Thirty-nine years old 1519 Master’s dead. Master’s dead! I still can’t believe it’s true. My stomach knots and coils while I drag myself along the winding, hidden passageways leading to his workshop within the bowels of the monastery. I steady myself before opening the door, thinking about the way I’d left him. Regret tugs at my heart. Once inside, I slowly walk around the room. Everything is still as I remembered, yet it...

At 5 a.m., the bakery is silent, except for the scratch of Madame Thorne’s pen. She believed fortunes should be handwritten. Typed words felt hollow, devoid of the weight true destiny deserved. She shaped each cookie with practiced precision, leaving just enough space to slide in a tiny slip of paper. Each cookie was a secret wrapped in dough, each personal, each burdened by fate. Then came a sharp knock. It was not polit...

The blood drains into my skull and dizziness swirls, heels high above me resting against the wall of my editor’s office. “Can I stand yet?” “No! Not until you appreciate the world from a fresh perspective.” From my headstand, Gary appears slightly crazed, fingers laced on the desk above his head, eyeballs where his chin should be. “If I stay like this much longer, you’ll be finding yourself a new bestselling romance autho...

Once again it’s Groundhog Day; all is quiet on the good ship, AnnieWriter. Well, not quite totally silent. That bloody crocodile in our wake is masquerading as the Mad Hatter, accentuating Captain Annie’s disquiet with a scaly cacophony of tick tock, tick tock. If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't talk about wasting it. I know, I know! Of course, like clockwork, this competition story had begun the usual way. A...

On a sunny winter morning, I put on a coat and headed for Benjamin’s Books. Ten chapters into my second novel, I was blocked with no progress in days. My deadline was still months away. However, I was a perfectionist about editing and wanted to lots of time between finishing the draft and sending it in. Falling behind like this concerned me. I figured a visit to my favourite bookshop might help. I had been a regular at Be...

“I don’t know what to say.” “Sure you do.” “But Janie, this time is different.” “Understood. I get that.” “It’s harder. It’s personal.” “It’s always personal,” Janie replied. “You’ve told me that multiple times. Everything ever written is personal. And the more personal, the better the result.” “But this time is different.” “Nathan, you’re repeating yourself. Verbatim, for God’s sake. Not a good look for an accomplished w...

My three daughters playing peacefully on the floor, I sit back on the living room couch with my laptop, pondering about the theme of the latest competition announced in StoriesSpace. ‘Are they looking for a complete story within the limited timeframe announced? Or a story around the theme?’ I decided on the latter, struggling with how to begin. The cursor continues blinking while nothing comes to mind. “Please,” I cry out...

Dammit. I can’t think of a thing. What the hell am I gonna do? The deadline's next week, I'm supposed to be on vacation, and I got nutin’. Wait. Larry Niven said the sure way to beat writer’s block is to just start typing, and keep going until a story emerges, so here goes. The quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown dog. Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country. (Ain’t that the truth!) Unique...

Shadows press against my ribs. Aching, heavy as unanswered prayers, whispering the language of blame, a dialect of secrets and broken promises my soul cannot unhear. Even the air is a traitor, thick with ghosts of splintered vows. A room crowded with silence screams loudest in the absence of forgiveness. I held your words in trembling hands, cradling it as though it could bloom into a salve for the wounds you left. But wo...

I smelled gas. However, I remained still. I governed my breathes while exploring my predicament. I saw, felt, and heard nothing. However, my ears rang like I'd just left a concert. Thankfully, the thunderous roar had stopped. But the echo of the silence was too loud to think that I was dead. Entombed, yes. Expired, not yet. Living was on the clock and I was in dire need of a Lady Luck spanking. Having regained my wits, I...

If you’d think the shock and awe of four Pulitzers would mute a granddaughter’s proclivity to be a smart ass you’ve not met Jenna. Though, this Christmas, she’d decided to observe her first seasonal ceasefire of banter. Neither she nor her mother moved a muscle as my arthritic fingers struggled with the reindeer wrapping paper. Perhaps they understood their Dylan Thomas; there’s no helping the stubborn raging against the...

Have you ever sat inside an anechoic chamber? Just staring at the jagged peaks, troughs and asymmetrical recesses carved into foot-thick, off-white foam on all six surfaces? The irregular shapes scatter sound in all directions except yours, absorbing everything. And I mean everything. Not even my quickening breaths bounce back. The result is… eerie. Isolating. Downright oppressive. The claustrophobic nothingness swamps ev...

I stood, looking out at an untouched ocean of blue and white, comfortable in my heavy parka and knit tuque. It was peaceful on top of the mountain. And lonely, although I wondered if I’d brought that with me, cloaked in a silence that was too loud at times and too quiet at others; those times when I hoped it might drown out the howling storm within me. Breathless, I stared out over the natural beauty, ignoring the cold th...

The door frame propped up Momma, and she watched her little girl kneel beside the bed. Tiny fingers steepled as she prayed, “Dear Santa. Hi, it’s me, Lulu Mae. Some don’t believe, but I know you’re real. I think I’ve been mostly good this year, so I’m asking you to fix the uglies Momma gets upset about. Amen.” She jumped up and then crinkled her face in thought before abruptly plopping back down to her knees. Squeezing he...

Smooth jazz played low from the vintage jukebox in her office. She was typing up the last of her report from her last case when she heard the bell on the door chime. Blair Kierkessen looked up and saw with her so brown they were black eyes, a woman in a blue evening gown and white fur stole. Her brow furrowing her perfect line-less face. “Detective Kierkessen?” “That’s correct, how can I help you?” “My name is Zelda Chamb...