Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘writing challenge’

New directions

I think I mentioned in my last post that I was volunteering for a few organisations.  I am currently working as a Reporter for Win, a local non-profit organisation aimed at multi-cultural awareness and integration.  I’m hoping to test my writing skills and breach into a new area of experience.  Here’s my draft of the article:

With the spring a new season of classes is starting at Welcoming Inter-cultural Neighbours (Win). The Gladstone based, non-profit organisation aims for community integration and looks to a more inclusive future. To this end, Win proudly offers English classes ranging from beginners level to prep classes for IELTS. The inclusive company also provides a variety of foreign language classes, computer classes and employment workshops to locals and migrant alike. Those who work with Win understand that adapting to a foreign community can be a daunting process and, often, where services exist they lack a multi-cultural perspective. Languages classes provided by Win are just one of the many ways the dedicated company seeks to bridge the gap.

Most new residents and visitors desire to communicate effectively as there is nothing more isolating then being deaf to the language around you. From my own travels, I know just how embarrassing it can be trying to make yourself understood with no knowledge of the local lingo. Quite often you find yourself lost, isolated or unable to navigate the social waters of the community. This can lead to missing out on important details vital to everyday life. Yet, despite the fact that English speakers spend formative years learning the language, we often demand that migrants learn it in a tiny fraction of the time. This is an unrealistic expectation. However, with language classes run by qualified teachers and friendly volunteers, such as those provided by Win, the goal of mutual understanding can be met more swiftly. The provision of better English skills also adds a vital tool to tool-box of integration and assists individuals to adapt to our community.

Whether you are a long-term community member looking to brush up, or a new arrival wanting to improve, or are looking to learn a second language Win invites you to visit them. For more information about classes and other services please visit or 10 Tank st, Gladstone. We can be reached via, or 0487 422142.

I’m not sure yet if revision will be needed.  Even if the draft is sent to Paper as it is the editor may well alter it.  The last time I wrote a journalistic article I was in high school.  All I remember that it needs to informative, like an essay, but need to catch and keep the attention of an audience who usually skims a few sentences before moving on.  It made a change from fiction and I do need to get back into practice for more academic writing.  That said, I need to write more fiction too!




Here’s a belated piece for Sunday Photo fiction. I finally managed to cut it back to near 150 words.  It was originally 3 times longer. I had sooo much detail I wanted to put in; completely forgetting the word count!!

Avid’s pre-flight check was meticulous. The maiden voyage of ‘Aer-Currrum’ was nigh. Time and money had been poured into the construction of a chariot designed to be drawn by Pegasi. It was unique – a y-shaped yoke for wing-span, wings; light-weight construction with safety harness, patient training of flighty Pegasi. Today would decide Avid’s fame or infamy.

There was a moment of pure exhilaration as they graced the skies. Then the unknown laws of aerodynamics made themselves felt. The Pegasi faltered as vicious winds buffeted the non-streamlined body of Aer-Currum. Avid whistled, but his signal attempt was ripped away from the panicked Pegasi. The chariot begun an unsettling descent. Avid griped the reins between his teeth. Ripping himself free, he leapt overboard; clutching the yoke in a death grip. Quashing his fear, he released the mechanisms that attached the yoke to the axle. Unburdened, the Pegasi righted their flight-path. Avid tugged them back to solid ground, vowing never again. “I’m not an innovator… I’m a bleedin’ madman!”

Lady of Fool’s lake

foolHere’s one for Monday’s finish the story. Yes, I know. It’s friday. 🙂 That’s how long it took me to get all the humour orientated plots that I could not get to work out of my mind.  It seem that writing the haikus earlier forced my brain out of stubborn mode on what it wanted to write based on this prompt.

Dropping her line into Fool’s Lake, she patiently waited for something to bite.”

There was a legend about Fool’s lake. It was once Loch Caitlin; named for Caitlin GilleChrìost, her love for the Loch renowned. Count Calum’s marriage to Caitlin, whose origins were mysterious, had been met with titillation and ire. The woman remained a dutiful wife despite subtle intimidation by her peers; becoming an elegant hostess while she raised heirs. One eve of their anniversary Caitlin disappeared and the bodies of Calum and a servant were found in his chamber. When her gown was fished out of the Loch it was assumed she had drowned out of grief. Caitlin was labelled the Fool by those responsible for her despair.

Sandra Gilchrist, alone, knew the real story of Caitlin. She waited for her brethren, the Selkies, to claim her as they had reclaimed her ancestor. For now, she fished.



I wrote! Woohoo.  Sick feeling, you have lost! Bwhahahaha.  Prompts for this one have been borrowed from Adrian Lilly. If you are inspired by them please write your own fic.

It’s #MayhemMonday, and, you need to think quickly!

You’re riding your bike when you see someone nab a child into a van.

What do you do?

Mid-afternoon on a blazing summers’ day. Gah, why was the world shifting of it’s own accord? The water bottle was now completely drained. Not a lukewarm droplet to spare… Maybe a ride around the block hadn’t been wise when the bikes plastic seat had become so hot that leather stuck uncomfortably to private places. It was taking a brief rest in the shade of a tree that I first noted the van. It was nondescript; black with the look off having sat around one too many construction sites. The vehicle was pulled up too the curb. A dishevelled man was talking to a blonde child of, maybe, five years. The scene didn’t look right. What was it one the news this morning? The story about the child abductions? “Shit!” The bastard was offering her something. Pedals in motion, the bike sped towards the girl. A few seconds later I was around the corner with the little cherub screaming blue bloody murder in a deafened ear. A safe distance later 000 was called. Several nasty bites and half an hour later, blazing blue sirens appeared and she was safe. But something wasn’t right as the coppers pulled up. There was the cautious approach, then -Wham- dirt in my mouth.

?” There of cold steel against my wrists. The copper pulled back. Clear as day the kid was sobbing the arms of her abductor!

Please feel free to leave comments, constructive crit ect.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire


This time the prompt has been borrowed from Five sentence fiction.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire.

The house stood still, lines still beautiful despite the time it had stood abandoned; uncared for by time or man.

Disrepair was predominate; for the longest time no one dared set foot inside the place where tales of ghouls and ghost abound.

Abandoned and far from a watchful eye, it became a den; littered with scavenged furniture – chairs, rugs and a mattress that was spare.

The site was chaos – cans, wrappers and stains that shouted of the wild abandon that came with youth; complete with sounds that could wake the dead.

The owner stirred from his coffin; it was his turn to engage in unruly abandon now.


portalDesire was inspired by this photo prompt provided for Picture it and write. I’m surprised by how it turned out as I feel like I’ve been hit by a sack full of sleep sand.  Lack of sleep doesn’t usually bode well for coherent writing.  I also have a bone to pick with the article I reblogged the other day regarding the benefits of reading, specifically the point on insomnia.  I was up till 5 in the morning reading, damn it!  I guess it was my own fault for not being able to put the book down.  Oh well, enough rambling here’s – Desire.

Ashley considered the portal with a measured gaze. Her partner, Weliin stood behind her; strong, elegant limbs pulling Ashley into a desperate embrace. “Don’t go…” He pleaded, warm breath stroking her ear. “I can’t stay.” She stated, tone devoid of remorse. “Don’t you love it here?” he asked, tone a curious mixture of despair and seduction. Another time she would have melted. “I do.”

“Then why?!”

“There’s something missing; something important.” Ashley’s tone was even. She may well have declared the sky was blue, for all the emotion she displayed. Weliin, on the other hand, only grew more desperate in the face of her imperturbability. “What, by gods, could that be?!” His grip on Ashley tightened. “There’s magic here!” Ashley nodded causally. “There’s dragons! Griffons! Mermaids! Elves! Are you telling me you can leave these wonders behind for your grey world?!” Ashley’s response was a simple nod. She felt dampness on her cheeks, and without averting her gaze from the portal, she wiped his tears. “What about me? I love you…” Ashley felt some of her resolution waning at his words. She tilted her head to take his stricken gaze head on and felt her resolve weaken as his fine elvin features come into view. Weliin was still gorgeous; symmetrical features unaffected by tears and grot, blue eyes contrasting with red rimmed lids. “I know,” Ashley replied, cupping his cheek, “and I love you.” Then with one last kiss she pulled from his embrace, striding towards the portal. “But I still must go.” She heard him fall to ground behind her and grappled with the urge to turn back. No, I must leave. Coffee was waiting.

All a girls wants.

boatpilxr_-antiquedcheetarI finally got an idea for Friday Fictioneers.  This one also draws from the prompt for Jeremy’s Thursday prompt. Two for the price of one!

Sorry if the dialogue is a little difficult to read. I wanted to make it clear they were trying to be quiet.

All a girl wants.

THUNK-Ssssh-ingle. “EREN!” Eren jolted awake, eyes darting from the burlap sack to Eylene above. “Catch!” She whispered, heaving a second sack. Before Eren knew it he had dropped the sack when it wriggled. THUMP! Eyelene set the boat rocking. “What’s going on?!” Eren whispered. Eren raised a finger to her lips. “An-” Eylene had his mouth covered. “We run!” Eren pulled away.

Why?!” The second sack rolled furiously, sending the glittery contents of the first scattering. Eren hit the deck, vision filled by snarling cheetah. “…Eyelene…” The silly cow had just robbed the West-sea Pirates blind. “Why the cat?

Good kids


This one is for Monday’s finish the story. Not much to say about this one; I’ve a bloody headache and several real world problems to sit in the corner and grumble about. Much rather write though.

“They finally made their escape.”

Tires screeched and gears grinded as Dan developed a sudden case of lead foot. Houses whipped past he broke several road laws in desperation to leave suburbia behind. Hazel hung on for dear life as they drifted around corners.

“Why the hell did I let you talk me into it!” Dan cursed, narrowly avoiding a collision with an SUV. “What was I supposed to do?! They’re my Family!” Hazel retorted, slamming her palm into the dashboard as she jerked forward. “Family?! Switch them with raccoons and it would be an improvement!” He grumbled.

“They can’t help it! They don’t have your posh background!” Hazel shouted defensively.

“And, that excuses their sniping about my job?-” “Dan.” “-While your mother drinks their money and your brothers insinuate about dirty dealings in My company?” “DAN!”


“We forgot the kids!”

“Fantastic, that’ll teach ’em.”

One person’s heaven


Sunday photo fic, albeit I’m dangerously close to Tuesday. I given up a trying to do all the flash fics I think of on the day I think of them.  I’ve been working to hard in all areas; not just my writing. Now I’m hitting the overload wall. Anywho, I introduce Eric the ghost hunter.  I had to edit this a few times – The first draft made him sound so… Perverted.

One person’s heaven.

This jobs a bust, Eric decided, as he stroked the ears of his tranquil collie. Simpletons! Point at an old building and the chances are 5:1 that some fool will say it’s haunted. Eric shot a moody glance at the fireplace; a log had just crackled naturally. I bet that tree grew straight and pure! At least give me some gnarly old wood grown over a forgotten grave! Eric was irked.

The house had the right atmosphere, damn it. The wiring out-dated; the heating pre-war. Disrepair had touched every surface. Without the grace of the supernatural these were but… Idiosyncrasies! Peaceful, and utterly boring, Eric sighed. He missed finding his keys in odd places. The titillation of strange shadows, the rush of an unseen presence. Eric found no excitement here; all he found was a brief holiday in hell.



This piece has been inspired by the photo prompt.  I have borrowed it from Picture it and Write. After 5 edits I finally got it down to only 5 words over the upper limit. I couldn’t actually bear to cut any more out. I got to the point where I felt I would lose impact rather then improve the story.  As always, please feel free to leave constructive criticism.

The Runaway

Abby huddled into the scavenged blanket. Wet from the rain; it was ice. Abby huffed into her palms, pleased with futile warmth. A discontented glance at her woollen hat informed Abby that tonight would be spent in the shelter. Abby daydreamed of hot showers and warm rooms as the pennies winked mockingly under street lights. Her ‘earnings’ were barely enough for a hot drink…

It was a wretched lifestyle. In a bitter realization Abby knew it wasn’t miserable. Misery was living with Her. Abby choose the freedom of uncertainty over oppressive manipulation; infrequent, random harassment over certain abuse. Unbidden, the memories stirred; smiling faces from before Her time taunting Abby. She imagined her brother, Callum, looming over her. Ah~ now I’m hallucinating. “I found you,” He said. Is he crying? Callum’s strong arms settled around her wet shoulders with her sense of reality. “Come home. Pa is worried.” He was so warm. Abby’s resolve snapped.

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