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The Sea Giveth by Rick Haynes The moon hung languorously in a dark blue sky. The wind disappearing in an instant as the huge ship rode the swell, seemingly eager to beach on the sand. Arms were stretched horizontally, expectantly. Excited cries echoed from many mouths and all along the beach, more and more villagers joined those waiting to pick the carcass clean. The burning torches gave light and the ropes, hooks, and lines would provide access. And all they had to do was wait. I stood patiently but they would not ignore me this time. At last the ship lay stranded; upright and proud it looked nothing like a wreck. Those closest ceased talking, their silence quickly spreading as all marveled


This week, I showcase a tale from the lovely Caroline Knight. And here is her blurb. I am a very amateur dabbler in writing, silver-smithing and painting all of which I started once I retired after 35 years working in the NHS. I also did an English degree as a mature student at Southampton University where the creative writing modules sparked my interest. I have four children and four grandchildren who keep me busy. I live with my husband, a son, two dogs, two cats, four chickens and a tortoise. This little story was a challenge by our class tutor to weave 6 randomly allocated words/phrases into a story. There is a list of my words at the end of the piece. The Exhibition by Caroline Knight ‘


Using Colour In Prose by Rick Haynes My local writing group held a session on how colour can set a scene, show the mood of the protagonist, give an image to the reader, and even suggest what could happen next. It was an interesting meeting and the members, including myself, quickly wrote a few lines about their favourite colours. Here are my two pieces of prose which should prove interesting. Number 1 KNOW THY PLACE I was bold, brash and covered in dark stains. Too many drinks and too many falls into the brown mire and slush as I walked from my shack to meet her had been my downfall. Why I had allowed myself to fall so low was beyond my current level of stupidity. It was her fault; it was al


As I was sitting comfortably with an ice-cold beer in my hand, I watched the sun gently subside over the endless horizon. I was thinking of a title for a new book. ‘Dreams over the rainbow.’ ‘Golden orb above the clouds.’ ‘The not so blue sky.’ It was hopeless. My brain appeared to be functioning but the words did little justice to my imagination. Then a quiet voice echoed in my ear. ‘Should you not have a semblance of an idea to begin with?’ Now that is a thought. What story should I write? Sod it! Back to the sunset, and the beer.


This week, I'm pleased to showcase a great poem from the lovely Firle Lewis. She's very shy so please leave a comment via my email. I give you BRIAN TAMER – by Firle Lewes Brian boldly staggered in, Preceded by a whiff of gin. His vision blurred, with squinting gaze, He saw the lion, through drunken haze. Colin followed, such a meanie, To see if Brian, the Great Fangdini, Was really worth his weekly wage, If he and lion were out of cage. Colin spied a fountain - large, And worked out just how much he’d charge. If Brian put on the greatest show, He knew the audience would grow. Colin tossed in several coins, And wagered Brian to gird his loins, To get the gold out of the fountain – At this gr

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