There’s splashing in the fishpond when I put out the rubbish and I guess the frogs are at it again. I find a torch and shine it over. Some of them are riding piggy back like double headed beasts. There’s at least a dozen in there – that must make it an orgy. A toad sits on the edge, winking at me. His ungainly body becomes lithe when he springs into the water. I watch the activity like a voyeur then I scuttle back to the kitchen. Read the rest of this entry »
Flash Fiction at a Readers’ and Writers’ event in Dorset
The Exchange at Sturminster Newton was a busy place on Saturday with workshops and talks by authors and a good chance to meet and chat with other readers and writers. I finally got to meet fellow blogger Patsy Collins who has recently won a competition to have her first novel published. Watch this space for more details of her book titled ‘Escape to the Country’.
Patrick Gale
I loved reading Notes from an exhibition by Patrick Gale and opted to join his workshop on flash fiction. I was interested when he said that a character’s back story from a novel can make an excellent piece of flash. This was reassuring as several of my latest attempts have been just that.
Patrick was also keen to promote entry into the Bridport Prize ( he is the judge for the flash fiction and short story categories) and
#fridayflash: yearning
Yearning
Holding the phone to his ear, he counts the rings. Claire answers on the fourth.
‘Is your mother still there?’ He doesn’t wait for a greeting.
‘She’s taken the kids into town.’
‘So that’s more free childcare for you.’
‘She offered,’ Claire draws a breath.
‘I’d look after your children anytime.You know I would. I’ve asked often enough.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Claire exhales and he guesses she’s taken up smoking again.
‘When your mother gets back, can you give me a call?’
‘Fine.’ The line goes dead.
‘Fine.’ He returns the handset to its cradle.
Sitting in the armchair, he stretches his legs. Settled for the afternoon, he watches the grey belly of sky through the window and he gropes behind the curtain. Finding the bottle he swirls it, watching the whisky lick the sides. There’s enough to keep him going, for the rest of the day at least. In the tumbler grimy with fingerprints, he pours a large one. Titling the glass, he savours the peaty smell and his nose tweaks at the prospect of a good, steady slug. There’s a nub of anaesthesia as he swallows and his shoulders relax. Smacking his lips as he downs the last drop, he nurses the glass between his fingers.With his eyelids sagging, the tension drifts.
The trill of the telephone wakes him but he doesn’t answer. Instead he talks to the darkened room.
‘Call yourself my daughter? You’re a bloody bitch – you’ve been one since the day you were born.’
This piece of flash fiction currently appears on the National Flash Fiction Day website. National Flash Fiction Day is held on 16 May 2012.
#fridayflash: waiting
Fiona paces the kitchen, keeping her feet inside the flagstone squares, then she stops and stares through the French windows into the garden. The flowerbeds are bedraggled, the winter frost has killed off any growth and only the potted Christmas tree, discarded on the patio, sprouts a few green needles. Sitting at the kitchen table, Liz snorts at the photographs of fashion mishaps in a magazine. Read the rest of this entry »
#fridayflash: Rain
Rain plummets in Nigeria, dropping in parallel lines from the roofs. I listen to the sound of the earth licking its lips while I wait for Tobe. He dashes through the downpour, his shock of dark hair is dotted with diamonds. Out of breath, he puffs a greeting and I thread my fingers through his, making the pattern on a zebra’s coat. As the tufts of his beard rake my chin, his lips consume me.
This 75-word vignette from my novel Mistrust first appeared on Paragraph Planet on 8 Febrary 2012.
#FridayFlash: Stone
The dining room is laid with paper cloths and napkins. In my pocket, the stone slips between my fingers, the surface smooth and cold. I found it in the garden as I shuffled along the path. I think of Laura and her mellow gaze, her eyes watching my mouth as she tries to understand the words that I dribble. I place the distorted heart on the table where she sits, a stone love letter.
This 75-word short story (including title) was first published by Paragraph Planet, 23 January 2012. Website: http://www.paragraphplanet.com
Friday Flash: Belemnite
The wind lashes my cheeks and strands of untamed hair escape from my scarf. False footed by the incline, I lose my nerve and shelter by the rocks. But Tommy strides the beach, his eyes fixed to the ground. Each time he shows a specimen to the expert, his shoulders hunch when the bearded man shakes his head. Other fossil hunters in flapping raincoats scurry like crabs, picking and turning pebbles. Screwed up with anticipation, Tommy continues to look, forcing over boulders too heavy to carry, examining the stones like jewels beneath. When it’s time to walk back, he stiffens, shoving his hands in his pockets, shrugging off the arm I place around his shoulders. With his elbows sticking out like wings, he bends over and concentrates on searching with each step. The others wander off, but I stay and watch him, my face wet with drizzle. At a rock pool he drops to his knees, the water like obscured glass, he trails a finger through the weeds and shells. Removing a cylinder of black stone, he runs along the shingle to catch up with the guide.
As he walks back he smiles, his wet hair springy like a sheep’s coat, a glint in his navy rimmed eyes.
‘It’s a Belemnite, Mum.’ Tommy places the bullet shaped fossil in my hand; I turn it over studying the surface marked with indents.
‘Well done, Tommy. Now you can start a collection.’
‘Naah.’ He crinkles his nose. ‘It’s a present for you.’
the writer is a lonely hunter 