The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 6,800 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.
Click here to see the complete report.
When Adam West first came up with the idea for the site and drew together our little band we thought it would be fun. All five editors are passionate about Short Fiction, the reading and writing of it. I don’t think any of us realised just how much fun it would be – and how much work. We have spent many, many hours putting together a site that we are now very proud of.
Week 5 saw Literally Stories publish five Christmas themed stories. We started off with a beautiful, but different take on the nativity, Mary, Joseph and the Baby. Tuesday was kind of a daze, a funny Christmas Daze that is. Wednesday saw us publish the wonderful story The Lady in the Bauble which revisited a well known tale but gave it a very personal slant. . Thursday’s story was Season’s Greeting, where we witnessed a consultant losing hope of finding the Christmas Spirit. Finally the Friday story, Reminiscing, although not strictly a Christmas theme it was all about family and how the current generation will be viewed in the future.
Paul sighed as he walked into the unit. He didn’t want to be there but his mother had insisted. He walked into the lounge and saw his grandpa sitting in the corner. He grabbed a chair and sat down beside the old man.
Simon sat at his desk. His boss Michael walked in.
”It’s approaching the holidays.”
”You mean Christmas?”
“No, we can’t say that.”
“Because we don’t want to offend other religions?”
“We don’t want to offend large groups of consumers, yes.”
It’s bedtime now. Santa will only come after you have gone to sleep.
‘Oh Grandpa, tell us a story.’
Only if you both stay still, no jumping around. Come on now, settle under the blankets and listen. Let me tell you about Grandma’s Christmas bauble.
It was a dark wintry night and we were huddled together reaching towards the small fire, stretching our hands into the warmth. No one spoke because they were afraid, so afraid that if they slept they might not wake in the morning.
‘We’ll wake, won’t we Grandpa?’
Shussh, let me tell the story.
“Hi, Jo-Jos…er… sorry, Cas. Where are ye gaun?”
Cas glared at his cousin Mel and held back a snarl. Oh, how he hated his name Joe, Joe- fucking- King what a load of shite. His mum and dad must be a right pair of cretins to land him with that.
“I’m gaun tae visit oor Auntie Mary,” he finally replied, “gie her and Uncle Josie a wee Christmas prezzie for the new wean. Y’comin?”