I love to write. I’ve written children’s novels, books for young adults, loads of horror and quirky stories which have found homes in magazines and on websites in the UK and in the States. Here a link to my latest fantasy novella.
Beyond the Spare Room Door
George couldn’t remember coming downstairs, but now he was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching his wife, Vera, preparing some kind of stew. He had something important to tell her about the spare room. It took a few moments for him to piece everything together in his head, and when he had he thought he must have got it wrong because it sounded too far-fetched.
Tim’s favourite toy in the year 1975, when he was seven years old, was a plastic shark. He bought it in the local toyshop, when local toyshops were still a thing, and he clung to it day and night as if his life depended on it. He called his shark Finn.
The cows were grazing in the field just as Granddad had said. There had been sheep here before – the time Jay had come with his mother, when Gran was dying.
A New Leaf
Jake was five the first time his father hit his mother. He didn’t actually witness the attack; he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom surrounded by multi-coloured bricks and a menagerie of plastic animals. It was a game he called The Animal Kingdom, and all the animals had names and some had special titles like Lord Alligator and King Alfred, who was a lion with a missing leg.
Pain in the Neck
Everything about her was repugnant now, but it was the bloated neck that always unnerved him the most. It had the distorted shape and waxy look of a candle that had burnt to a stunted mess. The impossibly blue and red atlas of veins appeared knotted in places, the bulging intersections pulsating, fit to burst at any moment. But the worst part, the thing that he really fixated on, was the gold, heart-shaped locket that had become lodged in all this grotesque mass.
12 Signs You've Become a Middle-aged Gay!
You may once have been the twink that turned heads on the gay scene, but let’s face it that was decades ago. In your head, you may still be 29, but if any of these ring true, you could have become a middle-aged gay!
Give it a Name
Give it a name, they’d said. If it has a name and a personality you can talk to it, tell it to go away; treat it like an unwelcome visitor.
A memory lingers somewhere that’s warm A time tucked away, but still close at hand If I pause and breathe the scent of cut lawn