[Click on the cover to buy the paperback]
Welcome to 52LOVES: writers from around the world short stories & poems. No matter which country or what genre, we're united in our creativity and write to you above LOVE.
On this page, I reveal more about the writers & poets of 52LOVES. Today, 6th August 2015, I'm pleased to bring '52LOVES: writers from around the world short stories & poems' to a close with PARVEEN SETHI of INDIA. Scroll to the end to read more about Parveen.
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“Are you really Ma?” I ask.
“I’m Ma’s Ghost, and I stay hidden in a box known to her as The Subconscious. She’s oblivious to my existence. Yet I’m forever there, forever shaping her Core. I am all her Truths, even the ones she doesn’t know about.”
“Her Truths?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Her truths? What are they going to reveal; that I’m special?
“You’re different from your siblings; they began to grow and develop without a care in the world. They didn’t even comprehend Ma’s presence. But you . . . you’re already acknowledging her as your own, and you crave more,” she says with a curious but stern tone.
In 'Probably Best' by CHARLOTTE STIRLING | UK / GERMANY and in all of her poetry, CHARLOTTE has an uncanny way with words and the way she expresses herself. This is true of all of the poets in 52LOVES. They are all exceptional and really make the book a wonder to read. Here's the opening verse of 'Probably Best':
It was hard to tell you. That I hate champagne.
That I poured the stuff right down the drain.
As you smugly read Arnold
And smelled your socks
I consoled myself
that my kissing rocked.
We could have been the End of Time
The last hurrah or sailed the Rhine.
But you missed the signposts
You always do.
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ANDRA SIMONS | BERMUDA / UK is a Bermudian writer and performer living in London. He's also a third of the performance band: AMPHIBIA. His debut collection ‘The Joshua Tales’ was published with Treehouse Press in 2009, and his forthcoming collection is ‘Turtlemen’. Here’s an extract from ‘Turtlemen: Return of the Selkie’ . . .
ANDRA is one of our GUEST WRITER / POETS, and oh, he's a real sweetie.
He would throw it around his slender shoulders, slide toward the tub and run the Thames through a tap. He’d slap and chuckle and clap his hands, lean to kiss me, tickle my lip with his white wet whiskers. I could smell the aged sweet dried salt on his pelt and I’d touch his rolling ribs beneath it and pull him close.
Welcome to 52LOVES: writers from around the world short stories & poems. No matter which country or what genre, we're united in our creativity and write to you above LOVE.
On this page, I reveal more about the writers & poets of 52LOVES. Today, 6th August 2015, I'm pleased to bring '52LOVES: writers from around the world short stories & poems' to a close with PARVEEN SETHI of INDIA. Scroll to the end to read more about Parveen.
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WING-HO LIN | [HONG KONG] / UK and his dark [droll] tale 'Ma':
“Are you really Ma?” I ask.“I’m Ma’s Ghost, and I stay hidden in a box known to her as The Subconscious. She’s oblivious to my existence. Yet I’m forever there, forever shaping her Core. I am all her Truths, even the ones she doesn’t know about.”
“Her Truths?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Her truths? What are they going to reveal; that I’m special?
“You’re different from your siblings; they began to grow and develop without a care in the world. They didn’t even comprehend Ma’s presence. But you . . . you’re already acknowledging her as your own, and you crave more,” she says with a curious but stern tone.
…………………..
In 'Probably Best' by CHARLOTTE STIRLING | UK / GERMANY and in all of her poetry, CHARLOTTE has an uncanny way with words and the way she expresses herself. This is true of all of the poets in 52LOVES. They are all exceptional and really make the book a wonder to read. Here's the opening verse of 'Probably Best':
It was hard to tell you. That I hate champagne.
That I poured the stuff right down the drain.
As you smugly read Arnold
And smelled your socks
I consoled myself
that my kissing rocked.
We could have been the End of Time
The last hurrah or sailed the Rhine.
But you missed the signposts
You always do.
…………………..
I hope you realise how international 52LOVES is; if not, here's a piechart, although recently we added BERMUDA to the list.
ANDRA SIMONS | BERMUDA / UK is a Bermudian writer and performer living in London. He's also a third of the performance band: AMPHIBIA. His debut collection ‘The Joshua Tales’ was published with Treehouse Press in 2009, and his forthcoming collection is ‘Turtlemen’. Here’s an extract from ‘Turtlemen: Return of the Selkie’ . . .
ANDRA is one of our GUEST WRITER / POETS, and oh, he's a real sweetie.
He would throw it around his slender shoulders, slide toward the tub and run the Thames through a tap. He’d slap and chuckle and clap his hands, lean to kiss me, tickle my lip with his white wet whiskers. I could smell the aged sweet dried salt on his pelt and I’d touch his rolling ribs beneath it and pull him close.…………………..
DAVID T. K. WONG | CHINA is one of our GUEST WRITERS and contributes 'The Revolt of Grass' to 52LOVES. He's had many short stories published and one of his collections is about to be re-published by a Hong Kong publisher. He's led a busy professional life and funds an annual creative writing fellowship at East Anglia University in the UK. He lives in MALAYSIA, a place that's on my list of to do's. [Malacca was part of the Portuguese spice trail of the 1500s—one of my personal interests.] I'd love to meet him, but I suspect he's way too busy for the likes of me . . .
. . . Even Kwong had been motivated by little more than the desire to acquire modern household appliances that would attract him a wife. To risk death and imprisonment for so little seemed the height of foolishness.
But it was now too late for regrets. They had delivered themselves into the hands of a shadowy organization trading in human resources, and had been shipped to a place condemned by Party cadres as ‘decadent’ and ‘iniquitous’. They could only hope their luck would hold out.
Head towards www.davidtkwong.net to learn more about his work.
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TINA RATH | UK and the poem 'Green Grass':
The grass grows greenly in the wood
And wanly by the shore
And so we sought the green green grass
For shade and nothing more.
And so we sought the green green wood
All in the heat of day
And two were laid in greenwood shade—
And three we came away.
Sexy poem, eh? I've met TINA. Had a lovely day out in Walthamstow Village, east London, photographing TINA for the book. The sun was beating down . . . it's a peaceful part of London. Since I've had the good fortune to read her poetry, I've thought about this poem almost everyday.
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OK, where's TOM's photo? Here it is.
TOM McKAY | FRANCE divides his time between Paris and London and teaches creative writing. Lucky man. So why's he lying in a bathtub? Well 'The Decision', his short story, is about a man trying to make one while having a good soak. Here's an extract:
The dishwater grey water breaks aside on the hump of my pink belly. Maybe this means there is no decision to make. Perhaps I am already free—an island in the bath.
Sensibly-processed thought is draining from my mind now—but it's comforting to imagine that in about fifteen minutes, I’ll be wrapped in a towel drying my legs. By then, I will have decided.
Perhaps he never gets out of the bath and ends up like a shrivelled prune?
Who's next? It's the lovely Nalini.
NALINI PRIYADARSHNI of the PUNJAB embodies the spirit of 52loves and this is what she says about back home:
I live in north Indian state of Punjab, which gets its name from the 5 rivers that flow through it. Miles and miles of green fields, loving, cheerful people, ever ready to lend a helping hand.
Our rich heritage of art and literature constitutes the backbone of the state. Rig Veda, which is said to be the oldest book written on the planet, was written on the banks of Beas, one of the 5 rivers.
These days I am taking a break from playing superwoman— trying to juggle a career, poetry and family. So presently I'm a stay-at-home mum, who writes for the joy of it.
Writing poetry is an organic process. I feel that poems push their way out of my fingertips. The same is true for the occasional prose / flash fiction. I'm an avid reader and observer. Inspiration for writing comes from life and my surroundings, photographs, and the poetry I read. As a person of few words, I find it easier to express myself in the form of poetry. I immensely enjoy being part of 52LOVESaand look forward to holding it in my hand as a real book.
Here's one NALINI's poems in two languages:
Your Name
Writing poetry is an organic process. I feel that poems push their way out of my fingertips. The same is true for the occasional prose / flash fiction. I'm an avid reader and observer. Inspiration for writing comes from life and my surroundings, photographs, and the poetry I read. As a person of few words, I find it easier to express myself in the form of poetry. I immensely enjoy being part of 52LOVESaand look forward to holding it in my hand as a real book.
Here's one NALINI's poems in two languages:
One reason I talk about you
Is your name . . .
I like the way it tickles my lips
Smearing the edges of my mouth
Like lipstick after a stolen kiss
I enjoy the way
It rolls around inside my mouth
Before melting on my tongue
I savor the flavors it bursts into
When I press it hard against palate
And it crushes with knowing
The aroma that wafts thereafter
Settles like dew on my aura, igniting
The interplay of orange and indigo
And the aftertaste . . .
Precisely the reason of my refusal
To speak about anybody else
Thank you NALINI for your grace and spirit.
Is your name . . .
I like the way it tickles my lips
Smearing the edges of my mouth
Like lipstick after a stolen kiss
I enjoy the way
It rolls around inside my mouth
Before melting on my tongue
I savor the flavors it bursts into
When I press it hard against palate
And it crushes with knowing
The aroma that wafts thereafter
Settles like dew on my aura, igniting
The interplay of orange and indigo
And the aftertaste . . .
Precisely the reason of my refusal
To speak about anybody else
Thank you NALINI for your grace and spirit.
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OK, now for the funniest and possibly the most provocative story 'Meet Roderick'. Here's a couple of illustrations in 'Meet Roderick'.
OK, now for the funniest and possibly the most provocative story 'Meet Roderick'. Here's a couple of illustrations in 'Meet Roderick'.
DAVID BENTLEY is based in the north of England. Make sure you check out 'Meet Roderick' in our paperback or Kindle ebook. Here's an extract from his story:
Women are so stupid. No, that's the wrong word. Gullible is what they are. You can tell them anything, and they’ll believe it. Well, tell them anything that they want to believe, and, they’ll believe it.
I first became aware of this at the age of six. I was on holiday with my family in Spain and my much, much older sister fell in love with a Spanish waiter. It was so ridiculously absurd. Even at the tender age of six, I realised that this was nonsense. She couldn't speak Spanish, and he didn't even know the basics of the English language. He didn't even know the word for 'cornflakes'.
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Find ALEX LINDQUIST | USA from Mahopac, New York. Alex has contributed several poems, which invoke a strong sense of place. I wanted to share the third poem, 'raisins', because it's time for some children to emerge in 52LOVES.
Under dancing leaves
and bent limbs,
my daughters play,
While sun skitters across shadows
and winds sing songs
only they can hear.
They sit high in branches
bare feet swaying idly
I watch from afar.
Imagining the taste of raisins
sweetened by time,
that they share.
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If I don't slot in some science fiction soon, I'll be up to my neck in a lethal virus, or posted to outer Laseria . . .
I give you THOMAS R. SKIDMORE | USA of Pittsburgh. Sadly, he rarely communicates with me. Let's face it, if THOMAS can give me a wonderful Spock-like author photo, well, then, I just love the guy. Here's an extract from 'Under the Moons of Laseria', one of the longer and more ambitious stories in 52LOVES.
A milli-second later, the green light races back into the starry skies, and is swallowed up by the glow of the Jeweled Moons. From whence did it come, and when shall it return?
Keeping these thoughts in my mind but not dwelling on them for the nonce, I arrive at a small lake with crystal green-blue water, untainted by pollution, and pleasant to the touch and taste, and the glittering waves of light from the stars confirm that the waters are indeed for me, and thus I throw aside my cloak, and place it next to my foil-sword. I step into the warm glow of the pond, and an electric tingling overcomes me, and I’m swept, in my mind’s eye, into a place—no, a universe never before seen by man or woman, much less on my beloved planet.
Once or twice I just laughed out loud with this story.
Keeping these thoughts in my mind but not dwelling on them for the nonce, I arrive at a small lake with crystal green-blue water, untainted by pollution, and pleasant to the touch and taste, and the glittering waves of light from the stars confirm that the waters are indeed for me, and thus I throw aside my cloak, and place it next to my foil-sword. I step into the warm glow of the pond, and an electric tingling overcomes me, and I’m swept, in my mind’s eye, into a place—no, a universe never before seen by man or woman, much less on my beloved planet.
Once or twice I just laughed out loud with this story.
Phew! THOMAS R. SKIDMORE has just sent me an email and writes: 'I had the chance to look over the blog, and I love what I saw. Don't change a thing. And do pardon my all-too-infrequent communiques; I have a lot of things in life that need tending to.' THOMAS sent me an email. Hurray! By the way, both UK and USA English are used in 52LOVES. Anything for a quiet life.
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Earlier, in March 2015, NDABA SIBANDA, one of our poets, was interviewed by Standard, a prestigious publication in Zimbabwe. Excellent news, NDABA. Here's an extract from 'Tiger Cub Love' one of his poems:
Three days ago he was caught up
In a love triangle linking a Shebeen Queen
His lover asked him: Did you do all
This because of me and for me?
He looked downward
Words stuck at the tip of his tongue.
Do you know what a 'Shebeen Queen' is?
NDABA says he's having a rare holiday lying on a beach in Luanda, Angola. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here on a grey, chilly day in London. Something not right about that.
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MARK HENDERSON | UK—his contribution is a story of nostalgia set on Valentine's Day. It's called 'Eye of the Beholder'. Mark has quite few published books of fiction under his belt, and used to be a doctor.
“In a hurry?” I asked. “Or would you like a drink?”
She glanced at her watch, then at me. Her mouth hinted at a smile.
“Yes, all right.” She walked on, knowing I’d fall in beside her. “You still live here?”
“Up in Chisworth,” I said. “Barn conversion, good studio space. What brings you back?”
“Family business.”
I led her across the road to The George. The usual idlers were hanging around the bar. We opted for the dining section, deserted save for one or two couples intent on early Valentine dinners . . .
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GENRES in 52LOVES
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GERARD GUIX | SPAIN, prolific novelist and playwright, has contributed a short story called 'Another Closed Door'. He's one of our GUEST WRITERS.
GERARD certainly knows how to enjoy life . . . facebook . . . in the bathtub . . . economising on water . . . soaking himself with members of his theatrical company: Montse RodrÃguez & Quim Avila . . . in the restaurant eating delicious food with friends . . . in the theatre surrounded . . . at his book launches . . .
By the way, I think he's teaching us how to love life . . .
Here's an extract from 'Another Closed Door':
The subhuman conditions—darkness illuminated only by candles, an improvised bath in the kitchen with barely enough room to move—made us all sullen and bitter. Meanwhile, my mother’s wounds from the broken glass had not healed. They no longer bled, but were inflamed and had the greenish color of infection. Soon fever confined her to bed. Three days later, my mother’s suffering ended.
Residing in Germany is JULIETA DE SOUZA REGENBOGEN originally from CHINA, and of Macanese extraction. It was wonderful to receive her memoir contribution, which is straight from the heart.
In 'Love is a many-splendored Amah', Julieta and her sister travel back to China to visit Ah Sei . . .
At the quay, Ah Sei's nephew was waiting for us with a mini bus. We had managed to find him, and corresponded with him through respective translators. He took us to our ‘hotel’ where we freshened up a bit, then drove on to Ah Sei's village. I still had no idea where I was going! The ride was bumpy but most interesting. I snapped pictures of kaan teen farmers guiding their water buffalos through the rice paddy fields. Chickens, pigs, ducks, and geese crossed our path at any and all times as we drove past rows upon rows of Chinese vegetables like choi sum, kai laan, choong, etc. The rice fields were a lush green and glistened in the sun. It was wooonderful!…………………..
Time for another GUEST POET / WRITER.
Time for CHERRY SMYTH | IRELAND / UK.
CHERRY teaches writing poetry in London, and also works as an art critic and curator. CHERRY has a variety of poetry collections available at Pindrop Press and Lagan Press, and her debut novel 'Hold Still' is published by Holland Park Press.
CHERRY's been very helpful during the compilation of 52LOVES.
Take a peek at her website if you want to attend her readings or learn more about her work on www.cherrysmyth.com.
Here's an extract from 'Building':
with fascinated comfort in the wait
for your fingertop to lift the shell,
the membrane resisting such bareness.
You’re in tomorrow’s soft building—
the windows, the doorways
have shifted only a little—
and I’m standing to house you.
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How about a change of tempo?
Maybe a story about a wild musician by Anglo-American T.S.W. Sharman?
It's called 'The Mermaid'. I won't spoil it for you by mentioning the bad language . . . No, I wouldn't do that! Here's an extract:
In my dream I see The Ronettes and they’re so beautiful and I want to look exactly like them, sing like them. The audience in black and white, clapping and dancing and singing. And Linda is there too, and Frankie and Anita and Dinah. Even Frank and Cat. And I hear Be My Baby and Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow and Different Drum. And it’s all in amazing colour, and the hooks of the songs are so fucking wonderful, and loud enough to fill my whole body, so I could just cry and cry, and sing and cry.
Every night the same amazing fucking wonderful dream. Doesn’t matter how much fucking booze I drink, or how much powder I suck up my fucking nose, or who I fucking do, or where I fucking sleep.
Every night the same amazing fucking wonderful dream. Doesn’t matter how much fucking booze I drink, or how much powder I suck up my fucking nose, or who I fucking do, or where I fucking sleep.
You see, the language wasn't that ******* bad, was it?
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And now for A. A. AARONSON | USA, a mysterious poet with a tattoo on his chest, who says:
'I am a writer who lives in new Hampshire.
I like to lick my guitar while drinking cups
of coffee in my high-heels.
My passion is syllables.
I have also written stuff.'
You'd expect me to give you an extract from his poem 'Guitar', but instead I've gone for 'Fiend':
Black beans fall like rain in this dream—
I’m floating in a brown lake, as it seems.
This love of coffee consumes all of my life—
Constant craving for that rush of caffeine.
This fiend’s always looking for the next fix—oh, oh, oh, oh!
A dark, rich roast with some milk I mix—oh, oh, oh, oh!
Sometimes sugar,
Sometimes bitter—
Depends on my mood, for this coffee-drinking sinner.
Hi A. A. Aaronson. Sounds to me as if you should approach Starbucks . . . and take that vest off next time, please. You can leave the high-heels on.
What kind of coffee do you guys out there like? I must admit, I'm not too keen on Starbucks. I prefer Costa Coffee.
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More refreshment? How about 'The Food of Love' by LILIAN KENDRICK | UK?
“I told you to leave me alone.”
“You did, but you didn’t mean it.” He took my cigarette and put it to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve given up, but I get the urge every once in a while.”
I tried to protest. The rest is history . . . within half an hour I was in Russell’s flat drinking the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, with a background of some positively evil ‘Dub step’ track. Don’t ask—I couldn’t begin to describe it. I hated it, but it was hypnotic. Well, that was my excuse.
I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not with him. There, I’ve said it, and it doesn’t sound so bad.
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to come to her when she calls
so she can feel their warmth blush across skin,
savour each syllable’s hint of sweetness and salt.
Here's an extract from 'The Drinkers' by SIMON MARRIOTT:
Below is a poem written by GUEST WRITER / POET SANDRA A. AGARD | [GUYANA] / UK. 'Then and Now' expresses tender words about her mother in this extract:
Then you held my hand and picked me up when I would fall.
Then you plaited sweet ribbons into my long curly locks.
Then you held me tight when the monsters of the night roared and crawled.
Then you filled me up with delights and stories from Back Home.
SANDRA is a Literature Development Officer within the London library service. The difference it makes—every library service should have one!
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One especially romantic story is 'Shore Leave' by HOPE ERICA SCHULTZ | USA. It's in the fantasy / sci-fi genre, and Maritza Delgado is in charge of children kept in 'cryopreservation'. One day, John David knocks on her office door . . .
His baritone voice was uncompromising. His dark eyes met hers’. He would have been handsome if he hadn’t been frowning, and she liked the fact that he hadn’t raised his voice. She hesitated, looking for a way through the maze of rules. “Regulations say we need a home study. No exceptions.”
She smiled back. I already do.
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Here's LIAM HOGAN. His story is about an ambitious scientist. The author looks like a brainy type too. I could definitely see him with a test tube and a Bunsen Burner.
Liam's story is the very first in the book, and you can read it on Amazon by clicking on the free 10 per cent preview of the ebook.
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And now for A. A. AARONSON | USA, a mysterious poet with a tattoo on his chest, who says:
'I am a writer who lives in new Hampshire.
I like to lick my guitar while drinking cups
of coffee in my high-heels.
My passion is syllables.
I have also written stuff.'
You'd expect me to give you an extract from his poem 'Guitar', but instead I've gone for 'Fiend':
Black beans fall like rain in this dream—
I’m floating in a brown lake, as it seems.
This love of coffee consumes all of my life—
Constant craving for that rush of caffeine.
This fiend’s always looking for the next fix—oh, oh, oh, oh!
A dark, rich roast with some milk I mix—oh, oh, oh, oh!
Sometimes sugar,
Sometimes bitter—
Depends on my mood, for this coffee-drinking sinner.
Hi A. A. Aaronson. Sounds to me as if you should approach Starbucks . . . and take that vest off next time, please. You can leave the high-heels on.
What kind of coffee do you guys out there like? I must admit, I'm not too keen on Starbucks. I prefer Costa Coffee.
…………………..
More refreshment? How about 'The Food of Love' by LILIAN KENDRICK | UK?
“I told you to leave me alone.”“You did, but you didn’t mean it.” He took my cigarette and put it to his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? I’ve given up, but I get the urge every once in a while.”
I tried to protest. The rest is history . . . within half an hour I was in Russell’s flat drinking the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted, with a background of some positively evil ‘Dub step’ track. Don’t ask—I couldn’t begin to describe it. I hated it, but it was hypnotic. Well, that was my excuse.
I still can’t explain how music brought us together, but I know what’s going to drive us apart three years down the line. He wants to have children. So do I, but not with him. There, I’ve said it, and it doesn’t sound so bad.
More 52LOVES.poetry in the form of NEIL REEDER | UK. I met this poet at a creative writing group. Here's an extract from one of his poems, 'She dreams of names':
She hungers for names
to come to her when she calls
so she can feel their warmth blush across skin,
savour each syllable’s hint of sweetness and salt.
…………………..
Here's an extract from 'The Drinkers' by SIMON MARRIOTT:
. . . that his circle of friends was beginning to widen further out than the reach of the smirking greelers and the carping punchers, each and all of them together. And he seemed to have found himself one new-come friend in particular of a booze-drinking sort, with whom he imagined, with a no-placed optimism, he’d be able to come to better known terms with than most. The drinker-of-booze friend was an artist called Agnes Mortimer. She not only turned out to be a curious someone, but one, he had discovered, who had much in common with his own gone-self. There had been an immediate look of long-stared attraction between them, but the knowing burn was a slower one than most, and would only grow at the pace it would—not at their own minded-choosing.
Another thing . . . notice the words . . . “turned out to be a curious someone”—SIMON was a Fellow of The Royal Society of Arts and Director of The Society of Curious Thought. YIKES!
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S I M O N M A R R I O T T R E S T I N P E A C E
S I M O N M A R R I O T T R E S T I N P E A C E
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Below is a poem written by GUEST WRITER / POET SANDRA A. AGARD | [GUYANA] / UK. 'Then and Now' expresses tender words about her mother in this extract:
Then you held my hand and picked me up when I would fall.
Then you plaited sweet ribbons into my long curly locks.
Then you held me tight when the monsters of the night roared and crawled.
Then you filled me up with delights and stories from Back Home.
SANDRA is a Literature Development Officer within the London library service. The difference it makes—every library service should have one!
One especially romantic story is 'Shore Leave' by HOPE ERICA SCHULTZ | USA. It's in the fantasy / sci-fi genre, and Maritza Delgado is in charge of children kept in 'cryopreservation'. One day, John David knocks on her office door . . .
His baritone voice was uncompromising. His dark eyes met hers’. He would have been handsome if he hadn’t been frowning, and she liked the fact that he hadn’t raised his voice. She hesitated, looking for a way through the maze of rules. “Regulations say we need a home study. No exceptions.”
“Fine. I can get two seats on the next shuttle up to the ship. Will it be you, or someone else?”
There is no one else. The State keeps the orphanage running, but they feel that one full time employee with occasional cleaning and secretarial help, is sufficient. “That’s very sudden.”
“The shuttle leaves at 0700 tomorrow. That should be plenty of time. We can return by 2100.”
He leaned forward. Suddenly, he looked younger and less intimidating. “I will do whatever I have to do to get my family back together. Please help me.”
She almost let out a sigh. “Very well. I’ll meet you at the San Diego Space Authority at 0600 for the 0700 shuttle.”
He smiled, blindingly, and reached out his hand to shake hers. “You won’t regret this.”
She smiled back. I already do.
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Here's LIAM HOGAN. His story is about an ambitious scientist. The author looks like a brainy type too. I could definitely see him with a test tube and a Bunsen Burner.
Liam's story is the very first in the book, and you can read it on Amazon by clicking on the free 10 per cent preview of the ebook.
It's time to be poisoned by SUE MOORHOUSE | UK in the fantasy story 'The Healer's House':
Dynon the Seer politely lit the way for the last few steps, where a door blocked the way. She had always regarded herself as tough, now she was resentfully aware of cold, nervous sweat under her clothes, while his dark face showed no anxiety at all. If her companion had been anyone but a powerful Seer, the spells that sealed Hestia’s old home would have blasted them both into white dust. He was clever, Dynon the Seer, she had to admit. Not too clever for her to manipulate though, she thought fiercely. She could always handle men, and from the start, Mirel had been smugly certain that Dynon would help her.
And another thing, SUE lives in Durham, and has even written a book of fairy tales for 'oldies'.
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BRENDA ANDERSON | AUSTRALIA. Here's an extract from her fantasy story, 'Troll Queen':
For a moment she felt dizzy. “This Lorc, does he know of the child?”
“We do not know whether the news of trolls reaches the ears of humans, let alone a King.”
Yet this king had impregnated the troll queen. His powers were well above average. “Now listen . . .”
“Majesty,” interrupted the mirror. “Forgive us. A stranger approaches down the corridor, at speed. He will be here any moment. Take the child. Flee. Save him.”
…………………..At Week 51, we have KATY MAXWELL | UK. Her Young Adult story is 'Everything I know about Magnificence'. So what's the story about? Girl meets boy in a cave. Here's an extract:
‘Okay, Nina Carrigan. See that little cluster over there that looks vaguely like a diamond? That’s you. Welcome to your constellation.’
I laughed. ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘You’re in the cosmos. Soon everyone will know you.’
I smiled as heat rushed to my cheeks. This one was a natural born charmer. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Blake Jacob Everett.’ He smiled back, eyes meeting mine.
‘Is your name up there, Blake?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, Nina Carrigan, I’m waiting to do something magnificent before I give myself a spot in the cosmos.’
…………………..
Here's an extract taken from my novel, 'The Girl in Peckham & Kowloon'. I'm pleased to say it was long listed by Mslexia.
“Wife fought off attack from Chinese,
Portuguese and British bounty hunters. Then Government offered amnesty. Wife
jump at chance. This mean no man punished and even less executed. Most pirates keep
booty and got military jobs.”
“What happened to Cheng I Sao?”
“She retired with loot and second husband,
opened up gambling den in Macau, died a sixty-nine year old grandmother.”
“Whuhaha, whuhaha!” Mother dabbed her eyes
with a tissue.
Jolenta grinned. She must get the old lady to tell her
more, more about everything—about Hong Kong and Macau, and why Cheeki chose Los
Angeles out of all the places in the whole wide world.
…………………..
My zillionth proof read has been quietly going on in the background . . .
'Very pleased to bring 52LOVES to a close with PARVEEN SETHI of INDIA. She has contributed 3 poems, and you'll find 'Adieu' at the end of the book, a fitting tribute to WEEK 52.
My city, Ludhiana, is in the heart of Punjab, a state known for its culture and rich heritage.
Ludhiana is also known as the 'Manchester of India' and being one of the biggest industrial towns, which produces an array of goods, ranging from hosiery to bicycles to machines and what not. It's a city buzzing with life, rush and clink clank of machines during day, comes alive at night in parties, restaurants and bars. 'Work hard and party hard' is the Mantra people live by here.
Tucked in one nook of this city is a small quiet lane with trees on both sides, with about 50 very close-knit families living in it. In the evening, the street comes to life with children playing and cycling, mothers walking toddlers in prams, and old people sitting in groups chit chatting. Right behind the lane are vast fields of an agricultural university, where my bedroom window overlooks . . . This room is where most of my poems are born.
Here's a couple of lines from 'Adieu':
Your moist voice brushes
my ears softly and fills me
up
…………………..
