My wife was born invisible, but she told me that it’s only at my high school reunion that she feels invisible.
A small percentage of Americans are born invisible each year. Naturally, this number is very hard to track.
Continue reading “Low Visibility by Matt Harrison”
Re-Reading John Steinbeck’s The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights
In my generation, every child in Britain grew up knowing at least three stories – the Christ story, that of Robin Hood, and that of King Arthur and his knights. The Arthurian Legend has been told and re-told by many different tellers for around one and a half thousand years.
Continue reading “Writers Read by Michael Bloor”
Of all things considered entertainment, comedy is the hardest to explain. Whether you spell it humor or humour (being based in the UK we will go with the latter), to my satisfaction no one has ever defined what makes something funny in one sentence.
Continue reading “Week 526- Humourisk”
“What happened was… He went a-midnight kissin’. Then he went a-woo-woo-missin.’”
Mama wiped her hands on a dishtowel. She just come in from the garden.
Continue reading “Somethin’ to Croon About by Carly Berg”
Back then, it wasn’t a fresh snowfall that blocked the Perth-Inverness train at the Drumochter Pass: rather, it was very, very strong winds that sprang up and blew lying snow off the mountains, quickly smothering the track. These days, the winter weather forecasting is so good that those Scottish train services thought to be at imminent risk of snow blockage are cancelled in advance. But it wasn’t the case twenty-odd years ago.
Continue reading “Warm Thoughts in the Drumochter Pass by Michael Bloor”
This Vood.
I have it on good authority that he recently scooped lumps of coal on to his dinner plate, believing them to be potatoes. Had it not been for the intervention of a scullery-maid, he would have eaten the lot! This is the kind of creature we’re dealing with here. It bears thinking about. Already I’ve heard tell of households where fractious children are hushed by mere mention of his name. ‘Bedtime now, or the Vood will come get you.’ I’d say that’s a worrying development. He’s acquired the definite article. People are afraid. These are decent people. When some of the children spoke of this Vood’s wearing , and I quote, “a hat of fire”, well, I was skeptical, naturally. But a hat of fire I’m afraid is exactly what this Vood has been observed to wear on several occasions! By those not given to voicing fancies, I might add. What to make of such a thing? Some demonic form of halo? Who knows. I suspect something stranger. This much, however, is clear: when this Vood is on the prowl, even the dogs of the town grow unsettled. His name alone carries implications. I shouldn’t wonder if it’s not already sprouted a suffix or turned into a verb. Or both. He’s already entered drunkards’ ditties. That can only bode worse.
Continue reading “A Certain Vood,by Geraint Jonathan”
Only a month ago I was told how much I glowed. Glowed? Is the baby a thermonuclear device? Will my midwife melt from the radioactivity when the little angel is born and detonates? People say such silly things.
Continue reading “The Stork Delivers Such Joy by Simon Steven”
It was his accent she noticed first. She was walking past, carrying a tray of drinks to a nearby table. He was deep in conversation with another woman, but she slowed her steps at the sound of his soft vowels, his rising and falling intonation. He was British, maybe Scottish, she wasn’t sure, she had never been to the UK, she had barely left Pennsylvania, but she liked his accent. It was foreign, sophisticated.
Continue reading “The Lost Voice by Brooke Gilbert”
Our beloved Hugh Cron often takes abuse over his honesty. Seems strange since writing is about seeking the great and small truths in our experiences as people. But to paraphrase Jack Nicholson, some people can’t handle the truth.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – A Sign of the Times by Hugh”
Here we are at Posting number 525. It must be a week or a good seven days since the last one!
Another eclectic mix of whatever. Now that I think on it, ‘eclectic’ and ‘mix of whatever’ are surely twin meanings??
Continue reading “Week 525 – Two For A Change, Recommendations And How Much Shrimp Makes You Pink?”
literally stories 