Julie Murrow
Bio
I'm an avid reader, writer and pianist. I have written on a variety of subjects and in various genres from children's stories, poetry and history to adult short stories. My three Skinny Pigs and I live by the sea, where I grew up.
Stories (36/0)
Waiting
I didn’t remember how I got there and I didn’t remember why I might have gone there either. But there I was in what seemed to be a very uninviting waiting room. Long bench seats were cast in cold, hard metal. The yellow paint had chipped and flaked over time and a bold, black pattern of graffiti adorned them. I shivered in the cold. Knees bouncing nervously, I sat slightly hunched over, arms wrapped around myself firstly to try to keep warm and secondly because my stomach was in knots. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock on the wall measured every second. How much longer could I stand this suspense. Whatever I was waiting for would be over soon, surely?
By Julie Murrow12 months ago in Fiction
Because I said so
God, this coffee’s rank. I feel like a bit of a shit for walking out of the wake but you know what? I don’t fucking care. For years she ruined everything for me - playdates cancelled ‘because I said so’, school discos missed ‘because I said so’, hot dates denied ‘because I said so’ and why? Because she fucking said so. That was her ‘go to’ when she had no other reason for making my life miserable. When I was a kid, I believed her when she’d say she was only looking out for me, but I soon saw the truth. You know you get to that age, that bloody frustrating age when you’re old enough to rationalise and argue your point but ultimately, you’re still a child and have to do as you’re told? I’ll tell you, if being a bitch was an Olympic sport my mother would have won gold. And, lucky me, I was an only child. Dad fucked off when I was ten. Can’t blame him. He’d had enough and the local barmaid, Liz, was warm and caring and fun and normal. I loved spending time with her and dad. But mostly it was just me and mum for about a decade. Me, mum and ‘because I said so’.
By Julie Murrow12 months ago in Fiction
Light at the end of the tunnel
Jan was having a bad time. For months it seemed that nothing had gone right. Bad luck was supposed to come in threes, right? Wrong. Not in Jan’s case. The only positivity in Jan’s life was Sam. Every time something went wrong, Sam seemed to appear to make things better. They lived on the same street and for the longest time only ever passed the time of day occasionally.
By Julie Murrow12 months ago in Fiction
A Family Man
Andrea and Malcolm felt very blessed. They had three beautiful sons. Their twin boys, Joshua and Isaac had come along five years after their first born son, Aaron. The family lived on a farm where they kept chickens, ducks and geese although their income was solely agricultural, mainly root vegetables. It was hard work but they all pulled together and living in the countryside amongst all that nature had to offer made the effort worthwhile.
By Julie Murrow12 months ago in Fiction
All's well that ends well?
The portly gentleman, Mr Obadiah Smith, looked like a typical nineteenth-century land owner. Tweed plus-fours, a shiny, gold topped cane and a large greying handle- bar moustache made him look as though he had stepped off the pages of one of those novels where the evil Lord of the Manor does despicable things to the lowly serfs on his property. However, the young man currently on his doorstep was not a lowly serf. He was in fact a surveyor whose company had obtained evidence that there was some kind of well on the property. Pound signs had flashed across the portly gentleman’s eyes as he welcomed the young man into his home.
By Julie Murrow12 months ago in Fiction
Letter to my grandchild
Darling, you’ll grow up and have the whole world at your feet. There’ll be so many things to do and people you can meet. Be a famous scientist or paint a work of art. Explore another planet if that’s what fills your heart. Be a political activist. Stand and join the fight for refugees and animals and other eco rights. You could be a traveller and fly across the sky and witness ancient cultures that exist from years gone by. If you decide to stay at home or work a 9 to 5 then that’s okay my darling, if it makes you feel alive. It matters not if you decide to live a hippy life and throw away the shackles of perpetual fiscal strife. Build yourself a little shack along an English shore or go and raise some chickens on a farm in Bangalore. ‘Happy’ is a construct that we cannot just achieve without a constant longing for the things we think we need. But being true to you and whatever you feel’s right should be the only thing you need to set within your sights. Remember you’re loved more than you will ever understand and I will always be with you, your ever loving, Nan.
By Julie Murrow2 years ago in Poets
The Pear Tree
You open your eyes. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the window has woken you from a dreamless sleep. Another night of delicious nothingness. But now you are awake and the teardrops sliding down the window- pane match those that have begun to trickle from your eyes. A teardrop sneaks its way into your ear, a ticklish reminder of whispers of love. You blink slowly, turning onto your side. Funny how an empty space can feel so full. You turn to face the window, unable to look at the reminder of enforced solitude. You close your eyes and sigh, swallowing back another outpouring of god-awful grief.
By Julie Murrow3 years ago in Fiction
Pork Pie
We had a family friend called Arthur. Of all of our friends and acquaintances Arthur was the roughest. And I mean rough as a badger’s arse. He wasn’t very educated and he was certainly opinionated but as the saying goes, he was a rough diamond and would do anything to help out (especially old ladies).
By Julie Murrow3 years ago in Fiction
For the Love of Skinny Pigs
It is a well known fact that cats and dogs can be therapeutic. They are brought into hospitals and retirement homes because of their sanative dispositions and let us not forget also that dogs are man’s best friend. Well, my best friends are my Skinny Pigs. They bring me inner peace. Whenever I’m feeling exhausted, lethargic, poorly or sad, just a few minutes with Mabel, Doris and Matilda make me feel better.
By Julie Murrow3 years ago in Motivation