Sir Henry stared absently through the French windows at the long avenue of beech trees. A Clydesdale, shoulders down, hauled a wagonload of hay towards the great timber framed barn and a group of labourers, scythes and rakes over their …
Gerald let himself in at the front door, slid his briefcase under the walnut cabinet, slip off his jacket and hung it on the balustrade at the bottom of the stair. He unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat and stood …
Tim loves to write, and reads with a passion: the one sets him free, while the other allows him to walk in the shoes of others. We are nothing without stories. Tim’s began in Zimbabwe. He spent his childhood there, …
Armanis Ar-feinial, in the gritty pits of despair, he comes from: Bridgeton, Maine, a terribly dreadful place. Currently residing in the Greater Boston Area with his family, he studied Criminal Justice, English, and currently dabbles in a little bit of …
I had been a teacher for seven years before turning to writing; I wanted to read a piece of my own writing to my class rather than someone else’s! Having lost our family Siamese cat on a ferry a few …