Elle

I think some ARE young, Sandra, but what I’ve seen of the Masters, it tends towards a fairly older crowd, often folks who’ve been doing other things in life first.

Sorry I was MIA recently – thanks to all for contributing and it looks as though you’ve all sorted things. Well done, going to look at new comp stuff now

At the risk of sounding ageist, is it not the case that a high(ish) percentage of those doing degrees/Masters are quite young, and are unlikely to yet have the confidence/experience to ignore publishers et al?

I think there is a different approach to writing if you do a degree/Masters in it. It’s almost as though, at the point of graduation, most folk have a perceived idea of what writing should be. Qualifying this because I know a creative writing lecturer, and am in a facebook group for one of the CW courses at a local uni. Some of the stuff I see…[Read more]

To some extent (not that I’ve done any really full-on writing courses, just SE, some reading and building on experience) I do notice that my very early writing has a freshness of approach that more recent, more self-conscious writing does not.

And I do cheer when I come across writers such as Eimear McBride and Eley Williams (both James Tait…[Read more]

Drink with a dead man – and apologies, 410 words

Innocuous in colour as a Rich Tea biscuit, the envelope was angled so as to fit into the grey metal cell of the Post Restante box. Illuminated by the single bare bulb in the narrow passage between front and rear of the shop, the vertical/horizontal of the letter’s shadow made of it a hitman, w…[Read more]

Apologies…409 words. 😉

By Tilda’s twenty-sixth attempt to produce an illuminorb, Silviu’s patience was wearing thin.

“Concentrate, Tilda,” the Ambakian powermage snapped.

“I am concentrating.” Tilda rubbed her palm against her trouser leg. It felt hot; surely she must’ve been close to pulling the Power down that time?

“Aga…[Read more]

Untitled

The pirogue nudged its way between the cypress stumps, lily pads parting in its path and reuniting in its wake. The only sounds came from the rustle of leaves in the slight breeze and the occasional slap and roil of a feeding bass. It was late afternoon; a low sun dappled the brown surface of the bayou and the shadows pointed like…[Read more]

The Memory Thing

I think it was reproach: that look on his face; or maybe despair. I only had a second to work it out as he fell backwards onto the tracks. That’s an odd way to put it. I mean, I wasn’t actually trying to work anything out, let alone his expression. And I was shocked; I hardly registered what happened. This man, this young man…[Read more]

Awesome!! Thank-you @jd73, and everyone for your well dones. 🙂 I didn’t get round to reading the others til yesterday, and loved them all, brilliant endings in each one. So well done to you guys too. 🙂

Fabulous piece, Raine.

Well done, Raine!

Agreed, it’s a little ironic that Rubenhold seems to have done the exact thing she was hoping to undo. Sigh. It actually serves as quite an interesting example of unreliable narrators and self awareness, and our ability to retrain our own ingrained biases. I read a lot of stuff about ‘decolonising’ in ref to both the colonised and the colonisers,…[Read more]

Mutated the quote, I know. Sorry. In my defence it didn’t say the quote had to be exact. Plus, I know ‘ghosting’ isn’t about ghosts, but I like ghosts, and am too old to write about ‘ghosting’! 😀

Aconite and Forget-me-not.
(347 words)

To you who I’ve haunted, will you listen? I have whispered stories in your ear and did you hear them? They were both your stories and mine, your sins and yes, mine too, and when I paid for both of us, you thought yourself free. So I came, did I not, to remind you. I have been the footfalls behind you in t…[Read more]