Short (and longer) stories in magazines, multi-author collections and anthologies, audio, print and downloads.
Click below for my own collection, Becoming Someone:
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Miles of mountain, miles of sand
“Go home!” they hissed, when she left the high-rise, dragging a child by each hand. Flash fiction in the anthology Poetry and Settled Status For All, published January 2022. |
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This Morning’s Cake
From dreams of chocolate sponge and gingerbread she tiptoes down the stairs. Butter, sugar and flour measured to the nearest milligram, she beats and whisks and folds until her arms tingle, and then she stirs some more. Sloppy cooks cheat with electric mixers, but not her. Flash fiction published January 2020 by Wink |
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A Peek inside the Hothouse
In the end, we had to close down all our social media accounts, even the Justgiving page we’d set up to fund a private nurse so we could have her home now and then. If that doesn’t demonstrate the hypocrisy of our critics, I don’t know what would. Look, we wanted what any parent wants for their kid: that she should be happy, healthy and fulfilled. Maybe, with our own neglected childhoods, we pushed for more for Lindy. But when did that become a crime? Published December 2019 by Here Comes Everyone. |
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Country house hotel
Des would’ve preferred to meet up at the hotel, but Bev was adamant. “It won’t be the same if we don’t travel together.” He could’ve pointed out it wouldn’t be the same anyway without Dad, but Bev could get stroppy when she was thwarted and the last thing their mother needed was them squabbling like a couple of kids. Published 2018 in The Congress of Rough Writers anthology along with 9 of my 99-word stories |
First published in print in 2009 by Bridge House and now republished 2018 in The Best of Fiction on the Web volume 1
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Freudian slip
Phone clamped to my ear, I stuff pyjamas into an overnight bag. I hate to miss her party, but Fran will understand. No wildlife seen that day Leaving their argument at home, they took to the hills, hoping the scenery would soothe them. But they remained wrapped in self-absorbed brooding until a cry stopped them in their tracks. Sensitive skin Someone touched her once. The shock sent her spine into spasm and the heat left a raised welt on her skin. For weeks it festered, raw and oozing pus. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) Flash fiction, p28-29, published by Bunbury, October 2017 |
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Listen to Lily Lowe-Myers read my short story, Across the Table, on the Andy Bungay show on Wandsworth radio (it starts about one hour and eight minutes (1.08) into the programme and lasts about ten minutes). |
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“Dancing White” p29
We pulled up by a wooden shack with a rusting Coca-Cola sign above the entrance. The driver was barely inside the ramshackle shop before they had us corralled.
Published September 2016 by Crack the Spine.
Comments welcome on this story – see my blog post The amazing workings of the unconscious mind.
“What Time it Sunset?” (p37)
The rage sets your throat ablaze and you flounder around for some cold words to douse the flames.
Published March 2016 by Alliterati. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on Annecdotal.
“After Icarus” (p30)
He cruises through the troposphere, parting the clouds with his arms like a swimmer. Effortless: his body as light as a bride’s veil. He could go on like this for ever. Not going anywhere in particular. Just going.
Published December 2015 by Alliterati. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on Annecdotal.
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“Rebekah’s Foreskin” (p16) "Mummy mummy mummy, look what I can do, mummy!" I turn, splashing bubbles onto the bath mat, my features ready-composed to express wonder at my three-year-old's latest accomplishment. Published December 2015 by Alliterati. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) |
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“How Can They Do That” (p10)
How can they do that? Walk straight past as if he's a discarded burger carton that offends their eyes. Not their responsibility; let some minion sweep up the mess.
The waitress brings the menu. I take it with a smile. Costs nothing, a smile.
Published December 2015 by Alliterati.
Comments welcome on Annecdotal.
A Man Is Swinging
Leaving the path, I thread through the trees, ducking under branches to plant a trail of mini chocolate bars within the laps of gnarled roots. Dead leaves crunch underfoot and, way behind, the voices of Margot and the kids rise in gleeful terror of lions and tigers and bears.
First published June 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 2, The Back of Beyond
Republished July 2015 by Nottingham Writers' Studio (in print and download)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
Leaving the path, I thread through the trees, ducking under branches to plant a trail of mini chocolate bars within the laps of gnarled roots. Dead leaves crunch underfoot and, way behind, the voices of Margot and the kids rise in gleeful terror of lions and tigers and bears.
First published June 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 2, The Back of Beyond
Republished July 2015 by Nottingham Writers' Studio (in print and download)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
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The Witch's Funeral
He wasn’t much of a man, quite dwarfed by Arnold’s armchair, as he leafed through his book to April. Like a lath, he was, from the narrow lapels of his grey jacket to his lips that stayed hidden as he moved his mouth to speak: “There’s a window on the twenty-second.” Published October 2015 by Open Pen. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) |
In Search of Mr Right
Once upon a time, on a High Street not so very far from here, a fresh-faced young virgin looked up from the record counter at Woolworth’s, straight into the beautiful chestnut-brown eyes of Mr Right ...
This story was first published in QWF magazine and has also appeared (in Swedish) in Allas, both in 2007.
Republished by The Journeyman January 2014 in print and a free download. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Blog post on good-enough is on annecdotal. Comments welcome.
Once upon a time, on a High Street not so very far from here, a fresh-faced young virgin looked up from the record counter at Woolworth’s, straight into the beautiful chestnut-brown eyes of Mr Right ...
This story was first published in QWF magazine and has also appeared (in Swedish) in Allas, both in 2007.
Republished by The Journeyman January 2014 in print and a free download. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Blog post on good-enough is on annecdotal. Comments welcome.
Republished January 2014 by Alfie Dog Fiction (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) |
Reflecting Queenie
Queenie would not have wanted me there, but she could hardly expect Dad to attend her trial alone. So I sat beside him in the public gallery as he held himself as still as his Parkinson's would permit, while the prosecution ripped her personality apart. It was a straightforward case of jealousy, they said, and only Queenie seemed surprised when the jury returned a guilty verdict.
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The Seven Dudley SibsBut it’s table 5 that sets my heart thumping against my ribcage; a party of seven in the name of Dudley. One Dudley is difficult enough, Mother used to say. Two are dangerous, three diabolical. All seven of them together are deadly ... |
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Republished November 2013 by Alfie Dog Fiction (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) Click here to read my blog post on the inability to smile. |
My Beautiful Smile
If I had a pound for every time I've had that said to me ... I wish I had the guts to march right back and smack them in the mouth. If I had a pound for every time I wouldn't be getting into debt to fund the operation.
(Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) |
Albarella di Sarzana
Forty-odd sweaty bodies crammed into the boardroom to toast my expulsion (sorry, my early retirement with generous benefits package) with a glass of cheap sherry and a lukewarm mini-samosa. A witty speech detailing the parallels between my rise through the ranks and the steady increase in our market share, deftly glossing over the last three years since He Who Must Be Obeyed started meddling with my systems.
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First published by Still Crazy and now republished November 2013 by Alfie Dog Fiction (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) Come and read my blog post on allotment gardening |
Published November 2013 by Alfie Dog Fiction. Share your views on this story on my blog post: The Christmas Narrative: Dickens versus Frantzen |
The Front Legs of the Pantomime Horse When Alice Taylor took the polychromatic patchwork costume out of the prop cupboard to check whether any repairs were needed, Jo felt positively nauseous.
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Shaggy Dog Story
Wednesdays are when we wait for the vicar lady -- or one of her do-gooding helpers -- to ring the doorbell and take us down to the communal lounge for a paper plate of pie and peas and a couple of rounds of bingo. All it costs us is to join in with the croaking hymns while the vicar lady tinkles away on the piano.
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First published by Still Crazy and now republished November 2013 by Alfie Dog Fiction (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.) Come and read my blog post on old age and stereotypes where you can also leave comments on this story if you wish. |
A House for the Wazungu
Albert Lumumba escorted the visitors back to the school. He invited them to sit on stools in the shade of the great thatched roof and watch his pupils perform their song and dance of welcome. He sent one of the children to Miriam Moto's stall to fetch chai in china cups. What else could he do? Visitors, however noisy and inconvenient, must be entertained.
Published October 2013 by Chuffed Buff Books.
Blog post on writing in the first person plural now on annecdotal.
Albert Lumumba escorted the visitors back to the school. He invited them to sit on stools in the shade of the great thatched roof and watch his pupils perform their song and dance of welcome. He sent one of the children to Miriam Moto's stall to fetch chai in china cups. What else could he do? Visitors, however noisy and inconvenient, must be entertained.
Published October 2013 by Chuffed Buff Books.
Blog post on writing in the first person plural now on annecdotal.
© Lee Harrison
Winnie the Pooh's Danse Macabre
Once the nurses shuffle out with their instruments of torture, there’s a moment of calm before the ghouls and vampires wake up. Winnie the Pooh materialises first. She stands guard at the foot of the bed, one hand jiggling my temperature chart and the other beckoning to the troupe. The spirits shimmy out from under the bed, contorting their gruesome bodies in a parody of dance.
Published October 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 3, Under the Bed (Re-edited and re-titled version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Post on writing hallucinatory states now on Annecdotal where your comments are most welcome.
Once the nurses shuffle out with their instruments of torture, there’s a moment of calm before the ghouls and vampires wake up. Winnie the Pooh materialises first. She stands guard at the foot of the bed, one hand jiggling my temperature chart and the other beckoning to the troupe. The spirits shimmy out from under the bed, contorting their gruesome bodies in a parody of dance.
Published October 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 3, Under the Bed (Re-edited and re-titled version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Post on writing hallucinatory states now on Annecdotal where your comments are most welcome.
Fat Footprints
They stopped and turned to measure the distance they had strayed from the thatch-roofed chalet that had been their home for the past ten days. Selina gasped. A streak of pink lined the horizon; but the overture to another splendid sunset wasn’t what had caught her attention. "Look at our footprints. They’re enormous."
Published September 2013 by The Journeyman. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
They stopped and turned to measure the distance they had strayed from the thatch-roofed chalet that had been their home for the past ten days. Selina gasped. A streak of pink lined the horizon; but the overture to another splendid sunset wasn’t what had caught her attention. "Look at our footprints. They’re enormous."
Published September 2013 by The Journeyman. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
A Smell of Paint
Today my daughter is coming home. At last. Her brother has gone to bring her back to the house of her childhood to paint pictures and be mothered back to herself.
Published June 2013 by efiction. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
Today my daughter is coming home. At last. Her brother has gone to bring her back to the house of her childhood to paint pictures and be mothered back to herself.
Published June 2013 by efiction. (Re-edited version appears along with forty-one others in my first short story collection, Becoming Someone.)
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
© Lee Harrison
A Man Is Swinging
Leaving the path, I thread through the trees, ducking under branches to plant a trail of mini chocolate bars within the laps of gnarled roots. Dead leaves crunch underfoot and, way behind, the voices of Margot and the kids rise in gleeful terror of lions and tigers and bears.
Published June 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 2, The Back of Beyond
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
Leaving the path, I thread through the trees, ducking under branches to plant a trail of mini chocolate bars within the laps of gnarled roots. Dead leaves crunch underfoot and, way behind, the voices of Margot and the kids rise in gleeful terror of lions and tigers and bears.
Published June 2013 by Far Off Places, Issue 2, The Back of Beyond
Comments welcome on annecdotal.
The Merry Widow
Merry is an apt word, recalling the desperate yo-ho-ho of department store Santas, the embarrassment of one too many cocktails. Happy would not be appropriate. Happy widows might be content to sit at home of an evening, reading novels or sewing. Happy we does might tend their gardens in the afternoons and gather fruit to make jam.
Included in Bridge House Twelve Days anthology
This is a collection of darker, longer stories which
will give you something to think about. Elegantly crafted by some of Bridge
House's finest writers, these thought-provoking tales will occupy you during the darkest days after Yuletide festivities. These stories can of course be read at any time of the year but the collection is named after the twelve days of Christmas and provides one a day for this season.
Included in Bridge House Twelve Days anthology
This is a collection of darker, longer stories which
will give you something to think about. Elegantly crafted by some of Bridge
House's finest writers, these thought-provoking tales will occupy you during the darkest days after Yuletide festivities. These stories can of course be read at any time of the year but the collection is named after the twelve days of Christmas and provides one a day for this season.
The Neck appears in a collection from Bridge House publishing
May 2009
... while her body had strayed over to Craig’s side of the bed, her head had been left behind with the kitsch alarm on her own side, a whole pillow-length away.
Further details at
http://redqueenadultsuitcase.blogspot.com/
