Tag: writing

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Short Fiction, Writing

Stuart by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.

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Stuart died in prison.

That is wrong,

Stuart was killed in prison. He was stabbed with a blade between his ribs.

None of these sharpened toothbrushes or pieces of wood or shards of glass, an actual knife. The investigation is ongoing. Some poor dweeb will probably lose their pension over that.

Did Stuart deserve to be murdered? Opinions vary. Some would say he was a bad guy, others would say he did what he did to survive. I suppose it depends on their involvement with him.

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All Stories, General Fiction, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever – Him Her Them Us by Victor Kreuiter

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As regular visitors will know, we sometimes receive submissions that don’t fit into the usual scheme of things but we want to publish because of the quality of the writing, or the message, or sometimes something special about the author. This is one of those. We thought this deserved a moment in the sun:

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All Stories, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 567- Superfluous Quotation Marks

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The Introduction

This is my first wrap of 2026. A few weeks away have made me flabby because I am unnaturally lazy. Therefore, like an athlete gone to seed, I will pull on the sweats and attempt to get in shape by writing about small pointless items and work my way into good enough form to intelligently write about this week’s group of stories. All within a few paragraphs. I aim to put a point on pointless, to sharpen its, well, pointy, or at least pointier end, then use it to etch profound wisdom on the corbomite* walls of public inanity. (*Extremely hard and potentially explosive fictional mass invented by Captain James T. Kirk, known associate of Hardcourt Fenton Mudd, a suspected interstellar Jeffrey Epstein of the 23rd Century.)

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All Stories, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever–M an essay by Dale Williams Barrigar

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“One of the most unappreciated people in the world.”

– Joshua Logan on Marilyn Monroe

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be
absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” – Marilyn Monroe

“Will the wind ever remember / the names it has blown in the past?”

– Jimi Hendrix, “The Wind Cries Mary”

There’s something about Marilyn that can bring tears to the eyes like no other actress can do, and that fact does not arise from any one movie she made, whether good or bad, unless it’s The Misfits, her last, in which she is truly brilliant as a performer; she flowers and blooms into a new “her” in that film, especially in a few scenes.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, Short Fiction

562- Remembering a Wonderful Friend and Some Goofiness Regarding Genre

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A Friend

Dear Readers

Before we start this week’s silliness, I must relate the news of the passing of Tom Sheehan, who died 16 October, at age 97. Tom holds the site record of 228 stories. He and I coincidentally debuted on LS in August 2015, and Tom nearly doubled my output in less time, even though he was thirty-one years my senior. I doubt anyone will catch him.

But more importantly, Tom was a fine human being: A husband, father, grandfather, historian of Saugus, Massachusetts and a veteran of the Korean War. It is not my object to create sadness because 97 is a damn good run and Tom was still writing till the end. His final submission, an acceptance, of course, The Decoration occurred this past spring.

We will be running a far more fitting tribute to our friend in times ahead, so please keep an eye open. 

Leila, Diane, Hugh

Genre

I am not powerfully educated nor will my pride allow me to google every little mystery, but I feel that I have a fairly clear-minded grasp of genre.

I hear the word and Western, Science Fiction, Fantasy (not just impossible S.F.), Crime (or CMT), Mystery and so on pop into mind. In that regard “genre” is a useful list of things, and I highly approve of lists.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Humour, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 560: A New Year Begins

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A Kvetch

We have now officially opened the twelfth year of Literally Stories UK. And as it goes in life we have faced a recent challenge after we were listed (unbeknownst to us) by one of those publications that do such things. I do not know why such services still exist in the era of Google, nor do I grasp why people rely on such services, but the situation exists.

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Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 557: Magick and Fare Thee Well Sybil Fawlty

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As I get deeper into my cronehood, this time of existence in which people either do not see me or pretend they have business elsewhere when the cowl slips, November has become my friend. The mocking young forms who strode about oh so hot to trot last summer are now buried under layers of linen and lycra and are having a hell of a hard time using their phones in the rain.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Humour, Short Fiction

Week 555: Controlling Enthusiasm

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I have decided to cut down on my use of the exclamation mark. I have often used it as a shortcut to fake a sense of goodwill that I do not usually feel–or at not least up to the degree implied by an exclamation mark. There’s a stink on an exclamation mark, for me it reeks of perkiness and whatever potion lurks in Kathy Lee Gifford’s coffee cup. (You’ll probably have to be an American of a certain age to get that last bit. If not, lucky day: something to google.)

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Editor Picks, General Fiction, Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 551: The Attack of the MWCM; The Week That Was; A Belated Happy 80th to Debbie

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I was riding the bus last week when I was attacked by a MWCM, which stands for “Misty Water Colored Memory” (lifted from that gooey Barb song she sang before she got the perm that made her look like “Arnold Horshack” on Welcome Back Kotter–a dated reference but very true). As you have likely guessed MWCM is a sarcastic term. It defines an elderly concept in my “Ago” that is always attempting to change me into a sniveling old Shrew. We all have something like that inside (or will once fifty or so comes creeping), an ugsome, nettlesome something that (apparently) has invested heavily in old Shrew futures. I cannot kill mine but I can temporarily beat it to atoms by using my hard, old cold heart as a hammer. I often take satisfaction in imaginary acts of violence. They keep me balanced.

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Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

My Fair Wiccan by Leila Allison

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1880, Charleston Settlement, Oregon Territory

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Hope was getting old. The thrill was gone, and her wiccan skills were diminishing due to her lack of enthusiasm. Oh, she could still raise a demon, but they were low rent, stereotypical evil and talked too much; most tended to live in the past with little thought given the future. And she could still impress the hell out of the feeble-minded, but public schooling was cutting into the ignorance she had so long depended on. Educated people tend to ask questions. They see a three-headed frog and attribute it to science instead of witchcraft. Bastards.

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