Sophie Jonas-Hill

Not quite sure where this was going, but it felt good to respond to a prompt for the first time in ages… Also not sure why only a bit of the text unbolded when I was aiming for the lot! Ah well…

“In a yellow rectangle, in the black facade of a house, a woman is laying a table.”

He could have picked any window, of any house, in any str…[Read more]

Turning of the Wheel

In a yellow rectangle, in the black façade of a house, a woman is laying a table. Not the sort set for the serving of meat, but one that would see her more trussed and seared than any spit hog.

Candles set: North. South. East. West.
Salt cast for purification.

Gaia had fasted for this night of the blood moon, its m…[Read more]

Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not attacking him. I think it’s great that he doesn’t measure his success the way that some singer/songwriters do. And I do like his songs. He’s also a pretty accomplished guitarist. He seems to have been very successful indeed in other areas he’s chosen to work, pursuing a big career in Radio as a senior producer…[Read more]

How have I missed out on Pete Atkin? Been going to folk festivals for years, and just having heard snippets of him on Youtube, I thought I’d have had recommendations before now, if not seen him in person! I might have to look up some of the gigs you mentioned.

I have had a good listen. I have a feeling he’s somebody to hear live. Perhaps we’ll meet up at his next gig – if he has one.

I give up on books that boast complexity of prose above character or hook to read on, which makes me lean more towards plain text. However I am a sucker for a clever turn of phrase or a descriptive which reads like a painting.

I used to wonder if my plainer style showed a weakness, and would never read it out during workshops, after others with…[Read more]

She seems pretty English to me – although her mother is French and her father’s Maltese. But yes, it’s the French connection that hooked me on Renaud.

I don’t know, but put the speculation aside. Pete Atkin has a smooth confident voice and he holds a note very well. And that’s true right from the first album to the last. The songs hold your…[Read more]

The only writer who I enjoy and where I can see similarities in style with my own, is Kurt Vonnegut. That’s not to say we write in similar ways. Vonnegut was a master of prose and I’m not drawing a comparison. However, he made an effort to keep his writing plain and clear and advised others to do the same. Certainly there are subtleties in…[Read more]

Fabulous blog, Richard. Chanson is so little known outside of France. People think they know it because they’ve heard a recording of Non, je ne regrette rien or maybe they know that Seasons in the Sun is a translation (sort of) of a Jacques Brel number. It’s hugely popular in France. Travel to any town and go out and about on market-day. Every…[Read more]

Brutal

Graham was beside himself. Furious, speechless, incandescent with rage. They had demolished the ancient well in his garden, thrown the centuries old stonework down inside, and constructed a former which showed their intention to pour footings a full twenty metres from where the summerhouse should be. He leaned forward and peered down. All…[Read more]

The Mausoleum

… The star broke down as wife Stephanie’s casket was taken into the mausoleum. The stone masterpiece, testament to their love, could have been fashioned by Wren …’

Justin Mallory’s architect had also been proud of the secret panel to facilitate re-entry: stone-clad, freed by hidden lock and latch. Justin pocketed the key. He swiped…[Read more]

Hi Janette – as discussed, it’s gone. Feel free to post again when ready.

Ath.

Car

Look at that bloke. Arm out of the window, cigarette in hand. Marks and Sparks polo shirt that his wife bought him. Revving the engine every five seconds; counting down the time until death. And he got the silver car, the GT model. He chose that. He calls it “my car”. But if anybody asks, “We chose it. Me and my lady.”

How old do you reckon?…[Read more]

Hand Signals

Molly matched the testy huff coming from the seat to her left, though neither were on account of the tailback as school runs jostled with motorway traffic on the approach to the roundabout. ‘For God’s sake, Jake. You’ll appreciate one day why I put school first, holidays with your father second.’

She ignored his mouthed words;…[Read more]