My sister’s lover
The snow is thick on the ground. Four or five inches of it have built up around the window frames. It is piled up on top of the car and over the roofs, lit up by the sulphurous yellow of the street lamps. It gives me an excited child like feeling in the base of my belly. Ellen and I used to love playing in the snow, but there weren’t many years in our lives with enough snow to play in properly. Continue reading “Short story for Bilby’s Competition: My Sister’s Lover”
Chuck and his buddies were practicing on the basketball court to much jeer leading by contemporaries who favored football. Chuck made a few free throws.
Missed. Missed. Missed.
Hoops of derision rounded from the sidelines.
Continue reading “Definitely not Sports Illustrated (September C/W)”
Any good books to recommend after a Summer of reading, chaps and chapesses?
I’m currently reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s ‘Unaccustomed Earth’, which is an excellent collection of short stories. Continue reading “Reddit?”
The entrants this time around are:
Janus http://vikinggoodtoo.wordpress.com/2010/08/15/the-bet/
O Zangado https://boadiceaschariot.wordpress.com/2010/08/21/salop-aug-cw-2/
Isobel http://wp.me/pMKim-dt
the royalist https://boadiceaschariot.wordpress.com/2010/08/26/showdown-at-horseless-gulch-august-cw2/
Araminta https://boadiceaschariot.wordpress.com/2010/08/31/council-house-blues-the-ballad-of-sharon-and-kev/
Bilby https://boadiceaschariot.wordpress.com/2010/08/31/possum-with-thanks-to-val-for-the-inspiration/
The parameters were as follows:
1.an argument of any sort.
2. a childhood memory and
3. a phrase (or saying /quotation /word) which is particular to your family.
Deadline midnight GMT on 31st August 2010.
Continue reading “Results for the August (2)Writing Competition”
Jen drove carefully along the dirt drive and stopped beside the front veranda steps. She peeled her clammy thighs off the hot seat and went to check on her passenger in the back of the ute. “You OK, Possum?” No voice, no movement. Possum was living up to his name. Continue reading “Possum (with thanks to Val for the inspiration)”
Council House Blues- The Ballad of Sharon and Kev
Sharon’s Dad was full of rage,
In the Club at your young age!
Her Mum was worse: “You stupid mare,
Do you think we bleeding care?”
She did calm down at last to gloat
As Sharon rushed to grab her coat:
“You’ll gain more points and good thing too,
The council will provide for you.”
Continue reading “Council House Blues- The Ballad of Sharon and Kev”
Thinking of being creative in some way over the weekend? Cooking, or constructing something? Sculpting the hedge, cutting the grass, sewing in name tags to the new school uniforms, maybe? Continue reading “Bank Holiday Weekend”
Here is the next writing competition.
Up to 2,000 words as a short story, which contains
1.an argument of any sort.
2. a childhood memory and
3. a phrase (or saying /quotation /word) which is particular to your family.
Or up to 50 lines as a poem,which contains
1.an argument of any sort.
2. a childhood memory and
3. a phrase (or saying /quotation/ word) which is particular to your family.
Deadline midnight GMT on 31st August 2010.
(01.00 am BST on the day immediately following the specified day and all and/or any other time zones pari passu)
Please post your entry on your own blog and add a link to this blog as the first comment and a link of your entry as a comment on this post.
Betty sighed heavily. This gawky, nineteen-year-old with limp ginger hair and a pungent nylon parka was offering her a massage. It wasn’t easy running a valleys hairdressing business where people thought £8 for a shampoo and set was daylight robbery. Could the day get any worse?
Nigel’s sister Sian was a good little hairdresser; sassy and stylish and the elderly customers who still remembered the heady excitement of jitterbugging with GI’s in the Memorial Hall liked hearing what nights out with the girls were like these days.
Betty hadn’t believed it when Sian told her Nigel would ring her with a business proposition and now, looking at him standing there in her office, with acne capable of independent life and fingers fidgeting in his pockets, the prospect of him being able to give a massage, let alone a decent one, was about as unlikely as a Lionel Blair and a troupe of trained fruit bats tap-dancing their way across the Newport transporter bridge. Continue reading “The Business Plan”
The rumour was that Miss Rosenthal had been found in the chemistry lab store cupboard with Mr Armitage with her blouse undone, and buttons missing, and her hair all over the place, and that the headmistress had called them into her office to discuss their future prospects at the school. Continue reading “Cupboard Love”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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