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Unstuck

I’ve been quiet on the blog front. Studying for my MA, breaking my elbow, and then within the classic writer’s rule of three, I had little spare time and energy to blog. However, I recently bought two beautiful notebooks in TK Maxx (one with Chinese artwork and the other a hare) to encourage me to journal again. I decided that one was to be notes on the novel I’m currently writing, and the other, a travel journal. I used to do the latter in my 20s and 30s, but somewhere in the business of life I fell out of love with a handwritten record of any holiday or event, leaving my photos in the Google ether to tell a story instead. I’d gone to TK Maxx with the intention to buy photo frames, and after circling the shelves numerous times, I saw a rack of notebooks inspired by British artists, instead. Distracted, I ended up picking two for me, and one for my daughter. And then I chose two photo frames. I queued up at the cash tills to be served by a worker who had seen me frittering around the p
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Recent posts

The Christmas Habitué

The run-up to Christmas is always a time of reflection for me. How the year has gone, what I’ve got to look forward to over the coming month, but also fondly remembering those we used to celebrate with. The long dark nights, log fires, and a steaming cup of tea often inspire me to write ghost stories about the return of the ones we love. I hope this short story gets you in the spirit. The Christmas Habitué It was Christmas Eve and Florence heard a gentle click of the front door and then the stamp of snowy boots. ‘Derek, that you?’ she said. ‘Hello Ma!’ he said, picture framed by the doorway in his army uniform which had been pressed to an inch of his life, ‘could murder a cuppa!’ As he rubbed his ashen hands above the red coals of the fire, she shuffled to the kitchen in a pair of oversized green woollen socks. Returning with a teapot for two, he was gone; just like every Christmas. She smiled and then cried, just like she always did. (This story was first published by Friday Flash Fic
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Rave On My Friend

Stories are a beautiful blend of truth and fiction, and when something comes from your own life experience it can give a realistic heartfelt atmosphere that will, hopefully, resonate with a reader. My latest short story, Finding My Beat, is a contemporary realism tale of a young woman recently split from an abusive boyfriend who returns to live with her parents. Grieving for the life she had of euphoric nights dancing to rave music, she discovers that a new life is only just the flip side of a vinyl. But looking for a place for this story was initially difficult. Thanks to mentoring by Carol McKay 2023 Scriever for The Federation of Writers (Scotland), I was able to improve the story and gain the confidence that it was worthy of a home other than on my PC. Thinking outside the box of traditional webzines, I discovered Rave One , a British rave music website. They were actively looking for blog articles and after sending them Finding My Beats, they offered to publish it. But Stu
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Seven Alternative Uses Of A Bin

Recently I pondered the alternative uses of a bin, and came up with the following: A filing cabinet, a bowl to be sick in, a cupboard for the food I hate, a knight’s helmet for a toddler, a trap for a slinky spider, a shoe for a drunk, and a trash can for an American. How versatile are bins, eh? (Photo by Taylor Flowe on Unsplash )
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Friday Flash Fiction

I was asked earlier this year to be a judge for the website Friday Flash Fiction’s writing competitions. I was delighted and honoured that I would be able to read and review the many entries that I had once only been a participant in, and it was indeed a real treat. My favourite in the 2023 Andrew Siderius competition was The Apple by Alex Blaine and although it made the shortlist, it didn’t win. However, it’s a story that has never left me. And here’s my review as a judge too: 'The first sentence of this story hooked me in from the start because it set the scene for the reader immediately. The writer had considered language choice throughout the piece because it conveyed strong imagery, a sense of place, and visualisation of the characters. The last line was equally striking with an analogy of a golden apple with a rotten core to an SS soldier. I shuddered with fear for the elderly man as the story finished, leaving the reader to imagine (with dread) the outcome of this act of he
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Knees Up

My cat injured his ‘knee’ six weeks ago. Yes, who knew cats have knees, but they do. The vet’s advice was to keep him in the house, in one room, for at least a month in order for his cruciate ligament to heal. Huh! My cat loves the outdoors. In fact, and especially during the summer, he spends more time outdoors than indoors; only returning for food and a quick pet. So, we compromised – he was kept indoors throughout the house initially for a month and we now keep him in just overnight. So, at 4am every day, we have our usual routine; regular as hands on a battery-powered cat wristwatch. He starts by panting his dead mouse-tainted breath in my face and then sits down next to my pillow. He’s usually satisfied with a few strokes, but if I stop, he will walk onto my bedside table and sniff my diffuser – nonchalantly dipping his belly hair into my glass of water as he does so. If that fails to get me up, he then walks over the top of me like an elephant wearing stilettoes. Having had
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Silly Sleeping Position Of The Day

My daughter left home to live in America last year and misses our cat so much that I have to send her regular updates about him – either by photo, text or call − to reduce her catsickness. A highlight of these mewsletters is ‘silly sleeping position of the day’. Here’s a few examples:   They all look incredibly awkward, but to him, they’re a show of affection towards me (paws pointing towards me), that he feels at ease with me (paws stretched out), and that he’s safe in my company (back to me). If I tried to copy him, I think I would fall out of bed or wake up with a sore shoulder. And who are we to judge his sleeping position when he could be equally perplexed as to why we sleep on our backs with our arms above our heads? But his eccentricities give my daughter a sense of connection to home and to a much-loved cattastic family member. So ... never underestimate the power of a pawsom
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