Stevie

*content warning for a bit of gore down at the end*

All Woods

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. One led to autumn, calm and chilly, its last bronzed leaf picked by a wind still echoing with residual birdsong. The other to darkness, cloaked in mist, where naked trees loomed overhead like a canopy of murderers, intentions ill. The signpost…[Read more]

I remember …

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood …

except it wasn’t the wood that was yellow but the fallen leaves, many of which were tinged with gingerbread brown. And it wasn’t a road they covered but a track. At least, one was a track. Green grass centred and, from the narrowness of then wet mud indentations, cartwheeled. Which thought too…[Read more]

@Seagreen, the ‘lightweight’ of your entry was in the well-chosen words; that they so well-expressed the solidity, the impact of that moment was the really clever bit. Thank you for this explanation.

Thank you for hosting this month’s comp, Libby, and for your thoughtful words on my piece. And congratulations, Seagreen, I thought your piece was wonderfully evocative. I enjoyed each entry for this month.

@Libby Grit was about my rather difficult pregnancy, and how the only peace and pleasure I found (from the daily waves of nausea and hostile…[Read more]

Brilliantly well done Seagreen, and thank you Libby for the challenge, your insightful comments and for picking my favourite as winner, though all were enjoyable variations on the theme.

@ Libby – I confess I never print off an MS even for my own novels, but I do, when I’m feeling confident that the end is nigh, order it as a paperback book from Blurb.

@ Richard – thank you for that description ‘instinctive writer’ which very accurately describes my creative approach (and as an artist too) It may sound like a talent but the…[Read more]

Grit

The crunch of ice between my teeth – cold edges, agitated nerves, sabulous sensitivity. All coalescing into sharp points of pleasure in my body, my brain. Soothing. Assuasive. Momentary. Cup after cup of chipped ice; happiness only until they are empty. Nausea quickly returning.

The grit of sand and salt and soap beneath my fingers, the…[Read more]

Will see what I can do between now and the deadline, Libby 😊✨

I write like Margaret Atwood apparently 😄

This is a really great thread! The checklist and things-to-consider offered up so far are treasure. I’ve only beta read twice, and the fact that the writers are gorgeous at their writing probably made it easy for me to gush feedback and even get critical (mostly just asking questions for my own clarity, and hopefully theirs as well) without…[Read more]