Atmosphere – A sixty word story

Good Friday one and all! I have been silent on here for sometime and had inspiration yesterday so would like to share with you a sixty word story. Hopefully I will get back into the blog world next week (keep an eye out for the book review of EVO Nation by KJ Chapman).

Have a good weekend all!


Remnants of a previous world seeped through the atmosphere. As day shifted to night, cracks were visible in the sky for the roamers of the land to admire. Little did they know the terror and harm it would bring to their imperturbable and docile colony. Once the surface was broken, it wouldn’t be long until the arrival of the damned.


Ways to free my mind

Smell the Coffee, Enjoy the Little Things
Enjoy the Little Things text on rural background, wake up and smell the coffee

Since publishing my debut novel, I have allowed myself some down time from writing. At first, I felt guilty. I was thinking to myself, you should really get back on the proverbial horse whilst you have the momentum. What are you thinking taking a break? Isn’t writing your passion, you idiot? 

I started to think more clearly about the last question and finally an answer struck: it is my passion but I shouldn’t be a slave to it. Hard work pays off when success comes into play and I went to be successful, but that doesn’t mean I should write everyday. Also, it gives time to recharge, refresh and allow inspired thoughts to brew.

So this post I thought I would concentrate on the ways and things I do that frees my mind and allow stories to blossom.



When my knees feel up to it, I love to walk. I could go for miles, enjoying the seaside, countryside and get lost in my own thoughts. It is refreshing and allows time to just flow. Just yesterday I went for a walk to get some hay for the animals and a story idea popped into my head. Many times they come whilst walking.



I once was driving home from work, mind concentrating on the road when an idea flew into my head from nowhere. I later wrote it down rough a have started to write it as a film script. I also love the little buddies we have in the car.



As I haven’t been writing I’ve hard time to finish EVO Nation (which was amazing and a review will follow) and buy new books. Reading transports me into a different world and there isn’t much else that can do the same.

Visiting new places 


This weekend I visited Lewes in East Sussex for the first time. We were slightly disappointed with it as it didn’t live up to expectations, nor did the visit to Hastings. However, there was a plus. We went through Rye and stopped off at the Apothecary Cafe which is a beautiful cafe with reading nooks, delicious food, tasty tea and a feel of magic. If you get the chance to go, it’s inspiring. The photos attached are of the cafe.

I shall bore you no longer. I hope you have enjoyed reading me waffle around what frees my mind. There are a few more but will save that until next week. I would love to hear from you and see how you free your mind.

Level of success – A writer’s journey

When I tell people, be it friends, family or general acquaintances, that I enjoy writing and plan to publish my work, many relate it to a monetary value. Many make reference to well accomplished and famous authors and ask me who do I wish to emulate. They talk about the high life and the things that the success can reward me with. To this, I sigh.

I love my family and friends, tolerate the acquaintances, but only a few realise why I, and others write. It is not for the adulation (even though it would be nice), it is not for the monetary aspect (but how amazing would that be) and it is not even to be famous (Hey, who hasn’t dreamt of being mobbed?). I, like 90% of the rest of the writing world I would say, write because we have too. It is something that we cannot resist. We are driven to tell the tales of the characters and situations that require a voice. 

Some people I talk to are surprised that many of us writers give away free short stories on blogs. Some think there must be a price on everything. I disagree wholeheartedly and will always continue to share my stories as it is a huge learning experience and I get amazing feedback, encouragement and tips by doing so. It’s a win win. 

I asked my self earlier, what is success? It is different for each person and would like to share what success means to me. It may cause a few to raise their eyebrows where others may agree. 

  • Success would mean that I would be a full time Author
  • Success doesn’t mean that I would get paid highly, just that I could live within my means
  • Success would mean I could take days off reading and not worry
  • Success would mean I could attend book festivals and writing conventions 
  • Success would mean my writing was influential
  • Success would mean my work had an impact and meant something to at least one person


What drives you? What would you call success? I’d love to hear. 


The Siblings

Just over a week ago I released my debut novel. I knew a few brilliant people that offered to read an advanced copy. Just over a week ago, one of those, Mollie, reviewed my book on her great blog. I was nervous at first when I saw the review go up, but once I read it, it left me with the widest smile. So I thought I would share it on my blog!

Mollie's Musings

Recently, I was bestowed the distinct honor and privilege of reading The Siblings, the debut novel from author, A. Morgan. I’m sure all of the whining, begging and pleading had nothing to do with the decision of granting me an ARC.
PleaseI’ve been following the story of Jest and Fer since they first made their appearance on Al’s blog back in late November in a series of three installments. From the beginning, I was hooked and couldn’t get enough of this narrative. I was thrilled when he decided to continue the their story and expand it into a full length novel. This is the first time I’ve been able to follow an author and the story they’re writing from the beginning. Through tweets and blog posts, it’s been amazing to see the story and its characters take shape and grow which only added to my excitement and anticipation for…

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Positives out of negativity

The world is a wonderful, turbulent and unpredictable entity. It is beautiful yet harrowing. It gives so much and takes away a lot more. Much, much more. 

I’m an optimist and like to the see the best in everything. No matter what the outcome, there must be something that can be learnt from the experience. 

I like to see the underdogs achieve, to be a spectator as David slays Goliath. I want to read the next number one bestsellers from a writer that was told they wasn’t good enough. I want the wrong to be righted. 

I am not a fan of endings. Once something has ended, what happens after that? The Unknown. I like the door to be left open for happy returns and reunions. I think that’s what annoys me about death. It is something that seems so permanent. I am not a religious soul and skeptical of any greater power. I also could be hypocritical and say that I believe in aliens and life in distant universes.


I am a fan of magic. Not the illusions or the card tricks, but the beauty of magical presence. A tingling sensation that you get when you know you first like someone to that moment that you get goosebumps at a defining spectical. The magic of comfortable silence.

When I was around twelve I looked towards the future and wondered where I would be today. The truth is that I could never see past the next day. I still do not have a five year plan but I have goals and ambitions. I am thankful for living in a nice house next to a beautiful seaside in a lovely town with a wonderful person and amazing pets.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what this post would be about. It’s kind of a monologue of randomness that I overthink on a daily basis. I also like to think it’s gaining the positive out of negativity. We are all survivors and attempt to wade through the waters of the world. I come across so many negative people and opiononated beings that I question the world that I love and live in. Then there are some special people that make me remember. 

We should celebrate, be happy and stand tall. Let’s be optimists, ambition driven and crazy. Let’s veer on the wildside from time to time. Let’s be positive! 

My life at dawn

Good evening / Morning folks. 

I hope you are all well. Once again, I found that words came to me when I should have been asleep! So this is the second short story of the week and I am hoping this is just building up my strengthto write the sequel of The Siblings.

I am looking forward to reading this weekend, catching up on the blogs I have been neglecting and arranging things to do that is not just stuck indoors.

Enough of me, on to the story. Another experiment written in first person which I’m still uncomfortable with. Hope you enjoy. 

                               My life at dawn


I am not blinded by the horrors of the world, for I see the beauty it beholds. Each morning I sit along the shore line, linen trousers turned up to my knees, my crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and dab my bare feet into the salt sea water. I watch the beautiful transition from dusk to dawn unfold in front of my very eyes.

I most admire the colour change. From the dull skies that break away to allow the glorious light shine through that is our day. Once the sun has presented itself in all of its glory, I stand and walk the sandy beach along the shore line, the waves lapping up against my ankles.

My mind time and time again drifts off away from the plight of my existence to thoughts of the afterlife. Death is something I am no longer afraid of, since I have peered into the belly of the post-world. I understand what is in store for me when I enter the next chapter in my journey. I’m a Phase One candidate, like many others that I pass on a daily basis. Some are similar to me; they have had the knowledge shared with them. The ones I feel sorry for are those yet to know. 

They act out their daily lives, planning and setting sights for the future, unaware it will be taken away in a flash. The couples hand in hand, the fathers and mothers jovially swinging their child around, the children chuckling and embracing the love. I am thankful for the lack of love in my life. I had never thought much about it up until I was tagged, but having no family ties allows the process to run quicker. 

I haven’t needed to draw out emotional goodbyes that end with a lie. No hugs to offer and no tears to shed. There’s very little I hold on to, and since I turned fifteen all there has been is me, a backpack and a road. I could lie to myself and say that I ran away from a loving home, but there was much more to it than that. 

I am not bitter, I take everything in my stride, even my looming demise. I never really thought about my expiry dates until most recently, but in my opinion, eighteen is a bit young to meet your maker. Life frustrated me with the amount of inappropriate deaths that occurred around me. I understood the passing of the older generation, moving on after a life lived full and well. Something I could never comprehend was the immature deaths of newborns and infants. There seemed little need for stress, time, joy and effort of the build up to a newborn child if the life would be taken away soon after. 

I do not understand life and I never will. I don’t think the Runners understand it, to be honest. They are the playmakers of the world, setting us up to either fail or succeed, planting obstacles in our path or removing them. So much for that good stroke of luck or fortune. Everything happens for a reason, but only if it fits in with the Powers. The best part around my death is that I will meet the Powers, or to be precise, the stooges that do their bidding. I have a few choice words for them and I will ensure they answer the imperative questions I have noted.

My favourite part of my morning walk is not the sunrise, the sea air or the contrasting beauties of the world. The moment that I cherish the most is when I reach the ruins of a castle that faded centuries before, and is now an outlook towards the sea. The stone wall had been preserved and renovated, with stone steps and handrails leading up to a square with flower pots and three separate benches. My seat is the bench closest to the steps. I like a quick exit and it’s the only one that looks out to the sea and gives a good vantage point of the other two benches.

Every morning at six fifteen a.m, I reach the ruins, take my seat and wait. Around six thirty, a couple in their late eighties or nighties make the haul up the steep steps, take the seat furthest away from me and sit side by side, hand in hand. Their faces light up when communicating, still in love after all the years that I assume they have been together and look out towards the sea, often in a comfortable silence. Twenty minutes later, they leave, hand in hand and just as happy.

It makes my heart skip a beat every single time. It makes me feel alive and realise that with darkness there is also light. I know love is not in my horizon, but just to witness it feels me with belief of something greater.

I allow five minutes for the couple to depart before I follow suit. I walk the same stretch of land with the water splashing at my feet once more. I smile as the heat has increased and the touch of warmth on my skin is welcoming. 

I reach the pier, head beneath it to the place I call home and stop at the foot of the tent. I sigh twice, creak my neck to the left and right and stretch. It has seemed like tradition now, bringing luck each time. It’s stupid but I need something to get me through. If I didn’t complete this ritual and found bad news waiting for me I wouldn’t be to forgive myself. 

I brace myself as I unzip the tent and wait for the dreaded summons. I take a step back, head bowed and let out a sigh. This one of relief. There is no summons. I have been spared another day. I almost lose my footing from sheer excitement and stabilise myself enough to secure the tent back up. I look out towards the ocean and smile. The day is for the taking.


Good afternoon all.

I have dug myself out of the cave and am ready to post a new short story. It seems like I have been neglecting this blog with the exception of a few links to my book and thought it was time to change that.

Anyway, this short story came about by chance where I just wrote it and it seemed to work. I am unsure if I will continue but there are certain parts of it that have left me thinking.

Hope you enjoy!


“Are you sure this is the place?”

“It’s got to be.”

Cherrie was right, she always was when it came to directions and locations. No one was a better navigator than the geography queen herself Cherrie Davison.

“Looks a bit ominous,” Sasha said running a finger down the cool surface of the metal door.

The building was in the middle an abandoned industrial estate that saw little traffic throughout the day and near to nothing at night. There was no need to be there but Sasha and Cherrie had heard the rumours. The rumours that a business thrived at night, one that was not entirely kosher but needed to be seen to be believed. 

At first the friends ignored the whispers, brushed it off as a hoax. But the longer the rumours were spread the more people believed and the less was said about Building #59. It had been several weeks since the last dreads of communication went out about the ominous location and the temptation had boiled over. Cherrie needed to witness the phenomenon that no one spoke about or shared. Sasha on the other hand was curious but sceptical and wouldn’t rule it out as a way to coerce innocent people out to the middle of nowhere. The rest would have gone in groups, but Cherrie and Sasha lacked that comfort.

“You thought it would have neon arrows?”Cherrie asked in a rhetorical manner as she stumbled over to Sasha in her high heels. They got caught up in the crevices of the broken slabs and were not ideal footwear for such terrain. 

Sasha had always been the more sensible of the two and that night she took on the responsibly of adult. Cherrie, nicknamed for her cherry coloured choice of hair, chose a slimy black dress that barely reached her thighs and heels that made Sasha feel tiny. She had the legs to pull off the whole outfit but she was the one expecting a lot more than Sasha. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Cherrie said as she slapped hard on the metal door to no effect and stepped back.

Sasha held her breath and waited. The location was quiet with only the wind making the area ominous. She didn’t like being in the middle of nowhere but was thankful for having Cherrie at her side. There were worse people to be with if this turned out to be her final night alive.

The door creaked and metal clang sounded as if it was being unlocked. Sasha gasped and held a hand over her mouth not allowing a scream to surface. Cherrie remained her beautiful, confident self, brushing her hair behind her neck and readjusting her breasts to show them at full effect.

The door opened to darkness. Sasha looked at Cherrie but she was focused on the door. The sound of a jacket flapping could be heard in the darkness and a moment later a large figure stepped out. He was tall, dark skinned, over six feet in height and possibly the same in width. He wore a leather jacket and dark clothing. A clipboard was held tight to his chest. His eyes were white and pierced the night. Sasha’s heart thumped and mouth went dry.

“You on the list?”

Sasha recoiled but Cherrie remained stoic. “I don’t believe so.”

His eyes darted back and forth between Sasha and Cherrie, regarding them from top to bottom and sighed. “Newbies, huh?”

Cherrie nodded and Sasha smiled as confident as possible but thought she must have looked stupid. She felt her cheeks flush. Sasha grabbed her friends arm and pulled her in close.

“This is stupid,” Sasha whispered. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cherrie said brushing her away.

The piercing white eyes just stared. “You two have any idea what happens here? Or you just rumour fed junkies?”

“Erm…” Cherrie mumbled. 

The man sighed and disappeared back into the darkness but did not close the door. Sasha and Cherrie looked at each other. Sasha didn’t like how the night was playing out and was ready to turn around when the man returned holding a burlap sack in each hand.

“If you’re serious, you need to wear these.”

The man threw them and they landed at the girls feet. Sasha and Cherrie shared a confused look. 

“If you want in, put ’em on. If not, get lost.”

Sasha was ready to turn away when Cherrie spoke up. “No, we’re in.”

Sasha looked at the sack and feared the worst.