Writing prompts

This category contains 23 posts

Long Hot Summer

Mum and dad had gone away for one of their caravanning weekends, remember? And—god—remember how we used to take the piss out of them, knowing what being holed up in that rattly, plasticcy old box on wheels was actually like from having been forced into it every year throughout our childhood? I think we missed … Continue reading


Colette raised her eyes to the mid-morning sun as she sat on her back doorstep, the second cigarette in a row clamped between the fingers on her right hand.  She refused to feel guilty about promising Emmy she wouldn’t smoke anymore and thanked the lord that she wasn’t religious; she’d never get into heaven lying … Continue reading

Mr Samuel’s Gift

Around the corner from Mirabelle’s school there’s a path which leads away from the playing field and then goes all the way up the small rise of tarmac to the rear of the garages belonging to the residents of the flats in Albone Place.   Mr Samuel lives in one of these flats.  Number sixteen.  The … Continue reading

Unravelling the Year Behind

Some of you  might already know that I don’t like, do, or particularly agree with New Year Resolutions; they’re set up to knock you down – at least that’s been my experience.  And there’s too much pressure (again, self-inflicted) to try and ‘be good’ and stick to ‘the plan/goal/aim’ for these knee-jerk lists of what … Continue reading

Sophie’s Exit

This hadn’t exactly been how she’d wanted it to happen but she’d been planning it for so long that it was too late to change anything now. She’d followed her own self-imposed rules.  Made sure she carried on as if nothing were about to happen; nothing different; nothing strange, unusual, unprecedented, and yet—and yet she … Continue reading


He can’t find the colour photographs; the ones with the vibrant fields of tulips from their trips to Holland, or the ones with seas of golden sunflowers on the Tuscan hills.  They must be somewhere.  Perhaps Helen’s moved them.  Maybe she’s arranged them inside one of those gilded albums she likes to keep within arms’ … Continue reading

The Monsters Aren’t Under The Bed

He’s gone now.  But he’ll be back. There’s an odour under here which reminds me of something; of somewhere I’ve been, but I can’t recall precisely.  It’s a holiday smell – like a floral scent in a cleaning solution or sun-cream – something like that anyway.  And I can’t make sure by breathing in more … Continue reading

To Do

The blossom’s out now.  One branch of the cherry tree hangs in a wide arc across the kitchen window, obscuring part of the curving path which leads to the back gate. She can’t see the garden properly though – and not because of the cherry blossom.  She widens her eyes but doesn’t blink.  Something fat … Continue reading

‘Not Long’

He’d timed himself by doing three dry runs this week so knew it was possible. In ten minutes he’d be across the open plan office, down the five floors to reception (lift, not stairs, and he’d factored a 30 second wait), straight across the busy lunchtime main road (because walking 20 yards to the pedestrian … Continue reading


When he’d agreed to look after the shop for Rose he hadn’t quite known what to expect.  Okay, so he knew from the times he’d popped in to browse and/or have a mid-morning cuppa, that she had specific things arranged in different areas for ease of perusal.  For instance, there was an old tea chest … Continue reading


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