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11/16/2015 0 Comments In tributeThe year ebbs Sodden fields slump beneath sullen skies Waiting for winter's blast. Hatred unfurls Grief immeasurable tears our hearts Splinters lives. Above a kestrel waits Hunter. The wren sings from the bramble hedge Heartfelt challenge to the sky. Hope. (first published in Firefly Magazine, Issue 3, December 2015)
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AuthorI spent most of my life not realising I was a writer. I just thought everybody's minds worked like mine. On some level I had a vague idea that the conversations with people who weren't there might just put me in the crazy category, so I kept quiet. Besides, the people in my head were usually more interesting which was never going to win me friends out there in the reality sphere. Fiction has always seemed to offer more interest than the real world and finally I realised - this is how writers think! Normal people don't have these thoughts. So, I had the imagination and the crazy thoughts. The only thing needed to turn me into a writer was to put pen to paper... Or, in my case, fingers to keypad. Here goes! Archives
January 2019
CategoriesAll Family History Family Letter Flash Fiction Ideas Little Black Dog Poem Story Tweets To Bill Work In Progress Writing |
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