This is a short fiction I wrote for a Uni subject I completed a while back. Enjoy! Cheers Steve 🙂 Divides. By Stephen Thompson. My mother is dusting. The feather duster she uses swishes lightly over the mementoes and photo … Continue reading Divides. A flash fiction.
“In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I’m writing. I just write what I want to write.” J.K Rowling. “You have to follow your own voice. You have to be yourself when you write. In effect, you have … Continue reading Finding My Voice
Here’s a flash fiction I wrote a while back. It wasn’t seen by many at the time, so I’ve decided to re-blog it in the hope that more may get the chance to read it. https://stevestillstanding.com/2017/06/24/sucker-punch-a-short-tale/ Hope you like it. … Continue reading Sucker Punch. A short tale, revisited.
So, what exactly happened with the writing of my great Australian novel (and I use the term ‘great’ very loosely)? I don’t have writer’s block*. I know a lot of writers suffer from this, and I am always sympathetic (did … Continue reading The Great Australian Novel. A pondering.
Here’s a post I did for a recent uni course. The course is over so I can post it now. The idea was to take a news story and extrapolate what it was about. A man attacked a woman … Continue reading The Real News. A short tale.
Here is another piece I wrote for a recent course that is now finished, so I’m free to post it. Cheers Steve 🙂 I feel the fist as it hits me hard in the jaw. My head shakes violently; I … Continue reading Sucker Punch. A short tale.
I saw you again today. You hadn’t changed at all, but of course I shouldn’t have expected you too. After all, it had been but a few weeks, and nobody can be expected to change much in that time. Your … Continue reading The Spell. A short tale.
The living room was immense, I almost needed binoculars to identify the furniture. This consisted of a few ornate and dusty lounges, chairs and a worn coffee table, all encircling a huge twenty-foot wide hearth, a fire burning briskly within. Exotic, cobweb-covered chandeliers shone dimly from the ceiling far above—the light they cast had very little impact on the dancing shadows cast by the flames. My previous confidence in a quick sale was evaporating, unlike the sweat forming on my brow from the heat in the room. The butler lurched to a stop by the door, out of breath. Standing … Continue reading The Sale. Part 3. A short story.
The rain was falling harder now. I raised my collar against the cold and turned to go, lifting the heavy vacuum kit awkwardly beside me. The door slowly opened with a long creak (it was like it had its own theme song, the patter of rain the accompanying percussion). I turned and jumped. The fellow in the doorway was huge, at least seven feet tall, with a face so wrinkled and jowls so pronounced it looked like it was melting. He was dressed in a butler’s coat and tails, and as he opened his mouth the harsh intake of breath that preceded his … Continue reading The Sale. Part 2. A short story.
I’ve just started a new uni subject, and one of the threads on the discussion boards is about re-writing clichés. This is my first post from that thread (it’s not part of the marking process so I can post it here now, otherwise I would have to wait until the course was over). I’m going to continue this series on a semi-regular basis. It was a dark and stormy night. Okay, it wasn’t really that dark. There were big street lights, like super A-grade halogens (the city council must have had a bigger budget in this town than my last). And … Continue reading The Sale. Part 1. A short series.
A flash fiction about rainy streets, and the people who walk them. In the tradition of noir. Sounds serious… Continue reading The Wet Street Shuffle. A short tale.
This story is the prequel to a poem I wrote on my blog a while back. You can find it here.
I wrote this brief story for Uni. Now that the course is over I can post it. Continue reading Cat and Mouse. A short tale.
The mirror image was unflattering. She had been trying on dresses for the last hour. They always looked better on the rack and in the fitting rooms before she bought them. She knew there was something about the mirrors in stores. Like the ones at carnivals, but warping everything to look better (maybe she should get one installed…). It looked like jeans and a blouse were a better option. Three changes later and she was satisfied. Black skinny jeans (almost a miracle needed to get them on; not quite the parting of the Red Sea, but almost) and a billowy … Continue reading Date Night. A short tale.
I don’t normally write “flash fiction”, but I could get used to it. Continue reading Awake. A short tale.
This is a uni piece I wrote many months ago. Everyone had to write an introduction for themselves. The final assignment has been marked, so I can post it now. Continue reading The Player. A short tale.
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