“Help. Help us! My friend’s been knifed. He’s bleeding out.”
The little girl eyes the panicked lime that stands before her, along with his injured lemon friend who is oozing juice fast. “Oh. I don’t know what to do.” Continue reading “Bleeding Out | Microfiction”
Try as I might, I just haven’t been able to get my shit together.
I haven’t posted anything here in weeks, nor have I posted any fiction or non-fiction on Twitter, Instagram or Medium. Writing — or even just the thought of writing — makes me anxious or depressed or angry. Continue reading “Scared of Writing (And VSS365 Anthology) | Blog”
I recently did a little interview for NFReads.com, talking about my books, the writing process and creativity. Have a look if you fancy!
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The shop across the road looks like it sells a load of old tat, but it sure looks more appealing than trying and failing to put pen to paper. I down the last frothy dregs of my cappuccino, tuck my notebook and pen in my bag, and head out to kill some time.
The door jangles to announce my presence, and in seconds the shop owner appears before me with a wide grin stretched across his face.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
I shake my head. “Just browsing.”
I look at the shelves and take in the junk. Twee wooden figurines. Cheap plastic flowers arranged in even cheaper plastic vases. Cutesy signs with naff statements like God Bless This Mess and Dust is a Country Accent. Dachshund draught excluders with blue plaid bellies and cartoonish eyes. Floral aprons and floral tea towels and floral oven mitts and floral cushion covers and…
“Perhaps I can point you in the right direction,” the shop owner says, his megawatt grin not faltering for even a moment.
Continue reading on Medium >
The Kindle version of my debut book, Merry Bloody Christmas: A Short Story Collection, is available for 99p until 26th December!
Grab it now on Amazon
Countdown to Christmas with 24 contemporary short stories
In a gloomy Yorkshire town on a snowy Christmas Eve, nothing pans out exactly as it should…
An awkward breakup, a vengeful turkey, digitalised ghosts and alien abductions.
A chocoholic grizzly bear, a talking Christmas tree, mince pie overdoses and a very bloody murder.
Will poor old Saint Nick make it out alive?
Sad, strange, funny and gruesome, this overlapping, multi-genre collection of tales has a little something for every reader. Curl up with a mulled wine and some fictional festive misery, and discover what Father Christmas really likes to drink when he wriggles down your chimney. Spoiler: it isn’t milk.
“Dude, stop whistling, you’ll get us busted.”
“You don’t like my whistling?”
“No. It sucks.”
“My mum says I whistle beautifully.”
“She’s lying. Here.” Sam glances quickly around them before handing Ryan a small brown envelope. Continue reading “Bloom | Flash Fiction”
I published a merry bloody book!
And now that we’ve got Halloween and Bonfire Night out of the way, I’m finally able to flog it. It’s Christmas-themed, y’see. Yes, sensible old me thought it would be a cracking idea to make my first foray into the self-publishing world with a seasonal book that folks will only ever want to buy for around 6 weeks of the year. I mean… you live and learn, right?
Merry Bloody Christmas is a multi-genre short story collection which I originally wrote and posted on this blog last year. I was reasonably chuffed with the stories then, but I knew they weren’t as polished as they could be. Not only that, but they soon got buried as I continued to post new stories and book reviews. So, I pulled them from the site, dusted them off, whipped them into shape, and published them. Continue reading “I Published a Book!”
‘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”
Here I am, living my life, maintaining a routine, going about my day to day as best as I can, when the old bastard turns up and ruins everything.
He doesn’t even knock first. He just walks right into my house, marches up the stairs, wanders into my spare bedroom where my little desk is set up, and glares at me until I cry. Continue reading “A Visit from Self Doubt | Blog”