I’m so excited!

Yes I am still going on about my new book which I just self-published on Lulu.com. I can’t wait to get my copies and see what it looks like. I’m so excited!
Have a look at An Irrational Fear of Dogs and other short stories

Here is yet another extract. This is from a story called The Indulgence:

‘How long have you been dead?’ asked the angel, not even looking up once at the pretty young woman sitting across the desk in front of him.
‘About 30 years,’ she replied. ‘I am not sure. Time moves slowly when you have nothing to do.’
‘Do you miss your children? Your family?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I can’t remember. Did I have any? Children that is, I must have had a family of some sort. Is this a job interview?’
‘Some might call it that. Personally I would call it an “indulgence”.’ The angel dipped his pen in a bottle of Quink and continued scratching shapes on the page.
‘Have I been good? Is that why you are “indulging” me?’
‘It’s not about good or bad,’ he replied, ‘it’s just your time.’
‘30 years? Is that my time?’ She fidgeted nervously.
‘Yes,’ said the angel, never even glancing at this small, slight woman who was twitching and rubbing her hands together. Anyone with a modicum of compassion would have appreciated how she felt. But not him…
‘Am I still pretty?’ She asked.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he replied. ‘That’s not my department. You need to ask someone from the Department of Girlfriends, Models and Attention Seekers, or DoGMAS for short.’

An Irrational Fear of Dogs and other stories again

Yesterday I self published this as an A4 paperback. That of course is not the right size for a book, more like a magazine! So today I republished in A5 size but it works out far more expensive per copy as it’s 92 pages.
Have a look at An Irrational Fear of Dogs and other short stories

Here is another extract. This time it’s from a story called Double Bill about a bigamist who failed to take into account that ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’:

Goodbye Sarah. I bet you thought we would be friends for ever. How wrong you were. The two of us were going to stand here and watch as Bill’s coffin was lowered into the ground. We pictured ourselves distraught, crying on each others shoulders, coming together in our shared grief, holding hands and laughing through crocodile tears, taking turns throwing earth on the coffin, our airline tickets to Rio de Janeiro safely tucked away in our Gucci handbags. But now it’s just me standing here, watching as your coffin is lowered into the ground. Goodbye Sarah. You thought we would be friends for ever. How wrong you were.

It all began two or so years ago when I started going to the Top Rank in Watford. I was a widow. My husband of fourteen years had died after being run over by an ambulance. It was coming towards him, sirens blaring and lights flashing but he was too preoccupied reading the Times Literary Supplement to notice it. When they took him to hospital they found the paper open at the review of a new book called ‘How to Survive in a Dangerous World’.

An Irrational Fear of Dogs and other short stories

Well, I finally have my degree after seven years so I thought I would stop being a student and actually publish something. I did this on Lulu.com (self publishing I know but you have to start somewhere and I wanted to see my stories in proper print). I therefore uploaded six short stories under the title An Irrational Fear of Dogs and other short stories.

They are quite dark and often have a bit of a twist. Here is an extract from An Irrational Fear of Dogs:

The children are coming, the children are coming, the children are coming. Look out children. It’s in the bushes. It’s in the bushes. Look out. Look out.

Phoebe couldn’t take her eyes off them as they ran around in front of her. She imagined them all evaporating into thin air with a pop and then coming back down to earth like small coloured lights, silver and red and green and orange. ‘Pop’ there goes one. ‘Pop’ there goes another. How sweet it felt to see them all. Like little faeries of the night they fell and scattered. The children, the children. She was one of them yet not one of them.

‘Mummy, why am I different?’ Phoebe was lying the wrong way round in the bed with just the top of her head poking out at the foot end and the blanket and sheet tucked in really tight. She was looking at her favourite teddy as she spoke.

‘You’re not. Why do you say such things?’

‘If I was like them, the others I mean, then they would want to play with me. But they don’t. They are scared of me, aren’t they Borage?’

‘Look at me Phoebe, not at the bear. And does that make you unhappy, darling?’

‘Not really, mummy, but sometimes it makes me just a little lonely,’ with which her mother wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye, walked out of the room and shut the door.