Friday Flash Fiction - The Wedding

The Wedding

It was the worst wedding I had ever been to. Seriously, how were you supposed to enjoy watching your ex, who you’re still a teensy tiny bit in love with, say vows to a stick insect with perfect hair and still have a good time? Impossible, right? Right.

I don’t really know why I’d been invited. I wouldn’t have invited me if I’d been them. The ex-girlfriend? Not just someone he’d dated for a bit. No, I’m the ex he lived with for a couple of years. The ex who thought he was going to propose on that holiday in Greece. The ex who should bloody be standing up there instead of the stick insect with perfect hair.

Breathe. Breathe. You can do this. You can watch him get married and be the bigger person, congratulate them with a smile of your face and pretend you don’t care. You can.

I scanned the church and saw a man sitting by himself three pews from the back, more intent on looking anywhere than at the happy couple. He looks about as miserable as me. Oh! Wonder if he’s her ex.

After the beaming couple walked down the aisle, I made a beeline for “miserable man”.

‘Hi, I’m Penny,’ I said.

‘Josh.’

‘You look about as miserable as me if you don’t mind me saying.’

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yup. I’m the ex.’

‘Ah. Yes, well, me too.’

‘Kinda weird, isn’t it? Inviting us, I mean.’

‘Weird alright.’

‘Are you going to the reception?’

‘Supposed to be.’

‘D’you wanna go get pizza instead?’

He smiled. ‘Sure, why not?’ 

©2014 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

Snippets: A Collection of Flash Fiction is now available!  
Amazon UK/Amazon US

Many thanks to those of you who have already downloaded and read my collection of flash fiction. Also my thanks go out to those of you who have helped me to promote it by posting on facebook, twitter, sending emails or word of mouth. It's all much appreciated! 

I've had five 5star reviews, which have obviously made me extremely happy. 

"This is a wonderful collection of flash fiction and short prose. What I liked most was the variance of the storylines and their tone because I think they really complimented each other well. Some were humourous, others romantic, some dark and some topical (and relevant)."  Michael Diack

"If you like flash fiction, you're going to love Laura Besley's collection of stories in Snippets. If you don't like flash fiction or if you haven't tried it before, read Laura's book. She just may convert you." - Clint Morey

Are We All Having a Lovely Time? by Neil Saunders

About the Book

Title: Are We All Having a Lovely Time?
Author: Neil Saunders
Publication: I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again Publishing; 1st edition (10 Nov 2013)
Summary: Ben Cashew really thinks he's something special! Being the cruise director of the Ocean Explorer gives him ample opportunity to show himself off as the natural performer he is. Since childhood he dreamed of being a professional entertainer, so considers that he has done very well for himself. But when a drunken séance causes the boy he bullied at school, and committed suicide 20 years before, to come back to Earth, he is confronted by his bitter victim as to whether or not he really is a success. He is forced to re-evaluate his life and perhaps both bully and victim, through each other, can even find redemption.

What I Think

I have previously read and reviewed Neil Saunders' first publication, Al Qaeda Broke my Suitcase and other short stories, a collection which I enjoyed immensely. I was therefore looking forward to reading his first novel, Are We All Having a Lovely Time?. Both publications have a great cover, which I think immediately appeals to the reader. 

Set on a cruise ship with a small cast of characters Are We All Having a Lovely Time? has strong political themes, both British and international, a similarity that can be drawn with Saunders' first publication. The characters discuss Montenegro, former Yugoslavia and Serbia; the European Union; "the first cruise holidays available to ordinary people were provided by Hitler". 

Another strong theme is education, and everything that falls under that from being good at sports to bullying to the state of the education system and how funding is raised for schools. Ben Cashew, the main character in the book, bullied Rhys at school which led to Rhys' suicide. Until the drunken séance he hasn't given Rhys a second thought. But by reconnecting, both characters stand to change and maybe gain something. 

Saunders' second publication doesn't disappoint. The writing flows well and the characters are believable. As an author Saunders has a strong voice and writes convincingly on subjects he is clearly passionate about. Are We All Having a Lovely Time? is a good read. 

About the Author

When Neil Saunders arrived at primary school he could already read, his mother having taught him from a cartoon strip in the Daily Mirror. School was dangerously easy, and he achieved with little effort, making him rather lazy. He didn't enjoy school and was obsessed, not with reading, but with pop music.

Having spent years in factories and finally managing to get a permanent position as an admin officer in an office, he took a short story writing course. He discovered that he could write. And that is how he came to write Al Qaeda Broke My Suitcase and other stories. 


Are We All Having A Lovely Time? is his first novel. 

Friday Flash Fiction - Too Much Beer?

Too Much Beer?

Three young boys with fluff on their faces instead of real stubble sat down opposite us in the tent teeming with people. It was Oktoberfest and everyone was out to have a good time. And to get drunk on German beer, of course. 
The waiter, an older wiry man with a thick mustache and lines around his eyes, put our litre glasses down with a thud. He looked at the boys sitting opposite us and asked for I.D. 
The boys rummaged in pockets and produced three cards. The waiter’s brow scrunched up and then he handed them back. ‘What’ll be then?’
‘Three beers please,’ the boys chirped, eagerness showing in their faces. 
A few minutes later the same waiter deposited their beers onto the large oak table. ‘Drink up, lads,’ he said with a wink. 
One of the boys leaned over the table. ‘Our I.D.s are fake.’ 
His mate hit him on the arm. 
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ my mate said, taking a large gulp of beer. 
I just looked at them. They put one of the cards on the table. ‘See here?’ he said. ‘We’ve scratched off the last digit of the year I was born in and changed it from an eight to a four. Now, I’m almost twenty instead of almost sixteen.’ 
‘You don’t look twenty,’ my mate said, taking the I.D. card and studying it. 
He shrugged. ‘Who cares?’
Their beers were drunk quickly, greedily, and the boys staggered off. 
‘Only one, might be sensible,’ I said. 
‘Probably don’t want to push their luck,’ my mate replied. 
The waiter reappeared to clear away the glasses. 
‘You know those boys were underage, don’t you? With fake I.D.s.’ 
‘Oh yes,’ he nodded. ‘I gave them alcohol free beer.’ 

©2014 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

Snippets: A Collection of Flash Fiction is now available!  
Amazon UK/Amazon US

Many thanks to those of you who have already downloaded and read my collection of flash fiction. Also my thanks go out to those of you who have helped me to promote it by posting on facebook, twitter, sending emails or word of mouth. It's all much appreciated! 

I've had five 5star reviews, which have obviously made me extremely happy. 

"This is a wonderful collection of flash fiction and short prose. What I liked most was the variance of the storylines and their tone because I think they really complimented each other well. Some were humourous, others romantic, some dark and some topical (and relevant)."  Michael Diack

"If you like flash fiction, you're going to love Laura Besley's collection of stories in Snippets. If you don't like flash fiction or if you haven't tried it before, read Laura's book. She just may convert you." - Clint Morey

Friday Flash Fiction - The Price of Milk

The Price of Milk

It’s such a cliché, isn’t it? Man leaves to buy a loaf of bread and a pint of milk from the corner shop and never comes back. As much as it’s a cliché, that’s exactly what my father did on 16th October 1994. My mother didn’t notice for hours, or so she says, and possibly wasn’t even that bothered truth be told. I wasn’t sure what to think or feel, but my younger brother was distraught. 

And here we are ten years later and I’m looking at him on the tube with a woman sitting on his left and a child on his knee. He’s sitting diagonally opposite me and has glanced up a couple of times, looking directly at me as if he were about to say something. I doubt he recognizes me. The eight-year-old with blond pigtails has long been replaced by an angry teenager with short spikey hair dyed in various shades of black, pink and purple. Even if he did realize it was me, I doubt he’d acknowledge me, especially not since he appears to be playing happy families with somebody else. I hope for that little boy’s sake, he sticks around longer than he did for Josh and me. 

As I walk past them to leave the train, the boy grabs the hem of my skirt, which has small bells on it. I look at him and smile as his mother gently coaxes his hand loose whilst apologizing. My father just looks at me and that’s when I know he recognizes me. After a couple of seconds he looks away and I get off the train. 

©2014 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

Snippets: A Collection of Flash Fiction is now available!  
Amazon UK/Amazon US

Many thanks to those of you who have already downloaded and read my collection of flash fiction. Also my thanks go out to those of you who have helped me to promote it by posting on facebook, twitter, sending emails or word of mouth. It's all much appreciated! 

I've had five 5star reviews, which have obviously made me extremely happy. 

"This is a wonderful collection of flash fiction and short prose. What I liked most was the variance of the storylines and their tone because I think they really complimented each other well. Some were humourous, others romantic, some dark and some topical (and relevant)."  Michael Diack

"If you like flash fiction, you're going to love Laura Besley's collection of stories in Snippets. If you don't like flash fiction or if you haven't tried it before, read Laura's book. She just may convert you." - Clint Morey

Everyone Knows this is Nowhere by Alice Furse

About the Book

Title: Everyone Knows this is Nowhere 
Author: Alice Furse
Publication: Amazon (2013)
Summary: It’s an endless winter in suburbia, and a young graduate who dreams of fading into anonymity moves in with a traffic warden and accepts a mind-numbing job in an office. Slowly, she starts to believe that the apocalypse is imminent, but unable to find anyone who understands she hatches a plan to save herself – before it’s too late. 

Everybody Knows this is Nowhere is an honest, comic, heart-breaking novel about how we love each other and the road to discovering that life rarely happens as we expect. Disarmingly frank, the narrator pulls the novel to its inevitable, and painful, conclusion.

What I Think

I read Alice Furse's debut novel, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, twice, and that's saying something because I very rarely read a book twice. I thoroughly enjoyed it both times, and that's really saying something.

Sometimes I decided that there had to be another life out there, waiting for me to step into it like a new shoe. My life felt as if it didn't match me at all, as if I'd picked up the wrong one by accident. 

The main character (whose name we never find out) has just graduated and not knowing how to get the job of her dreams, accepts a mind-numbing job in an office. Personally this is something I can relate to as I found myself in exactly the same position after university. The book is filled with all the little experiences of working in an office and Furse finds a way to make the endless mundane days at the office interesting. 

You love what you love and you believe what you believe. 

Relationships are also explored in the novel, the most important being the one between the main character and her boyfriend, the Traffic Warden. They live in "the noisiest place in the universe" and embark on post-uni life together. Relationships between couples in the twenty-first century are changing; there are no longer any rules and it's not always easy to find your way. Which flaws can you accept as endearing, and which are unbearable? 

I loved the sharpness of the air in my mouth and the skeletal trees spread like veins on the clear sky. 

Alice Furse has a way of looking for the extraordinary in the ordinary, writing about it and making it compelling in a way that I've rarely seen before. Everybody Knows This is Nowhere is like a fly on the wall documentary, but in book form, and it's excellently done. She has a beautiful way with language and the book is packed with similes and descriptions, as well as fabulous one-liners. I would highly recommend this to anyone who is about to finish university (although make sure you're in a 'happy place' when you sit down to read it), anyone who has been frustrated after leaving university and anyone who is looking for a new, unique talent in the world of writing. 

About the Author

Alice Furse lives in Brixton, London, and works as a press officer for a national sports radio station. She has an MA in Creative Writing and Everybody Knows this is Nowhere is her first publication. 

Alice Furse - Author Interview

I'm very excited to welcome debut author Alice Furse to my blog today. I read her book, Everybody Knows this is Nowhere, recently and will be publishing a full review on Wednesday 12th February. I hope you enjoy this interview with Alice.  

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself 

I’ve moved around quite a bit but live in London now and absolutely love it. It’s massive and dirty and it took me a good year before I properly got my head around it, partly because when I first moved here I was a dealer in a casino and worked nights. Now I work as the press officer for a national sports radio station, which is a lot more fun and also means I get to see the daylight. I live near Brixton and there’s a great indie cinema, a sprawling food market, and a pub full of funny characters as well as a decent secondhand bookshop. I like the fact you never really know what you’re going to see when you leave your front door – London is a great place for eccentrics and misfits.

2. Can you tell us a little about your debut publication, Everyone Knows this is Nowhere?
Everybody Knows This is Nowhere is about a girl who has just left university and feels that life should now be starting, only to realise that nothing is how she thought it would be (including the man she lives with). She gets a job as an office receptionist and is just itching for something else, but really doesn’t know what.
In common with most first novels it’s heavily autobiographical: when I left uni I moved straight in with a boyfriend and had no solid idea about what I wanted to do with my life (beyond being a writer, a profession that everyone told me was a pipedream), but I wasn’t at all prepared for how utterly lost and useless and bored and alone I would feel. This novel was really my exploration of those feelings.

3. I would describe your writing style as ‘fly on the wall’. Do you think this is accurate and is this a style you have purposefully used? 

I read somewhere that when you write a novel it should be like you’re taking the reader by the hand and showing them around a world, and I really love that idea because firstly you have a license to take a person on a journey and show them whatever you want, which is amazing, but there’s also an onus on you to make it interesting enough that they continue to want to be there with you.
Everybody Knows is not plot-driven by any stretch of the imagination, so I purposefully had to think of ways to draw readers in and keep them, and I tried to do this by creating an ominous atmosphere and pretty weird ensemble of characters, as well as holding it all together by a deadpan narrator.
I was definitely trying to capture something real, as I was pretty sure that other people must also feel as I did and if I could make them feel less alone then great, because I think that’s what a writer’s job really is.

4. Did you make a conscious decision to self-publish, or was this made for you? 
Bit of both, I guess. I wrote the novel a few years ago, and right after it was finished I got an agent interested, who sent it out to his contacts. It got reasonably far at a few publishing houses, but they all said that although they liked it they couldn’t figure out how to market it, so I left it and got on with other things.
About six months ago it occurred to me what an utter waste this was, and that I’d put so much work into something that I’m pretty proud of and no one would ever get to read it. Self-publishing has been made so much easier as technology has advanced and now I have three years experience in PR under my belt, so I just decided to go for it. 

5. And what have been the ups and downs of self-publishing?
The main best thing has been seeing the project come to fruition – it feels complete now in a way it didn’t before. It’s had more downloads than I imagined in my wildest dreams, and I get a real kick out of the thought that people are actually reading something that I wrote. 
Also, the complete independence and control over what you’re doing is brilliant. I know it doesn’t sound all that fantastic when you compare it to a £20,000 advance, but it’s really something to look at your project and know that you made it all happen. I’m extremely lucky to know a great graphic designer who helped me put the cover together, but I came up with the idea for it and took the photo myself, and seeing the finished cover for the first time was one of the best moments of my life. I don’t say that lightly. I suddenly knew it was what I’d always wanted and I couldn’t put a price tag on that.
I don’t want to go on too much of a downer about self-publishing as there’s enough people who’ll do that for you, but it absorbs a lot of hours and the whole time I had this thought in my head, ‘What if this is a complete waste of time?’ 
I said before that I loved using my own photo for the cover, but it took me two evenings and a full Saturday mucking about to get that picture and I’d have much rather been sitting on the sofa eating crisps. Learning the ins and outs of formatting a book for Kindle isn’t a lot of fun either, but it just has to be done. 

6. Moving on from Everyone Knows this is Nowhere, what are you working on at the moment?
To be honest I’m working on a kabillion things, as usual. I’ve started another novel about London and a girl who has an affair with an older man and I’m about 10,000 words in, but I’ve yet to get my teeth into it properly as I’ve been up until the wee hours most nights getting Everybody Knows up and running and being read.
I’m also working on a couple of short stories to send out to magazines – the one I’m focused on at the moment is a story from my time working in a casino, which is something I’ve never been able to write about much. I’m also trying my hand at writing articles for blogs and newspapers, and just for a laugh I sometimes try to write stuff for a comedy radio station that my friend is building.

7. Do you believe “No one can teach you to write” or have you found that completing an MA in Creative Writing has helped propel your writing forward?
Unbelievably the latter. I guess I would say this because I invested a huge amount of time and money in my writing education, but you can get tons out of a good writing teacher – from initial inspiration and encouragement, to ways of approaching the deeper thematic strands of your work, to the nuts and bolts of avoiding clichés and formatting dialogue. 
I had a close relationship to my writing teacher at uni, who was the first (and only) person to tell me that I should try to write a novel, which seemed a laughable notion to me at the time. Post-uni, I’ve found that there’s no substitute for having someone who knows what they’re talking about actually reading what you’ve written and criticising it, not to mention an all important deadline to get you producing something.
A decent teacher should also help you to figure out what makes the writer in you tick – and doing a course gives you the time and space to think about yourself as a writer and establish how you produce your best work. That might mean you write religiously for an hour every morning, or sporadically at night, like me.

8. Not being a full-time writer, how and where do you find the time to write? 
I do a lot of work in the evenings, and recently I decided to treat every Saturday like a work day – it’s been good for me to set that time aside for writing. Last year I massively cut down on drinking because I was wasting way too much time mucking about and getting pissed, and that’s helped. 
My problem is that I’ve always got a million things I want to do – I’m obsessed with sewing as much as writing, and I’m also training for a half-marathon. I’ve literally had to force myself to focus on one thing at a time so I don’t constantly feel guilty that I’m not getting enough done.

9. What or who influences your writing or inspires you to write?
I’ve been influenced by loads of writers over the years – I want to say Cormac McCarthy because I loved The Road so much, but I actually didn’t write anything for a long while after I read it because I felt I would never be able to write anything even approaching meaningful… The spell broke when I read No Country for Old Men, which I think works much better as a film.
I love Magnus Mills, who had written lots of good stuff but the two novels that stick out to me are The Restraint of Beasts and All Quiet on the Orient Express. He writes in this tight, terse prose that seems simple on the surface but builds into a great climax, and his characters are all so rough and deadpan. I’ve always loved the fact that he works as a bus driver and used to be an itinerant fencer, because you can tell that the characters he’s met doing those sorts of jobs have informed his work.
I was pretty young when I read The Bell Jar and that book will have a place in my heart forever. It has this reputation that it’s only for teenage girls but that’s just bollocks. 
For short stories, Raymond Carver and Ali Smith have influenced me quite a lot – Ali Smith has this great device of using second person narration in her stories that I quite like to adopt sometimes. 
Lately I’ve been trying to read more biographies and non-fiction, as I think it helps to expand your worldview and improve your writing if you know more about the world and the worlds that people have come from.

10. Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?
There’s so much good advice out there I don’t know if I can add much to it! For me the main job of a writer is to be able to see things that other people miss and connect them in an original and hopefully entertaining way. It’s a writer’s job to put into words what people know and have experienced, but cannot say themselves. That takes guts, and practice. Fine tune your bullshit detector. Read a lot. You can make stuff up, but never lie. Be awake and observant. Read your work aloud to yourself in the bath to hear your mistakes clang. Never give up. It’s tough – but that’s why most people aren’t writers.

Friday Flash Fiction - Turning Tables

Turning Tables

‘Boy, how the tables have turned,’ Bas said, and took a long draught from his dark ale.
Martijn stubbed out his cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray on the worn oak table between them. 
Bas put his glass down with a clunk. ‘It’s almost funny.’ 
‘It’s certainly not funny,’ Martijn said, raising his voice a little above normal.  
‘I said almost.’ 
‘Whatever.’ 
‘In the beginning she couldn’t get enough of you, sent you ten messages a day and you had to rein her in, afraid your wife would find out.’ 
Martijn lit another cigarette. 
‘Now, six months later you’re crying into your beer because she won’t see you anymore.’ 
‘I love her.’ 
‘Pff! Love! You don’t love her. You’re obsessed with her. With her youth, her beauty, her charisma. All the things you don’t have any more with your wife of fifteen years. You’re infatuated. You can’t maintain that level of involvement.’ 
Martijn blew out smoke through his nose. ‘It was never like this with Marie.’ 
‘Of course not. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But that could be a lie. You want to justify this somehow, but you can’t.’
‘You don’t know anything.’ 
I know she’ll never come back to you and even if she does, she won’t stay with you.’ 
‘Thanks for pointing that out again.’ 
‘I did say it from the beginning. No young, attractive, intelligent woman in her early twenties stays with a guy over forty for very long. Unless he’s filthy rich, and you’re not.’ 
‘What am I going to do?’ Martijn put his head in his hands. ‘I’ve lost everything now. Marie has kicked me out, won’t let me see the kids-’
‘Well, she can’t do that. You’ll have to get a lawyer.’ 
‘I know, I know. How did this happen?’
‘You couldn’t keep your dick in your trousers.’  


©2014 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

Snippets is now available!  
Amazon UK/Amazon US

Many thanks to those of you who have already downloaded and read my collection of flash fiction. Also my thanks go out to those of you who have helped me to promote it by posting on facebook, twitter, sending emails or word of mouth. It's all much appreciated! 

I've had two 5star reviews, which have obviously made me extremely happy. 

"This is a wonderful collection of flash fiction and short prose. What I liked most was the variance of the storylines and their tone because I think they really complimented each other well. Some were humourous, others romantic, some dark and some topical (and relevant)."  Michael Diack

"If you like flash fiction, you're going to love Laura Besley's collection of stories in Snippets. If you don't like flash fiction or if you haven't tried it before, read Laura's book. She just may convert you." - Clint Morey

My first flash fiction collection available now!

Today I'm releasing my first flash fiction collection, Snippets, as an amazon e-book. 
Here are the links: 
- Amazon UK
- Amazon US

I'd really appreciate it if you could help spread the word on facebook, twitter, etc. and if you fancy downloading it, I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it. 

Here's the description: 
Murder, a drug addict, an arranged marriage, a groom on his wedding day, an old couple on a day out: this collection of flash fiction traverses twenty-one lives, giving snippets of their relationships , their highs and lows, their struggles and successes. 

These pieces have previously been published online under the title of 'Flash Fortnightly'.

Friday Flash Fiction - The Miracle of Life

The Miracle of Life

The girl rested her head against the glass pane and stared absentmindedly at the rows of newborns in their glass containers. Some were smaller than others, some dark, some light, some red. A few were crying, others were still. A couple of them had scrunched up their little hands, others scrunched up their faces. The one common denominator was that they all looked like creatures from another world to the girl, not like smaller versions of herself and the other mothers in the hospital. 

A woman walked up to the girl, slowly with shuffling steps. She spoke in a whisper, ‘Which one’s yours?’
The girl looked up, focusing on one in particular with a red face and kicking legs. ‘That one there,’ she nodded, pointing slightly with her fingers bent. 
‘Have you chosen a name?’
‘Rose.’ 

The labour had been long, each hour crashing into the next. She could hear the memories of her mother’s screams and her father’s silence echoing off the walls of the delivery room. Each voice of a nurse or doctor seemed like an attack, a hidden criticism, containing, reaffirming, the sentiments of her parents. Each noise a wail which made the girl wince. And for what? A miracle?

‘Mine’s at the back,’ the woman said. ‘I thought I was going to lose him. Thank god for modern medicine, eh?’ She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. 
‘Spose.’
‘I can take him home in a few days. Can’t wait. How about you?’ 

Not sure. A miracle? If you gave that miracle away, what did that make you? A miracle-giver? Or utterly desolate?

©2014 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

Snippets will be available from Monday 3rd February!  

This is my first collection of flash fiction, taken from the previously published 'Flash Fortnightly' collaboration with Artipeeps. I will be offering it as an e-book on amazon. I would be very grateful if you could help me to promote it on Monday (or any day thereafter), either on your blog, facebook page, twitter account or any way possible! Many thanks in advance. 

Friday Flash Fiction - The Mysterious Christmas Card

The Mysterious Christmas Card

Every year when I get the boxes of decorations down from the loft I wonder about the mysterious Christmas card that arrives addressed to a woman called Mavis Lockheart. I’ve tried my very best over the years to find out who Mavis Lockheart is, but no one has ever heard of her. She wasn’t the previous owner, or the one before that, and I even went so far one year to ask all the elderly neighbours whether they could remember anyone who had lived here by that name. The answer was a big fat no and the mystery continues.

There was no return address, so the first year I left the large envelope with loopy handwriting unopened on the little table in the hallway, where the downstairs telephone, the pot for keys and various other odds and ends are, in the hope that someone would come to claim it. It sat there for the weeks running up to Christmas and well into the new year. By the end of January I realized that no one was going to come and claim it, so I stashed it away with all my other correspondence.

The second year I did the same, but by the third year my curiosity was getting the better of me and I could no longer leave that envelope unopened. I slid my silver letter opener under the flap of the envelope like a thief in the night and in one clean sweep it was open. Afterwards I wondered whether I should have used steam from the kettle like you see them doing on the television, but we’re all wise in hindsight, aren’t we? For weeks I was worried that Mavis Lockheart would come to claim it and I would have to admit to my crime. There was a short message from a Dorothy, enquiring about Mavis, her black and white pet cat and her brother Arnold. Dorothy’s husband, Thomas, was still working, but hoping to retire in the next couple of years. I had been right: it was an older woman. I had guessed as much by the handwriting and had suspected that Mavis was a woman of around the same age. I asked around the neighbours again, this time asking about the brother Arnold as well. Mr. Peterson, at the far end of the road, thought that something rang a bell, but he couldn’t put a finger on what. ‘I’ve got such a terrible memory, these days,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s no grain of truth in what I’ve just said at all.’

But no one came to claim it that year, the year after or any year for that matter.

Every year when I take down the Christmas decorations – by January 6th, of course – I take Mavis Lockheart’s card and stow it away, wrapping it up with a Christmas ribbon along with the all the others. My husband tells me I’m overly sentimental, not to mention silly, keeping them. Over the years I’ve learned that Dorothy’s husband, Thomas, has passed away and now she lives alone. I can only begin to wonder at Mavis’ life. I really wish I could get in touch with either of them as in some respects they have come to feel almost like friends. But the most likely case is that these Christmas cards, along with their lives, will always remain a mystery.

©2013 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

This is the first of my NaNoWriMo_2013 pieces to see the light of day. It was inspired by a friend's post on facebook; she had received a Christmas card addressed to someone and she didn't know who it was. 

This will be my last post of 2013, so I'd like to wish you all happy holidays and all the best for 2014. 

Friday Flash Fiction - Another Christmas Abroad

Another Christmas Abroad

Daisy could never have predicted how many Christmases she would be away from home when she booked her first flights to New Zealand on the old computer in her dad's study. The plan was to do some fruit picking, possibly work in a vineyard or two, a ski season in Queenstown and then home via Asia, taking in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and wherever else she still had the funds for. 

She had had her arguments lined up like soldiers ready for battle, but to her utter surprise her parents were all for it. Go, they said. Enjoy yourself. You're only young once. With a backpack big enough to hold a small person in, they waved her off at London Heathrow two days after her twenty-third birthday. 

***

Daisy sighed as she opened the small box of Christmas decorations she had accumulated over the years. Her mother had at least three times as much and still insisted on getting a real tree. Stu had bought them an artificial one, with the lights already woven into it, the first Christmas they spent together in their small Auckland house. Every year she pulled it out from under their double bed and decorated it, sipping mulled wine despite the outside temperature being around twenty degrees Celsius.

She had met Stu in Queenstown six weeks before she was due to leave. She had been working as a ski instructor when she fell and pulled something that caused an excruciating pain in her back. He was also working the slopes that winter, and was finishing his physiotherapy degree the following year. Daisy went back to Auckland with him and never left. 

***

This time of year she missed England the most. Cold days, long dark evenings, candles, roasted vegetables, mulled wine, hot chocolate, Christmas telly. But she had Stu, who she loved, and her little girl, Skylar. As long as they were here, this would be her home.  

©2013 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

I wanted to write a piece on the theme of Christmas and as an expat living abroad (and not going home for Christmas this year...boo hoo), this is what I came up with. 

Leela Devi Panikar - author interview

I am extremely excited to welcome Leela Devi Panikar to my blog today. I read, and was impressed with Floating Petals, so impressed in fact that I approached Leela with some interview questions and she very kindly answered them for me. I hope you enjoy learning more about this fascinating author and I will be publishing a full review of her book on Wednesday 11th December 2013.  

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself 

I am a fiction writer and author of two published short story collections: Floating Petals and Bathing Elephants. After twelve years of writing it is still a surprise to me that I am a writer. I come from a business background and have owned and operated businesses in several countries and in Hong Kong: boutiques, antique shops, and pub/restaurants. I have travelled a great deal and have lived in Penang, Malaysia; Wales; and Vietnam. Hong Kong is my home now.   

2. Can you give us some background information about the stories within the collection Floating Petals?
Floating Petals was fun to write. I was like a child to writing. The collection is simple and is an easy read, but the stories are thought provoking. The first story, “A Piece of Bread,” is about a child’s longing to attend school so she can read but her first day proves a disappointment. The inspiration for “Homeless Sparrow” came to me when a very large tree near a Kowloon car park was cut down to make way for an MTR extension. It tells of a bird’s search for a new home. We carelessly destroy the homes of millions of birds to make space for humans. “My Gods” shows the beauty of tolerance in a simple and cosmopolitan village. “Green” is absolute fear due to misunderstanding. “At the Railway” holds an amusing memory: it was inspired by the interesting contrast of me travelling with Gucci suitcases and a very efficient barefooted porter in a smartly pressed khaki uniform carrying my heavy cases on his head at a train station in Madras.

3. Why do you favour short story writing over novel writing?
Short stories give me a feeling of accomplishment in a very short time. To me a short story is like a postcard, and a certain jewel-like perfection is required to tell a story within such a confined framework. It’s a work of distillation and I like the challenge that it poses. Before Floating Petals was published I had already written two novels, both yet to be published, and I was writing one of the novels at the same time I was writing the stories in Floating Petals. Short stories were a break for me – they energise me, enhance my creativity. Ideas come bounding up and they require special care to develop smoothly and I enjoy the discipline of restraint. There is no time to ramble, to bring in many characters and scenes, to use a lot of adjectives and adverbs. Depth, knowledge and feeling are condensed.

4. Your book Floating Petals takes its name from the title of the second story about a Chinese woman who is suffering from the consequences of bound feet. Is there a particular reason for choosing that to be the title?

Small feet in delicately embroidered silk shoes were called floating petals in ancient China. This admiration for small feet gave rise to the custom of bound feet. I enjoy writing love stories: love not just between man and woman but among different people and in different relationships, and even amongst animals, as in the “The Homeless Sparrow” where the old male sparrow gives the young sparrow a home. When visiting someone in hospital I saw an elderly lady with very small exposed feet and I was inspired by the serene look on her face. I imagined her past and the pain she endured as a child to fulfil her hopes for love in the future. So it was for love and for the smallness of short stories in general that I chose this title to represent the entire collection. 

5. The introductory story, “Penang,” won the ‘BBC World “My Hometown” 200-word writing competition.’ Tell us about that.
It was the first time I had the courage to enter a contest. As it was to be only 200 words I was comfortable writing it. I did not know I was selected as a winner until a friend in Australia, from whom I had not heard in more than 6 years called me. She was listening to BBC radio while cleaning her bathroom. She said she heard I had won the BBC international short story competition. I was more than shocked. Soon after, when it was noon in Hong Kong, the BBC called me to stand by for a short radio interview.

6. Your stories are extremely varied. Has moving around the world enhanced your creative writing?
Yes, travelling does enhance writing. I have travelled a great deal, lived in four different countries, and in particular I love village life. This has widened my knowledge and given me the ability to see my characters in different situations.

7. Moving on from Floating Petals, what are you working on at the moment?
I am working on my third collection A Phantom Visitor and just about completing a novel, White Hibiscus, about a young girl growing up in a traditional Indian home in Malaysia and yearning to be independent. She leaves her home and goes overseas only to realise that everything she sought existed at home, she did not have to go overseas for it. I have been working on this novel off and on for a long time. I also write travel essays and blog about random slices of life.

8. How do you write? 
I write in waves that match my moods. I do weeks of frantic writing, and then I drop off and pursue other interests. I enjoy reading and photography. I used to paint and I mention it here in the hope that it may get me to go back to it. I seldom watch TV except for news. Coffee-shop writing has currently become chic since JK Rowling first wrote in one, but then her alternative was a small heatless room. I enjoy absolute quiet at home, sometimes with quiet sitar music in the background. 

9. What or who influences your writing or inspires you to write?
No one person or author or writing influences me but I do get a lot of encouragement from my partner Don (which sometimes borders on nagging, which I need). I also get much encouragement from my friends, and some people who have bought my books ask me when they can read the next one. That is a good feeling. Inspiration can strike me at any time – an image, a word, a place or a piece of music. I am never short of inspiration but only of time. I do have to try and squeeze 48 hours into 24.

10. Do you have any advice for aspiring authors?
I do, indeed. I know several writer friends who worry about what market they should write for. I don’t believe in “writing what sells.” I don’t ask Who am I writing for? but Why am I writing? What is it that affects me passionately? 

The best work comes from your heart, writing about something you want to share. And you use that emotion to just start. I am always amazed at how little I begin with and how, as I write, my pen and my keyboard take over. So much I did not know I knew flows out of me.

Often research is needed once you start writing. When you’re writing about something you think you already know, you’ll find questions arise about the details. Even with short stories I spend a great deal of time doing research, looking for accuracy of facts and those small rough diamonds worth cutting and polishing to enhance the story. 

Start writing, don’t just talk about it, do it. 

Friday Flash Fiction - Memories

Memories

She no longer really knows who I am. Every now and then I think I see a hint in her eyes, something behind the surface that makes me wonder whether there is a glint of recognition. It is so fleeting that milliseconds later, I doubt myself. 

I know who she is though. 

She is the woman I vowed to love and to hold in sickness and health till death us do part. 
She is the woman whose hand I held through three long, painful labours. 
She is the woman who pushed my wheelchair for six months when I needed a back operation after a car accident. 

I know who she is. 

©2013 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

This piece was inspired by this photo. "A man teaches his girlfriend the alphabet after she lost her memory." For more heart-warming photos go to this website. 

I've decided to take part in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) again this year. The aim is to write 50,000 words towards a novel, or in my case towards a collection of short stories, within the month of November. 

This is the first week of December and NaNoWriMo is officially over. I'm happy to say that I managed to write 50,000 words! I've written about it here if you're interested in reading more. 

Friday Flash Fiction - A Fateful Trip

A Fateful Trip

Oliver, Olly to his friends, had been driving for three months and two days when he got behind the wheel of a car for the last time. His parents had and Audi A4, but that wasn’t the car he drove. Not on your Nelly, his father had said. Do you know how much we paid for that car? No, his parents had bought him a banger, a 1986 Mini. Not one of the cool new ones. An old one. And it was a dull red colour. 

The eldest in his school year, Olly had started learning to drive first. His father stuck the bright red L plates to the front and rear of the Mini and they went out two or three times a week to practice. First in an abandoned car park, then on quiet roads and finally on the busy town roads. Olly passed his theory test first time and the date for his driving test came through for January 6th, his mum’s birthday. They took it as a lucky omen and it turned out to be so as he passed with flying colours. 

Four days ago, on April 8th, Olly and his girlfriend decided at the last minute to go to the cinema. It seemed pointless sitting in on a Saturday night when they could be out having fun. There was a new Johnny Depp film showing that they both wanted to see. It was cold for April and Olly had put the heat on full blast for the first few minutes. He was getting hot, his hands sweaty and he reached over to turn the heat down. His other hand slipped on the steering wheel and the car careened into the central reservation. His side of the car scraped along, sparks flying and to try and right the car he pulled in the other direction. He pulled too far and smashed into the car on his left. 

Moments later he became conscious of a loud buzzing noise like an angry hornet circling his head. He tried to swat it away, but couldn’t lift his arm, or the other one. 

Mel, he whispered. Mel? He winced as he turned his head to look to his left. She was sitting with her eyes closed, almost natural, apart from the dull red blood seeping from her head and neck. He closed his eyes. No, no, this can’t be happening. He opened one eye again and screamed. He was still screaming when the paramedics arrived seven minutes later. 

Let’s get you home, his mother said the day he was discharged from hospital with three broken ribs and two broken arms. Four days in a hospital is enough, she said. He climbed into the passenger seat of the Audi and his mum started the engine. 


Mel lay in the morgue waiting for her funeral on Friday. 

©2013 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

I had the idea for this piece when I was on holiday in New Zealand last summer, but only wrote it this week. 

I've decided to take part in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) again this year. The aim is to write 50,000 words towards a novel, or in my case towards a collection of short stories, within the month of November. 

We're in week four now. I had a major dip in week two, but week three was a bumper week. Hopefully week four will continue in the same way as I've only got until Saturday to finish. Fingers crossed and I'll keep you posted! 

Friday Flash Fiction - Nearing the End

Nearing the End

Every day this is one thing I look forward to. Do you know what that’s like? To feel like you have nothing to look forward to? Wait til you get to my age, then we’ll talk again. If I didn’t have this one thing worth getting out of bed for, I think I would just constantly live in pyjamas. I would only move from my bed, to the bathroom, to the sofa and then back to bed again. Some spotty kid delivers my paper and I get milk delivered, so I would just hide in this grotty little one-bedroom flat and read my paper. Food, you say? Once a week someone from Help the Elderly visits. She’s bloody annoying I can assure you, but she does my shopping for me, so I put up with her. Even make her a cup of tea when she gets back because she means well. It’s not her fault she’s annoying. 

No. Every day I get up, get washed, get dressed and take my paper to the local pub. I have lunch there and sometimes stop for a couple of hours depending on how I’m feeling. This isn’t any old local. They stock decent beer, which I allow myself on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, and cook organically-grown local produce. None of that stuff pumped full of god-knows-what rubbish. 

Another good thing about it is that it’s within shuffling distance from where I live. As you can imagine, I don’t walk very fast anymore and the twenty – yes, twenty – minutes it takes me to get from here to there is enough daily exercise for me. 

The young girls who work there are extremely friendly. The boss – an old bird called Sylvie – is a bit of a witch, I’ve heard between the lines. Never to the customers, of course, but I hear the girls whispering. Nothing wrong with my hearing, you see. Those girls are always so good to me, taking care of everything I need and sometimes stopping for a little chat. I miss my Alice who used to chat incessantly. At the time it irritated me, but the place isn’t half quiet without her. We never had any children, so there’s no one to visit me. All my friends listed on my birthday calendar, more of them are dead than alive these days. 


Yesterday. Yesterday I went and there was a sign up in the window: closing from 1st January to 1st February for renovations. What am I going to do?

©2013 Laura Besley

Flash Fiction Diary  

This piece was inspired by a pub my sister used to work in. Every day there was a table reserved by the window for an older customer, but I don't know any details. Further details of the pub and the people who work there are fictitious. The style of writing was inspired by the book I'm currently reading, The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid.

I've decided to take part in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) again this year. The aim is to write 50,000 words towards a novel, or in my case towards a collection of short stories, within the month of November. 

We're in week three now. I had a major dip in week two. Partly due to lack of inspiration, but mainly due to the fact that I was ill. I wrote nothing for four days. This week I've written a lot and there's still a glimmer of hope that I'll make it to 50,000 by the end of the month. Fingers crossed and I'll keep you posted!