​In the run up to receiving copies of my new book of short stories, I thought you might like to read the first one free!  Here it is; hope you are sitting comfortably.  It is one of my "alphabet stories".  
Enjoy. 

Arthur

​Arthur hated going on holiday. Beautiful sandy beaches and cloudless skies did nothing for him.  Christine, on the other hand, spent all year looking forward to their fortnight’s break on the coast.  Dutifully, Arthur looked out his khaki, knee length shorts and camel-dung coloured sandals. Every year, some mystery ailment would attack Arthur, usually on about day three of the holiday.  Fretting over him as he lay under the floral eiderdown on the twin bed nearest the window, Christine would ask if he minded if she popped out for a little stroll on the promenade.
“Go on, you enjoy yourself. Have some fun, my dear, you deserve it. I’ll be fine here; I’ll just have a little snooze and then I’ll be as right as rain. Just give me a little tinkle on my mobile phone when you’re on your way back, so I know to expect you.”
Kenneth was waiting on the corner, a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums only partly hidden behind his back.
“Lovely to see you again, my dear!” he boomed so loudly she feared the whole street would hear.
“Must we carry on like this forever?” she asked, much later, as they drank tea at the little café on the prom.
“Not if you don’t want to, of course not,” Kenneth replied, holding both her hands in his.

“Only the lonely” was playing on the car radio, as Arthur pulled up outside Zena’s little house at the far end of the town. Parking in front of her tiny, neat garden, he sighed with relief at the sight of her smiling face at the open door.
“Quite the man about town, aren’t you?” she laughed, taking in his smart blazer and regimental tie, his neatly pressed trousers and shining shoes.
“Right, this old soldier is ready for some action,” replied Arthur, bounding up the front steps and into her arms.
“Steady on, you’ll end up having a heart attack, Arthur!”
“That would never do, imagine the scandal.”

Under the esplanade, Christine sat alone, staring out to sea.  Valerie had given Kenneth an ultimatum; stay or go.  Wise woman, Valerie, she had waited until she was dying of cancer to let him know that she had always known.  Exactly at the moment when Christine was about to phone Arthur to say she was on her way back to the B&B, she saw a couple, happy and smiling, walk down the sandy shore and into the sea.  Yesterday, holidays had seemed wonderful.  Zena, her arm in Arthur’s thought she heard a splash at the end of the pier, as they turned back towards the town.

I'm in the process of editing a new book of short stories.  After sifting through the pieces I've written over the past couple of years, I realised that I had enough to put a new collection together. It also seemed a wee bit overdue, the first one having been published in 2013. The format will be similar to the first volume - ten short and very short stories, half of which are "alphabet stories".   The tales are told by a range of characters and include a walk in the park which turns sinister, a misunderstanding about money and affairs which end badly.  I'm looking forward to finishing the editing and making this new volume available to you.  If you would like to pre-order a copy, this will be possible very soon. 

Last September, I very quickly put together a collection of ten short and very short stories and self-published them via Blurb.com.  I had previously used this method for putting books of photos together, but had never tried my hand at a book containing only text.  I should know by now that doing something too hastily is not a great idea.  But there is a balance between being a perfectionist and getting things done.  Sometimes it is necessary just to get on and make things even if they are imperfect.  Often we learn more by making mistakes than by doing something exactly right.  And to be honest, how often does the latter happen?  Not very often, in my experience.

What I am trying to say, in rather a roundabout way, is that there were mistakes in the first edition of my short story book.  As someone who has edited scientific journals and biological text books with razor-sharp precision (or so I like to think) in the past, I should be ashamed of myself.  But funnily enough, I am not. For once, I just got on and put the book together.  Yes, there were a few places where words got chopped in half at the ends of lines.  Yes, horror of horrors, the font size changed from one story to the next, at one point (but not within a story, now that would be unforgivable).  Yes, there was a slight inconsistency in the use of "'cause" and "'cos".  But no-one complained. At least not to me. I don't think the tiny wandering apostrophes spoiled anyone's reading enjoyment - I do hope not.  

Since there is still a perfectionist lying dormant, mostly, within me, I have recently edited the book, taking on board the very useful notes and comments from a very helpful friend at my art class.  Thank you, May.  So, the second edition is now available, either via Blurb, or directly here, from my website, or, coming soon, from Amazon (for Kindle).
  
And if you spot any errors - please do let me know and I'll keep notes for the third edition.

They say if you want something done, ask a busy person.  I say, if I've got lots of things to do, why don't I just go off and do something completely different? That always reminds me of the Monty Python line "And now for something completely different!", but that's a topic for another day.

I am supposed to be getting organised for North East Open Studios - my little cabin opens in 10 days or so, with an exhibition of my watercolour paintings and my daughter's photographs.  I have to clear out all my boxes of gubbins, sorry, art materials, give the place a good brush/hoover/clean, and hang said exhibition to its best advantage.  Plenty time yet, I think to myself. I have thought this to myself many times in the past, and always end up in a last minute rush.  I'm not quite sure why I am sharing this, or what the point was meant to be.  Ah yes, procrastinating.  But it's not really procrastinating if you do something creative, or worthwhile, or constructive, is it?  Does that still count as procrastinating?  Maybe.

In my wisdom/procrastinating mode, I decided now was exactly the right time to put together a little collection of short stories.  I've been meaning to do this for quite a while - well, since I've had enough stories written that I am happy to share with the world.  So I just did it.  Yesterday and the day before.  Decided which stories I'd include, chose two images (my own photos) for front and back covers, edited the stories, arranged them in what I thought was a good order, made a list of contents and pressed the publish button.  Done.  Boy does that feel good.