I share anthology space with awesome writers

I have been fortunate to have three short stories published in three anthologies through Stringybark Stories.

Dead Letters – published in The Seven Deadly Sins

They stand around the bed like vultures. Pete is impatient. Murmurings he can’t quite make out. He wants them to leave. The brown envelope is burning his hand. He ignores the hard chairs near the coffee machine, and stands looking across the car park to the lake beyond. He wishes Hannah’s bed had this view. Her window looks out onto the brick wall of the laboratory next door. They are still there, checking charts and machines, muttering medical speak. Maybe he will have that coffee. Hannah does not know he prefers coffee to tea. She never asks. Besides the whole tea ceremony with fine china cups helps set the scene for her stories. Until a week ago.

Surprises – published in Hitler Did It

The young girl was turning the sign to closed, but stopped mid chew of her gum long enough to open the door again with a muttered “Whatever” in reply to Maggie’s apology. The goldfish was in a bag on the counter waiting.

“Are there instructions with it?” she asked. The blonde girl with the dark roots chewed on.


“What about the water, is tap water ok?”


“Rainwater?” Two could play at this game. A teenager whose belly button ring hung that far over the band of her shorts would not put her off. Maggie noted it matched the one in the girl’s right eyebrow.


Til Death Us Do Part – published in Side by Side

The room was already hot. It was going to be another scorching Perth day. Liz groaned and stabbed at the vibrating phone, wanting another ten minutes to snooze, and maybe ten after that. The intrusion continued and she forced one eye open to look at the screen. ‘Jodie’ flashed at her. Please not another homeless cat.

“Hi Honey. Sorry, thought you were the alarm.”

“Geez, Mum do you know what time it is?”

7:15. But let’s not worry about that.

“It’s Sunday. What’s up?” Liz sat up, and moved a black cat onto her lap. He stretched in protest, digging his claws into her leg.

“It’s Dad. He has cancer. It’s terminal. Less than a year. Mum, did you hear me? Jessica has left him. I thought you’d want to know.”

For what seemed like an age, she couldn’t breathe. Not Paul. Tears ran rivulets into the cat’s fur. “I heard you. When are you going to find a home for this cat?”

This publisher provides opportunity to emerging writers through competitions and the judges will provide constructive feedback for a small fee. Invaluable.

Publications in both ebook and print format are available for sale.


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