SHOWCASE & BLOG

By Cathy Eden Among the great children’s writers who introduced me to fiction and made me fall in love with reading are Edith Nesbit, Mary Norton, CS Lewis, ...

By Carol Poolton Stepping across the threshold of the homely Victorian cottage, we are enveloped by an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity. The crackling fi...

By Calene Kruger When I had my first child I yearned for her to speak. “Say mama,” I’d prompt. “Say dada if you have to, but speak!” Then she did. “Mama! Mam...

By Marc Rogatschnig It is a gathering place of sorts. People striding in, queuing, scanning the tables for familiar faces, reaching for crinkled newspapers w...

By Carol Dreyer I opened my eyes; it was Sunday – bliss! A mug of tea and a croissant in bed is the perfect slow start to the day, but then my phone beep bee...

By Charles Sloan 5.45: Walking the dogs. Dew on the grass makes it glitter. Mist drifts slowly up the side of the hill across the valley; sunshine floods th...

By Andrew Turner Granny Mary and Grandpa John were our own glam slam edge of the family. Grandpa Charles, Granny Mary’s first husband, drove a Jaguar which a...

By Melanie Jessop Tae-Bo, our Staffordshire Terrier, is miserable. Every furry fibre of his being exudes dejection. His stocky brindle body that is permanent...

By Belinda Wilkinson It was her awkwardness that got me interested: The overly-applied make up, the slight wonk of the lipstick, the too blonde hair. An old ...

By Carri Kuhn I watch the steady stream of water pouring into the jug, early morning sun reflecting off the glass. It is beautiful, the way the water fills t...

By Penny Marek One of the definitions of ‘Synchronicity’ is “the coincidental occurrence of events and especially psychic events (such as similar thoughts in...

By Vicki Erskine The siren of the airport conveyor belt wails, signalling to the travellers that it is game on. They check the carousal number, adjust the di...

By Carri Kuhn I watch the waves as they travel to the shore, rolling in again and again. As with life, there is no way to stop their forward sweep. There is...

By Anna Hug When we were kids, Mum used to drive us to Plas Madoc Leisure Centre in Wales. It was a long brick building with a curved roof and an oversized b...

By Anna Hug It was a seventies nylon sleeping bag. Orange on the outside and lumo yellow inside. It smelt faintly of sick. And it came to symbolise my early ...

By Calene Kruger Pathologically opposed to bedding his own wife, uncle Oscar spent his life moving from one climactic moment to another in the beds of undisc...

By Penny Marek I am an old suitcase: strong, sturdy, dependable and slender – until filled. There is nothing I love more than being taken down and dusted off...