My latest contribution to STORGY:
Tag Archives: literary fiction
New on Storgy. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
The days and nights, I drift, like flotsam on the tide.
Soon I’ll wash away entirely.
Of course, there are moments when I grasp on, when I hear the stampede of life, and remember what I was; when all this started.
I’ll tell you about it, while I’ve got time.
Physically, I felt odd for a while, with lack of sleep getting the blame. I was recently a new partner at Fassett, Masters & Jones, and found it difficult at times, though nothing I couldn’t handle. Yet each day, I became increasingly off-kilter – a strange sensation, like losing myself.
Oscar laughed. ‘What? Don’t be daft. You’re just tired, that’s all.’
‘It’s more than that.’
‘You need a change… A weekend away. Me. You. No kids…’
That’s the trouble with Oscar. Things need to fall down around him before he takes them seriously – but I knew it…
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Here’s my latest story on the Storgy website. Inspired by the glory of hot air balloons in the morning sky!
Sunrise over Cappadocia
‘Come here. There’s sleep in your eye.’
‘Mmmm…That’s good to know.’
He leans closer, and with his fingertip, removes the offending article. I can feel the softness of his skin as he takes the tiny haul from the corner of my eye. He smiles, proudly, displaying the crustie, then kisses the end of my nose. The room is draped in shadows, and the pale blob resting on his nail is barely discernible in the dim light.
‘How can you do that?’I say.
‘Why not? It’s part of you.’ He wipes his finger on the side of the bed.
‘You wouldn’t do that for me?’
‘Not squeeze the blackheads on my back?’
‘Would you cut my toenails if there was ever a time I couldn’t reach them…’
‘You’d be lucky.’
He edges across the bed, so his face rests…
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My latest story on the Storgy website, with the stunning photography of Tomek Dzido as inspiration.
Stepping from the bus onto the estate, I smell bacon frying. It’s years since I left, but nothing’s changed: the houses, clean and neat, overlook characterless gardens, and the street itself is airless; stagnant with marriage, kids, invisibility. The bus drives away, and I’m abandoned with my rucksack, heavy on my back.
I look at the house. Karen’s car is parked in the shared driveway. She offered to pick me up from the station, but I said no.
I see a bike, flung carelessly, to the right of Karen’s car, and I laugh, a small, indiscernible sound.
‘Seems to me, Charlie, you think the world owes you a favour.’
‘Your bike. On the drive.’
‘Dad – I wasn’t…’
‘Money Charlie. Hard-earned cash. Bike’s aren’t free, you know?’
‘You can’t look after anything – ’
‘Dad – I…
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Another light-hearted romp from the Wilkinson imagination! Hope you enjoy, and please, tell me if you do. And if you don’t, please tell me why…! I only get better if I know how to improve…
A FORGOTTEN COLOUR
Judith draws back the curtains, securing them with tie-backs; gently fingering the black beaded ends. David chose them. She glances around the room. It could do with a polish, and a hoover. Instead, she settles for smoothing the duvet with the palm of her hand. Aubergine. David’s favourite.
It’s purple, Mum, he said, snorting.
That’s not what they call it on those design shows.
The conversation she remembers verbatim, but it’s a while since she’s seen him, and lately, she finds it hard to recall his features, such as the line of his nose, and the natural hue of his hair.
She likes to keep his room tidy. That way, it feels like he’ll turn up any minute, though the bedcovers are rumpled from when Frank stops in here. Why can’t he clean up after himself? It…
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Photo by Steven Michael
Seth sat on the bench trying to think of the right words. In actual fact, there were no words for what he had to say; for what he was about to do. He looked at the paper again, which he’d stared at for the last thirty minutes. Dear Grace. It was as far as he got.
His hand was unsteady, and the words uneven, and though his fingers were unused to writing, it was not this that made the pencil quiver. Outside, the wind cried mournfully, and frigid air crept into his thin clothing, but it was not the cold that made his body shake.
He only hoped she could forgive him. His hand finally allowed him to scribe.
It was not a decision easily made.
He sat at this bench when he first saw her, not yet seven years old. …
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My new story on the Storgy website.
The front door clicks gently, and as I step into the cool stillness, it reminds me of how the day used to start when I was a boy – with the electric whirr and clinking bottles of the milk-float. The sound was friendly, like the milkman himself. He’d come around, every Friday night and stand in our doorway, asking about Gran’s health, and about Eileen who’d moved to Australia three years before. Sometimes he’d tell jokes, or pull a sweet out from behind my ear, while Mum counted coins from her purse. His barrel-chested bonhomie filtered through to everyone he met. Many mornings, you’d collect your pint from the doorstep, to be greeted with a cheery hello from a neighbour or a passerby. You don’t get that now.
These days, people choose to wander supermarket aisles like zombies instead, barely able to glance up from their…
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Amber Koski interviews Tomek Dzido about his creation Storgy, short stories and films.
STORGY, at its core, is about engaging readers and writers in one thing: creation. But what founder Tomek Dzido has done to widen audience involvement is pioneering. STORGY – “Where Short Stories Surface” delivers on its motto. Readers vote on title choices, the contributors have a week to compile a story and the readers, again, select their favourite story to be transformed into a short film.
Words, Pauses, Noises welcomes fellow MA Tomek Dzido to chat with Amber Koski about STORGY – an innovative, interactive, bridge building storytelling machine that will (and has) changed how stories are told and how readers influence and engage with them.
STORGY Interview with Tomek Dzido
By Amber Koski
How did the idea for STORGY come about?
I wanted to create a literary magazine which focused specifically on the short story and enabled writers to share their work with readers who equally adore the…
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