Leila has finished her run of women writers with this one – aw shucks – blushes furiously:
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Tag: free reading
Week 331 – Even Derren Brown Would Struggle With Some Of Our Submissions, At Least We Know The Words To Our Anthem And Yet Another Mad Tory Shagger!
Well here we are at Week 331.
Every now and then we throw in a few nuggets of wisdom about the site and what we look for. Or how we consider submissions in general, so with that in mind, I’d like to concentrate on fledgling writers and pass on a few bits of advice. I think any writer who has done this for any length of time will agree with most of these.
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Bones by Jennifer Walkup
There were eight candles on my birthday cake the year my sledgehammer mother shattered us like we were blown glass. I remember it specifically because when the ninth candle flickered at the last minute, I thought, with the force of gale force winds, oh, extra candle for good luck, please don’t go out on me.
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A Psalm for Eddie by Tom Sheehan
“One day,” Ed LeBlanc said, up to his crotch in the swiftly flowing Pine River near Ossipee, New Hampshire, rod tip high, a bright Macintosh apple half eaten in his left hand, his words more oath than wisdom, “we’re going fly fishing in Curt Gowdy country.” He said little else that morning, intent on the merest sensations electric at fingertips, on early May temperature of water laying heavy tongue on our boots, on the Mac’s sweet taste, on delicious silence falling on our heads as if the world was a mushroom and we under that still cap.
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Push, Push, Push by Yash Seyedbagheri
They push, push, push me, like that horrid boss in the Twilight Zone episode about Willoughby. The one with the poor ad executive. He’s a moneymaker, not a shape, a human form. I don’t blame him for jumping off a train, hallucinating about a dream community.
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Tippleganger and Dozzle: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Leila Allison
Prefatory Remarks
Defining the Tippleganger:
The Spirit half of this little drama
Has a second bottle of wine ever convinced you to cut your own hair? Did that darn vodka make you “overshare” sex fantasies you have about your sister’s husband with a mutual friend who cannot keep a secret? How much Budweiser does it take to get you to call your ex at three a.m.?–in spite of what it says about that sort of thing in the restraining order.
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A Controlled Moment of Light by Jo Robson
I’m in the changing room of a high-end boutique when Oscar calls me back.
‘What’s up?’ he says. He is at home. I can hear the whir of the washing machine behind his voice.
‘I’m trying on a dress.’ It is red with white polka dots and hangs just below my knees.
‘You never wear dresses.’
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Literally Reruns – Car Crash Television by Nik Eveleigh.
Now that Leila is an integral part of the LS team she has taken to sleeping in the cellars of LS Towers. We hear her while we are upstairs having an end of the week drink. Muttering as she moves through the stacks. It’s okay we don’t mind. She brings out stuff like this.
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Tuesdays at Tommy’s by Ed McConnell
Tommy owned an ‘all you can drink’ restaurant. For one dollar, you could imbibe all night; beer, wine, mixed drinks or straight liquor, it made no difference. That was the hook. His buffet was expensive for the quality of food served, but profits have to come from somewhere. Tommy’s was alive, crowded and happening. It was not a date night destination. If you expected a quiet, romantic dinner, you had a better chance at McDonald’s.
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Civil Servants by Ben Fitton
We slosh through these places, Jorvy and I, with beeping equipment we don’t understand and in suits that keep us alive. Our breathing is laboured. Boluses build at the base of our throats, resting like half-swallowed pills. The gin they give us, which tastes like it had to cross a dozen illicit borders to get here, dissolves them.
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