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Tag Archives: Fiction
Voila, my inch of creativity today. It’s from ‘Leaves: Three Short Tales’, a compilation of three stories I’m editing for publication, hopefully, on Kindle. This is an excerpt from the first of the three tales, The Second Coming of Judas Iscariot.
“What were the leaves like?” Again, he’d no idea where his question had come from. Continue reading
The studio was in such a mess I couldn’t use it.
Here it is, tidied and once more in operation.
Here are some eco prints on papers, fabrics, rust-printed organza, tea-dyed embroidery silk, carved Indian woodblock, barnacle-encrusted mussel shells. Aren’t these barnacle-bejewelled shells gorgeous? Fossilised eco-systems. Continue reading
The boat had grounded in the half-shadows of a willow. The wild flapping of the flag on the mast had drawn his attention.
“I thought it a trapped bird. Strange flag.”
“A tapestry,” she said.
“A madwoman’s creation, Elaine.”
“Mad? Look, here is the moon’s reflection, shattered by the water. Here, the sun, sharded. Here, the stars, broken, all reflected in her mirror.” Continue reading
I’ve been itching for the week to pass so I could open up my second batch of eco print bundles.
The first picture shows half of a long narrow band of the jacket lining fabric (probably cotton) that I used for some of my first eco prints. This time the colour is more pronounced. Again, I bound the bundles with sari silk and the colour has transferred. I also sandwiched in some rusty staple gun staples. I found a whole boxful in the shed that have lain around for a long time and are no longer fit for purpose. The frieze – as I’m calling it – looks like some sort of music notation. Continue reading
A goat took up residence in a corner.
“He can’t live here.”
“His belly’ll tell him.”
Press came; religious groups offering garlands, money. Animal militants smashed windows. Continue reading
Every Friday authors worldwide gather around the virtual fireside of Rochelle Wisoff and share stories of 100 words, prompted by a common photograph, and exchange constructive criticism. Readers’ comments are also welcome. This week’s photo has been provided by Ted … Continue reading
In the Moment
“The soul of man is like to music;
From Heaven it cometh
To Heaven it riseth
And then returneth to earth,
“Goethe,” he returned, in an undertone. But I think it’s water, not music?” Continue reading
The sun-bleached bunting rustles, brittle
as the bell of the abandoned village church.
Then, it recoiled rustling from the black-frocked
village tongues congregated to snip and snipe,
hang the flayed red tongues in honour
of the day of the saint. Continue reading