Where to find my stories

There are a few places where you can find some of my short stories. Most are free, some require a modest fee. Either way I hope you enjoy them.


White Rabbit run the excellent spoken word night, Are You Sitting Comfortably. I’ve had a few of my stories read at White Rabbit events and you can listen to two of my stories, together with others, on these two podcasts.




I was honoured to have a story of mine published by the online literary magazine, The View From Here. Sadly, the magazine has closed now, but before they pulled down the shutters and locked the door I was further honoured to have my story chosen as one of the fiction editor’s 3 favourite submissions. You can read my story, Lane End, here.



I was invited to read my story, Vacation, at Rattle Tales for their Brighton Fringe show in 2016. There’s always a great atmosphere at Rattle Tales shows, with excellent stories, an appreciate, engaged audience and the chance to the writer questions about their story after each reading. I was delighted to be included in Rattle Tales’ anthology for 2016, which showcases the winners and best stories from The Brighton Prize, and stories taken from Rattle Tales shows that year.

You can buy a copy of The Brighton Prize Anthology 2016 here, http://www.lulu.com/shop/edward-rowe-and-erinna-mettler/the-brighton-prize-2016/paperback/product-23195937.html, and in doing so you’ll be supporting the work of a great team providing important spoken word events.


Another important spoken word event, this time in London, I also read Vacation at The Word Factory. The Word Factory is a fantastic resource, regularly staging excellent short story events and masterclasses with everybody who is anybody in short stories. Once a year the Word Factory team invite submissions for an evening of short stories and I was privileged to be chosen to read. Among The Word Factory’s extensive video archive of performances and conversations, there’s one of me reading. https://vimeo.com/209181720


Faber Academy’s Friday Quickfic is up and running again. (Almost) Every Friday at 9.50 in the morning the academy posted an image or a sentence as a writing prompt. Your flash story had to be submitted by 2:50 in the afternoon and then you waited to see if your story got picked as a runner-up or winner. I was delighted to have one of my entries chosen.


Adhoc Fiction run an ongoing flash fiction competition. A one-word prompt is posted on Wednesday, and you have a week to write a 150 word story. While you’re looking for inspiration you can read through all the previous week’s entries and vote for the ones you like. The winner is posted each Wednesday, the prize being a free entry for the Bath Flash Fiction award. You can read my winning entry at the bottom of this page.



Doorditch is an Instagram project. You can find pictures of the many colourful, not-so-colourful or interesting-looking doors in the Shoreditch area. The idea is to get a piece of flash fiction to live behind each door. This is one I did a few years ago but there are still doors requiring stories.



You can also find me on Wattpad (though I’m not there very often), where I posted a story called the Eye Of The Storm. This was written as a response to Margaret Atwood’s story, The Freeze-Dried Groom, as part of a competition Wattpad ran.



Mother knows best (Ad Hoc Flash winner, June 2016)


Femi puts an old teapot between us. It whispers steam, conjures memory.



When I was little Mum loved the game as much as me, headscarves, wide staring eyes, the sombre room. The anticipation.

Femi smiles, her eyes bright. My heart quickens. Breathless, the air all possibility and my mind reeling, could it be?

It was the magic of the scrying I craved. ‘Time needs time, girl,’ Mum would say, agitating the pot. Then the tea’s bitter tang, abracadabra, the up-ended cup and tell me, tell me. Her witch’s croak, her dazzling generalisations. Were they real?

Opposite Femi’s lovely smile I reach for the pot, my tongue flooded with the need to know. She stays my hand, her fingers lingering.



  But no prince for you

‘Let it steep,’ she says. ‘Time needs time.’ Her lips gently brushing mine.

And I always thought Mum was a faker.







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