Well what a few weeks it has been, with a real mixture of emotions. The usual busyness of working life that never ceases, the bizarre and frankly shameful result of the EU referendum (I’m not going to get into politics on this blog, but let’s just say as far as I’m concerned, I’m European), a whole new level of ineptitude by my national football team, then the fantastic personal news of a bit of payback from an institution that once screwed me over, and then yesterday the magical words ‘we would like to publish your story’. I’ve not exactly landed a multi-million pound book deal, but someone with a website of around 40,000 readers a month has read a short story of mine and thought ‘yep, I’ll post that on my website’, which to me feels like a pat on the back. Links etc. will be all over this blog at the time.
I’m short of ideas for my next move though, so I’m hoping that a trip to the beach this weekend to celebrate the other half’s birthday should provide a bit of inspiration. Either that, or I’ll spend all day laughing at the dog refusing to walk on sand. He’s such a diva.
Here’s a bit of flash submitted to ad-hoc fiction, on the prompt ‘fold’.
He told me to fold it up, put it in my pocket, and not take it out until after they had left. It wasn’t a great deal of money, but at the time it seemed liked a fortune. The most I’d ever had anyway. I didn’t realise then that it would be the last thing they ever gave me.
I watched them go, sobbing as I always did when they left – but this time they too seemed upset. As their battered old Cortina rumbled towards the motorway, I dashed around the corner of the street and straight to my dealer’s house, where I spent the remainder of the weekend.
Sometimes I wished that I’d spent it on something more worthwhile.