Congratulations Top 30 (albeit a little late)
hey folks-
congratulations on being voted as the top 30. unfortunately a little bit of serious life took away my attention for a while, so i didn’t get the chance to vote for my favourites. but logging on today for the first time (in a long time) i see many of my favourite story tellers names up in lights. brilliant.
best of luck for the next stage in the comp xo
The office
It’s another day in the office much like any other, and I arrive late. The car park is full, spilling me onto the street. Excellent I think, at least I now have a late excuse at the ready ‘Couldn’t find a park, it’s a nightmare out there today’. Though I have to giggle at the ridiculousness of such an explanation.
What’s more I find a park only footsteps from the front door. And so there goes my …
It's apparent
During my hopefully short lived moments of no inspiration (see profile), all I can do is read your stories and make comments on all your beautiful words.
Speaking of words, is anyone else reading the dictionary tonight? Word of the day (on dictionary.com) is spoonerism. I like that word – sounds like it should be dirty – and it almost equals my fondness for the word tautology. But mor…
That's the routine
Saturday morning rolls around all too quickly. Stretching the length of my bed it is minutes, if I’m lucky, before the barrage begins.
No sooner have I opened my eyes do I see them reflected in the glassy blue gaze of my daughter, hovering over me, bumble bee in her appearance.
“Morning Mummy, can I get up yet"
“Yes�"
“When? When can I get up? Are you getting up?�"
“In a minuteR…
A letter for my lover, though he'll never be mine
With the courage that every swig of my cooling ale brings, I am compelled to write, and quite simply say, I cannot stop thinking of you. Who knew?
And who knows why?
I know the facts. I am no longer a fool weakened by the heady stare of a seductive man, touching me with certainty and uttering words that should be savoured only by those who know of love.
Yet I am foolishly giddy on the memory of y…
To watch her play
The summer storm rips open the heat of the day giving desperate relief to the rain starved plants. A morning of dusty hot oppression washed away in the cool darkness of black clouds, bursting and spilling on us the weight of their being.
A winter storm, even in the morning, brings early the night. But a summer storm brings a new fresh colour to the world. Pavements are washed clean of abandoned r…
A moment of sorrow
I watch her for hours sitting motionless. Her head slung low and deep across her chest, dark moody hair caressing her face, dancing occasionally on her tired breath. Saddened legs are thrown over the curves of the tattered chair, her eyes of sea green bathing in salty tears while her body struggles to support a heart, so deeply wounded it contorts her face.
As the sun slinks behind the ocean, the…