flash fiction
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A Ripper of a Tale.
Like many writers, especially those with an interest in the darker side of the human condition, I have a fascination with Jack the Ripper. The killings were quite horrendous but I’m sure they are not alone in their violence, even for their time at the end of the 19th century. What endures is the mystery…
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Witch- A Flash Fiction
Dad called my mother’s mother a witch. He said she saw a dancing sprite weaving in and out of flames, cast like a shadow on her bedroom wall, the night before a fire stole her middle child. The green curtains that hung on his bedroom wall were deemed to be the cause, she said, everyone…
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Dipping A Toe in the Self-Published Water
It has taken me a long time of debating with myself whether or not to self publish my short stories. Part of me worries that they’re not good enough; part of me worries that I will be tarred with the same brush as some self-publishers who are happy to put their names to low quality…
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Glasgow Style
‘Hello there, doll,’ he says. ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling. ‘Mind if I sit here?’ He points to the barstool beside her. She sighs. ‘If you want to.’ ‘You’re no from around here, are you?’ ‘How observant.’ She attracts the barman’s eye. ‘Ah’ll get that for you, love.’ ‘I can pay for my own drinks.’…
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It’s Not easy Being Green.
Kevin hated waste. He despised the plastic packaging on the fruit and veg in the supermarket,
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Prizes, Jobs and Nick Knowles.
It’s been a while, I know, and I have all kinds of excuses but no good reasons. Anyhoo, this is a ‘catch-up’ kind of post, so bear with me.*
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Moth
[tweetmeme source=”nettiewriter” http://www.URL.com] I read my book until you come to bed, unsmiling and unwilling to look me in the eye. You pull your t-shirt over your head and throw it at the basket, missing. It lies there, crumpled and sullen, daring me to say something. I pretend to be engrossed in my book but…