I write speculative fiction. Always looking to improve, I welcome your comments and thoughts on my stories. If you like them, consider subscribing and learn all about me here!
A French girl writing English fiction? N'importe quoi!*
I am still quite new to Vocal, and maybe so are you. So let’s get acquainted, shall we? Here, let me start: my name’s Claire Guérin (don’t worry about the accent on top of the e there), and I'm a writer. It feels strange to write this out loud, but I have a few stories on Vocal now, so there. I’m a writer, probably just like you, and I’m an aspiring author. If you want to know more about what I write, check me out on this and other platforms, and subscribe to my newsletter to know when my first novel comes out.
My Christmas Wish List To Vocal
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and there will be plenty of children watching out for Santa to come down the chimney and place under the carefully decorated tree all the items they've wished for. I'm past the age of writing wish lists to Father Christmas, yet this year I've decided to make an exception, and address my list to a platform we all love: Vocal Media.
Two Secrets Too Many.
We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The wheels were slipping in the sludge, but we were safe: Marcel had the car well in hand. I leaned into the frost-patterned backseat window as we passed lines of heavy branches glinting with pure white. Marcel and Zuri's chatter fell into the background.
Why I'll never win a challenge
Alright, I'll admit I may have exaggerated a little in the title, just to get your attention. Did it work? In truth, always and never are far too big words for so little a confession I have to make. You see, I have a vice. Call it a downside, an indulgence, or a weakness if you prefer.
Kirn's death is rudely interrupted by a droning sound outside the house. Screwing her eyes shut tighter, she draws a labored breath. It doesn't matter, she reminds herself, there's nothing out there: as the last human on Earth, she's certain of this much. This sound must be an illusion, some auditory hallucination from dehydration. It means she's nearly there, finally one foot in the grave! Appeased, she pushes her hand over the bed sheets to squeeze Ashami's cold arm. She only manages a caress, but that's enough to draw them closer together: they were linked in life, and soon they shall be in death too.
Dark Bee The Soul Of Envy
1906, Isle of Wight (United Kingdom). Your sister Harriet has brought you with her on a trip to The Isle, which in itself is quite exceptional. Used to living inland, you are now surrounded by sea. Besides, your family could have never afforded to come to this prized resort, with its micro-climate, baths, soft yellow sand and beautifully trimmed grasslands renowned for its beehives. A beautiful picture indeed, were it not for your sister's husband, Wilbur. The boat trip was rocky, at least by your terrestrial standards, although your brother-in-law made a point of clapping your shoulder with a condescending "Stop whining so, Leslie, the sea is calm today!"