When old friends get together, after an hour or two of reminiscing it is often that we start to share stories. If it’s one of those cool evenings with a long twilight and bats swooping in the darkening sky and the occasional hoot of an owl or the high-pitched scratchy sound of locusts or other night creatures, how many of us turn to tales of the supernatural?
Well, this is what happened many years ago at an old school reunion. This is the story shared by a friend. He says it happened to him. I believe him. Do you? The Guesthouse Ghost
Hello friends, followers, family! I am going to try and place podcasts here of flash fiction, poetry or whatever comes to mind. I have been encouraged to try and do so by a dear young friend. I hope this works. And, of course, do let me know what you think.
Today I am starting with an old piece, a poem, bet you’re not surprised. The link is to my Soundcloud account: Another Farewell to Nova Scotia Song.
While clearing out my email I came across this story. I hope you find it as hopeful as I did. The message is very much a Christian message, and that is the faith into which I was born and continue to profess and believe in.
Author Unknown
There was a group of women in a Bible study on the book of Malachi. As they were studying chapter three they came across verse three which says, “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.” This verse puzzled the women and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.
One of the women offered to find out about the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study. That week the woman called up a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that, in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest so as to burn away all the impurities.
The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot – then she thought again about the verse, that He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver. She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. For if the silver was left even a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, “How do you know when the silver is fully refined?” He smiled at her and answered, “Oh, that’s the easy part — when I see my image reflected in it.”
If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has His eye on you and will keep His hand on you and watch over you until He sees His image in you.
One after another nine of the stories from my short story collection, Twelve Roses for Love, are being featured by Vachi Audiobooks. This is a unique and refreshing way to listen to or read-along as a story unfolds. As one listener said to me, just close your eyes and let the words flow directly into your mind.
This story presents a mystery. Anita, the main character in our story, has nurtured a soft spot for her old school friend, Jake for many years. He was her secret love. Now, ten years later she is being invited to join the class reunion. She’s apprehensive. Life has been a bit hard on her and although she was once the school beauty she has let herself go. Now, she doesn’t want to attend the reunion for fear that they’ll tease her for putting on weight. And, for fear that Jake, who once seemed to care for her, may not care for her any more.
She meets him… or does she? You decide. Is he for real or a figment of her imagination?
In Twelve Roses for Love I wanted to highlight not only romantic love but love in so many different ways. This story addresses the all-important issues of ‘self-love’. Confident, happy people are often unaware that their very confidence and that glow of being comfortable in their own skins stems from the fact that they are loved.
This is supposed to be a natural phenomenon. But it’s not as common as we believe. I have read of, heard of, listened one-on-one to people who haven’t been nurtured in that beautiful cocoon of parental and familial love that some of us take for granted. And this was the background to the story that grew from a poem I initially wrote about domestic violence. I had read many cases of how abused young women try and cover up their bruises with make-up.
At that time I had taken up the challenge of writing a poem-a-day and the prompt was ‘Dark Lipstick’. A short poem was born on this subject. Later, I explored the sentiment of the poem and made it a bit longer for Womania, a winter festival in Bahrain in 2019, created by a friend who runs a PR, communications and advertising company called CreaTree Services. The event was developed to highlight the need for women’s empowerment.
Finally, when I was sorting through various short stories that I have written over the years, to include in Twelve Roses for Love, I came upon this poem. I remember looking at it and thinking, ‘Hmmm, self love, I really should have a story that talks about that.’ This story grew from that poem. You can read or listen to it here.
This is a small collection of twelve widely different stories that are all about love – not all of them romantic love. There’s the love that grows between sisters, a story about a woman who learns to love herself, the deep abiding love of an older couple, and so much more.
Courtesy a friend and Vachi Audiobooks nine of these stories are now being featured on their YouTube Channel as audio stories with a ‘read-along’ capability. There’s one story: First Impression, First Love that contains a riddle. Listen to it carefully or read it in my book, available on Amazon as both a Kindle and paperback here.
To visit the Vachi Audiobook YouTube channel, click this.
There’s an additional incentive for the story First Impression, First Love. If you can “get” what the story is really about, I will give the first five correct replies a prize – a personalised poem created exclusively for you or a special someone. Now wouldn’t that make an unusual stocking-stuffer for Christmas?
I’m just a slender collection of a dozen stories about love. Between my covers I hold a heartbreaking story about the love of an older couple, the heartwarming tale of the love between sisters. There’s a romantic story about love that remained even after a twenty-year absence. And even a laugh-out-loud tale told by an armchair.
Although I’m a little book with only 61 pages, I have high ambitions. I want to outsell all the other books that the author has ever written. I’m in the throes of wondering how to do it. And I need your help, please…
If you’ve read the book, or even a few stories and feel you’ve had enough of a taste to make a comment, please do post a review either right here on this blog or at any of the Amazon sites. The latter is preferred. This, I’ve been told helps bump up the visibility and that’s always a good thing.
Amazon.com site. Do please check it out. Honestly, I think you’ll enjoy all the short stories.
I don’t recall whether I entered Twelve Roses for Love for the cover of the month contest at All Author, or whether it was randomly selected. But one evening, in the midst of a Skype conversation with our daughter and while simultaneously checking email (yeah, I do that sometimes), I saw this email from All Author informing me that my book cover was up for the Cover of the Month contest for April.
“Oh, dear me,” I declared in a rather C-3PO-ish voice to myself, “I better do something about promoting this.”
First I sent out emails. Next I posted it on Facebook and Twitter. Then I sent it to family and friends’ WhatsApp groups. The votes started to come in.
When I first looked at the rank it was at #24. Hmmm not bad, I thought. Then obviously the votes started to come in. Now the excitement began.
Friends and even some folk I don’t know voted for the cover. It rose rapidly through the ranks. Then it got stalled at #9. But after a while there was another spurt and it shot up to #3.
My heart was beating and I got quite caught up in the thrill of the chase. The next time I looked it had gone to #2!!!
Wow wooooow! I thought. OMG as they say these days. I started thanking everyone. By then the better part of the day had been spent in checking the status and trying to bake my annual batch of hot cross buns 🙂 I was emotionally and physically still on a high, although my legs, by now were aching.
Last thing at night I looked again and it had dropped to #4!
Oh dear, I thought, this is nonsense. But I can’t stop myself! I looked again just now so it’s hopped up to #3 again
And the latest, as I go to “press”, is that it has fallen to #5.
Dear readers, can we boost this up further? If so please visit and vote…
I haven’t really used FictionPals to write book reviews, but for some reason Amazon won’t let me post a review for this book. Can’t figure it out so I’m posting it here.
So here goes…
Every now and then, I thoroughly enjoy a good WWII story and when I picked up Operation Leonardo by Robert Cubitt, I was not disappointed. This is the first of Robert’s Commando books that I have read. He has written a total of five books on them, in particular the (fictional) group, 15Commando led by the charismatic Steve Carter. This team is based on the real Commandos in the British Army, an elite force that took the fight across several different geographical locations of the WWII theatre.
Leonardo is one of many operations under the umbrella of Operation Husky, the Allied Invasion of Sicily in July 1943. Under direct orders from General Montgomery, 15Commando is tasked to take and hold a bridge over the River Gabriel. According to the intelligence brief they were not expecting any enemy resistance and, they were told, that there were no German tanks within miles. General Montgomery was wrong. And Carter and his Commandos end up having to capture the beach and battery at Cassibile and then make for and take the bridge. They also had to ensure that the bridge doesn’t get blown up by either the Italians or, by the unexpected arrival of the Germans. That too none other than the Fallschirmjäger (paratrooper) division that parachuted in to take or blow up the same bridge.
When the going gets really tough, with the arrival of German Tiger Tanks, the Commando division is given an “everyman for himself” order. And from that point it’s a pretty heart-thumping charge to the finish. I’ll not give away any spoilers here but there are enough twists and turns to keep one guessing.
I felt it had a bit of a slow warm up with lots of initial explanatory detail. But overall, it’s an engaging story that captures and holds one’s attention. What added to the sense of authentic danger, is the fact that the series was inspired by Robert Cubitt’s own father, which gives the reader that extra edge of connection. And the incident too is based on real events. I also enjoyed the occasional literary references and quotes. A good read, with much to enjoy and learn.
On the advice of a fellow-author, publisher and friend, I decided to re-jig the contents of Twelve Roses For Love. This meant that the first story, the one about Saint Valentine, became part of my author’s notes. As a result I was one story short. So, the paperback version of Twelve Roses for Love has an extra story, for some reason that extra story hasn’t uploaded to the e-book version. I’m working on fixing that.
In the meantime, I think it only fair to share that extra story as a free read here. I’m hoping that when some of my followers read this one, they’ll realise that the stories contained in Twelve Roses aren’t your typical romances. There are a few that are, and as I have mentioned before, there’s one rather amusing and saucy story at the end of the book. For now, here’s your bonus story…
Dark Lipstick
Theresa still couldn’t believe she had put up with all that for so long. It had been an almost textbook case. How had she, of all people, allowed herself to become that person. She loved Jake. Correction, she told herself as she sat on the bed in the women’s shelter, she had once thought she loved Jake.
He wasn’t your typically handsome guy that she’d met at the gym two years ago. But there was something about him. An almost shy lop-sided grin, dark brown hair that fell over one eye, which he constantly pushed back. They had dated. He’d told her he’d had anger-management issues and the gym was to help work these out.
She understood. That’s kind of what she herself was working on. But hers were more a case of self-esteem. Feel good about your body and yourself, all the support groups had said. And it had worked. When she met Jake, she was trim, the curves were where they should be and she had muscles.
“I’ll arm wrestle you,” she’d said to Jake who had an impressive set of biceps himself. Her smile always lit up her face and danced in her eyes. Who would have predicted that that would be her undoing! The friendly roughhousing in bed began to lead more and more often to Jake actually using his strength against her.
The first time he was all apologies. The classic, “I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean it, it will never happen again.” Followed by flowers and chocolate.
She’d worn dark lipstick to work and made some empty silly excuse about slipping in the bathroom.
Later he was all sarcasm, laced with jealousy, for what she never knew. “You think you’re kick-ass tough? I’ll show you who’s tough.”
The dark lipstick was always handy, a great cover-up. But her eyes held the hurt she continued to hide.
Then quite by accident he figured the button to push to hurt her the most was to undermine her hard-won self-esteem, “You don’t smile any more. It’s the only time you’re pretty.”
Theresa looked at herself in the mirror then. It was true. Her face only lit up when she smiled. She wasn’t pretty. Her face was too long and her hair hung lank unless she washed it every day. She bit her lip, the tears welling up as she repeated the mantras that were supposed to build her up, “You have to love yourself.” What the hell did that really mean? And what was there to love? A face too long. Arms too thin. And ever since she’d stopped going to the gym her muscles had gone slack sagging under the weight of her low spirits.
With hindsight she saw that it wasn’t a case of anger management for him. He just enjoyed the power it gave him. Last week she learnt what it meant to love herself. Last week he had pushed that button way too far when he came to her in the kitchen and for no reason twisted her arm, his lop-sided grin twisted into a grimace, and his words twisted into an auger of hate, “You’re ugly bitch!” He’d yelled, “And I’m going to make you uglier so no one will ever look at you again!” He raised a broken bottle to strike her.
In that moment Theresa knew what it meant to love herself. It burst with all the warmth of a heart full of deep, fathomless love. A love so pure it gave her the strength to wrench her arm out of his, raise her leg and land a full-bodied kick in his groin. As he doubled over, she grabbed the hot pan from off the stove and struck him in the face. He fell down and passed out. She felt for his pulse, knew he was still alive. Then she packed all the things that were hers and walked out.
“No,” she said, “that’s enough!” She smiled grimly to herself. “Whatever it is long, thin, ugly, it is my face and I love it.”
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