Random Acts of Kindness Award: an open invitation

Chris Hall3 Comments

Random Acts of Kindness Award

I was nominated for this award by Vicklea who has been very supportive of my writing since I started posting at the start of this year. I’m very pleased because it’s given me an opportunity to share an example of how some people help each other in my adopted country, South Africa.

South Africa is one of the most unequal countries in the world. We have the very, very rich (a small number) and the very, very poor (sadly many more). We may think we’re somewhere in the middle, but the vast majority of the population live on very little.

We are fortunate enough to be able to afford to employ a housekeeper, Joyce, and a gardener / handyman, Johannes, a couple of days a week. This sounds quite grand, or at least it seemed to me to be so when we first came over here. We don’t necessarily need the help, although it’s nice to have someone to do the housework and look after the garden. It also gives us an excuse to help them to support their families.

However, this is not about us in our privileged position and what we do, rather I want to share something which Joyce did for one of the kids in her neighbourhood last week.

Joyce was standing by the gate to her little rented house having just seen her youngest child Joshua and her grandchild, Lesego, off to school. She was watching some of the other children make their way to school when she noticed a little boy of about Joshua’s age struggling to walk in gum boots which were much too big for him. She could see by how he was dressed that he came from a family who must have very little to spend on clothes and shoes. She called him over and saw that he was crying. He said it was because the gum boots hurt his feet and made it hard for him to walk.

Joyce told him to wait by the gate. She fetched a pair of Joshua’s shoes. The shoes were in good condition and still fit Joshua, but he did have his school shoes and a pair of trainers as well and Joyce decided that she must give them to the little boy who was struggling. He tried them on and they fit. He was over the moon! Joyce gave him a plastic bag for the gum boots and off he ran to school so as not to be late. On his way back that afternoon, he came and thanked Joyce again.

When she told me, I could see how happy she was to have been in a position to help the little boy, even though she herself manages on a very modest budget as a single mum, with a grown up daughter and son, another son who’s studying civil engineering and the two little ones.

Award Rules

All through life we encounter people who for no particular reason help someone out, or extend a hand when needed. Some do it directly and some do it indirectly.
1- copy or paste image for reward on your post.
2- Write about a random act of kindness, either you saw, was given to you, or you have done. It is okay to spread the love people. You don’t have to name specific names or whatever but tell us about it.
3- Share this award and link to original post or tag the person who nominated you.
4- If you should want to do this then you can leave an open ended invitation, or personally tag others.
5- Pictures are a good share to, if you have pictures to share a random act of kindness, that is great!

I’m leaving this Award open to anyone who might read this and like to share something good. There’s too much bad stuff in the world.

 

 

The People Who Lived in the Picture

Chris Hall16 Comments

When I saw this drawing by artist, Suzanne Starr, on my LinkedIn feed, I was so intrigued by the figures in the picture that I had to write their story. I contacted Suzanne to ask her permission, and now we have a collaboration across continents. Awesome!

You can find more of Suzanne’s artwork at www.suzannestarart.com – check it out!

The people who lived in the picture by Suzanne Starr
Graphite Drawing by Suzanne Starr

Part of my Flash Fiction collection

The people who lived in the picture

‘Who are they, Ashley?’ Charlie pointed up at the picture on his bedroom wall. ‘Are they family too?’

Ashley glanced at the picture which was hanging next to the school room door. She’d never really noticed it before, but then she’d hardly ever been in the austere blue-painted room (formerly the nanny’s room) in which her young cousin was staying until it was time for him to start at his new school in England.

‘I don’t rightly know, Charlie.’ Ashley carefully took the picture down from the wall and came to sit beside him on the bed. They looked at it together. It was a small pencil drawing of five children of varying ages, or maybe four children and their mother, tightly grouped together with their arms wrapped around each other. They were wearing outdoor clothes which looked rather old-fashioned, thought Ashley. The drawing looked old too, faded, the paper discoloured along the one edge of the wooden frame.

‘Look at their expressions; they’re so lifelike.’ said Ashley.’

‘They look sad,’ said Charlie.

‘Maybe it’s because they’re posing,’ said Ashley. ‘Like the in the old photographs on the piano downstairs.’

‘The little boy at the front, what’s he holding?

Ashley peered at the picture. ‘I think it’s a spinning top. You know, you push the handle up and down,’ she demonstrated a pumping action, ‘and it spins. I’m sure we’ve still got ours somewhere. I’ll see if Hodge knows where it is.’

‘But I wonder why he looks so cross.’

‘Perhaps it’s because he’s had to stand still for so long and maybe he’d rather go and play,’ she ruffled Charlie’s golden hair. ‘You’d be scowling too.’ Ashley laughed.

Charlie pouted and then giggled as Ashley chucked him under the chin.

Ashley returned the picture to its place on the wall. ‘Come on, Charlie, it’s time for lunch. We can ask Hodge about the spinning top.’

***

Ashley was curled up in the drawing room with her notebook at her side. She’d intended to finish her latest fairy story, but her mind kept drifting back to the drawing. Maybe there was a story there, ‘The people who lived in the picture’. She smiled to herself and glanced at her watch; Charlie was supposed to be studying to prepare him for the start of school, but he wouldn’t mind if she just popped in to borrow the picture. As instructed, she wouldn’t disturb him.

Charlie’s door was closed. ‘Charlie? Can I come in?” Ashley knocked politely and waited. ‘Charlie? Are you there?

There was no reply. Ashley put her ear to the door. Perhaps he’d dozed off. She wouldn’t be surprised; the books with which he’d arrived looked deathly dull to her. As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard a huge crash, as if something had fallen on the floor.

‘Charlie?’ She turned the doorknob and pushed the door, but it wouldn’t open. ‘Charlie! Let me in!’ She shoved the door hard and it yielded. She looked around. Charlie was crouching on the floor in the corner of the room. A brightly painted metal spinning top rolled across the room towards her.

Ashley picked the toy up and turned to Charlie. ‘Hodge found it then,’ she said. ‘What on earth were you doing with it?’

Charlie shook his head and pointed to the picture. Ashley crossed the room and looked; the little boy’s hands were empty. He was leaning forward, arms outstretched, as if he’d just dropped (thrown?) something. Ashley looked at Charlie in disbelief.

Ashley held out her hand to Charlie. They fled from the room.

They found Hodge peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Breathlessly Charlie tried to explain what had happened.

‘Slow down, slow down!’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Now, Miss Ashley, you’ve not been scaring young Master Charlie with your fairy stories, have you?’

‘No, Hodge, it’s real, really real.’ Charlie’s bottom lip quivered.

Hodge reached out and put her arm around Charlie’s shoulder. ‘All right, luvvy, let’s go and have a look.’

Charlie hung back as Hodge marched into his bedroom followed by Ashley. The picture lay face down on the floor and the schoolroom door was open. Hodge bent down and picked it up. Suddenly the schoolroom door was snatched shut. Hodge looked up. ‘Master Charlie?’

‘I’m here,’ said Charlie stepping into the room. Behind him they heard footsteps running along the landing.

Hodge turned the picture over. It was a drawing of an empty room.

©2018 Chris Hall

 

Start with the Map: David Mitchell

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David Mitchell Start with the Map from the New Yorker

I’m a huge fan of David Mitchell’s novels; I just love his writing. Then I came upon this article in The New Yorker. It fascinated me, particularly since I’ve been trying to sketch a map of the (only partly fictional) tunnels which run under the city of Liverpool to help in the process of writing my current novel.

You might enjoy his article too. Here’s the link: Start with the Map

 

 

 

 

Giving a fellow author a plug!

Chris Hall2 Comments

My writing buddy, Paul English, with whom I regularly meet for coffee to chat about our writing, recently published the second novel in his Superhero series. We’ve many times discussed how difficult it is to do one’s own publicity, but doing for someone else is much easier. The article will appear in the school magazine, and I shall be submitting it to our local paper.

New Superhero Books for School Library

Somerset West author, Paul English, has a new audience for his superhero novels. The first two books published in Paul’s Fire Angel Universe Series, ‘Fire Angel: Genesis’ and ‘Fire Angel: Turning Point’, have now been donated to the library of the International School of Cape Town by Cliff Davies, Head of Geography, who won them in an on-line competition run by the author through his Facebook fan page: https://www.facebook.com/FireAngelUniverse

Paul English at a book signing
Paul English at a book signing of his debut novel, ‘Fire Angel: Genesis’

Although you wouldn’t think it when you read his books, Paul has faced many difficult physical challenges in his life. The unexplained and undiagnosed syndrome with which he was born has affected both his sight and hearing throughout his 38 years. Nor has he an academic background, having left school after Grade 9. Paul says he found school boring as he felt it kept him from his drawing and writing!

The children’s TV series ‘Transformers’ first awoke the desire to write when Paul was just seven years old. Putting together his combined talent for writing and drawing, he has produced dozens of hand drawn comic books over the years.

Later the inspiration to create his own Superhero came from listening to an interview with Stan Lee about how he came up with Spider-Man and the Marvel Universe. After a few attempts to start his novel, Paul took a course in Creative Writing, which gave him a much better foundation. He regrets not having done that first of all and earnestly recommends this to aspiring writers.

Paul did not want to copy the stereotypical male hero with a perfect body and all the techno gadgets. His Superhero is Haley, a sassy but kind-hearted teenager living in a crime ridden working class neighbourhood, with fears of retrenchment looming over her parents.

In Paul’s first novel, ‘Fire Angel: Genesis’, Haley caught in the impact of a crashing meteorite which gives her some very unusual powers. Soon she is being hounded by unscrupulous people who want to harness her superpowers for themselves. Haley quickly learns not to trust anyone, especially not the scientists who have their own secret agenda.

In the sequel, ‘Fire Angel: Turning Point’, we meet a new superhuman, ‘Nemesis’, who brings death and destruction to all who have wronged her. A confrontation with her leads Haley down the dark path which she has set on. Haley faces some tough choices about whether she will return to defend her community or not.

Paul admits that there is a bit of him in Haley: courage in the face of difficulties, played down by a quirky sense of humour. Asked what his message to fellow writers would be, Paul says: ‘write the story you’d want to read.’

If you’d like your very own copies, ‘Fire Angel: Genesis’ and ‘Fire Angel: Turning Point’ are available as a double pack directly from Paul, priced at R270,00.

The third book in the series, ‘Fade’, will be published soon. The fourth novel is well underway and Paul has already come up with several more ideas for future books in the series.

You can also read Paul’s Fan Fiction story, ‘Batman: Dawn of the Night’ on Wattpad

For more information about Paul and his work, email to: chiefhackyvol3@yahoo.com

photo international school of cape town
Cliff presenting the books to the School Librarian, Janis van Tonder

PS – Cliff’s my husband and I’m proud to have had a hand in editing Paul’s second and third books!

Saving Planet Earth

Chris Hall7 Comments

Accident on Earth lunasonline

From my Flash Fiction Collection

Great Being Five was going to be in trouble. Big trouble. She had contravened the Non-Interference Protocol on one of the four inhabited planets she managed. She’d made the odd little tweak here and there over the planet’s long lifetime, all of which had gone unnoticed. But this time it was going to be obvious. As she saw it though, she’d had no alternative.

She’d never had any difficulty with her other three planets. Admittedly two of them were at such an early stage of development that there was really nothing to do but wait for something to happen. The third was a lovely, tranquil world, covered in lush vegetation and populated only by colourful birds which lived off fruits and seeds. She’d wrapped a subtle cloaking device around it in the hope of keeping it concealed from any advanced astral beings who, if they came upon it, would inevitably decide that it would make a nice second home. That would never do. So far none of the other Great Beings had noticed and her pretty planet had remained undiscovered.

Earth was an entirely different matter. Her little humans had really let the planet go. They had developed into such clever beings; so inventive! so creative! But so many of their inventions had had such a devastating impact on her lovely blue planet. Busily burning fossil fuels, chopping down trees, ruining the very soil they stood on. And then there was the killing. Each other mainly, but all those appealing animals they’d destroyed? Great Being Five was really mad about that.

The big issue was the planet itself. It really couldn’t cope for much longer. Great Being Five focused her third eye and scanned Planet Earth one more time. Swathes of empty forest all across the Amazon; huge scars left by the profligate plundering of mineral deposits which had developed over millennia; and the smog. Filthy air everywhere, a toxic sickly yellow; oceans clogged with seas of bobbing plastic; lakes and rivers coloured improbably by pollutants and algae blooms; fewer and fewer birds and animals. And all those people. People everywhere!

Great Being Five consulted the stats section of her data banks. For the past 40 years, the humans had been using more than double their annual quota of resources. There were other alarming figures too. The report finished with a verdict: ‘Unsustainable; self-destruction inevitable by Earth date, 2020.’

What had happened to the little humans? Why had they become so careless and greedy? They’d ruined everything. She couldn’t let them destroy her favourite planet. No! She wouldn’t let it happen.

Great Being Five scrolled through the little icons on her console and selected one. She took a deep breath and hit the delete key.

©2018 Chris Hall

Remember when we used just one earth?

Your Writing Needs This Pacing

Chris Hall1 Comment

300 words a day – not much, about a page. Do this! (Note to self)

theryanlanz's avatarRyan Lanz

by Richard Risemberg

There is one indispensable step to writing, and that is that you must sit down and write.

This is technically untrue, and was not such a hard and fast rule in the ancient days: Homer, said to be blind, would have been functionally illiterate; he worked the great epics in his head and presented them to live audiences. What we have now are versions likely written down by scribes taking dictation.

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Virtually all the fun of the fair!

Chris Hall3 Comments
Virtually all the fun of the fair Chris Hall lunasonline
skitterphoto.com

In response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s Three Things Challenge:
Holodeck, Klingon, Doctor Who

With apologies to the creators of Star Trek and Doctor Who

The doors to the holodeck swooshed closed. Ensign Marcus Bain felt a warm breeze ruffle his crew cut and the midday sun on his skin. Dressed in appropriate time-period leisurewear he plunged into the fairground crowd.

Garish colours, distorted sounds and the smell of fried food assaulted his senses. He checked the handful of notes and coins which had been issued to him with his slippery pale blue nylon outfit. There had been some orientation information on the pre-entry briefing screen, but he’d barely skimmed it in his impatience to visit late-twentieth century Earth.

He stared about at the crudely-made mechanical rides from which music blared and people screamed. The young ensign selected a ride at random and proffered a handful of coins. The operator raised his eyebrows and laughed, saying something Marcus didn’t catch, before showing him to one of the little rubber-rimmed cars which people were driving around the smooth oval-shaped rink.

Marcus had only just wedged himself into the seat of his little green car when someone bumped him hard from behind. He swivelled around, but the car had already reversed away. Then another slammed into him from the side. “You drive like a Klingon on Rackta,” he yelled at the driver who gave him a thumbs-up sign before driving off to bash a little blue car. Marcus clutched the steering wheel and depressed the single pedal on the floor. The car moved forward, describing a graceful arc.

He cruised around the rink, skilfully avoiding attempts by other cars to bump him. It was a bit like steering a star-ship through a meteor shower; not that he’d actually done that other than on a simulator. Marcus was oblivious to the hostile looks from the other drivers as he evaded their challenges and failed to make any contact himself. Then three cars came at him at once, one behind and two on either side, driving him edge of the rink. There was nowhere for his little green car to go. Marcus swung his car around to face them and stopped. He could feel the pressure from their cars push against his, which was tight up against the rim of the rink. The electric charges from the poles mounted on the back of the cars crackled brightly on the conductive mesh above their heads. The three guys scowled at Marcus. All were dressed in tight cut off t-shirts which revealed hostile-looking tattoos on their arms. He saw the man on his right crack his knuckles.

Marcus was up and out of the little green car before they had a chance to move. He hesitated for a few seconds, then seeing them hoist themselves out onto the busy rink and advance towards him, he set off at a run. The nylon fabric of his clothing slid unpleasantly over his skin as he looked around for somewhere to lose his pursuers.

Marcus noticed a door flapping open at the rear of one of the flimsy buildings. He dived through the door slamming it behind him. It was very dark. Marcus felt his way along a narrow corridor. His stomach knotted as he heard his pursuers enter behind him. Marcus groped his way along the passage until he found another door; he opened it cautiously and slipped through.

It was suddenly very bright; the walls around him were lined with mirrors which distorted and multiplied his reflection. He rounded a corner, hurrying past the grotesque versions of his reflected self into a mirror-lined corridor which twisted and zigzagged before opening into a large, triangular-shaped room. He heard a shout: ‘split up, get him.’ Heavy footsteps pounded on the wooden floor; the mirrors shook. Before Marcus could decide which way to run, three figures appeared each from a different doorway. Marcus was trapped.

‘Exit!’ shouted Marcus, remembering the escape command.

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ one of them grunted. The three men closed in on the now desperate Marcus, who knew he was not immune to blows from holographic foe.

‘Exit!’ Marcus yelled again. Why didn’t the program end?

Vworp! Vworp! The three men stopped and turned to see a large shape materializing in the middle of the room. Marcus sighed with relief. But what appeared wasn’t what he’d expected. Rather than an archway, it was a big blue box, taller than a man and a little wider than the double doors in the side which faced him. Perhaps this was a new version of the Arch? He wished he’d read the briefing more thoroughly. One of the doors opened and a figure in a long brown coat and an even longer stripy scarf appeared. He raised his broad-brimmed hat revealing a shock of unruly, curly hair.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said. He looked at Marcus, ‘You’d better come with me ensign.’

Marcus hesitated; his three would-be assailants stood open-mouthed.

‘Come along Ensign Bain, hurry up now,’ the man said, beckoning to him. ‘This way.’

Marcus hurried toward the blue box. ‘Who are you?’ he asked his rescuer as he drew level with him at the doorway.

‘I’m the Doctor,’ he replied, offering Marcus a toothy grin as he ushered him inside.

‘Doctor who?’ asked Marcus.

‘Have a jelly baby,’ said the Doctor, offering him a crumpled paper bag.

Marcus stared around him.

‘Welcome to the Tardis! Bigger on the inside, yes, I know,’ said the Doctor, beaming wide-eyed at Marcus. ‘Now let’s get you back where you belong,’ he said as he pushed buttons and pulled on levers at the central console.

Before Marcus could take stock of his surroundings, the Tardis materialized in the engine room of the USS Enterprise. ‘Home,’ said the Doctor, helping a dazed Marcus out.

‘Aye, another one, is it Doctor?’ said Scotty, the Chief Engineer.

The Doctor nodded. ‘Your virtual reality toy keeps causing a tiny rift in the space-time continuum. You need to fix it. I’ve better things to do than scoop up young ensigns on their day off.’

‘Aye, Doctor,’ said Scotty, ‘we’ll get onto it right away.’

©2018 Chris Hall

 

I’ve been nominated for…

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blogger recognition award

Honoured, in fact doubly honoured, to have been nominated by firstly:

The Haunted Wordsmith back in July (OMG how time flies) – thank you Teresa!

and secondly, just last week by the The Floating Thoughts – thank you  Roy, Amrita, and Dee Kay!

Be sure to check these wonderful people out in the unlikely event you haven’t found them already…

blogger recognition award rules

You will notice that Q5 and Q7 appear less prominently. This is because they don’t always appear for the award. But well, so what, everything is optional, apart from death and taxes – to misquote Benjamin Franklin (apparently). So, 1 and 2 completed…

How ‘lunasonline’ started

I originally set the blog up in about 2010 to ‘store’ some of my stories. I was way too scared to publish. A couple of years passed during which I finished and self-published my first novel, The Silver Locket – under a pseudonym – still lacking confidence, you see.

But then, at the start of this year, having sold several handfuls of the paperback version of my novel through the art gallery where I’d been working, I decided to launch myself and my blog (all right, Luna’s blog) into the world.

In the meantime, I’d started writing my second novel and, to spur me on, I decided to post a chapter on my blog each week. Discipline! I also set my self a target to publish a short piece of writing every Friday – mostly fiction – just something for fun.

Now, eight months later, I never would have realised the wonderful community of bloggers out there. The interaction and support is wonderful! Thank you all!

 

My two pieces of advice (for what it’s worth)

Be genuine, be supportive – by this I mean that we should ‘like’ what we truly like… and read whatever it is first; interact positively, as much as we can;  and be kind, be positive!

Enjoy yourself, just get it out there – even if it’s a rant – we’ll understand! Have fun with your work, and try to be the best that you can on that day.

 

My Answers to The Floating Thoughts’ Questions:

1.If you could live a life of immortality, would you?
On balance, no. Although I would manage to read all those books out there.

2.If you had 1 billion dollars (or whatever your currency is) what would you do?
Invest a couple of million, buy houses all over the world and give the rest away to people who really need the money. And I might take a hit out on a couple of people (politicians and despots, beware).

3.If you had infinite resources to fund someone to make a piece of media for you (movie, anime, TV series, video game etc.) what would that project be?
A fantastic wildlife series involving loads of awesome places which I would co-host with Sir David Attenborough.

4.If you could have one skill you don’t currently have, what would it be?
The ability to fly.

5.How do you get over it when you feel sad? What do you do?
Write my way out. Or have a long, hot bath; but since we have a severe drought here in Cape Town and bathing is out, it has to be the writing. Wine helps too.

6.What kind of person annoys you the most?
One who promises to deliver then fails to do so.

7.What have you always wanted to be able to do but aren’t able to do?
See Q4.

8.What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given?
Don’t worry what other people think.

9.What is your favourite film character? and why?
Elizabeth Bennett from Jane Austin’s ‘Pride & Prejudice’ (any version). She’s my all-time favourite heroine. It’s her wit. She didn’t worry about what other people thought either.

10.If you could talk to anyone again, living or dead from your life, who would it be? Why?Sorry, I’ve moved on.

 

My Nominees

This is just a handful of the lovely bloggers I’ve come across out there; my list doesn’t include people who I nominated for the Liebster Award, but you could check them out too.

Dear Nominees, what you do with the award is entirely up to you!
You should get the ‘pingback’.

https://gigisrantsandraves.wordpress.com

https://mutedmouthful.com

https://lancesheridan.com

https://jeanleesworld.com

https://shortstoryscribe.wordpress.com

https://jumbledletters15.wordpress.com

and finally (but not least)… https://daradgamer.wordpress.com  – one of my co-nominees (by The Floating Thoughts) who I’d selected earlier!

Your Questions

There aren’t any – but feel free to tell the world a bit about yourself and your work if you’d like. The floor is yours. Blog! Blag! Brag!  Did you see what I did there?

blogger recognition award

 

 

Congregation

Chris Hall1 Comment
Congregation by Chris Hall lunasonline
Photo by Alem Sánchez from Pexels

From my Flash Fiction Collection

Even for a Catholic Church there are a lot of statues. Not just the usual suspects: Our Lord on the Cross, Our Lady Weeping (touch of woodworm on those toes), and good old Saint Francis with a mouldy-looking bird on each hand and a rabbit missing half an ear at his feet. All have been subjected to some dodgy touch-up jobs. Nail varnish on Saint Anne? You shake your head.

There are newer statues too; peopling the perimeter like extras from a low-budget film. They stare out from the shadows, waiting for the action.

You drop a coin in the shabby wooden box, select a candle, light the wick and place it among its fellows. You pause, looking like you’re offering a prayer; for form’s sake.

You glance at your watch. Surely he should be here by now?

Perching on a pew near the back of the nave, you survey the altar. The altar cloth is rumpled and askew; the silverware huddled together at one end, as if something (someone?) had been resting there and was suddenly removed.

A shaft of sunlight falls on the golden lectern, illuminating the outstretched wings of the malformed eagle which support a heavy leather-bound bible on its wings. You notice a chain and padlock securing the stand to a ring-bolt in the floor. You can’t be too careful these days. Something catches your eye; movement reflected in the eagle’s wings. You glance over your shoulder. The statues appear closer; one of them, a young man, has a hand raised as if in greeting. Was it like that before?

The clouds move over the sun and the lectern fades in the gloom. A door scrapes open and a pool of yellow light spills onto the flagstones alongside the altar. There is a shadow too: an elongated arm with an extended finger touches the edge of the altar cloth. Then ghost-sounds of shuffling feet, whispers of words and the rasp of heavy breaths echo across the nave. You suddenly notice that the statues are lined up along the central aisle. They watch you; empty-eyed. How did they get there? You close your eyes, shake your head and open them again. Are you dreaming? You don’t think so.

A door slams somewhere and a black-garbed priest appears carrying violin case. The man for whom you’d been waiting: the one who says he has a story for you. He sets the case down on the altar and opens it, taking out a strange-looking rifle. He glances at the statues and stares back at you. Now he smiles and flicks off the safety catch.

They say you never hear the bullet which kills you. Father Anselm’s petrifying bullets are different.

©2018 Chris Hall

Inspired by The Haunted Wordsmith’s Three Things Challenge: statue, priest, violin

 

10 writers and their cats

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10 writers and their cats.PNG

Published in Lit Hub Weekly: August 20- 24

The following article is from a book called Writers and Their Cats, which is a book about writers and their cats (!) and is written by Alison Nastasi.

The writers:
Angela Carter, Chester Himes, Gillian Flynn, Jorge Luis Borges, Judy Blume, Julio Cortázar, Mark Twain, Marlon James, Patricia Highsmith, Ursula K. Le Guin.

Click here to read the article

me and Luna

Me and (a slightly unwilling) Luna. 
We’re obviously in very good company! Are you?

 

 

‘Writers and Their Cats’ is published by Chronicle Books © 2018 by Alison Nastasi.