Stephanie Ginger
Bio
Writer, screenwriter, poet, playwright, journalist. I love the drama of life: long, short, on the page or on the screen but always character-driven.
Stories (15/0)
Luigi and Me
If I tell you my story I wonder whether you will believe it? Forgive me. I am a Nobody and I ask nothing from you other than your time and, should you be in any way familiar with the tragic tale I’m about to impart, the suspension of your conviction that you already know the whole truth. It’s a paradox – if indeed paradox is the right word – that a belief based on little more than hearsay is sometimes the hardest to overturn. Indeed it is an irrefutable fact that no one willingly changes their mind even if faced with clear evidence to the contrary. This is especially true when an eminent family such as the House of Hapsburg is involved.
By Stephanie Ginger3 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - February 2024
Snowdrop SeasonTop Story - February 2024
In England the month of February would be Snowdrop season. February in Athens usually means something different; only a few weeks ago Grace and Alex were lounging in the sunshine outside a café in Kolonaki Square, teasing, touching, laughing together. They touched each other all the time as if they each wanted to be assured of the other’s presence. At night after they made love, they showered together and he lay across the end of her bed, holding her talcumed foot in his hand. His hands were square-fingered and palmed with pink wide nails. He told her stories of greek Gods and heroes, she smoothed his floppy black hair out of his surprisingly blue eyes, the colour of a wild Hampshire sea. They were uniquely comfortable together.
By Stephanie Ginger7 months ago in Fiction
Listening to the Living
Swimming to the surface - there's light up there. Dazzling swirling pools of light and dark shapes above but everything's soft and blurry making me dizzy and I can't tell which way is up... A double somersault through water but not water air but not air - the soft drag on my skin like the look of fog floating above the river but not cold like the feel of it. A thrumming humming sound like Princess' purr in my ear on my pillow. I feel the curve of my backbone as I fly over the vault - turning over and over in slow motion unfolding like a sheet blown in the wind - straightening out like a pencil - arms stretched - toes pointed - the sparkle of blue sequins gliding and tumbling towards the shifting flashing light.
By Stephanie Ginger7 months ago in Writers
- Third Place in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Romance Fiction
What Shall I Take With MeThird Place in 2023 Vocal Writing Awards - Romance Fiction
What Shall I Take With Me? “Did you come by car?” There was a rather long pause while Gwen tried to think. After a while, she managed to visualise their little red car but not here in the car park, at home in the garage. This wasn’t much help. “I’m not sure,” she said and returned to gazing out of the window at a row of twiggy roses in the hospital’s Garden of Remembrance.
By Stephanie Ginger11 months ago in Fiction
Cold Ash
I'd made a promise as her heels clipped away into rain dazzle; hunched against the weather, alert for the gutter-wave and a man flush with dollars, testosterone rising like scum in a stockpot. I wanted to peel sticky black lashes from her pale lids; expose the freckles that dusted her cheekbones. Wrap her in a white hotel towel. The cigarette butt was damp. It was hers, pressed with lipstick – Hot Ginger Spice – but the ash was cold and I was leaving in an hour. How in hell’s name would I find her in a city I hardly knew?
By Stephanie Ginger12 months ago in Fiction
- Top Story - May 2023
