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Category Archives: My Stories

100 word story for the Ink Pantry challenge

This is my 100 word story for the Ink Pantry competition. I didn’t win but I thought I would post it anyway.

The winners were much better than mine. Well done to them.

Halloween Fun.

The mist covered evening sun sank slowly into the gold and red autumn leaves just in front of Andrea. She felt excited about the evening ahead. This would be her first adventure since she had died. She couldn’t wait to get out there and put the fear of God, or should that be Satan, into the bastards that killed her. Halloween had never appealed to her in life, but she sure as hell was going to make the most of it now she was dead, and for the rest of their long, boring, stupid lives. Now they would pay for it.

 

 

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Meet Tom Gillespie.

Tom has just informed me that his new book is to be launched tomorrow, so I thought it was a great time to let you meet him. Over to you Tom…

Tell us a little about yourself…

Hi Annie.

I grew up in small mining town on the outskirts of Glasgow. After finishing a masters in English at Glasgow uni, I spent the next ten years pursuing a financially ruinous musical career as a singer/songwriter, playing, recording and touring the UK and Europe with my band . I now live in Bath with my wife, my daughter and my hyper-neurotic cat, where I work at the University as an Academic English lecturer.

Can you remember the first book you ever read or was read to you.

Noddy Goes to Toy Town. It had a profound effect on me. I still don’t fully trust flat-capped northerners on holiday.. Oh wait, that’s The Famous Five, isn’t it?

What was the first thing you ever wrote?

“Poo.” (no really, it is)

(Stop laughing Annie!)

Do you have a favourite writing place.

My head

Are there any other writers/authors in your family.

No I’m the only writer, but not the only lunatic

What or who has been your has been the biggest influence on your writing.

Music, movies, food, the moon, sex – and the day Archie Gemmill scored for Scotland against Holland in the 1978 world cup …. but not writing.

Which author(s) do you read most.

Me. I’m never done editing and re-editing my own work. I barely get a chance to read anything else.

Do you have a favourite genre and what is it.

I hate genres. I’m a genre buster. It’s a bit like saying, what’s your favourite colour? Every colour is important and every colour is relative to the next.

It’s blue, by the way.

What are you working on at the moment?

-Trying to pay off a massive home improvement loan that is bleeding me dry. Oh, and a collection of short stories, about debt.

Where can we buy your books?

Painting by Numbers is available in kindle format here:

And soon to be released book format… Awaiting link

Web: tom-gillespie.com

Twitter: tom_gillespie

Facebook: /tomgillespiewriter

Thanks Tom. Good luck with your new book, I really hope it’s a best seller.

 

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Another Poem from Me

I see Zombies.

 

Direct from Hell.

Black clouds roll into necropolis

as night falls on hallowed ground.

Dense fog creeps into inky black wells

of the cold, damp pits beneath.

 

They gather for a ritual

to wed in black and grey.

They’re searching for a sacrifice

to pay the devils alms

 

For the bride to have her former self,

they have made a deal.

To bring you to the boneyard

for you are the immolate.

 

Eerie whispers beckon you in

to join the festive brawl.

The putrid breath that sucks your life

will keep you in their spell.

 

Grating stone on grating stone

they crawl from their tombs.

They rise and bid you come inside

to join them on their side.

 

The church bells sound the warning toll,

the breeze will quietly tell.

Stay away from the graveyard tonight,

they’ve come direct from hell.

 

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TMA 3 Limerick

My TMA 3 Limerick.

Old Nick

There was an old man called Nick

Whose horns were decidedly slick

He polished his tail

As he took up his Grail

And poked at the flames with his stick

All Text Copyright © 2012 Annie Green ( Trudy Chappell) All Rights Reserved

 

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TMA 3 Poetry

The results of TMA 3 Poetry came back at midnight last night and I am happy to say I managed to get 73% for it. It amazed me that my mark was that good because I thought I’d written complete rubbish for poems.

Here is one of the two poems, (I also wrote a limerick which I will post later) Hope you like it.

Hocus Pocus

 

Witches hats and flapping bats,

broomsticks and brew.

Hocus Pocus magic words,

and rat tails, just a few.

 

The book of spells, The Grimoire, tells

I need a hair of hubby too.

I’ve filled a cauldron with your bits,

and tongue of newt for you.

 

Black magic sells the evil spells

for love no longer true.

So I’ve got some wax and poison flax

to make an effigy of you.

 

Witches hats and flapping bats,

broomsticks and brew.

Hocus Pocus magic words.

I’ve got my needle stuck in you.

All Text Copyright © 2012 Annie Green ( Trudy Chappell) All Rights Reserved

 

 

 
 

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A215 The Beginning and an Alien

It’s October 1st and the beginning of the Open University A215 Creative Writing Course. I’m excited and nervous at the same time. Excited because I can now stop panicking, it’s too late for panicking. Nervous because I have met a few of my fellow students via Facebook and they are already proving what a talented bunch they are. I don’t think my writing comes any where near some of the stuff these students already produce, but I’m staying with it and hope that I can pick up a few tips from them along the way.

I’ve been to the tutor group forum, which opened this morning too, to say hello and met two or three students that I’ll be sharing my tutor with. They don’t sound in the least bit nervous, so I guess it’s just me. What makes me more nervous is that my tutor is an alien from the Alpha Centauri Solar System – don’t ask!! – and being taught by an alien is just a tiny bit scary. I’m not sure why he has a human name but I guess he will tell us in due course. Click here for proof the he really is an alien.

I have already started on the Big Red Book – Creative Writing A Workbook With Readings – and have done the first two chapters. Next, chapter three, is Writing What you Know. It looks interesting but I can’t help thinking that I don’t know much to write about. I’m hoping that the chapter will show me how to pull some memories from the deep dark recesses of my mind, or at least, teach me self hypnosis.

I’ll let you know how the course goes, and as always you can follow my progress if you want to. For now I’m off to try to get to grips with the BRB.(Big Red Book).

Speak soon.

 

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The Day My Heart Broke

Warning.

Content Potentially upsetting. If you have recently lost someone close do NOT read.

This is my true story!

I stand at the window and watch as he puts his crash helmet on. I watch with excitement as he straddles the seat and pushes hard down on the kick start. The roar of the engine always makes me jump. He looks back at me with a broad smile and a wink. He revs the engine and pulls slowly away from the curb. The excitement was just the watching him, not about him going.

My tears flow freely now. I have a feeling. The same feeling I had when Granny died. An empty feeling. My throat tightens and I think I’m going to choke on the big lump that’s formed there.

‘Come back Daddy’. I whisper, but I know he won’t. He’s gone and I have a feeling.

He didn’t visit often, but when he did it always caused heartache for me. I never wanted him to leave. The others didn’t either, but I was to young to know that. They were always cheerful when he was there. I never saw them cry. I was nine and life wasn’t fair. And I had a feeling.

I wasn’t there when the police came. I can’t remember where I was but I remember being told that he’d had a crash. That’s when I knew what the feeling meant. I didn’t tell anyone,they wouldn’t have believed me anyway, why would they?

The next six months passed in a blur. School mostly I think. I hated school. I hated most things then. I just wanted to see him, but they wouldn’t let me.I hated them for that. I loved my Mummy, but I hated her for that.

Then one day she said she was taking me to see him. I was so excited I thought I would burst. We had to go to London, that’s where they had taken him all those months ago. I didn’t know how far London was but the journey took forever. I had no idea that Cheltenham and London were so far apart. I was only nine.

I wish she hadn’t taken me there. I didn’t get to see him and cuddle him and kiss him. All I got was to look at him through a window in a door, and all I saw was the back of his bandaged head and his bare shoulders. Then a nurse knelt down on the floor in front of me and cried. I remember looking up at mummy, and she smiled a reassuring smile, a smile I’d never seem before. A kind smile. Don’t get me wrong mummy was kind, but this was different.

We went for ice cream with a lady I didn’t know and they kept talking in code. When will people learn that kids understand the code.

When we got home there was a man waiting on the door step. He had motor bike leathers on just like Daddy’s, I couldn’t look at him. He handed an envelope to mummy, I knew what it was, It was a telegram. Mummy Wailed and I knew he was gone. I didn’t react, I don’t know why, not until she said the words.

‘Daddy died sweetheart’ and then I screamed and screamed and screamed.

‘No, Not my Daddy, not my Daddy’.

And that’s the day my heart broke, never to mend.

 
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Posted by on September 20, 2011 in My Stories, Short Stories, True Stories

 

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