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[storiesfrombeth]

The School for Children with Magical Bodily Abnormalities

The opening from my story 'The School for Children with Magical Bodily Abnormalities' - a story that got me into the UK Emerging Writer Award shortlist this year. Currently not published anywhere, but I may someday pop it online.

[storiesfrombeth]

I’m sitting in the pub. I’ve taken a breather from writing a story about first love, about heartbreak and heartache. A little wine and the words spill out of me onto the page in a haphazard and stressfully urgent fashion. 

Around me are groups of huddled people on leathery uneven seats. under soft orangey lights. There’s what appears to be a first date, a group of old friends, two sisters sharing a bottle of wine, a few older men huddled around emitting bursts of laughter now and again. 

And another solo individual, with a laptop and pint, click-clacking away at his keyboard. I guess he’s a writer, his neat mustache sprinkled with sprouting grey hairs and his small black notebook inked with inspiration. I like to spot writers in the wild. 

He keeps muttering to himself, and softly rereading lines and scrolling up and down his pages. Maybe, like me, he’s still yet to figure out what the first piece he may produce will win a publisher’s approval. Or maybe he’s just writing, on his laptop, with a pint next to him, for no claims to fame. Just because he has to. Because what would his life be, if he didn’t?

[storiesfrombeth]

The Rain

The first of my #ScenesFromUntoldStories series. This excerpt is from my unfinished story, The Rain. #writerslife#short fiction#writers community#writers of tumblr#short stories#fiction#short story#creative writing

[storiesfrombeth]

I'm in an extra quiet flat now.

I've been trying to keep it busy with podcast listening and music playing. Having people over for dinners. Keeping the place active.

I like my alone time. I think I've been told I shouldn't - that being alone is strange. But often I need that alone time. Then, when I've had too much alone time, I berate myself for feeling lonely. Independent woman and all that - as if feeling lonely makes me less than, that I should be so completely self-sufficient.

My partner is away for work, for a few months. I have the flat to myself. It’s tidier than normal. Quieter. Less stuff around, less dishes by the sink at the end of the day, less clothes in the laundry basket.

I miss this person and the traces of their presence.

The dirty socks that end up forgotten by the sofa after a long day. The beer glasses in the recycling - a drink I simply don't enjoy alone. The fridge normally full of unpronounceable vegetables and stinky cheeses and strange jars of pastes and picklings, now bearing just a few carrots, a butternut squash, feta - my leftovers from solo dinner in an old plastic takeaway box.

I miss bringing coffee to a sleepy face in the mornings. Or being greeted with music already on in a kitchen sizzling with creations when I open the front door.