writing
Extract from 'Ghostleigh' - a children's novel
Patrick lifted his head to snatch a glance at the black, sinister clouds above him. There wasn’t even a hint of lighter skies in the distance. The torrential rain was set to last. A river of rainwater flowed down the back of his neck. It was as if the rainclouds were following him home and were desperate to empty their contents on him at a rate never seen before. The huge raindrops fell with such ferocity that they bounced knee high from the ground. The water pounded his head so hard, he may as well have been standing under the shower at home. Except, of course, he was fully dressed. Dressed in clothes which were now sodden and stuck to his skin. True, he should have taken a coat with him that morning, but it would now just be another soggy layer to weigh him down.
Leaving the dismal weather behind, he opened front door to his house and stepped into the welcoming light of the hallway. He was shocked to see a girl sitting halfway up the stairs with her chin resting on her interlocked fingers. She seemed just as shocked to see him.
“Oh, hello!” said Patrick.
He closed the door behind him and wiped rainwater from his eyes so he could see her properly. But there was nothing to see. She had gone.
“Hello?” he said again, “Are you there?”
Extract from 'Odd Bob' (working title) - a children's novel
His dancing was so energetic that eventually, he fell off the shelf, thudded onto the table below and bounced onto my lap. The two adults looked round. Once again, he became motionless, just lying there with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth! I held my hands up and shook my head – it wasn’t me!
Dr Chipperly smiled. "I think you’ve taken quite a shine to him! Would you like to keep him? He’s been on that shelf forever.”
Another head shake from me! I plonked him down on the table, next to my bag.
“Well, anyway, your mum and I have finished talking. I’ll let you get on your way.”
“Coat on, please,” Mum said, “And don’t forget your bag!”
It was only when we were about halfway home that I realised that I could feel something moving in my rucksack.
Chocolate Sprinkles - a short story for all ages
Large, black Americano arrived at 10.25am. Perhaps mine’s the sort of diner that attracts liars and schemers, who knows? But here he was - black jeans, plaid shirt and slicked-back, jet-black hair. He blended in with most of the clientele in my diner. I often wondered why he didn’t wear a Yankees baseball hat to complete the set, after all, this is New York. Then again, who am I, a blue-eyed, blue-jeaned Englishman, to judge?
“Large, black Americano please, Charlie.” His timing allowed him the pick of any seat before the start of the mid-morning rush. But he always chose the third stool from the left, providing the picturesque view - the crumbling wall of the auto-shop opposite and the sidewalk weeds that lined the bottom. Mind you, I suspected that he never saw the wall, but rather dreamed of what lay behind it.