At Writers’ Circus we were challenged to write a piece about flying.
This tale recounts a short joy flight we experienced in Australia when visiting friends.
It happened a long time ago, but the take-off and landing trauma is with me still.
Far better to be in a big, big plane, with eyes firmly closed.
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This is a wee tale set mainly in Dornoch, a tidy, well-heeled coastal town on the far north east coast of Scotland, famous for its golden sand beaches and its world-renowned golf course.
It was written as a response to a Writers’ Circus challenge - “I should have said something.”
The story centres on the actions of Janine, recently retired, who finds a suspicious object on the beach, while walking a friend’s dog.
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This is a tale of a man who goes out into the gloom of a blustery afternoon in late autumn in search of prawns to make a spicy stir fry. . ..
Recently I came across what turned out to be an older version of this story that was full or errors!
I went at once to this website and read the ‘posted’ version which, while passable, needed improvement.
Here is the revised version.
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Some time ago I wrote a story called “Driven”, which involved a lady police officer called Gemma Brownlee.
In Driven Gemma was a secondary character.
In Flash Flood she takes centre stage.
Beware, this contains some bad language and references to sex and drugs.
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This is a story which came from a challenge I set for the Writers’ Circus.
I started out on a quite a different story and then, because I could not get it finished on time, I turned to this.
Where did it come from? No idea.
Let me know what you think?
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This is a tale based on my father who was variously known as John, Jack and Jock.
The essence of this tale is true. My father was a joker who enjoyed winding people up.
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This is a wee tale based on truth. It has haunted me for almost two decades.
It recounts a long-ago train journey.
It contains a particular swear word which is included because it was used and is necessary to convey what happened.
Some of the dialogue is in a Glasgow dialect, which may make it unintelligible to some readers. Sorry.
The story was written to meet a Writers’ Circus challenge - “The Train”.
Some of you who know me will have heard an oral version.
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This is a wee story about three retired men who meet every week in Jacko’s Hut to do and say what they like, free of comments or interruptions from their wives.
One day they look out of the picture window.
Each sees the same object, but they do not agree what it is.
This version thanks to my son Stuart, who made several helpful suggestions.
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This is a story about the swallows that visit Craigallian Loch each year. I am a member of the Craigallian Angling Club and regularly fish the Loch from early March to the end of October. This tale was penned in original form over the winter of 2015.
Craigallian Loch is part of the Craigallian Estate then owned by Duncan and Jean MacFarlane, kind and generous people who love nature and wild creatures. This story is dedicated to them.
The Loch is a great place to observe wildlife and, being on the West Highland Way which is busy year round with walkers heading to Fort William, I regularly meet and chat with people from around the world and share some of the secrets of ‘my’ loch and its wildlife.
Readers may recall the precursor version of this story first published in July 2016, a tale called “Follow that Swallow”. This has been replaced by this new version, co-written with my Editor. My multi-talented friend Kareth Paterson is a passionate lover of nature who has researched Scottish swallows in considerable depth to discover their migrations routes, nest building techniques and brood rearing habits.
This new version much more accurately depicts the story I should have written!
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This is another outing for Maisie Kaywood, coming to the rescue of yet another cousin. The story is a response to a recent Writers’ Circus challenge “there’s nothing that can be done about it”.
Recently I saw a young woman in a wheelchair, pushing herself along vigorously. She was alone, making her way to? At the ends of her legs were two white socks revealing that she had no feet.
The first draft of this story wrote itself quickly and was definitely ‘raw’ when presented to the the group. I has benefited greatly from many comments made. Thank you all once more.
Crucial corrections and guidance from my editor Kareth Paterson polished it to its final dull lustre.
Click here to download the PDF.