Story competition: 2

New year, new writing, and a new competition from me.

You are invited to write up to 300 words (not including title) inspired by the photograph below. Send your entry in the body of an e-mail (no attachments please) by midnight (UK time) next Wednesday, 15th January, to cath.barton@talktalk.net. No bios, but include your Twitter handle/link to your Facebook page. Subject line of your e-mail should be: Friday story submission + story title.

I will post the story I like best here as next week’s Friday story, with a big shout out to you and your writing.

Tip: Discard your first idea. Discard your second idea. Go with your third idea.

Please don’t send anything racist/sexist/sexually explicit/gratuitously violent.

Looking forward to reading your stories!

Comp photo 3
Photo copyright Cath Barton @2020

My picks for 2019: 2) Musical performance

My top musical performances in 2019 (with links to my reviews of them in Wales Arts Review) were:

Capture

Shaping the Invisible, I Fagiolini

 

Coming next: My top books of the year

Friday story: 9) Underneath the Stars

This is a little story which I started in Italy in May, in the wonderful flash fiction course with Kathy Fish, Nancy Stohlman and a bunch of other talented writers. Here’s the beautiful soundtrack which inspired it and from which it takes its title:

Underneath the Stars

Cath Barton

He still looks for her at the tail end of the day, our old grey cat, Merlin. Sitting at the top of the steps, outside our front door. Watching the bend in the road. Watching and waiting for her battered old Ford Fiesta to appear round the bend, her tooting and waving to tell us she’s home and calling out to me to put the kettle on because:

‘I’m dying for a cup of tea!’

That was Marie-Louise. She was greedy for life.

She brought cakes, always a little sweet something. But now the days of our feasting are done and it’s quiet day and night in Silverdale, in the quicksilver light of the moon and the rarely-now-golden light of the sun.

For they closed the road off.

Marie-Louise would not have wanted that, would have insisted that the va-et-vient should continue. For she loved the rush and fall of things.

Merlin’s still sitting looking, still hopeful, as the silvery sheen of his coat merges into the dusk. I call him and we go together into the back garden. We sit by side, noses twitching to catch the sinuous waft of night scents as, above us, the map of the heavens unrolls. There’s the whoosh of a train down in the cutting but Merlin doesn’t stir.

I point. ‘She’s up there,’ I whisper in his ear.

It’s a blind hope. I can’t read the night sky any more than I could read her mind or understand her crazy impulses.

Merlin’s ears prick now and he darts after some little creature invisible to me in the fading light. Something snuffles near the railway tracks. A fox maybe, or a badger. I call Merlin back from danger. He comes and he sits, quietly, close by me. And I nuzzle his soft back.

 

NEWS!  I’m going to include this story in a collection of short fiction and photographs which I’m putting together with my husband and fellow writer, Oliver Barton. It’s called Candyfloss III. Yes, it’s the third in a series, though there’s been a bit of a gap since the last one. You can still buy Candyfloss II here.

We hope to have Candyfloss III out in January. All profits will go to local charities where we live in Abergavenny. And it will be available to buy directly from us. You’ll hear about it here first.