Flash Fiction Friday – Abandoned

Crow swoops in, lands on a mound of tyres as tall as the barn. Rain belts down on the black skeletons. Once they had a use, a good use. Did something, went somewhere. They carried, crossed distances, moved people. But everything has an age. Left to fade, together but alone.


Book Review: The Concise Oxford Thesaurus

So I haven’t exactly written a book review before. But we all have to start somewhere and this book is sitting on my desk right now.

Claims on the front: “New”. Whatever that means. Though it’s a good start, because no one wants the Victorian edition when you’re trying to find seventeen other options for go-go dancer. It’s also the “world’s most trusted dictionaries” brand. That’s good. I suspect this is what you need in a thesaurus. Though a little modesty never went astray.

This particular edition smells a bit like cigarettes even though I don’t smoke. It was rescued from a charity shop so I like to think its previous owner was a cigar-toting intellectual history professor with a tweed jacket. That would be cool.  But enough with the chatter, lets get down to business.

The words! As far as I can tell this is 974 pages of pure, unadulterated words. If that doesn’t make you shiver with delight, writers, then I just don’t know what will. It’s a fascinating if not tedious journey through endless possibilities, all the way from aback to zoom. This book provides an uplifting hope-bringing message that life is full of options.

The only downside to this particular edition is that it’s a brick. Completely unportable. I need to do some press-ups before I even think of moving it to the other side of my desk.

Anyway I’ll have to stop here because I’m not sure how long I can keep a straight face 🙂

That was my first review. And much more interesting than a test post.

Flash Fiction Friday – The Walk

It’s simple. Write a story in fifty words or less excluding the title. The title can have no more than five words. Easy enough? Enjoy!

It’s cold outside. Dark. Stars spread across the sky like crumbs on a picnic blanket. She follows the white torchlight. If she looks up the light bleeds into the ink of night. Shadows run on ahead and follow behind, playing tricks. On the horizon a window glows. Home.