Blog Archives

‘What were you doing, Harry Kipling?’

‘How come you weren’t spotted for so long?’

‘When were you stopped?’

‘Why did you not call us hours ago?’

‘Where is that broomstick?’

‘Who do you think you are speed flying? You’re underage. A dragon chased you? Why didn’t the Fairy Police tackle it?’

‘What do you mean they helped the dragon get away from you?’

‘I see. That’ll teach you for taunting the beast. Count yourself lucky you only had a singed cloak and confiscated broomstick. You’re grounded for three months. I’ll tell the dragon tomorrow to cheer it up, poor thing.’

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The Art of Invisible Writing, by Rebekah Lawrence

25/10/2024

You want your copy to pop, to positively fizz, to grab attention and be memorable.

You're wrong.

With Invisible Writing (trademark pending), you don't bash generic consumers over the head with The Message, or use subliminal messaging through pictures or soundtracks; it isn't necessary.

Instead, the message is as clear as water, as refreshing and pure as spring showers. As memorable as an ephemeral plant.

Sound good? We'd love to tell you more. Come along to our Seminar, The Art of Invisible Writing, at 7pm on Tuesday 5th November @101, Clarity. Tickets £250.

Free tea or coffee, and home-made cake.

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Jingling Bells For Jemima, by Sue Clayton

25/10/2024

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“Here you go, Miss.” I fell in love when young Ben Hislop smiled shyly, after untangling my favourite donkey, Jemima, harness bells jingling, for my donkey ride across the sand.

“Where’s Ben?” This year he wasn’t leading the donkeys.

“Joined the army,” Mr. Hislop said proudly. “Left these sands for the sands of Afghanistan. Not heard for a while.” His voice was strained with worry. A tight band squeezed my heart.

Harness bells jingling, Jemima trotted across the sand, Ben limping by her side.

A white organza dress flowed across her flank as I rode her towards our waiting guests.

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Mashed Potatoes, by Paul Germano

25/10/2024

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Grandpa says “pass the salt” and casts a stern eye at the gravy-filled river running through Davey Donahue’s mashed potatoes. “You shouldn’t let him play with his food,” Grandpa says in a grumble to his daughter. Davey’s three older brothers nod agreeably. The oldest gives his grandfather a thumbs up. The other two do a subtle high-five. Davey’s mother sighs, discreetly pointing to her left, where her husband is making a gravy river of his own. Davey’s father, looking up from his plate, makes no attempt at disguising his irritation towards his father-in-law. “Leave the boy be,” he says abrasively.

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When the Lake Turns Cold, by Stephen Goodlad

25/10/2024

When the lake turned cold, we wondered if it was ever warm and why we swam laughing, naked in a thunderstorm? We dried ourselves by an open fire and fell asleep on the shore. We woke up cold, the fire was ash and we wondered: had it ever been warm? When gentle words turned harsh, we wondered how we’d ever kissed, why we ever warmed to one another only to turn to ice. When we were both left wondering; which way to turn? Was it time to write another chapter? Swim in a different lake or try a new sport?

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Holiday Souvenir, by Dawn Knox

25/10/2024

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Dopey, the dwarf, arrived home from his holiday with his suitcase, metal detector, sticks of rock for everyone and a satisfied smile on his face.
“Did you have a pleasant break?” Doc asked.
“Brilliant! I’ll go and unpack, then tell you all about it.”
Doc and the other dwarfs got ready to escape before Dopey came back to bore them with his holiday stories when the doorbell rang.
Happy answered the door and returned a few moments later.
“It’s someone looking for Dopey. Nasty-looking bloke. Says his name’s Gollum, and he wants to know what Dopey’s done with his Precious.”

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Mourning Tree, by Demeris Queiros

25/10/2024

Mary tied her message onto the oak tree's wilting branches like a wind chime. The tree stood atop a hill in the countryside, watching over the small house down by the creek.
Mary placed her hands against the wounded bark that bled sap, allowing it to coat the space between her fingers.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered in tune with the wind as she sat on the ground, placed her back against the oak tree and closed her eyes.
Mary was later found by her son. She was buried and planted beside her husband's tree.

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Clean Break, by Glo Curl

25/10/2024

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Of course I miss her, but we both knew it was inevitable. My retirement brought its own challenges: who wants to be shackled to a dull, balding ex-accountant when there are plenty of exciting adventures to be had, with attractive, exciting people? I’m just glad we could be grown-up about the whole thing.
It’s strange, waking up alone, preparing my own meals, the day long quietness without the irritating drone of the hoover constantly interrupting my thoughts.
Which reminds me, I mustn’t forget to book next door’s cleaner for the morning I pick her up from the airport.

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The Exercise Program, by David Sydney

25/10/2024

"Back already from your run, Ralph?"
Bent at the waist, he required several deep breaths before speaking.
"Right."
"And how'd it go?"
As Rayette waited for him to catch more air, she slowly sipped her coffee.
"It was rough."
"Rough? You were only gone for about six minutes."
"Six? That long, huh?"
She rose from her chair to get more coffee. By now, Ralph could stand. He slowly moved to the chair.
"Didn't you run eight minutes just yesterday?”
She topped off her ceramic cup.
"Eight? Yesterday, Rayette?”
Was it that long?... And that long ago?

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That’s My Boy, by David Milner

25/10/2024

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I was six, and I remember me and dad had to get to the Accident and Emergency quick. It was a short journey by bus. I was kind of okay, but dad was worried in case the place was packed out. Mum had the car that night, manageress of a supermarket, she was working a late shift. We arrived at the hospital and things weren’t so bad: the odd bandaged head, a man and woman singing...

“Is your son hurt? The receptionist inquired,

Somewhat affronted I replied, “Our hamster bit my dad.”

I’ll never forget the look she gave me.

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Dignity, by Robert Baum

25/10/2024

Rest stop breakfast buffet—a fifty-ish woman intently selects sugary cereal and fills her styrofoam bowl. An older woman helps her pour the milk. “That’s enough, mommy,” she enunciates with a thick tongue.
Her flowered blouse is freshly ironed, khaki skirt crisp. Steely grey hair cut close, smile contagious, even at 7:00 a.m.
Mother, lean and a little stooped, dresses similarly for travel. The two are taking a bus to visit family. Reconciling the disappearance of “father” to her daughter has been a challenge. A mother-daughter relationship remains frozen in time. They move through life with dignity.

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Exercise Class, by Eric Delong

25/10/2024

“Sorry, folks. I have to leave early,” the instructor told the senior’s chair exercise class. “But don’t worry my brother volunteered to take over.”

“Does he know our routine?” an elderly lady asked, looking dubiously at the stocky, fit young man, hair close cropped.

“Oh yes, he’s a drill sergeant in the army,” the instructor answered. “Bye for now!”

The grim, unsmiling man faced the class. He tossed aside the clipboard with the routines and said: “I’m Sergeant Frank Butler. And I’m you’re worst nightmare!”

Then he yelled: “Get down on the floor, you wussys! Give me fifty push ups!”

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Opposable, by Cheryl Snell

25/10/2024

Her finger pokes the mattress under which she hides cash. The other fingers, curled up with their thumb, unfold and jump up and down as on a trampoline. The thumb is not invited. Dangling listlessly off its palm it suddenly rotates to face the fingers and slap some manners into them, while the money under the mattress escapes, corkscrewing through vents and spilling from the window. The thumb captures the cash, tucks it under the fingers and locks it into place. The fingers now see the value in being all thumb; especially when it sticks out like a sore one.

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Long Shadows, by Cynthia Bernard

25/10/2024

Cold in the early-morning city. Wind rolls her eyes at my sale-rack coat, thin leggings, passes right through them. Waiting for the light to change, huddled against the cold, huddled against the city, huddled against myself. Waiting for my life to change, so many red lights, dead-ends, detours; needing gentle breezes, needing a green. Paint peels off light poles like bark on the birch trees back home. Life rolls her eyes at my expectations, my excuses, my plans. They peel off, fall away, leaving me naked before the wind. Life. There are no sale-rack coats, no leggings, for one’s soul.

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Disco Fever, by Mark Tulin

25/10/2024

"Why don't you spend more time with your brother, Louie?"

"Ma, all Barry does is watch Saturday Night Fever."

"You know your brother has problems."

"He's not my problem, Ma."

My family had a lot of guilt. Everything was about Barry's needs, regardless of how others felt.

Later that day, I watched Saturday Night Fever with Barry. He looked foolish with a pompadour and a disco shirt.

"No matter how often you watch this movie, Barry, you'll never be Tony Manero."

A dance scene appeared. Barry got up from his chair and did a split like his favorite actor.

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The Merger, by Sivan Pillai

25/10/2024

The news of her death had spread fast. The mourners praised her sky-high. Some became philosophical while consoling me.
It was late at night when the last one left.
A full moon shone outside, sending milky rays inside the room. Her life-size portrait shone brightly on the wall.
She came out of it, laughing, beckoning me from a distance. Then we rushed into each other's arms and became one.
We remained like that till the eastern sky became multi-coloured. Insects had stopped singing, and sunrays had begun to sneak into the room.
That was my last piece of memory.

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Redundancy Between Sisters, by Cheryl Dahlstrand

25/10/2024

Remember when you told me about- well, you know, you said-

What did I say? Are you talking about what I told you years ago?

Yes, we were little kids and you said, he said-

Yes, yes, I don’t know why you would repeat what you said he said.

I said what I said because now, you know, it has happened like he said.

He said, he said- oh, now I don’t recall why he said it.

I said at the time I said I didn’t know why. You know?

I still say, he meant what he said he said.

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Nightmare, by Don Tassone

25/10/2024

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Ethan had been having the same bad dream night after night. The world was on fire. Each day brought even more bad news. People were at each other’s throats.

In his dream, Ethan felt trapped. The world was closing in. He wanted only to escape.

One night, before his dream was over, Ethan did manage to escape. Not by quenching the flames engulfing the world but by quieting the discontent in his own heart.

But the following night, Ethan dreamed he was just like everyone else, afraid and unwilling to change. That’s when his bad dream became a nightmare.

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Living the Dream, by Susmita Ramani

25/10/2024

“I want a refund for this tea,” I tell the saleswoman. “I described what dream I wanted, remember?”

She consults a tiny notebook. “Right-o,” she says. “Serenaded by your favorite singer in a field of daisies. Sweet!”

“You’d think so,” I say. “Instead, I was sitting in a massive daisy, then this giant bee with the face of my favorite singer came along, tried to push me off to reach the pollen, then stung me!”

The saleslady tsk-tsks. “Dreams aren’t an exact science. Want me to give you another tea, so you can try again?”

I sigh. “Well, fine. Okay.”

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Feelin' Stronger Every Day, by Gerard F. Derochie

25/10/2024

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Driving back to town, I dismissed the freeway in favor of a scenic two-lane road. Why not? It was a balmy autumn day, and the tunnel of trees had exploded into a symphony of vibrant color. Besides, with no one waiting at home, I had ample time.
You'd think that after so many years, her stinging words, "I've met someone else," would have evaporated from my mind. But at the most inconvenient moments they resonate loud and clear.
I turned on the radio. Chicago's "Feelin' Stronger Every Day" was playing. I listened and wondered if I'd ever feel like that.

OK, Gerard, by popular demand...! Editor

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Bull-Headed, by Rod Drake

25/10/2024

The Minotaur moved in next door to me. Goes by Mike now. Says he got tired of shambling around in that dark, wet old labyrinth in Crete. Never saw his mother, and King Minos was mean to him. Kept him down there and forced him to eat table scraps (eating sacrificed Athenian youths was just PR; after all, bulls are vegetarians). Anyway, Mike fits in pretty well here in the neighborhood; keeps a flawless yard (trims the grass by nibbling it daily), gives the kids free rides, and I’m told he’s now dating a nice doctor (veterinarian, of course).

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Questionable Rescue, by Louise Arnott

25/10/2024

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The Mustang left the road, sailed over the ditch and plowed into the fence. Staples sprung and the car was entangled in vicious barbed wire.

She clawed her way out of the blown air bag, face bleeding, ears ringing and stared into the liquid brown eyes of two Highland coos, peering back at her through the cracked windshield.

She stammered, “Hi. I don’t suppose you could help me?”

“Moooove,” they chorused.

Tearing the wire away with their horns, they freed her and placidly watched as she explained her coo rescue to paramedics.

The initial diagnosis: “Creative confusion; likely brain damage.”

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Freedom in the Wind, by Lyndsay Russell

25/10/2024