stories I planned to write this week, both to post here and over on Medium. But I have been writing super short stories on Twitter on Instagram, so in the interests of shamefully plugging my social media pages, I thought I’d share a few of my recent favourites. I hope they might bring someone somewhere some mild entertainment at the very least. Continue reading “A Selection of Tiny Tales | Microfiction”
‘One hundred words to go, that’s all, bobblehead! One hundred little words to write until I meet my target and I can rest easy. And it’s only 4 a.m.! I’ve done well, haven’t I?’
The writer’s bobblehead mascot nods frantically in agreement as she taps out a manic rhythm on the desk with her fingers. Continue reading “Missed Targets | Flash Fiction”
I’m currently querying my first ever novel. It’s stressful, to say the least. It feels like there’s so much at stake and the thought of getting it wrong is horrifying, never mind the fear that the book is just pure rubbish which no literary agent in the history of time would ever be interested in representing. Okay, we’re getting into rant territory now; focus, Ellie. Continue reading “What Querying Feels Like”
