A tantalisingly juicy book, ‘My Friend Anna’ is an interesting insight into the life of a supposedly wealthy New York socialite, and the people she brings along for the ride. The story ends in scandal and with serious ramifications, and Williams does her best to convey just how much emotional turmoil the ordeal gave her,
On the 14th Day of Christmas Edward Ahern gave to me… “I don’t like turkey.” Sarah made shushing noises. “Phil, it’s Christmas. Pretend it’s veal. Or pork.” “It tastes like greasy cardboard. I’ll tell my brother I’ve gone Vegan.” “They’ve been to your cookouts. They already know you scrape vegetables off your plate.” “Yeah, but
Kirsty Logan has, with Things We Say In The Dark astutely given a voice to the fears, anxieties and troublesome ideas that we so often utter in the silence of the darkness, what we scream into the void when we believe no one is watching or listening (many of these stories focusing on women and their fears).
On the 10th Day of Christmas S.B. Borgersen gave to me… This story begins at first light on Christmas morning. Fingers of silver-grey pierce the spaces between the branches of the leafless maple she watches through her bedroom window. ‘Has time stopped?’ she wonders. There is no movement. No sound. No jingle of bells. Arlene
On the 9th Day of Christmas Lucy Goldring gave to me… On balance, it’s better that he didn’t notice me. Invisibility might just be my new superpower. Being in here – bass a distant drub-drub-drub, fellow ‘freshers’ a drone of bullshit – offers vodka-clear perspective. I will ignore the rat poison pellets squealing annihilation (too
Since the passing of James Herbert and the gradual decline of Shaun Hutson’s power as staples in the British Horror Scene. I’ve been hankering for someone to step into that rather large void; which has been left vacant for some time now, by in my opinion two of the brightest and loudest voices that we’ve
On the 8th Day of Christmas Alexis Wolfe gave to me… The air was thick with cigarette smoke outside my back door. It was the Big Supermarket delivery drivers’ Christmas party. Except, Big Supermarket didn’t give its delivery drivers a Christmas party and the drivers weren’t allowed any time off work during December, so actually
Jayne Martin’s collection of micro fiction, published by Vine Leaves Press, is billed as ‘tiny tales for the time challenged.’ It features thirty-eight stories, none of them longer than 300 words, some of them much shorter. Martin began her writing career as a TV screenwriter. She’s been publishing flash fiction for about ten years and
On the 6th Day of Christmas Andrew Boulton gave to me… When summer came and the skies bulged with a sticky mist, one wasp made an error of judgement. Sugar-drunk and oblivious to consequences, this wasp found himself trapped inside a freezer. And slept. Now it’s Christmas morning and the freezer is, for the first
I’m always admirative of authors that can bring entire worlds, depict insanely convincing characters and trigger numerous emotions with only a few words, a few strokes of the pen. Barbara Byar is one of those authors. In Some Days Are Better Than Ours, she takes us through the tragic lives of numerous characters – families
