Superior the knowing human glance that dreams, in lightly jostling verticals, ideas that make the candelabras dance, the whitened tips of candle flames that call to mind a burning icy chalice raised beneath the sky’s acceptance. Over time these flowers were led in evolution’s ways to make their fine survival death-defying. A blind
By Helen Larham I have always loved him despite his neglect so when I stepped out onto the sea he bore my full weight, everything: All those times I had ventured in and they had laughed at my frantic back stroking and butterflying like a frog. My woollen costume expanding in the water corrugating,
By Chris Campbell. Robert was in his early sixties and had lived alone since his wife had died almost two years ago. He had a daughter who lived in Eastbourne, down on the south coast of England. He lived on the outskirts of Oxford only two streets away from where he was born. He had
By John Pearson I am the man-length canvas pulled out of store, strung between grey bulkheads ready to still the pitch and roll of any ship. I am a solitary place a cocoon to relieve the last watch’s weariness. I am a lying sick bed and even a second skin wrapped around a dead sailor.
Richard Hardie is one of the founder members of Authors Reach, a co-operative of local authors turned self-publishers. Here’s how it works. The job of being an author doesn’t stop with the words “The End”. In many ways that’s just the beginning. Publishers tend to spend their marketing budget on promoting books from authors who they know will turn out
By Suzanne Toogood Drink wine, beer, spirits that cheer, go on a bike ride, watch the tide, admire Gay Pride, read a book, be spooked by a spook, try not to look, don’t get hooked. Go to the zoo, catch flu, listen to the blues, sew, cook, spy a rook, or a crow,
By John Pearson New Road, place of the Doll’s Hospital with Jack Grant Racing to Parham and Sons furniture removals shifting towards Marriott’s, upholsterers, lino and carpet dealers. Mile End School of Motoring driving people to the New Road Wine Store and the Salutation taking in the sweet scent of Madam’s Blooms.
By Dale M Chatwin The cold chills my bones like hypodermic needles scratching stone. I rose from the gutter, thoughts fractured and cluttered, made my way back home, uninterrupted. The streets were deserted, the wind howled. The sound was a choir of souls, lamenting their former selves, anguished they roam, through purgatory, their home. Now it
By Jon Crout. Vaughn stared down Kennedy from the other end of the deserted, dust blown street. “Your portrayal of Chris Adams was too far removed from the original to be credibly considered the same character,” he called down the road. Kennedy narrowed his eyes and ran his thumbs along the top of his holster
Change is afoot at S&C. Editor in Chief Sarah Cheverton explains what we’ll be up to in 2017 and how you can get involved in our continuing mission to #ReclaimTheNews. Here at S&C, we are very proud of all we’ve achieved since we launched in February 2015. We began life as a fiercely independent online