Wilkie Stewart
Bio
Writer of strange little tales living in Glasgow, Scotland. A former IT professional who loves literary fiction, poetry, Eurovision, art-house film, post-crossing, and comics. Walks daily with his camera when he can. @werewegian1 on Twitter
Stories (26/0)
The Bothy
Mick came down from the mountain later than he intended and decided to cut his losses, forego his night in the bunkhouse, and find the Craigfalloch bothy instead. On the brow of a hill he caught a signal on his phone and quickly contacted the bunkhouse owner and let them know he wouldn't be back this evening after all. That done, he trudged down the path towards the stone cottage which sat perched on a hillock beside a black lochan.
By Wilkie Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Booker Prize 2021 - Why you should read the Six Short-listed Books
What is the Booker Prize and how has it changed? The Booker Prize was inaugurated in 1969 and for many years was presented to the book from the UK, Ireland or the Commonwealth that was deemed best of the year. In recent years this has been expanded to include any novel written in English published in the UK and Ireland in the past year.
By Wilkie Stewart2 years ago in Education
That Same Old Line
Fred re-tuned the radio as he drove across the border into England. He was angry at what Sandra had said, the reason she was leaving him. There was a trace of her perfume in the cab of the lorry, but he couldn’t remember when she had last sat in it. Perhaps the scent was coming from his jacket. They had embraced by habit at the front door of the house.
By Wilkie Stewart2 years ago in Fiction
Lost for words
The sunlight streamed down from the domed roof. Susan loved this time of the day when the library was quiet. The floor remained clean of any debris brought in by the public, the heating was on, and the radiators were beginning to tick as they expanded. She tidied the information desk, laid out fresh copies of the lending rules, arranged the children's shelves. It was a job that she enjoyed, everything in order, chaos averted each day, watching the readers misplace items and quietly following behind to reorder according to subject, author, and title.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
Night Owl - A Scottish Halloween Playlist
Did you know the word halloween or more correctly hallowe'en is of Scottish origin? Contracted in Scots from All Hallows Eve, the name signifies the evening before All Saints Day. Trick or Treating may be a recent import from the US, but the tradition in Scotland is to go Guising or to dress up and go around the neighbourhood and collect coins or cakes in return for singing a song or doing a party trick.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Beat
- Top Story - September 2021
Five Ways Postcrossing Makes Me A Better PersonTop Story - September 2021
I'm a postcrosser and proud of it I joined postcrossing in 2012 where I am known as werewegian and since then I've sent over 13500 postcards to people all over the globe and received a similar number back. It's a great hobby that is ideal for a serial collector like me: postcards and stamps arrive almost every day. But I've found it's not just about collecting. There are subtle things about the postcrossing experience that help me grow to be a better person.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Motivation
Somebody Else's Memories
The train curved along the coast, the puffing engine and the rattle of the train's carriages noisy. The approaching town felt familiar, the lighthouse on the rocky promontory, the long sandy beach, the little multi-coloured huts, the whites and greys of the houses and the church. The woman checked her bag. The photos were safe. In her State there were only freight trains. Public transport was the greyhound bus. Even the poor went everywhere by car. Not that she and Bill had been poor. Her father had handed the business over to them a long time ago. He hadn’t taken to Bill straight away, had been unsure of his credentials, but hard work and an easy manner had won Pop over in the end.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
Changing The Code
The doctor is turning the screen away. You don't know why. He isn't abrupt about it. It's not like he saw you come in and then pulled the screen to one side. He waits until you are seated, and you are having a conversation. Each time he speaks he reaches over and touches the edge of the screen, as if he is tilting it because of the reflections, or pressing on a touch screen to input an answer but every time he does, he moves it subtly away, pretending he isn't doing it on purpose. And all the time he is asking you the same questions. Do you feel anxious today? Could you pinpoint why you are anxious? Are you more or less anxious than last week?
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
Marigolds
The clock ticked on the mantle-piece beside the porcelain children and the glass clowns. A special bed had been placed in the centre of the room, with a view out of the bay window. There was a faint mix of smells, the sweet scent of perfume and the bitterness of sweat.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Families
Wishes
The birds in the harbour swooped and dived as if flight was something new, a skill they had invented only this morning. Boats bobbed on the water as boats invariably bob on water. It was sunny, not too hot yet, but with the few clouds thinning, the day was losing the battle against the summer heat.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Fiction
The Weathervane
She gripped the counter. "You don't understand what it's like," she said. She heard the mug clatter on the table and the door bang as he left. The problem wasn't just with him, she didn't really understand herself. She took the half-eaten breakfasts and emptied them in the bin for the pigs, then put the plates in the sink to soak. The windows were streaked with the rain of the last week, but she could see a glimpse of better weather somewhere, probably near the water. She clenched again at the thought of the hospital by the lake.
By Wilkie Stewart3 years ago in Fiction