Photo Source F. E. Clarke
My soul whispers and my heart beats slow…
Shivers spread and ice tightens,
but a sure flame flickers deep within, yearning for escape…
A short piece for Three Line Thursday‘s prompt…
Narrows Bridge collapse in Tacoma, Washington on November 7, 1940 – Photo Source
Eleanor swallowed her dreams, and tried not to let them choke as they lingered by a thread.
The bridge on the television screen swayed, moving in waves like a squall on the ocean and Eleanor’s stomach squirmed.
She sat beside George and bit back the words at the rear of her throat. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, and she threw him a sideways glance.
“That’s what happens when you build on the cheap, no time, no effort.” George shook his head as the bridge on screen collapsed into the churning river below.
Eleanor’s head swam. She gazed at her husband and tears pricked. She loved him so much, but they both stood on that same bridge, teetering and swaying, holding on for dear life, and he had no idea.
“It is,” she said with clarity, “it is…that’s what happens.”
George smiled, squeezed her hand and flicked channels.
(150 Words)
My Vis Dare…for a wobbly bridge – the Narrows Bridge collapse in Tacoma, Washington on November 7, 1940. If you want to see footage of the collapse pop over to Angela’s blog here. And for some great stories inspired by this event and the photo above, check out the Visual Dare prompt.
© Lisa Shambrook
My mouth curls upwards, unconsciously. Excitement pounds within my heart and my legs wobble, just for a moment.
“Are you coming?” he calls, turning back. His eyes pierce me; they’re green, as green as a peridot gemstone, and just as glistening.
Again, for a moment, I can’t speak. I just stand and gaze. He grins back, a boyish smile in a face that defies years, but speaks of youth and adventure. My heart slams against my ribs.
“Yes,” I whisper, as he fidgets and sweeps a hand through his auburn hair. The light, flashing behind him lights up his silhouette giving him a halo. I giggle. “Yes, I’m coming!”
I pull my wibbly legs together and set off after him, at a run to keep up. His stride lengthens and my heart leaps as my feet thump the pavement.
His coat flows like a cape, like a long gothic cloak, and for another moment, I imagine a deerstalker on his head, but no, this is not Sherlock…and I am not Watson.
His boots, buckled and studded, rap on the ground and I catch up. He turns to me again, not missing a step as I stumble beneath his gaze.
“You’re good with this?” he asks, that twinkle seeping into my very soul.
I nod. “Oh, yes, I’m good with this!” I reply.
Pale freckles, saturated by lamplight, dance upon his cheeks, across his nose, and I can barely restrain myself from reaching up and pushing his red hair out of his eyes. He shakes his hair away from his face.
“So,” he pauses, literally, and I almost run into him. “When did you know?”
“Kn-know what?” I stammer.
“When did you know you were coming with me?” His eyes search mine and I lower my face, staring at my shoes. His hand immediately lifts my chin and I cannot help but stare into those eyes. If I didn’t know already, then this would be the moment! I cannot speak, my tongue is lost, and my heart threatens to explode from my chest.
“Secretly, I think you knew when we had lunch, that first day…” he grins.
And he’s right. My mind scrolls back, to the day we’d run, so much running, but we’d stopped to eat, finally famished.
I nod. “The fish fingers and custard did it for me!” I smile.
He cocks his head and stares deeply into my eyes then let’s go of my face and chuckles. “Yep, that’s often the moment!” Then he’s gone, again, striding ahead.
“Doctor!” I call, “Wait for me…”
My heart is yet again in my mouth as I round the corner and there he is, leaning against the doorway of the blue box, pooled in white light and promises of adventure…
(459 words)
A new flash fiction challenge from Flash Mob Writes…choose your prompt and write 300 – 500 words…enjoy!
Matt Adamik Photography
Consumed by frigid winter’s gust, lost amid cold’s blizzard,
I call… His answer reaches frozen bones, wakes my soul.
And I brace – for love’s blazing bonfire torch…
A short flash of flame for Three Line Thursday…
Your mother’s heart will be captured with an enchanting
and uplifting gift for Mother’s Day this year…
Both these books cover the deep and complicated relationships between mothers and daughters, and would be an ideal addition to your mother’s, or your own, bookshelf…
Beneath the Rainbow – Lisa Shambrook
‘Freya won’t let death stand in her way. When she dies Freya knows she needs to move on, but is caught within her mother’s grief and the discovery of terminally ill Old Thomas. Beneath her Rainbow…Freya needs to reach her mother, wait for Old Thomas and be ready to move on.’
Praise for Beneath the Rainbow:
“Every parent or indeed anyone who remembers the magic of their own childhood will identify with this book from the very first page. What starts off as a personal tragedy quickly blossoms into an enchanting story of joy, happy memories, and hope.
On a literary note, the book employs a stream of consciousness style that bears a well-deserved comparison with Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway.
A cracking good read that even the most cynical of us are likely to be left with perhaps a tear of joy, and a hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be an element of truth in its vivid description of Freya’s journey and what lies beyond…” ~ Paul (read more)
Beneath the Old Oak – Lisa Shambrook
‘Meg thinks her mother is broken. Is she broken too? Meg’s life spirals out of control, and when she mirrors her Mum’s erratic behaviour, she’s terrified she’ll inherit her mother’s sins. Seeking refuge and escape, she finds solace beneath a huge, old oak. A storm descends, and Meg needs to survive devastating losses.’
Praise for Beneath the Old Oak:
“A lightning bolt of a story that burns from the inside out.
Maneuvering through early teen years is difficult at best. Add a mother with mental illness, a family history riddled with mystery, and an ancient oak eager to share its secrets, and you have a beautifully poignant tale.
Beneath the Old Oak delves deeply into the helplessness of a family torn apart by depression, leaving hope scattered like fallen leaves.” ~ LaDonna Cole RN, BS, CAR Therapist and Author of Heartwork Village, Grief Recovery Curriculum (read more)
‘Beneath the Rainbow’ is on sale from 1st to 15th March on Amazon. Kindle eBook £0.99 ($1.50). ‘Beneath the Old Oak’ is only £1.99 ($3.00). Also available in paperback (see below).
Both books are also available at Amaranth Alchemy which is also offering a 20% off everything Mother’s Day sale – thus giving you a substantial discount off signed paperbacks!
Note: Mothering Sunday is on Sunday 15th March in the UK and Sunday 10th May in the US and much of the rest of the world.
Give your mother the gift of an enchanting read…
Photo Source
She carved and built, delicately working her fingers, all month, barely stopping. This time she could help, she could do more than hold a banner, or be chained to a gate, this time she could really make a difference!
They laughed at her, the others, but they’d see.
When Maggie scoffed at the idea of a tree house, River bit her lip and bided her time. When Maggie chained herself to the old oak, River kept working. When they cut Maggie’s chains and the bulldozers moved in, River set down her tools and waited.
They laughed, when they saw it, they howled and snickered, but River watched as the engines growled.
It was the faces at the windows, tiny faces, peaked ears and delicate fingers pressed against River’s tiny panes of glass that stopped the laughter.
No motorway would ever cut through the ancient wood that housed fabled little folk…
(150 words)
A tale of survival and whimsy…read the others at Anonymous Legacy’s Visual Dare, and enjoy x
Photo Source Lisa Falzon
He shivered and she slowly turned her soft gaze to meet his. “Sorry,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his mouth as he leaned down to meet her lips. Her lips were pale and cold, and her eyes tired and dark with shadows. He shivered again.
Her lips moved and he strained to hear the words that hid behind them. “Tell me…”
Goosebumps spread across his arms and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I love you.” He nuzzled her wispy hair, the stray blond curl that escaped the scarf around her head. “I will love you now, today, tomorrow and forever.”
He wished fervently that he could extract the tempest that threatened to explode through his chest. He wished his vitality, his life, could feed through the tubes and perform the job that chemotherapy couldn’t.
He wished.
(150 Words)
I adored this picture, who wouldn’t? We all have tempests within, and this spoke to me of love. Written for Anonymous Legacy and Visual Dare 86, pop over and read the other tales inspired by this beautiful picture.
If you adore the epic in life and the magic of mist and mystic…then this book of reimagined fairy tales is for you. Under the influence of Really Slow Motion‘s beautiful music, ‘Of Mist and Magic‘, fairy tales are reinvented and brought to you inside an enchanting anthology of short stories, in an exclusive Amazon companion book ‘Of Mist and Magic‘.
All proceeds go to the youth organisation Elevate Life and Art Studios.
My story is a contemporary retelling of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson and the accompanying piece of music is Flames of Glory by Ivan Torrent
Links to buy: Of Mist and Magic eBook: Amazon UK, Amazon US
Of Mist and Magic – Really Slow Motion Album: Amazon UK, Amazon US, iTunes, Bandcamp
Blogs: Samantha Redstreake Geary read her tale Of Dreams and Daring…
and find a snippet of Ruth Long’s tale Rooted at Bullish Ink.
The book is a bargain at less than £1…if you’ve read and enjoyed these snippets, you’ll be longing to read it! Dip into some mist and magic and enchantment…
Narrow, dark green leaves coupled with deep pink flowers, rustled in the breeze above his head and Isaac’s chest softly rose and fell. Heavy, rheumy eyes, tinged pink with fatigue, fluttered open and through a glassy haze he gazed. Orange sunlight flooded the bower, as scattered evening sunbeams danced upon the flora, and a whisper lightly waltzed through the expectant crowd.
Isaac stroked the silken coverlet overdressed with gossamer lace, with gnarled, freckled hands and felt his heart whimper beneath his ribs. Time was running out.
Deep beneath the trees that surrounded his bower, whispers made it to his ears and he chuckled, a coughing and half choking sound that alarmed his family and made him want to laugh all the more. His muscles ached, a fever left him barely the right side of conscious, and his heart fluttered like the butterfly that settled on the clusters of pink flowers above his pillow. He closed his eyes and courted the sigh that rippled in response.
He felt a hand, a strong hand, grip his. The warmth of the hand pumped life into his cold fingers and his heart raced, leaping and bounding within the cage of ribs. His other hand was grasped with the same vigour, as his other son lifted his father’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Not to be outdone the first son placed a kiss on his father’s hand too and gently plumped the duckling down pillow behind his head.
As the two sons fought to outshine each other the sun slipped below the horizon and took its gold light with it. The moon’s silver touched the trees and sent glittering rays through the canopy. As Isaac opened his eyes again, he shook away his sons and painfully lifted his hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes and gazed across the glade.
Despite the warring clans, the neighbouring fae had sent an honourable representative and he stood beneath the sweet oleander and holly trees. He stood tall and unwavering and accompanied by his young wife. Isaac smiled, and nodded in recognition and then gazed at his sons.
Two golden-haired boys sat either side of him, both tight-lipped and taut, and instead of watching him they watched each other with glares of righteous arrogance.
Isaac sighed and both sons turned to stare, breath bated, hands again gripping his tight. Their expectant gaze vexed the fairy-king and he decided the choice would not be made.
He cleared his throat and watched the greed and hunger pool in their eyes, before averting his and speaking softly. He spoke so softly the boys had to lean in close to hear. They both sprang away in disbelief dropping their father’s hands like hot coals.
Isaac lifted his heavy head and touched his beard. His fingers ran through the thick grey hair, and he let out a laugh. He beckoned across the dell and the young fae knight dressed in embroidered silver frowned and stepped forward.
“Not you…” croaked the king, “your wife…”
His wife, not yet out of her teens, started like a deer and fingered her long ebony locks in nervous unease. Isaac nodded and she stepped lightly across the grass to his mossy bed.
She held out her hand as the king again ran his through his beard. “Your hair,” he murmured, “black as the night, ebony like the raven, as dark as mine once was.”
She nodded, anxiety clouding her face.
“You’re as beautiful as your mother, and not a product of your unseeded father…” He chuckled coarsely. “My sons can fight, can gouge each other’s eyes out, but neither are worthy of my crown. You, my dear, are married to an honest man, a man who can bring peace to the vale. And as my crown once sat upon my head of curls, it will spend its days upon your long black curls… It is fitting, young Daphne, that, along with my crown, the fragrant clusters above my head are yours, sweet daughter…”
(669 Words)
A fairy tale for Blues Buster this week…prompt song is from the ethereal, fae-kissed music of neo-pagan band Tuatha Dae – “Long Black Curl”.
Tips to help you write extraordinary short stories.
I love dipping into an eclectic mix of short tales. Picking up an anthology or collection of shorts whilst waiting in the car for my kids, or reading while working out on the elliptical with my Kindle app on my phone, delights me and utilises what could be wasted time!
Books containing great short stories…
There’s an art to a short story, and it takes a well-practised writer to get it right. There’s nothing worse than dipping into a tale, finishing it in a few pages and having no reaction. That meh feeling just doesn’t cut it.
You need to be short, sharp, and succinct, and have enough story to make the tale worth telling.
A short story needs to tell a tale in very few words, it needs to grab you and not let you go, it needs to pull you in, swirl you about and throw you back out again! It needs to elicit a reaction. Very often that reaction will either be a smile, a laugh, or a shock, but it has to be a reaction nonetheless. It’s dreadful to read a short and feel you’re just dipping into someone’s high school level homework. Don’t make short stories ordinary, make them extraordinary!
If you’re writing romance, boy-down-the-road meets girl-up-the-road… Shake it up. Don’t give me four or five pages of boy thinking about girl, meeting unexpectedly, and falling in love right away. Shake it up, turn it around…maybe the boy is blind, maybe she walks by every day, she might like him, but not be confident enough to speak – then one day she trips and knocks into him, he recalls her scent and catches her hand… Make me breathe their attraction; make me feel their confusion and their nerves…let the story catch fire!
If the story’s been done before – and let’s face it, most have – what can you do to change it up, twist it, make it different, make it new and inspiring, turn the cliché upside-down? What’s your USP (Unique Selling Point) or as I like UTP – Unique Telling Point! What’s your style?
I honed my writing skills writing Flash Fiction and I hugely recommend it. You learn a vast amount by reading flash fiction, and then by writing it. Most Flash Fiction prompts are words, photos or music. You’re given a set of rules to follow and you create a piece within a particular number of words. It teaches brevity and that every word counts, editing skills, the importance of content, beginnings and endings, grammar, and basic story-telling to name but a few.
I’ve taken part in a variety of flash fiction, and still do. I delight in both writing to a set prompt, expanding my voices and genres, and sharing my work with those around me. My short flash fiction, shared on my blog, serves as an advert for my novels. If you like my flash, read my books!
Take a look at these short tales on some of my favourite blogs, see how the stories work, how they elicit a reaction, and you’ll see why you need to read more from these writers! Tinker My Heart – A Jar of Fireflies, Dancing at Whitsun – Cubic Scats, Duty – One More Leaf, The Apothecary’s Art – The Last Krystallos, Uninterrupted – Jo Cannon, and At the Museum – Searching for Ingleside. (Several of these pieces are Flash Fiction contest winners)
A short story collection or being included in a compendium or anthology can be great for an author especially an indie author. It’s a way for readers to get to know your writing, your style, without needing to buy your full length novels. This is also a major reason why getting the short story right is so important. If you write shorts badly, they may never move on to your other writing. Share whatever you want on your blog for free, let readers taste your writing, but only put your best work into a collection. If you’re publishing make it worth the money your reader is spending!
Don’t write ordinary tales, make them extraordinary!
When you’re choosing a collection of tales, don’t just read the reviews, make the most of the preview of the book that Amazon allows you to see…take a look at the writing, see if it’s for you..
Cutthroats and Curses
If you want to read some amazing collections – try these, tried and tested and brilliant works, and something for everyone. And I’ll stick my neck out and say of you want to read a fantastic short pick up ‘Cutthroats and Curses’ and read Beth Avery’s ‘ Roaring Dan Seavey…’, that’s how short stories should be written!
Once Upon a Time: A Collection of Unexpected Fairytales – SJI Holliday and Anna Meade
Finding a Voice – Jeffrey Hollar
And the Angels Cried and Other Short Stories – Annette S. Thomson
Once Upon a Time, Finding a Voice, And the Angels Cried, Through the Portal
Cutthroats and Curses: An Anthology of Pirates – Michael Wombat and The Anthology Club
Through the Portal – LaDonna Cole and Read Write Muse
Tales by the Tree, In Creeps the Night, Here be Dragons, Moonbeams and Fairies
Tales by the Tree: A Christmas Collection – J. A. Mes Press
In Creeps the Night: 50 Flash Fiction Horror Tales – J. A. Mes Press
Here Be Dragons – Hannah Steenbock
Of Moonbeams and Fairies – Rebecka Vigus (Childrens Tales)
Darrion, Burn, Moth Girl Versus the Bats
Moth Girl Versus The Bats – Michael Wombat
And if you want to try, and read, some Flash Fiction…click on the sites below or my side bar, check out my Blues Buster stories which you can find a quick link to in my Categories.
Five Sentence Fiction, Blues Buster, Visual Dare, Three Line Thursday, Flash! Friday, Horror Bites
So, do you love short stories? What are your favourites and what makes them special?
Are you a Flash Fictioneer? If you want to know more of my Flash Fiction beginnings read: Being a Flash Fictioneer (like a writing Musketeer…or something similar…). What’s your favourite site for Flash?
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The Last Krystallos 