This is a re-working of a previous story. ‘Re-working’ is a dangerous thing!
This version is steamier, and contains a few naughty words, so be warned!
Its genesis was a combination of two encounters.
The first was in the wake of the second Icelandic Volcanic Ash airline disruption.
Ryanair cancelled our flight.We were stranded in Bordeaux.
Irina at Customer Services was charming, beautiful and efficient.
I promised her a story!
The second encounter was on the early morning commuter train from Bearsden to Glasgow.
Our friends Ian and Linda overheard a lady asking for a First Class Ticket to Copenhagen.
I did read a short clip of 50 Shades, in Asda, at the bookstand.
I am confident that my offering is better, much better, I modestly declaim.
And I read an excerpt of Kirtsy Wark’s steamy novel, courtesy of the (Glasgow) Herald.
Unlike the critics I thought the sex scene was very well written.
What disturbed me was that I thought I knew Kirsty, from our intermittent ‘meetings’ on TV.
So before you read this, if you know me, think of someone else.
Think of the author as, say, Gina Bontroni.
I was listening to the radio in our caravan at Rosemarkie.
The Beatles sang “Get Back, Get Back, Get Back to where you once belonged”.
The history of humanity is one of migration.
Think of all the Scots roaming the world over the last three centuries.
This sad tale wrote itself in less than thirty minutes.
This tale has it’s origins in an assignment for one of David Pettigrew’s Creative Writing Classes.
The given topic was “Sibling Rivalry”.
This is a revised and expanded version of the original.
My friend Mana is correct. If I ‘edit’ my work, it expands, never shrinks!
The CURSE of loquaciousness. (Try saying that word with wobbly dentures.)
This is an adult story.
I offer my apologies here to all my Italian friends.
(2,300 words, 11 minutes)
We were on holiday, in Rosemarkie, with our caravan.
Whizzing along in our car one day, I saw a sign advertising a “Car Share Club”.
I started to write this piece, with no idea what would come from the Muse.
This is a piece which has drawn criticism.
It contains dark material.
I defend myself by pointing readers to the nightly news.
In my mind, however, this story is a ‘true romance’, albeit involving strange bedfellows.
I spotted some anomalies and revised it in February 2016.
‘Astonishing!’ resulted from a challenge at the Writers’ Circus:
‘Describe a Person.’
This piece was originally embedded in the tale called “Just Prawns, John!” and so you may recognise a version of it in that story.
In fact when I made a start at what became ‘Just Prawns’, my aim was to take that John to his encounter with this girl.
The astonishing girl, her mother, and their their meeting with that John did occur, more or less as recounted in these two linked tales.
Perhaps ‘Just Prawns’, in its own way, also describes a person I might know?
This tale was written in response to a Writers’ Circus challenge.
“Why did he/she do that?”
The idea was that the emphasis could be placed on any of the five words, or not.
The story wrote itself, from first to last, almost at one sitting. I like that!
Sanctuary ends with a rather graphic scene, but no worse I claim, than we see nightly on TV.
One lady complained, loudly,so you may wish to avoid it!
This is a nearly true story, an amalgamation of things that happened to me and others around me during my apprenticeship.
Editing it today brought memories flooding back.
A word of warning - this piece is full of Glasgow vernacular dialogue and swear words.
Sorry, but there it is. This is how people spoke in the Clydeside shipyards of those long ago days.
This is a wee story that has its genesis in a visit to a coffee shop.
I was about to sit down when I saw what I thought was a ten pound note wrapped in something.
For an instance, I thought I had found a Lottery Ticket.
What I had actually ‘found’ was just a colourful receipt wrapped in another stiffer white card receipt.
A that point the story was born and I went straight home and tapped it out.
This is a silly,naive tale that I wrote a long time ago.
There was an older lady in our Creative Writing class called Lois.
“I have been on a course and I am an Analytical Reflector, apparently”, she said.
I wrote this tale for her and to be fair, she was totally unimpressed.
This story arose from a challenge at the Writers’ Circus - we should choose a Proverb, and write a story about it.
The next weekend we went off to Edinburgh to stay with our friends Alan and Jean, in their brand new town house in Morningside. Part of the same impressive development, was a new block of luxury flats, the locus in my mind for this story.
I dug out a Bible that had belonged to my mother-in-law, Georgie. From it fell a greetings card sent to her from one of her Women’s Guild friends. The image on the front of the card was of a Sweet Sultan.
The story wrote itself.
You may note the input form the ubiquitous Maisie Kaywood, she of “Hook, Line and Sinker”.
(Please, do not use Sweet Sultans to make an infusion, unless you know that it is safe so to do! This is fiction, folks!)