Tag Archives: creative writing


A school playground

A hut

Rain drumming

“Are they coming?”



“From what?”

“From the crowd which stifles”

“But you want to be part of the herd, to play and run with the pack”

“Do I?”

“You long to be lost in the waves, to become part of the great tide”.

“But the tide is impersonal with neither heart nor soul. It sweeps all before it battering the weak and the vulnerable”.

“Oh, but to be part of the whole, to feel the power of the mass, the banners waving, torches blazing”.

“Thank you kindly but I would rather sit, alone in my hut”.

Inner City

A cold space, vast, aisles stretching seemingly forever. Musak plays,with occasional monotone interruptions regarding offers which one simply can not afford to miss.

Outside, an icey wind blows newspapers along streets lined with discount stores. Young men unable to articulate beyond “yeah” wander down urban pavements where “the decent” fear to tread. The inner city. Cold, desolate, dead.

Thoughts On A Winter’s Evening

Winter. Not long gone 4 pm yet, all is dark. Wind cuts like a knife. People hurry, collars turned up against the icey blast.

Home beccons. Central heating warms, hot drinks revive, but what can unfreeze the shrivelled soul inside?


Below is my entry to Tipsy Lit’s December short story writing competition (http://tipsylit.com/2014/12/01/decembers-short-story-contest/).





John Mcmanners was every inch your typical civil servant. Dressed in a conservative grey suit, leather briefcase in hand, he walked along Whitehall in the direction of the Ministry of Defence. Tucked under his left arm John carried a large fluffy toy dog. The animal was golden brown in colour with long floppy ears. A long pink tongue protruded from the animal’s mouth. It looked, for all the world as though the dog was smiling.

“Hey, what a cute dog. Is that a present for your little girl or boy?” a tourist with an American or Canadian accent (John always got confused between the 2) said.

“It’s for my daughter”, John said, smiling at the middle-aged lady.



Keith Robbins instructions where clear,

“An official in the Ministry of Defence will arrive at work between 9:20 and 9:30 am. Grab the briefcase he will be carrying. Go to Wong’s Chinese takeaway in Covent Garden and hand it over to Mr Wong. Is that clear?” the man had said.

“Perfectly”, Keith had said.

Keith had no idea who his employer was or why he wanted the briefcase. He worshipped at the altar of Mammon, so long as he got paid Keith didn’t care whether his employer was Satan himself. Money was money whatever it’s origins.



Keith sat astride the powerful motorbike apparently consulting an A to Z of London. As John came abreast of him Keith said,

“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Regent Street? This A to Z is useless”.

John paused and turning towards Keith started to speak,

“You need to”,

John swore as Keith yanked the briefcase out of his right hand and rode away at speed.



John entered the office of Mark Colins, the head of the UK’s missile defence programme.

“Do you have those plans of China’s proposed new arms factory?” Mark said.

John placed the large cuddly toy on his boss’s desk. He pulled on the dog’s long pink tongue. It came away in his hand. Rummaging inside the stuffed animal John extracted a computer flash drive,

“There you go” he said handing it over to Mark.



In Wong’s Chinese takeaway, Mr Wong looked in disbelief at the contents of the briefcase: today’s Daily Telegraph, a Marks and Spencer ready meal and a rolled up umbrella. He swore violently. It would, he knew be impossible to recover the plans from the Ministry of Defence. Heads, including his would role over this fiasco.

Words Are My Pleasure – Guest Post By Teresa Karlinski

Below is a repost of Teresa Karlinski’s article which originally appeared here on 1 December. The piece is being reposted due to formatting issues with the original, (down to me, not Teresa). Many thanks to Teresa for the below article.





Thank you, Kevin, for this opportunity to guest post. I believe I have an interesting, short and sweet, offering for you.

Words are my Pleasure

Tess (Teresa) Karlinski


Time: Where does it go? Most days it’s a race to keep up. It doesn’t wait, and slips away like water through your clenched fingers.

Reading: Don’t we all love it? Is there ever enough time to get our fill? I need a daily fix—at least a small one or I’m grouchy.

Life messes with our plans and schedules, doesn’t it? Instead of a novel, I’ll grab anything, even a cereal box to read words. Ha, you’ve done it too, I see.

Have you heard about the latest rage: anthologies—you know, books of single-themed stories by a number of different authors? Palpable-Imaginings has many variations on its theme, including mystery, fantasy, adventure, survival, nightmares and more. If, like me, you like assortment (no, not chocolates) or want to fill in those short pauses in life with an engaging story, check it out.

In this compilation, Palpable Imaginings, eight writers offer 17 stories. Start anywhere: the first story, the middle one or the last.

Variety in small doses works for me. What about you? If you’d like to take a look, have a peek here. (available in print copy only)


http://russtowne.com/ of A Grateful Man blog compiled the stories for this collection. The eight contributors are:

  1. Russ Towne
  2. William Barrett Burton
  3. Vern McGeorge
  4. Christine Fitchtner
  5. Brad Latham Fort
  6. Teresa Karlinski
  7. Sandy Lardinois
  8. Scott Schroeder


Thank you, Kevin, for the invitation to visit here. The pleasure is all mine.