I lie there in the middle of the tramlines, wet tarmac under my back and criss-crossed electric wires way above my head like they’re holding up the amber blunted sky. The city’s quiet now, aside from a few far-off shouts from people having the kind of good time they want people to know about, and… More Light Pollution
Another extract from my longer piece of writing. As with Letters, this is written by the main character’s mother in a letter to her. “The way we left the city was not as I’d hoped, though of course I hoped never to leave. We packed our things by candlelight, taking only what we could carry,… More Human architecture
Part of a larger piece I’m working on… * “The Pearl Mother,” he said, “is not someone you want to be fooling with.” He sucked weakly on his pipe for a moment before continuing, his pale eyes hooded with shadows from the paraffin lamp that swayed gently from the ceiling. “My grandpår used to tell… More The Pearl Mother
As mentioned in my previous post, here’s the possible prologue for a new longer piece of work I’m writing. I’m not going to call it a novel – that’s far too terrifying! Prologue The restaurant, with its peeling paintwork and dingy sign would be easy to miss were it not for the fish tank that… More Prologue…perhaps?
“I’m not planning anything and I haven’t done anything, before you ask. But, what kind of noise would a person make if they hit the ground after a seven-storey fall?” “Sort of like a cross between a smack and a thump, really. Like a steak hitting a work-top.” “But they wouldn’t explode, would they?” “No,… More Daddy / daughter bonding
I’m feeling a bit melancholy and writer’s block-y at the moment. I don’t think there’s a problem, really – I’m just a bit tired and grumpy. Work is heavy going and I’ve found out I need surgery on my knee – a good thing in the long-term, but definitely not something I’m looking forward to. I… More Still thinking about those plains…
The old goldfish was a humble creature. As his once glittering scales grew dull, he drew strength from his heritage and lived each day to the fullest, marvelling at the little things: the way the light caught the surface of the water; the gentle tickle and sway of pondweed. As he swam on, the goldfish… More The Goldfish