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Sarah is an introvert. Until she has her victim tranquilised, their wrists chained to a butcher’s hook. Never do they look so happy to hear her rant and rave. Sometimes she doesn’t speak, just looks at them over her milkshake and wonders how long before they’ll break down and promise to do anything she wants, just please let me go. It’s surprising what they’ll do. Ask them to eat a few Carolina Reaper chillis (or maggots from the bait shop, or live baby mice). Or there’s always self-flaying, self-electrocution. Mum’s happy. At least it gets her daughter out the house.
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Photo by Sara Cervera on Unsplash
Adverbially Challenged Volume 5 - cover artwork by David Fielden
Traditionally seen as a rather overused blunt tool, adverbs can be the poor cousin as seen in the literary world. For instance, some would argue, why say "She angrily pushed him away" when a stronger verb would work even better. How about "She shoved him away" instead?
Not to miss an opportunity to have a little fun, and raise money for in the process, Mike Thomson and Chris Fielden are two writers with vision. Since 2016 they have been running the Adverbially Challenged contest. If you want to join in the fun, all you need to do is send in a 100-word story, stuffed with adverbs. Go absolutely nuts! Here's my entry, published alongside 99 other authors in Adverbially Challenged Volume 5. Proceeds from sales are donated to First Story, a UK charity that promotes literacy in low-income communities. |
Seeing Red"Are you completely stupid?"
Jo's heart thudded heavily. Slowly, she glanced upwards. Towering and literally glowering above her was Edie, the laundromat owner. "Look at these things. All insanely pink. I told you to properly check inside the drum." She energetically waved a red sock in Jo's face. A mess of ruined shirts rested resignedly in a basket. Suddenly, sparks of anger ignited floridly in Jo's chest. "I did check." "Really?" "Definitely." Jo rose quickly to her feet. "It's you who probably missed—" "That's unbelievably—" "I'm leaving. Find someone else to annoy." Outside, Jo breathed deeply and smiled. |
50-word appetisers
Photo by Alice Pasqual on Unsplash
'Courting the past', 'Dear John' and 'Selena's dance' are flash fiction pieces.
They were published on in 2018 on the thought-provoking and long-running 50-Word Stories, edited by Tim Sevenhuysen.
Courting the Past
The man's hair is grey and his face worn with much thought.
With gravity and authority, he announces the only possible verdict. The other man looks back at him in fear.
The next day, one of the orderlies takes away the retired judge’s mirror and the doctor ups his meds.
Dear John
I miss reading your gothic paranormal dinosaur erotica poetry.
I miss you playing B-side heavy metal on low volume whilst veganising carnivorous recipes.
I miss picking up a full jar of pickles and standing stupidly with only the lid in my hand.
I missed the meaning of your goodbye note.
Selena's Dance
A memory, as if only yesterday.
This young woman is a metaphor for freedom
her strong hands guiding the yacht
she flies over the crests of the ocean
braces against fierce, frigid salt blasts
that strike her windburnt face
over and over
flicking her blond locks into a wild dance
They were published on in 2018 on the thought-provoking and long-running 50-Word Stories, edited by Tim Sevenhuysen.
Courting the Past
The man's hair is grey and his face worn with much thought.
With gravity and authority, he announces the only possible verdict. The other man looks back at him in fear.
The next day, one of the orderlies takes away the retired judge’s mirror and the doctor ups his meds.
Dear John
I miss reading your gothic paranormal dinosaur erotica poetry.
I miss you playing B-side heavy metal on low volume whilst veganising carnivorous recipes.
I miss picking up a full jar of pickles and standing stupidly with only the lid in my hand.
I missed the meaning of your goodbye note.
Selena's Dance
A memory, as if only yesterday.
This young woman is a metaphor for freedom
her strong hands guiding the yacht
she flies over the crests of the ocean
braces against fierce, frigid salt blasts
that strike her windburnt face
over and over
flicking her blond locks into a wild dance
