Florence

Slipping through the door at (nearly) the 11th hour. 400 words with title.

The Tent

When I was eight, my parents gave me a tent for Christmas. Of course, I insisted on spending the night in the garden. The coldest night of the year, but I wore them down with my relentless pleading until finally, with three pairs of pyjamas, two sleeping bags, a…[Read more]

Well done, Jeanette – super piece. Great comp, John!

Steps of passing ghosts

‘Trees are at their best when they’re turned into timber,’ said Norman as he picked the large golden leaf from his decking, crushing it in his hand. He had searched for ages to find this house with no trees in sight. There had been a spruce in the garden when he moved in, that the previous owner said had been a Chris…[Read more]

Oops! Sorry all – got my days mixed up, but anyway, super quality this month.

Sandra – Time to play
Yes! That’s exactly the feeling: that unexpected memory. There’s a lot in these few words. Oddly enough I was thinking about the ‘play’ that’s so often missing from writing, quite recently. So easy to assume that a reverential approach will produc…[Read more]

Well the story of the book is seriously interesting, so I can hardly wait to get my copy.
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party?

I’m not sure. An I remember exercise about a particular relationship would be something of a curiosity I think. I enjoyed writing these short pieces because they helped me remember the taste of the time rather than focusing on every intense flavour.

It’s really hard to believe that somebody could send deliberately ridiculous/obstructive messages like Herbert John when lives were at stake (and I know he was only 18). That said, it’s a level of managerial incompetence and hubris that almost defies belief. Sadly, as the years go by it’s clear that more than cream floats to the top.

Another…[Read more]

Thank you, Kaz. Do you think this might count as an “I remember” exercise?

Thanks Gerry and Richard. Oh, and Richard – more rails. Definitely.

Thanks Libby and Sandra – and once again, thanks to Squidge!

October beckons.

I might be a bit over sensitive, but it’s the kind of trope that surfaces when feelings are being tested: stories about minorities and their secret evil ways. The classic cases would be all the tales of alien mind-control and body take over that were so popular during the anti-communist frenzy in the US during the late 40s and 50s, or the ‘Yellow…[Read more]