This page is devoted to my pro-published stories, those which definitely will be published, and those on this blog which are my personal favourites. My ongoing goal for 2019 is to make the “published” list a little bit longer…
Published and Competition-winning stories
A Little Something for Christmas
On the Cast of Wonders podcast (~1400 words, fantasy)
…Nothing’s perfect. And you can’t just replace wot’s missing. But people appreciate a bit of effort. There’ll be more smiles than tears, and who can ask for more than that, eh?
The Wisdom of Scarecrows
won the BeaconLit Beaconflash competition in July 2018 (500 words, fantasy)
…“You’re lucky,” she said. “It often rains this time of year. It might’ve been pouring down for your one day alive.
We Have Now
in 24 Stories – an anthology to raise money to support the PTSD-related needs of survivors of the Grenfell Tower fire (~1100 words, literary)
…but for a moment I feel like a little girl again, wriggling my fingers in Daddy’s big, strong hand. He was my anchor, the thing that would always hold me safe.
The In Between Place
at Daily Science Fiction (505 words, Science Fiction)
…People think that time is like a river, and they’re drifting along in it as though they’re part of some sort of huge, cosmic water cycle. But time is not like that.
Seen (or heard!) elsewhere
Favourites on the blog
Magma on the Inside
(732 words, fantasy)
…There were specks of dirt and ragged pieces of torn skin in the centre of the wound, but its edges were already beginning to darken. Streaks of red, like veins of ruby running through rock, glinted in the sunshine. His leg burned like a stone left in the noonday sun.
(~600 words, dark fantasy)
…He flicked a hand and a swarm of jewel-bright butterflies lifted from the paper, scattering into the night. He watched them for a while, their wings gradually becoming monochrome as they flittered further into the orange light cast by the streetlamps.
(500 words, SF/fantasy)
…Bocci stomped through the forest, huffing away the heavy scents of leaf mould and rot. Shafts of cold sunlight slipped through the tangle of branches above. He sat down on a log and picked up a fallen leaf, letting his fingers trace the sharp edges and smooth surfaces.
(~1100 words, literary)
…I looked across at Granddad. It suddenly struck me how different he looked to everyone else. While we were all red-cheeked and overfed, his red jumper hung loose on his frame and the dark circles under his eyes looked almost like bruises. He said he’d do the washing up. Gran told him to sit down. I watched him write WALY in the gravy on his plate with his finger.
Her Dress Was the Colour of the Summer Sky at Midnight
(75 words, literary)
…Eyes once fresh blueberries have drifted nettle-green.