Little pieces of Morgen's fiction

Monthly Archives: June 2013

Ocean Drive

226 swift 126469As Rosie drove over the hill and caught her first sight of the sea, The Lighthouse Family’s ‘Ocean Drive’ was playing on the radio. ‘It’s a sign,” she said to Bertie, her tabby, now meowing from his carrier on the passenger seat of her bright yellow Suzuki Swift.

Escaping Trevor had taken seven years and nothing was going to spoil this moment. Looking in her rear view mirror at a clear road, she pulled into a layby and onto uneven gravel.

She sat for a few minutes, just thinking, staring at the cloudless sky and blue sea, a postcard in the making. Fishing around in her handbag, she found her camera. She’d come up here, she decided, whenever she could, at… she looked at the dashboard clock… midday, and take a photograph regardless of the weather. They’d remind her that however gloomy the photographs or things got, this had been the perfect start to the rest of her life.

Looking through the lens she was about to take the shot when there was a tap at the window. She flinched and dropped the camera into the footwell. She knew she had to turn round, had to look through the window, had to see the face.

“Be strong,” she whispered then flinched again as a second tap came.

Checking the central locking, which she knew to be secure, she slowly turned to her right and looked at the face. Heart thumping, Rosie recognised the uniform. “Oh no!” she said. Bertie whined in unison.

The man pointed down at the ground and said something inaudible.

Rosie pressed the button for the window, moved it down a couple of inches, but said nothing.

“Madam,” the man said, “you have a flat tyre. Want me to change it for you?”

Rosie looked at the stranger’s dark skin, pale green eyes and broad white smile, and knew she was going to like living by the sea.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.

Advertisements

Sentimental keepsake

225 child 196386It was the little girl in the red jacket that Eileen remembered the most from Schindler’s List.

She’d imagined it was her mother, she’d have been about the right age. Hilda had a prominent nose but that was the only similarity. She didn’t speak German, never had an interest in going there, and certainly wouldn’t watch any war movies, favouring comedies and the lightest of family dramas.

“Life is hard enough than to be reminded of it,” she’d say and Eileen knew she’d had her ups and downs but couldn’t imagine anything would have been as bad as that but understood living that era had been close enough, so didn’t press the matter.

It was too late to ask her now. Eileen wished she could turn the clock back a few months, to when they had their long conversations every other month when Eileen visited from her Scottish home. She should have persevered with the idea of Hilda writing her autobiography, recall those missing years hushed into the corners of her mind. Like an old house, the dust was swept aside, different memories uncovered during each visit. It was only in the last few months of her mother’s life that Eileen started to write things down, the last few weeks recorded on her dictaphone. She would recount previous conversations, to check her facts, only to be met by blank stares as if the events had happened to someone else. Even mention of Frank, who Eileen had been too young to remember, would merit a tilt of the head and the offer of another cup of tea.

Then a few weeks later Eileen had received the call she’d been dreading, travelled the journey long enough to dictate earlier conversations and the jobs ahead.

There followed the paperwork, the funeral, distant relatives giving their condolences to a woman they barely knew. Eileen had put her mother’s house on the market and set to the task of dividing her possessions between charity shop, skip and sentimental keepsakes.

In one of the drawers in the bedroom’s dresser, Eileen found an envelope containing a small silver key, with it a note of the bank and box number. Having lived frugal lives it was the last thing Eileen had expected so drove straight there and asked to see the box. She’d taken her mother’s death certificate and probate documentation and after a phone call and hushed conversation, the bank manager had introduced Eileen to his colleague who would show her the vault.

The man shut the door behind him, leaving Eileen alone surrounded by what felt like her school’s changing room, only the lockers would have held much richer contents.

Eileen stared at the metal box and turned over the key in her hand. Like the room, it felt alien. Her box was one of the biggest and yet, she guessed, one of the lightest; not light enough to be empty but not containing weighty jewels, bonds or cash that she suspected the others housed.

The key glided into its hole and turned easily. Lifting the lid slowly, it made no noise but as Eileen let it fall backwards she leapt back as it clanked onto the hard counter top and exposed the contents within. Just one item, a child’s red woollen jacket.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


A lot to learn

There was something about being a city vet that always appealed to Mark, something about the delight on the children’s faces when they saw a live animal, bigger than the stick insects, gerbils or cats they lived with.

Nothing, however, had prepared him for Brady ‘What’s that?’ Smith.

*

“No-one will take you seriously if you wear an Eyeore tie,” Emily, Mark’s girlfriend, had said that morning.

“I don’t want them to take me seriously, they’re children.”

“What about their teachers? Aren’t you supposed to be setting a good example?”

“AA Milne, Emily. There’s nothing more wholesome than Winnie the Pooh.”

“Eyeore.”

“Exactly.”

With that she’d kissed him goodbye and gone off to her first day with Clampett, Taylor and Browne.

Mark rinsed his cereal bowl, grabbed his black bag, dropped the flat’s Yale latch, then locked above and below it, something they’d never had to do at Broughton Heath.

As newlyweds they had little to steal but if the place didn’t look secure it was an open invitation – or so said Nick and Rachel who’d moved to London a couple of years before, and whose neighbours had both been burgled.

So after checks bordering on OCD, Mark took the no.27 bus making a mental note of the route so he could walk it home.

Entering the surgery immediately felt like home and Mark knew he’d made the right decision.

“Morning, Mark,” his new boss, Tom Sanderson, said before sipping a cup of steaming black coffee. “Want one?”

“Please.”

“If you’re quick, Josie will get it for you… kitchen on the left, from then on you make your own. We all do.”

“Sure. Thanks, Tom.”

“Good to have you on board. We’ve got Roehill Juniors today.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Tell me that again later and I’ll buy you a pint.”

“Deal,” Mark said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

*

Mug in hand, Mark was given a guided tour of the complex then shown to his office and given his itinerary for the day, with 10am ’til noon blocked out for the school visit. This left four early slots for patients; Muffin, a sock-swallowing Beagle; Roger, a sneezing rabbit (who it turns out was allergic to carrots); Daisy the Jack Russell for her first inoculations; and Henry the fat hamster who turned out to Henrietta and fat for a very specific reason.

Mark was writing up Henrietta’s notes when he heard loud voices coming from the car park. Pulling up his blind, he saw a congregation of royal blue-uniformed children running in circles, waving their hands and a couple playing patty cake. There were two teachers with them, a tall blonde lady and a shorter black woman who stopped suddenly, making a couple of the children bump into her, then blew a whistle, the children immediately standing to attention. With a click of her fingers the children formed an orderly line and followed her and her colleague round the corner, towards the building’s front door. Knowing he had a minute or two at most, he finished his notes, screen-locked the computer, and headed out into reception to meet them.

The children were standing gazing up their teachers, the blonde woman talking to one of the receptionists, Sylvie, who was pointing in Mark’s direction.

“Thanks Sylvie,” Mark said, and with a swoop of his arms, said, “Do follow me, ladies and gentlemen,” and the teachers escorted the children, one adult at either end.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAMark walked past his office and the consulting rooms, and through a back door. Some of the children gasped and looked around at the array of animals; the pigs, cows and chickens being the nearest enclosures. Mark turned to the two teachers. “Good morning, I’m Mark Sullivan. I’ll be your guide for today. Any questions at all just let me know.”

“By raising your hand,” the blonde teacher said to the group, then turned to Mark. “Erin Talbot, Mrs, and this is Mrs Jackson.”

“Pleased to meet you Mrs Talbot, Mrs Jackson.”

Mrs Jackson smiled briefly then clicked her fingers at a young boy who had started to wander off. “Keep in the group, Brady.”

The boy duly returned but looked around him rather than at her.

Unsure as to what the children wanted to know, Mark showed them the first pen, of a variety of chickens, and explained the different species, ensuring he didn’t get too technical.

The pigs followed next and while some of the children stayed with Mark, the rest went on to the cows with their two teachers.

Brady stood closest to the pigs, in front of Mark, and started emulating their noises.

“Very good… Brady, is it?”

The boy nodded.

“You like pigs?” Mark asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t know?”

Brady shook his head.

“I like pigs,” Mark said.

The boy said nothing but looked up at Mark.

“Do you eat bacon?”

The boy nodded eagerly.

“Ham sandwiches.”

He nodded again.

“Then you like pigs,” Mark said, trying to be helpful.

The boy frowned.

“Bacon… ham… come from pigs and…” Mark stopped talking when the boy screwed up his face and started bawling. Mark went to crouch down to him, to console him, but Brady ran towards Mrs Talbot and buried his face in her skirt.

Mrs Jackson stormed over to Mark. “What have you done?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Jackson but he didn’t seem to know what a pig was.”

“And you told him?”

“I am a vet.”

“And he’s just a boy.”

As Mark looked at Brady, he realised he had a lot to learn about children before he and Emily started a family.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.

 


No joke

223 mother in law 140297John pleads with you not to go but you pick up your bag and go into the hall.

Before you reach the front door, he darts in your way.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean…”

Your eyes bore into his. He’s seen that look before, too many times. He knows what he has to do, that one apology won’t be enough.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and offers a hand to take your bag. “Really I am.”

He studies you as if trying to see your brain evaluating the situation. One of many, repeated almost every time you’d come to visit; a throwaway remark, regretted as soon as it had left his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he says for the final time. “I promise, no more mother-in-law jokes.”

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


An American Werewolf in London

222 underground 568159“Brian.”

“Sorry?”

“The name’s Brian… Latham.”

“Oh, hi. Donald Varda.”

“Canadian?”

“American. Do I sound Canadian?”

“To be honest, I don’t know the difference. It’s like Australia and New Zealand but if you call Kiwis Ozzies they don’t like it. The same for-”

“Kiwis? Ozzies?”

“New Zealanders. Australians.”

“OK. And what do you call us?”

“Yanks.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. So what are ‘Poms’?”

“That’s what Australians call us. Can’t remember why now.”

“I didn’t think people talked to each other on trains but I guess you Brits are more open than we give you credit for. We don’t in the States.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? Even just a few stops, it’s worth saying something.”

“Sure.”

“I see a lot of the same people in here every morning, every evening, and they never talk. Who knows what they might have in common. So, are you in London on business or pleasure, Donald?”

“A bit of both.”

“That’s nice. What do you do?”

“I’m a werewolf.”

“Pardon me?”

“A werewolf.”

“I thought that’s what you said. You, er… make a living out of being a, er… werewolf?”

“Not as much as you’d think.”

“It’s not something I’ve ever thought about. You’re the first one I’ve met… This is for a play or something, right?”

“Of course. Oh my God, you didn’t think I actually am a werewolf!”

“You do look the part, I have to say. I’ve never seen eyes quite like yours and you’ve even got eyebrows that meet in the middle.”

“They’re real.”

“Wow. So you were born for that part then really, weren’t you.”

“You could say that.”

“Tottenham Court Road. This is my stop.”

“Mine too. You in the theatre, Brian?”

“No. I’m an accountant. My office is at the top of Grape Street, just off Shaftesbury Avenue. Do you know it?”

“No, sorry.”

“It’s a fairly small road. You probably wouldn’t have noticed it, unless you’re Cuban.”

“Why Cuban?”

“Their Embassy’s there, at the other end of the road. We do accounts for a couple of the theatres but no, just a desk job, nothing half as exciting as being on stage, performing in front of all those people. I used to meet people. I sold hoovers. You know, vacuum cleaners.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Just part-time, while I was studying. Before that I was a Catering Assistant but I love numbers so ended up doing what I do now. It’s funny what fate has in store, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed.”

“The ticket goes face up, with the strip… that’s it.”

“Thanks.”

“So how long are you here for?”

“I don’t really know. I’m just going to see what happens. If everyone’s as friendly as you, I think I’ll stay a while.”

“That’s nice. I’ve lived in London all my life, wouldn’t want to leave. There’s a guy at work who’s from America. California, I think. Can’t understand why he’d swap the sun for rainy old London. Actually it’s not as wet as everybody thinks.”

“It’s been nice so far.”

“You’ve picked the best time; July, August. Busy time for your show as well, I guess, lots of tourists wanting to see the sights. Everyone goes to the theatre when they’re in London.”

“I’m hoping so.”

“OK, this is me, top of Grape Street. Just down there. Red door on the right. See it? Oh. Sure I’ll show you. If you keep going to the end and turn right, Shaftesbury Avenue is the next right. I don’t remember seeing your play being advertised anywhere. Working where I do, I can’t usually escape the posters.”

“We’re doing rehearsals at the moment. Won’t be out for a while.”

“Here we are then. Well, Donald, it’s been great chatting with you. I hope your play, and stay, go well. I might see if I can pop along. You know, once it airs, so to speak.”

“I’m not sure there are any tickets left.”

“Really? I thought you said. Never mind. Maybe next time. I’ll look out for you.”

“I’m not hard to miss.”

“No, and… oh look, you’ve even got the teeth.”

“I have.”

“They are rather magnificent. Erm… What are you… Donald? What? No!”

***

Picture above courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


Just getting started

221 60 55576260-word monologue! Seriously? I’d only just get started in that amount.

Couldn’t pick a subject that I could waffle on. ‘Talk for England’ as the saying goes.

I’m English. Middle England, like the Hobbit… or was that Middle Earth?

Presumably if I was another nationality, I’d talk for that country instead.

As for foreigners living here, don’t get me started.

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.


They try to with the food

220 cherry pie 185705“Cherry Pie, John?”

“Yes, Miriam.”

“No stones?”

“No, Miriam.”

“Thank you, John.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh yes… it’s still warm. Well done you.”

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Right you are.”

Miriam knew the pie would taste even better with the tea but didn’t want it to get cold so took a bite and savoured it until she heard the kettle boil.

“Are you not having any tea, John?”

“I have to go back to work.”

“This late?”

“We’re a doctor down so I’ve been seeing more patients, more paperwork. Don’t wait up.”

*

Had Miriam looked out the window or waved her husband goodbye from the front door, she would have seen him turn left instead of right as he should have done to go to the surgery. Of course John knew she’d still be sitting on the sofa as she did every Monday and Thursday evening when he brought her cherry pie.

*

“Oh, John!”

“Oh, Sheila!”

“That was wonderful.”

“It was.”

“When are you going to leave Miriam?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Soon, my darling.

“You know I have a business trip next week.”

“I do and I shall miss you dreadfully.”

“You will?”

“Of course. You know I only want to be with you.”

“Then leave her.”
“I shall.”

“While I’m away. If you’ve not left her when I come back then we’re over.”

“Sheila!”

“I mean it.”

“OK.”

“OK?”

“Yes, my darling.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

“While I’m away.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, John!”

“Oh, Sheila!”

*

“Hello, McNeill.”

“Hello, Doctor Castle.”

“Do you have…”

“I do, sir. You did want this strength, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“They’re quite lethal in the wrong hands.”

“Just as well they’re in mine.”

“Fair point. There we are then.”

“Thank you, McNeill.”

“Good day, sir.”

*

“I’m home!”

“Goodie. Do you have it?”

“I have, Miriam, still warm.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Work again, tonight?”

“Not tonight, no. I thought I might go to the club though.”

“You do work so hard.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. There’s a really good program about dung beetles just about to start.”

“That’s nice dear. I’ll make you a cup of tea first though, yes?”

“Not tonight, John, not thirsty.”

“Alright then.”

“…Not hungry either,” she said when she heard the front door slam.

*

The program it turns out was less interesting than Miriam had hoped and she’d swiftly fallen asleep only to be disturbed by a visitor who hadn’t stayed long.

*

“It’s last orders, Doctor Castle, would you like another?”

“Better not, Derek.”

“Will we be seeing you tomorrow for the bridge match?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll know better when I get home.”

“Not a problem, Doctor Castle. Have a good night, sir.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

*

John Castle quietly let himself into his house and crept into the lounge. He smiled when he saw his wife sprawled across the sofa, eyes firmly shut. He looked at the coffee table and saw no pie.

He was leaning over her when her eyes sprang open and she screamed. He backed away just as violently.

“John! What were you doing?”

“Oh God! Er… sorry Miriam. I thought I saw…”

“What?”

“I don’t know, something moving, I’m not sure.”

“Where?”

“I think it’s gone.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Was your pie, nice?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh? You’ve not eaten it yet?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Never mind. You could have it now. I’ll put the kettle on.”

“No need.”

“For lunch tomorrow then.”

“If you buy me another.”

“Sorry?”

“I wasn’t hungry so I gave it away.”

“Gave it away? There was someone here?”

“Only for a few minutes. Was in a hurry. Had to catch a plane.”

“Really?”

“A business trip, she said.”

John swallowed hard. “She?”

“Oh, yes. Sheila, one of your receptionists. Said she wanted an update on something…”

“And you gave her the pie?”

“I didn’t think you’d mind. I wasn’t hungry and you know what aeroplane food is like. If they don’t kill you with the turbulence, they try to with the food.”

***

Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

** NEW!! You can now subscribe to the mixed blog on your Kindle / Kindle app!

See http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B008E88JN0

or http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008E88JN0 for outside the UK **

You can sign up to receive these blog posts daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything. You can contact me and find me on the internetview my Books (including my debut novel, which is being serialised on Novel Nights In!) and I also have a blog creation / maintenance service especially for, but not limited to, writers. If you like this blog, you can help me keep it running by donating and choose an optional free eBook.

For writers / readers willing to give feedback and / or writers wanting feedback, take a look at this blog’s Feedback page.

As I post an interview a day (amongst other things) I can’t unfortunately review books but I have a list of those who do. If there’s anything you’d like to take part in, take a look at Opportunities on this blog.

I welcome items for critique for the online writing groups listed below:

Morgen’s Online Non-Fiction Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Novel Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Poetry Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Script Writing Group

Morgen’s Online Short Story Writing Group

We look forward to reading your comments.



%d bloggers like this: