Lane End by Van Demal



Heron


Everything in the garden reminds me of Jenny. Her roses peep above the parapets of frost-rimed Box hedging, gilt outlines on the geometry I imposed. The roses are currently bare but the starkness appeals, and by some mad chance the gaps in the hedging almost work. I can see all the way to the Rockery at the end, and through to Jenny’s slope on one side and the fruit trees on the other. She was entirely right when she called me a fad gardener. It was one of those things that began as endearment, as gentle mockery, but over time became a sarcastic barb in the way things do if you let them.

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Dead White Guy by Tendai Huchu

Restraint
   

aPhiri was a man who liked to live a simple life. He did not enjoy strife, and had arranged everything around him so that his life would be as easy and as peaceful as possible. This he did in certain practical ways; his wife, amaPhiri, went to work while he stayed behind to look after the home. They had no children because even the issue of his loins could not be arsed to swim very far.


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Triptych by L.S. Bassen


The Matchby family portrait presented fifteen people: grandparents, the Stock Exchange President & his wife, their eleven children, and a pet monkey on the lap of the sister who was Phyllis’s avatar. Restoration work on the monkey activated some hormone dormant in Phyllis until then and inversely proportional to its previous absence. She felt that she had to have a monkey. Or a baby.

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The Kindness of Strangers by Alberto Fernández Carbajal

71/365 - My ink pen 

I pity any writer who publishes a book before they’re thirty. They don’t have what it takes, that rounded experience of life that makes their writing jump off the page. You must have had your heart broken at least twice, known death in the family, lost a best friend. Before that you are just a child who’s learning his first language and performing for his folks. Writers in their twenties don’t write about life: they write about books. 

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Jo Ramsey interview


Interview with Jo Ramsey 
by Shanta Everington

Jo Ramsey is an author of novels for Young Adults. Her latest release, Where No One Knows, is out now with Musa Publishing.

Hello Jo and welcome to The View From Here. How did you get your first 'break' as a writer?

In 2000, I was working as a special education teacher in a very tiny rural public school. There were only 50 students in the entire nine grades! I didn’t have much of a budget to buy materials for my students, so I wrote a phonics-based reading series for them and then found a small educational publisher run by my former university advisor, which published my reading materials in 2002. That was my first publication.

Where do you find inspiration for your stories?

Anywhere and everywhere. I have a rampant flock of plot bunnies hopping around in my brain, and I often see or hear things that add new ideas. I also have a few friends who like to say, “Hey, have you thought about writing this?”

Molly Lovelace by Virginia Lowes



Crucifix, St Margaret's Church, Denton, Northants



‘An Indian,’ she spat. ‘What were you thinking?’
That, I suppose was the problem. Or the joy. Depending on your angle. I wasn’t thinking. It [falling in love] wasn’t about thinking.
I came home that day, stomach like a wrung out cloth, pink cadet uniform folded in my bag. Who else could I have told? Isn’t that what mothers are for?



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