Drinking inside the box

Tim's Blog

Regular readers of this blog will know that I sometimes post here little pieces I write at writers’ groups. Here’s a bit of fun that came from an exercise at Holmfirth Writers Group a couple of weeks ago, set by Stephen Bailey, who writes humorous novels of everyday Yorkshire folk (http://www.fishcakepublications.com/stephen-bailey). He gave us a scenario – Two men, George and Horace, are drinking in a pub when a large cardboard box comes through the door and makes its way towards the bar, where it addresses the barman by name and asks for a pint. We had to continue the tale …

“Well, I can pour you a pint if you want,” said Fred, the barman, “but what the hell am I supposed to do with it. Pour it over you until you’re just a blog of soggy cardboard?”

“Oh no,” said the box. “I’ve thought of that. Look, there are arm holes, see. And I’ve got…

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NaNoWriMo: A Significant Wordcount Event Is Imminent

Scott Perkins, Author


Memo from the Department of Literary Security

To: All Potential Authors & Interested Parties
RE: Literary Alert Level Tango

The Secretary has been monitoring internet traffic on sites frequented by wordsmiths and detected elevated levels of activity among literary agents provocateurs from the Office of Letters & Light. It is our determination that this uptick in chatter related to writing nonstop for a month and the hoarding of items related to same indicates an imminent Significant Word-Count Event (SWCE).

All writers are advised to shelter in place or seek out the nearest library or coffee shop. During the last SWCE, over 3 billion words erupted from the nation’s writers and worldwide shortages of coffee, pastries, and adjectives were reported.


During moments of extreme literary unrest, the department advises that it can take up to thirty (30) days for emergency supplies to reach affected areas. All writers are advised…

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Another Fish in the Wall

Kathy Sharp

They rebuilt the Chesil Beach Centre – home of my café – back in 2012. I went along with the Island Voices choir to take part in the opening celebration, just before the Olympic sailing events of that year took place around Weymouth and Portland.

The conditions in this area are perfect for sailing, of course, but less so for buildings, and any sort of construction in this exposed place needs to be thoroughly weighted to the ground. So, as part of the re-building process, they put in some beautiful Portland stone walls. These are decorated, here and there, with exquisite little carvings of the local wildlife, and this was where I first made the acquaintance of the fish in the wall.


I’d barely muttered this phrase to myself before the obvious idea followed. The Fish in the Wall. What a title for a story – or perhaps a chapter…

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Sunday Sojourn – Lake Attersee

Jennifer C. Wilson

Happy Sunday! For today’s Sojourn, I’m handing over to Emma Rose Miller, who is taking us to Austria, and showing us some beautiful artwork. Over to you, Emma.


The relationship between artist Gustav Klimt and Viennese fashion designer Emilie Flöge is a source of constant conjecture: were they lovers or just good friends? It’s a tantalising question to which nobody seems to know the answer.


Emilie’s sister Helene was married to Gustav Klimt’s brother, Ernst Klimt. After his brother’s death in 1892, Gustav was made Helene’s guardian and spent a lot of time at the family home and holidaying with them at Lake Attersee. Emilie was just eighteen at the time. Many experts agree that his painting The Kiss shows them as lovers.


The pair often spent the summer together in a small island chateau in Litzlberg on Lake Attersee. Near the chateau, was a boat shed. From its…

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Horror Bites

Lizzie Koch

Written for Horror Bites over at Office Mango hosted by my friend and fantastic horror writer, Laura Jamez


Walking down the high street, Jemma might as well have been invisible as people barged past her. If they could have they would have walked right through her, never lifting their heads as they chatted on mobiles. Couples didn’t even drop their hands, expecting Jemma to move because she was on own; a lesser human being because of this. To rub salt into her already smarting wounds, she saw, through a cafe window, friends all huddled around a table, laughing and chatting over their lunch. With her ex. She must have missed the invite for that, knowing full well there wasn’t one. Her insides knotted in betrayal.

She arrived at her uncle’s house, drenched in anger. It dripped from her like water from a tap, seeping into the wooden flooring. The walls…

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