In my spare time I write fiction and often enter competitions. Here are a few examples of my creative writing.
Soul Destroyer was written as part of an NYC Midnight competition where I had to write a short story in 48 hours on the theme of stealing.
As Alzheimer’s slowly steals Mary’s mind, her husband is left clinging to memories of the life they shared. Refusing to let Mary lose the battle for her mind, he contemplates the unthinkable.
They were married on a Thursday, the day after he had been paid. It had been exactly nine months since he had downed the last of his pint, taken a deep breath and asked the girl in the red polka dot dress to dance. By the end of the song she had stolen his heart.
He had borrowed his father’s suit, pinched a tie off of a market stall and wore his best mate’s shoes with newspaper stuffed in the toe. He had never been short of words in his life, but standing in front of the altar, with his future mother in law’s eyes boring in to him, his mouth had gone dry, his tongue felt like sandpaper.
27 was written as part of a crowdfund project where people donated money to the charity CoppaFeel! and in return I wrote them a story. In this instance, the brief was a girl with ribbons in her hair, a red rubber ball and Uncle Tom’s cabin.
A wooden fence surrounded the junkyard, separating the scrap metal from the small red cabin with the vast desert stretching out behind it. One of the lower beams, bowed slightly under Avery’s weight, her head resting on her folded arms atop one of the higher beams. Her pale face was flecked with freckles and framed by a blunt fringe, damp with sweat and stuck to her forehead. Two straggly yellow plaits tied with blue ribbon that matched her pinafore dress, sat limply on her shoulders.
Her momma had always kept a box of ribbons under her bed, which Avery liked nothing more than to rummage through, draping herself in the brilliant red, blue, green, yellow and orange silks. Her daddy had often joked that her momma’s ribbon collection would be the envy of souk merchants across the Middle East.
At the time, Avery had thought her daddy was referring to the middle east of America, and begged him to take her, surmising it would be a day’s drive at the most. He’d laughed and told her she might need to find a magic carpet to get to the deserts of North Africa in a day.
On 22 February I’m running a Writing Skills Masterclass – find out more on the All Things IC Masterclass website.