All posts tagged: challenge

NaPoWriMo – Early Bird Prompt: Letters To Nowhere

Letters To Nowhere There are no postmarks for lost corners, you can’t address an envelope to the shadows between the pavements slabs where you slipped from reach days before I noticed you were gone.   When my hand closed around thin air I could feel a chord pulling down, yanking through my chest into some deeper part of me, where everything lost collects and vanishes all at once.   The weight of your ghost became a stone knocking against my ribs like the second hand on a clock forever stuck in turning circles coming back to the starting mark over and over again until no one comes to wind it.   I still turn the covers of my bed, expecting to find you inside some nights. Pressed between the sheets as if you’d been there all along simply waiting for me to come back. It is almost too easy to dream. Tomorrow is the first of April and the first day of National Poetry Writing Month! That’s right, thirty days, thirty poems, and a whole …

Friday Fiction Challenge – Carry On The Story

I kicked this off last week but since there was only one response I thought we might extend the run of it a little bit. Below you will find the opening of a story. The first part I wrote, the second part was written by Kaleiyah Prose. All you need to do is carry the story on in the comments below. Have fun. The pocket watch has sixteen hands and they all pointed in the same direction. Twelve. It was ridiculous really, who would want a watch that didn’t tell the time, never mind one that had sixteen hands, none of which had ever moved a millimetre. Marcel clicked the watch closed and slid it inside his jacket pocket. He was used to the weight of it bumping against his ribs as he walked and when it wasn’t there he missed it. Missed the useless bit of junk like a limb. He waited for the little man to light up green on the crossing and checked both ways. The way was clear and he followed as the …

The Novelist

[PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields] Sir Edward had started fifty different novels seated at his grandfather’s desk and that was where they all remained. Each one tucked away at various stages of incomplete, to be returned to when he finally found the inspiration to do them justice.His wife had laughed at him.“Another one? Really my love, I’m starting to think that your desk may be cursed?”He shrugged her off with a fresh page, tucking away her scorn with the rest of his words.“It’s a poet’s desk,” warned his father. “You won’t write much but rhyme.”“Perhaps,” said Sir Edward, “but there’s still plenty to write.” [104 Words]


“I was a watcher,” he told her, grinding his cigarette into the bottom of the ash tray and using his free hand to push his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Always bloody watching,” he spat. She wanted to ask what he’d been watching but somehow she felt her voice was not welcome at this conversation, at least not at this time, not right then. “I watched them all,” he said and waved a hand at the crowds milling past. It was a weekend, hot and clear so the crowds had come flocking, spilling into the cobbled streets of her little town to raid the shops and tea rooms. She curled her fingers more tightly around her watery cup of tea. “All of them!” he yelped, voice pitching. “I saw it all, each plot, each scheme, each grab for power. Tell me,” he said leaning in. “Tell me what you see in a crown?” She shrugged. “Metal?” she guessed. “Well of course, of course, but what else?” “Gems? Diamonds?” “Deeper!” “Power?” “Blood!” A …


“We don’t enjoy being summoned by your kind Grail.” Pulling herself from the mist Merida pressed her fingers to the rickety table-top of the patio furniture and leaned in. “We are not your servants,” she warned. Grail lowered his morning coffee and pushed it away. It had turned cold the moment the mist crept into his garden. “Why do they always send you,” he frowned. “Is there no one else?” “No one at all,” said Merida, scowling impatiently. “ The council is less than forgiving when it comes to your crimes.” “A miscalculation on my part,” shrugged Grail. “Something I intend to remedy very shortly.” “Oh really?” “Yes, really.” There was a moment of silence between them. “So,” said Merida. “What do you want?” “Books.” “Books?” “Yes,” said Grail. “The Mist Books.” Shock flickered across her features. “Not a chance,” “But-” “I said no. We’re done Grail. For good.”

I’m Back!

So as you may have gathered from my last post, I’m back from my little absence in the blog-a-sphere. Basically I just got busy. Really, really busy. This summer I decided that I wanted to do the following: Take a summer module. Volunteer at my local museum. Run Race For Life 10K Start researching my dissertation. Continue working at Hawkstone Park Follies. Continue working for my parents. Finish writing at least one novel. Start a new poetry collection. Publicise my poetry collection ‘Before The Words Run Out’ Continue my 100 book challenge on Goodreads! and… Work out a blogging schedule. Guess which one fell through. I am doing Camp Nanowrimo and I’ll stick up a widgety thing so you can see how that goes. [Not so well at the moment.] But anyway, my point is that things are moving forward and next week I have a bit of time off from work so I can write and study like a fiend! If I can get at least 10,000 words down for Henry Granger then I …

Look! Feet!

This lovely pair of size three [sometimes four depending on the shoe] carried me to 10k the other week at Tatton Park! That’s right, I managed to complete my race for life and even raised a little bit of money as I did it. Yay me! For those of you wondering what on earth has happened to me over the last few weeks I’ll be posting a little later on to tell you why I seemed to drop off the face of the planet. Trust me. The excuses are many. [Apologies for the quality of the photo. My phone isn’t great for taking snaps.]

The One

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” Hannah said, teeth biting into her bottom lip as she glanced at her mother’s reflection standing in the mirror behind her own. “How do you know when you’ve found the one?” “You just know,” shrugged her mother, stepping back to analysis the cut of Hannah’s hem before harrumphing and waving a hand to indicate she should turn around. “And if I don’t feel it,” Hannah asked. “Then we tell the shop assistant to bring you another and we see if that looks any better, it’s a dress dear, not the man you might marry.”