Showing posts from March, 2016

A Cup of Coffee

Dreckenheimer opened up the Daily News and flipped through the headlines. Iced green tea and fiber bar to the right, list of clients, monies owed and deliverables due, to the left. He took a long, cold swig when a headline about an aspiring comedienne being carted off to the funny farm for stalking a local politician caught his eye. “Oy vey- what has this fakaktah schlumperdink done now?” the 75-year-old personal manager muttered to himself. He had thought he had seen it all. The article read: "Selena Markowitz, a former homeless woman whose comedy career peaked when she appeared on VH2’s stand-up Comedy Slam Showcase a couple of years ago, was taken to Bellevue Hospital earlier today for observation after security guards arrested Ms. Markowitz for allegedly stalking Democratic Presidential Candidate Stacey Smith’s office dressed in a bathrobe." Dreckenheimer had discovered Markowitz performing on the subway, but in fairness it was actually Markowitz who had ze

On time...

I recently spotted this piece about time and writing in the Glimmertrain Press newsletter, and enjoyed it very much. I found many of the things Gabe Herron mentioned spoke to me. In particular, the quote:  "You must put time aside at the very moment you realize there isn't enough, that you have started too late, or from too far behind the start line, or both. You have to forget time because it's going to take how long it takes, not one minute longer, not one minute less." So I thought we should share it here on Cafe Aphra.  Gabe Herron on time and writing... and carpentry What do you think?  Did you find anything in this article that resonated with you? How do you deal with time and finding the time - or making the time - to write? Post your comments below...


There were footprints in the snow all the way to the phone box. Clare shivered outside while she waited for the caller to finish, warming herself with the last but one of the cigarettes she found in a crumpled packet in her coat pocket.  “Cold night”, the woman said as she pushed back the heavy glass door. “You’ve moved into Selkie Cottage haven’t you? Isn’t the phone working yet? That was supposed to have been fixed for you. You should speak to Gordon Ross. I’m Jean Moncrieff by the way.” “Anne Ramsay,” Clare lied. “I expect there’s been a delay. And I can’t get a signal on my mobile.” She forced a smile. “Aye, well I’ll not hold you up then. Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” Clare watched Jean Moncrieff walk back along the path, her black raincoat flapping against her legs like a nun’s habit. Clare waited until she was out of sight then carefully barred her number before dialling. “How safe are you?” Rob’s voice was a seductive whisper. Clare idly traced a gloved fi

Step Outside

There is a man named Steven O'Toole in London I can see him now as the sun goes down and long shadows rise The summer’s heat stands on the telephone lines and roof spines Daring the wind to push it to the cracking pavement Dare to dance with the other devils Meet sister in the July sky Turn to the absence of light, the testimonies of well-laid plans And dive through the cracks, A midsummer’s veil over bricks and cement With all its liquid air in heat, breathing Filling you restless and drowsy A teardrop both clinging and falling Back to the cool river Take me back to the dreams It’s just a city That’s all it is All your own in its well-laid plans. But Step Outside Its just a city, gold, castle ashes and parchment Somewhere in the city is a man named Steven O'Toole He looks out the window as the sun goes down and the long shadows rise And the summer’s heat stands on the telephone wires and roof spines Daring the wind to push i

Some more rules for writing fiction (Part Two)

... and here is Part Two, as promised last week! Again, well worth the read. Rules for Writing from everyone under the sun (Part Two) Let us know your thoughts below... which ones were your favourites?