Gerry Fenge

Well done, John. And thanks Ath!

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]

Fascinating tale, Philippa, well done for sticking it out to a triumphant end. Looking forward to reading the book.

I couldn’t do this idea justice. The right person could really build the tension and explore the changing relationships of the three characters as the story builds. Interesting project for someone, but not me.

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]

Thanks for sharing this, Philippa. What a journey!
And I would just like to add, for the record, that while Philippa was going through all this, and working (and crying) so hard, she has continued to be ever-generous in giving support and encouragement to others. Much appreciated.

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

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

Memories, memories

Through a mane of blonde hair, through streaks of bleached and of darker dyed strands, her eyes flickered upwards. “Can I help you, sir?”

Behind me the door hissed shut expensively, hinges well greased by wills and probates. “Do yer know where Bryant Street is?”

“I umm… don’t know.” She bent her head back down to the screen…[Read more]

Lost and Found and Lost

Arthur was rooting through a drawer in the garage, the one reserved for plumbing parts, searching for a tap washer. His gnarled hands scrabbled through off-cuts of plastic water pipe, white nylon fittings, a flushing mechanism still in its packaging, old tobacco tins holding copper olives, bolts, nuts and split pins. No…[Read more]

Well done, Athelstone. And thank you, Squidge.

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]