Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Drifting in Time

Drifting in Time.100 Word Wednesday

sandrajunesdock

Image by Sandra Jane

My relief; we made it back to the docks. Exhausted, I’ve been rowing with the current ever since the Meridian sank. When? How strange that the harbour is in a dilapidated state and abandoned, all in a space of one week. I sense an eerie chill, of being observed, that bristles the hairs on my neck. This is no welcome and this is not home.

I nudged Holmes awake from his sleep, he is delirious due to his allergy to sunlight and I note his aversion to physical exertion, except puffing of hashish from his pipe. Well, Watson, he had said before we sailed, if I can’t get the true elixir then this potpourri will suffice.
‘We made it Holmes,’ I shouted, glad to be alive.
‘Yes,’ he said and sat up in the boat for a better look. ’We are indeed here, but at the same time we are not.’ He grabbed at his pocket watch and checked the hour. ‘Oh! What year is this? Ah! Doctor, yes yes how very clever.’
‘What!’ I didn’t get his demented drift. ‘Clever?’
‘Oh yes, the Doctor is afoot.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s tread with care.’
‘Who?’
‘Precisely, Watson. The Time Lord himself.’

Reader Expectations.

I am aware that all readers have their own tastes and expectations when they choose a book. Many are die hard fans of their chosen genre and will consume every variation of their vampire sagas, romantic encounters or else stories about the flawed detective in police procedurals and crime novels. Readers know what they like and what they want!

Do we write to please the reader or please ourselves?  It is almost like two different planets of the universe. Those who write to please the reader live in big houses, while those who write to please themselves are on welfare – I believe – or else have a day job.

Book review:Case of the Mahjong Dragon

The latest review on my collection of Russell Holmes stories has made me consider some awkward realisations about my book.

Have I misled or deceived the readers’ expectations?

By using the name Holmes and having a similar collection of characters, albeit the stories are set in Glasgow rather than London, have I unwittingly sullied the genre? The POV is that of the lead character and the idea is similar in style to Sir Author Conan Doyle’s most famous private detective Sherlock Holmes. However, I did not adhere to the strict code of the true pastiche and have unintentionally varied the imitation such to confuse readers, who may have expected a firm Sherlock Holmes story, by creating conflicting images in their minds.

Perhaps publishing my take on a Victorian detective, I have inadvertently fell into a trap set by Moriarty and dipped my toes in an acidic bath of offence towards all true Holmes fans. But then again for all ‘you’ know I just might have accepted Moriarty’s challenge to subvert all who live in 221B.

I note however the world of films have their own unwritten rules: that is just do what sells.

In all honestly I am grateful to the reviewer for their honest opinion and the fact they have taken the trouble to read my book and I am sure secretly enjoyed it.

Waiting for the night

e9

Image by Bukurgurl

The Lighthouse (100 Word Wednesday)

Oh lonely, oh lonely was the lighthouse keeper.
and for ninety years he guided ships in this cove.
But now he haunts the night with a ghostly flicker.

Is She my Type?

Blind Date.

Zoo Bar IMG_1387

Street Art in Glasgow, Scotland

They said she’s nice, so don’t be late
You’ll recognise her beautiful smile
And she’ll be wearing the latest Prada style
My nervous excitement, on a blind date

I saw her, gorgeous, laughing at the bar
Dressed in fashionable hugging stripes
Enchanting, attracting extroverted types
Like a prowling stag, ready armed for war

There is something about the fading light
That brings out an instinct in my mind
A sort of sublime emotional mating kind
That drives survival, but perhaps not tonight.

 

 

On a Wing and a Prayer

Three Line Tales – On a Wing and a Prayer

 

Over the world and in peace, feeling the quite serenity
of flying and softly floating free from earthly responsibility.
But all too soon, we’ll land on the insecure realities of insensibility.

Alice Wants Home

Alice Wants Home – Three Line Tales

tltweek57

photo by Fleur Treurniet via Unsplash

‘Only the Unicorn knows your way home,’ the owl screeched. ‘Which way, which way, which way.’ It glided into the dark.
‘Wait!’ shouted Alice. Alone she looked around. No entry, one way street going both ways. A window in the yard.
She stamped her foot and wept. Could she really climb the drain pipe? But she must to find the Unicorn.

Chocolate Desire

derucaketimestwo

Image by Bikugurl 2016

Chocolate Desire – 100 Word Wednesday – Week 6

See how I shiver with lecherous impulsive greed as you tempt me with your dark smooth and sultry sweetness.

See how I drool, as I am forbidden to stroke your caramel coloured skin, as my fingers warm with desire to caress your buttery interior.

See how I gasp, as you open and part your chocolate softness and I lust after to lick the musty slit clean of oozing sweet cream.

See how I blush, as you provocatively tease and I quiver as if in the silent moment of commitment before the touch of an adulterous kiss.

I’m yours, Dark Temptress.

Three Line Tales – Great Expectations

Three Line Tales -Great Expectations.

tltweek50

Photo by Annie Sprat via Unsplash

Just another large gin to steady the nerves, must be presentable; you understand.
I hope they bring a red and some Jack Daniels or better, a Glenmorangie.
Food! Too late they are here. Why the white coats? What have I done?

Three Line Tales – The Ghost of Nature

tltweek35

Photo by Rebecca Johnston

Three Line Tales – Week Thirty Five

The Ghost of Nature

I am the evolution and future of Earth’s existence.
The protector of all species within nature’s kingdom.
But, Man with his weapons predicates only the world’s extinction.

Fire in Glasgow -West End.

The picture below reminded me of Daphne du Maurier’s novel “Rebecca” and its ending few words.

“… but the sky on the horizon was not black at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.’

The implication was that Mrs Danvers discovered the truth about her beloved Rebecca, and in revenge she torched the large country house, ‘Manderley’.

IMG_3893

Disused building West Glasgow opposite my daughter’s flat. (Live Friday 20 May 2016)

Fire is fascinating; it is like a cleansing of the past, as the flames leap and twitch. There is finality in the burning where all the elements disintegrate in smoke and leave behind a powdered residue, and is a very practical solution to get rid of the unwanted items in our lives. (I don’t mean people like witches and Guy Fawkes).

In my household it is impossible to be rid of such items, to me they are unnecessary clutter. The ‘others’ with their emotional claptrap always resist trying to make space and taking ‘their stuff’ to charity shops, and so the ‘big clear out’ becomes a day wasted by reminiscing about the good times and the sad times and those bloody times that drive me mad times. Everything is boxed up again and put back into the shed or else up into the attic to be forgotten. Perhaps it is the excitement of rediscovering items from your past, and the past of deceased relatives that sub-consciously makes us hold on to the most ridiculous of items.

Remember this scarf; Granny knitted it for my first day at school, shame about the mice gnawing the wool, and on it goes. Mementos slowly deteriorating and their only function are to reflect on our lives, perhaps we need to hold on to them. Since, once they are gone we’ll miss those ‘big clear out’ days.

No wonder fire is associated with insanity.