small good things

A quick post to let you know that my latest short story is now available in print.

‘The Women Who Swapped Their Baby for Salad’ is a Rapunzel/Sleeping Beauty modern mashed-up fairytale with all of that foggy brain and lack of appetite for life that comes with anaemia. There’s green salad, thorny roses, a good fairy, a witch, a drop of blood and lots of sleeping.

Photo by Maëliss Demaison on Unsplash

You can find it in Small Good Things, which is an anthology of short stories published by Dahlia Books. Click here to buy it.

If you are really quick then you can still grab a ticket for the booklaunch, which is tomorrow. It’s the ‘A Brief Pause’ showcase: developing your practice‘. session. I won’t be reading, but will be there. Click here for tickets. Kathy Fish workshops are like gold. There is literally a lottery for her longer courses, they are so over-subscribed.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

I never much liked the Disnification of fairy tales. That’s not true actually, I despise sanitised versions of stereotyped lives. I prefer the Company of Wolves-style tales of girls and women who lead interesting lives and stray from the path. The ones where they do something daring and dangerous to have a real reason to be saved! The only dressing-up costume that I ever wanted when I was little, was the one that Snow White wore, as she had dark hair, like me. One of my favourite fairy tale princess/matriarch/fierce females is a singer/songwriter/knitting pattern designer called TinyOwlKnits and of course the actor Eva Green, but that goes without saying.

The books that inspired me and continue to, include the following.

(Where is my copy of ‘The Bloody Chamber’ by Angela Carter when I need it?)

You’re never too old for a fairytale.

129. A Nata and a Natter

A #ShortStorySeptember tale for a new year. Freshly sharpened pencils, new notebooks and all that. It’s also for anyone embarking on a brand new life at University or emerging, blinking in the light, from their cocoon as Lockdown opens up.

I thought a black coffee would be the cheapest, and as it was a universally unquestioned drink, I would always have a legitimate and innocent reason why I didn’t know the difference between a latte and a cortado. But why did the barista give me a little bowl of candy floss? 

Mum was right, £12 a day wasn’t nearly enough for food. Getting into a good school was one thing, actually being accepted beyond a pity pet project was another. I’d noticed every small detail between us. I’d read the books and seen the films, but some considered my life still to belong below stairs. I couldn’t absorb, only observe. If I bought the same bag it wouldn’t have the rich patina of their experiences. How could I possibly know if I had “summered well”? At least my nickname of ‘Tom Ripley’ hadn’t followed me here. Well, not yet, but it’s a small world.

The waitress in me made me sit at a table for two, and I faced the door, so my new friend could see me when she entered. I watched her through the window as she embraced each of the couple in turn then smothered their baby in mwah mwahs. Then she looked up and waved at me. The bell above the door of the coffee shop dinged as she entered.

“Sorry I’m late. I bumped into some old friends and got chatting. You know how it is. They have the fattest, most edible baby I’ve ever seen. Anyway, Happy Birthday!”

She unravelled herself from her hand knitted, cashmere scarf, then peeled off various layers until she was down to a t-shirt and a pair of cords. I wished I’d picked a bigger table. She piled her coat, scarf and jumper onto her chair and then fumbled around in her bag for her purse. I spotted a small turquoise box wrapped with white ribbon in her bag.

Photo by tommao wang on Unsplash

Her necklace cost more than my rent, her watch worth more than my car. A shabby leather strap on a vintage Omega. Two Cartier Love bangles jangled on her wrist, and although she once claimed they were fakes, I very much doubted that was true.

“Is it me or is it hot in here? Do you want anything? Ooh, they do those little Portuguese custard tarts in here that I like.” she said while fanning her face. She stuck out her chin and tried to blow air upwards towards her hairline.

“Could you get me some sugar please?” I said.

She cocked her head, raised her eyebrows and studied me for a second. Then she pinched a bit of the pink candyfloss and popped it into her mouth. Clawing up the rest of the nest, she dumped it into my cup. It dissolved immediately to nothing.

I looked up to see her perfect, high ponytail flick a spin. Her dancer’s body turned first, then her head. Muscle memory.


SHORT STORY SEPTEMBER FESTIVAL

I’m dead chuffed to be part of the Short Story September Festival event on Saturday 25th September 2021. Although I won’t be reading, I am part of the ‘A Brief Pause’ Writers Showcase, and have a short story included in the anthology, ‘Small Good Things’, which is published by Dahlia Books on the same day. You can order it here.

Tickets to the event are available here.

Dangles a carrot of a 2-hour Kathy Fish flash fiction workshop.

It’s an odd feeling (pride, fear, gratitude), just before a story is released into the world. I know every word so well, the plot inside out. It’s finished, tidied, polished with a bow on top and now out of my hands or control. If you want to read a bit more about how I was inspired to write my weird fairy tale, then click here.

Here’s one of my favourite songs. ‘Maps’ by Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs. It’s been viewed over 69 million times on youtube and I just love Karen’s vibe in it.

Do you have an artificial friend? If so, then you may like this book. I did.

Modern sc-fi (like ‘Black Mirror’ or ‘Never let Me Go’) is one of my little obsessions in life.