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“Attribute neither the magnificent nor the malign to the mysterious mind of a magic god as an excuse to stop thinking about what has happened.”–Czsminoothe, circa 1800 b.c.e.
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“You will remember everything.”–Eternity
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Continue reading “The First Symptom is Death (Part I) by Leila Allison”
An athletic-looking man, late 30s, tall, long legs spilled at seating but signifying comfort, unmindful of the mass of traffic from all corners of the world marking the Bean Pot City as a current center of international traffic, reads a soft-bound book amid the jet-setting hustle and bustle of Boston’s Logan Airport. Some of the world’s movement flows clearly past his interest in the printed, still word held in hand, taking his mind to another location, another setting, other personalities as alive as those flowing about him, queries, demands, exclamations and greetings in the order of the day.
The eve of All Souls’ Day, and the dead to be visited, provided with light, the all-weather candles of the graveyard, the living visitors to be catered-for with bread and beer. It all meant shopping, the carrying of things, and of all-weather people, in and out of the darkness brought down by November. The eleventh month announced the onslaught of the winter, a drain on the spirits, a greying of the skin, the miniscule tightening of arteries, the dimming of the vision, the only clear thing in sight the glimmer of the wrongs done and not righted, a time of ghosts.
Hundreds of hermit crabs wearing toothpaste caps as shells shuffled through the dirt at the construction site, dirt so full of broken glass that it sparkled even at night, even with no light. Aref knew probably only he saw that seemingly infinite sparkle, just like he knew the hundreds of hermit crabs were really only one because you’d never find that many crabs wearing toothpaste caps for shells.
Continue reading “Aref and the Hermit Crab by Phoebe Reeves-Murray”
Before I start we would like to appeal to all of you who we haven’t met yet. I’m talking about the readers who don’t comment. We see the same images besides the ‘likes’ but you are all silent.
Perhaps it’s shyness. You know what is said about being shy? (Well you don’t because you wouldn’t ask.)
…A shy ostrich who buries their head in the sand and sticks their arse up in the air isn’t shy for very long.
We would like to invite you, for one day only, with no commitment, to have a wee comment.
It doesn’t need to be deep or meaningful, it just needs to be anything. Even a ‘I liked this’ would do. Don’t depend on a thumbs up…Put your own thumb up and let yourself go! Normally that phrase would have went somewhere else but I want to encourage and not scare away!
I’m even giving you a week to think on it as we are looking for these comments on our Saturday’s Posting on the 18th November. This is a special day for us as it is our 3rd year anniversary. Please get involved and send us a message.
So: Whippoorwill, Little Fire, Writerlady, Roy Dorman, Sue Vincent, xprettylittlethingsxo, therebemonstershhere.com, the drabble etc. We would love to know what you think of the site, any favourite stories and more importantly what you get out of it.
And we are not forgetting about our regulars and some like Orvillewrong who is reasonably new but is someone we now look out for. In a way, we are trying to express our thanks to you all and we want you all to realise that we appreciate you being around. You keep the site alive!
All of this made me think about shyness whilst writing. Is there such a thing or is it self censorship? If you feel so strongly about a subject that you would never write about it, surely that passion and those views should be used to do exactly that!
If you are a wee shy soul and don’t want to use those dirty words like ‘Boobies’, ‘Bottoms’ and ‘Cunt’ just shut your eyes whilst you are typing them and imagine a Unicorn is dictating.
I always wonder what the difference is between shyness and not being assertive. I think that the assertive phrase is for the successful and the shy phrase is for the common people. It’s a bit like being called ‘eccentric’. They have money and stay in an affluent area whereas a ‘nutcase’, has a drug problem and stays in an effluent area.
Even a ‘paedophile’ is income driven. A skint one is a pervert in the system living next to a school watching and wanking. Whereas a rich pervert who is wanking the system that they themself hide in is called a Politician.
Ah, double standards, inverted snobbery, deviants and censorship have been my ‘go to’ writing topics for so long!
So now onto this weeks stories. We had two new writers for you, Tom who is getting ever closer to number fifty, and a fourth and eighth timer.
Our topics were as diverse as usual. We had self acceptance, war, a life change, illegal gambling and advertising to the extreme.
As always our initial comments follow.
On Monday we had Jack Coey who added to his three previous stories with ‘The Callback’.
‘The setting was well done and the characters were believable.’
‘I loved the style and structure.’
‘The parallel is excellent, it is beautifully subtle.’
One of our new writers was next up. To both of them we welcome them and hope that they have fun on the site. ‘Step by Step by Step‘ was Deva Meri’s début.
‘This made me cry. The segment about him going down the stairs and realising that he couldn’t go back to his life was heartbreaking.’
‘Brilliant imagery and a harrowing central tale.’
‘So many layers. You felt for all the characters.’
Our second newbie had their first story published on Wednesday. ‘Captain Corn‘ from David Howard broke the back of the week.
‘Very enjoyable and well constructed.’
‘I was intrigued from the start.’
‘Everyone of us found merit within this skilful piece of story telling.’
There is nothing that I can say about Tom Sheehan. His word count bombs us all out the water. His class is a pleasure to read. On Thursday, ‘From One War To Another Without Choice‘ was another wonderful example of his work.
‘The writing is almost hypnotic.’
‘When the ending comes you feel as if you’ve just emerged from some odd dream. It is beautiful and sad.’
‘Excellent. The acceptance and despair about war was harrowing.’
That brought us to the end of the week. It was held on a Friday. Larry Lefkowitz added to his excellent back catalogue with ‘Caesar’s Shade.’
‘The fickleness all makes sense.’
‘The cynical and greedy dialogue is very well done.’
‘This is a clever idea beautifully executed.’
That’s us well and truly rounded up.
As I’ve said, next week is our three year anniversary and we would love for all our readers and writers to contribute so please give it a go.
And even if you are a wee bit apprehensive grab that Unicorn by his horn and let fly!
Although that would be easier if a Unicorn had shagged a Pegasus. But maybe if you grabbed him by the horn, he wouldn’t want to move, only twitch a bit!
Hugh
Banner Image: Pixabay.com
Adkins sat looking at the latest videolazered spread of the soon to be launched Pandora Perfume advertizing campaign when Cardin burst into the room. “Julius Caesar – I’ve got a lead on Caesar!”
I’d lost a brother and remember the headlines, newsreels, songs of bond-selling, gas-griping, and movies too true to hate, the settings of World War II. Those days found the whole Earth bent inwards, imploding bombs, bullets, blood, shrieking terrible bird cries in my ears only deepest sleep could lose if it ventured close.
Continue reading “From One War to Another without Choice by Tom Sheehan”
“I was never in the Boy Scouts,” I lied. It seemed the wiser course in the job interview than to have the possible employer learn I had been asked to leave Pack 22 after telling the Scoutmaster what he could do with the rope he was using to teach knot tying.
Out there, it was a storm rioting, the type that Marion faced when arriving at the Bates Motel, and I was sitting in this stranger’s freshly vacuumed Mitsubishi with my muddy, turn-out-not-to-be-waterproof hiking boots, him telling me how he hadn’t been home in nearly two decades. That, back there, he had a wife still mourning his death. That his daughter wasn’t the little princess she used to be, but married recently and was pregnant now with two little princesses herself. His voice a warm drone against the rain that was drumming against the Mitsubishi’s metal frame. I was just happy that I was in there, and not stuck at the last lonely gas station, biding my time with overpriced Cheetos and overweight truck drivers.
Willard got a call back. He was surprised, his knees shook, and his voice trembled, but they must have seen something. The only thing he could think of was they must have thought his nervousness was a character choice instead of him. He told Flo about it, and she shook her head. He auditioned in the banquet room at the E.F. Lane Hotel in Keene for Foster and Lewis, two producers from Concord, who were casting a play called I Did It for Love, a three-act comedy around same-sex marriage. The stage manager was named Leon, and he came into the supermarket where Willard worked, and told him about the call back.
literally stories 