If campfires could speak, what yarns would they tell?
The tales in this book are simple—there are no hidden meanings or allegories to decipher. They are straightforward, as always. Some of the yarns have a theme of an ailing mother battling Alzheimer’s, mirroring the plight of the author’s own parent, whom she lost in the autumn of 2022. ‘Sarah-Ann Prescott, 'Froth,' a
Rebecca Waide is torn between two men.
Without a doubt, she’s deeply in love with one who, though devoted, loyal and charming, is silent on the matter of them as a couple. And that’s because she believes he still loves a beautiful redhead with whom he shared a brief but torrid summer.
The second has told her he loves her and has already planned for her to wear his mother’s wedding dress at their marriage – whenever it ha
In ‘Home As The Birds Fly,’ the author allows the protagonist, Doug Geoghegan, a young professor of English at a junior college in Bangalore, to narrate the story of his life in his own way. He writes about his boyish and passionate love for one woman with an agenda of her own and his fondness for another, his childhood friend who slowly drifted away from him.
He sometimes quotes from an old diary, jumping forward, backwards, and the
When Adrian Fray of the Bar F had been bushwhacked, the town marshal pointed the finger of suspicion at Marty Savern of the Box S Ranch. He had every motive for killing the young rancher. However, since Marty had his alibis strong – or so it appeared – the mysterious murder remained unsolved until Marty’s younger brother, Kane, returned home to Battle Mesa Valley.
Kane Savern had t
What was going on within the Crooked Spur?
A wild buttress of rocks and thorny shrubs from where a bitter stream issued, this place was lonely and had no visitors except for the odd bear, panther, or Russel’s viper. So, what were the strange lights that bobbed down the hill at sunset to disappear into the forbidding blackness of the Spur? And why did they glide up again deep in the night?
And
What was going on within the Crooked Spur?
A wild buttress of rocks and thorny shrubs from where a bitter stream issued, this place was lonely and had no visitors except for the odd bear, panther, or Russel’s viper. So, what were the strange lights that bobbed down the hill at sunset to disappear into the forbidding blackness of the Spur? And why did they glide up again deep in the night?
And
'If Fireflies Told Tales' is a collection of quick-to-read little stories, some no longer than fifty words. While the reader might also enjoy the slightly longer yarns, none exceed five hundred words. The author attempts complete, not complicated stories; still, many contain a tiny twist at the end, some that bring the sun and others a bit of retrospection.
Fireflies are the stars that remain on Earth to light up the darkness. Hopefully, the tin
“In Search Of A Rainbow” is a book of 100 personal poems written across 15 years and is an autobiography of sorts, in verse. It is a mixture of rhymes on love, hurt, loss, betrayal and death, and hints at the poet’s struggle to find that rainbow of joy. There are also lines to undying friendship, childhood memories, the mysteries of the river and mountains, and the crackling of a campfire.
The poems are mostly dark, perhaps a little
When Adrian Fray of the Bar F had been bushwhacked, the town marshal pointed the finger of suspicion at Marty Savern of the Box S Ranch. He had every motive for killing the young rancher. However, since Marty had his alibis strong – or so it appeared – the mysterious murder remained unsolved until Marty’s younger brother, Kane, returned home to Battle Mesa Valley.
Kane Savern had t
In this fourth collection of short stories, some real instances in the writer’s life, or of someone close are narrated. Once again, each tale is assorted, straight-forwardly simple and quick to read.
Enjoy the adventures of ‘city Tarzans’ and the ‘monkey business’ escapades of a father; an account of a ghastly barbeque and the paradox of an advantageous divorce. And there are tales of impulsive palm reading, an old m
Rebecca Waide is torn between two men.
Without a doubt, she’s deeply in love with one who, though devoted, loyal and charming, is silent on the matter of them as a couple. And that’s because she believes he still loves a beautiful redhead with whom he shared a brief but torrid summer.
The second has told her he loves her and has already planned for her to wear his mother’s wedding dress at their marriage – whenever it ha
In ‘Home As The Birds Fly,’ the author allows the protagonist, Doug Geoghegan, a young professor of English at a junior college in Bangalore, to narrate the story of his life in his own way. He writes about his boyish and passionate love for one woman with an agenda of her own and his fondness for another, his childhood friend who slowly drifted away from him.
He sometimes quotes from an old diary, jumping forward, backwards, and the
Though the themes in this collection of stories may vary and their style be dissimilar, every single one of them is identical in one aspect.
Dabbling for the first time in “Nano Fiction” the author writes complete little plots of adventure, justice, mischief, grief and fear, some humorous and some quite the opposite. &nb
Years ago, they pulled up Ratty’s remains from the bottom of the Edge. She had been only seventeen, pregnant and down on hope.
But did Joe Gales, responsible for that tiny, little life, ever get over it? And did Doug Geoghegan know that after dropping his drunk friend home that night, disaster would strike again at the spot where Ratty took her life?
Read on to discover what happened at the Edge that fateful night and how Ratty&rsqu
In this play written in five acts comprising mostly of verse, a well-loved fairy tale is brought back to life. Though magic is hinted at, it is not made obvious, and though miners come to the aid of a damsel in distress, they are not dwarves.
Join Heloise as she becomes obsessed with her own beauty, her step-daughter Marian as she flees from a man who seeks her heart, a band of miners who are ‘rough a
Short stories are like gossamer, those fine skeins that are woven by tiny spiders in the garden during autumn. They are delicate, catch just enough of the morning dew to sparkle with baubles and are a complete web of silk.
In this collection are 30 short stories that are quick to read and will hopefully catch the glittering baubles of the reader’s interest.
Join the author as she recoun
Lent is a time of preparation; it is a time in which we focus on examining our lives and reflecting on the Passion of Christ.
Join Evergreen with his grand dreams and how they came to pass, but not in the way he hoped. Spend a moment with a kind lady who embroidered a piece of linen for an infant boy she would only meet years later in the unlikeliest circumstance. T
In this collection of Short Stories, the author celebrates the innocence of childhood, marks the deep pain of loss, and honours the messages of hope in deep blue skies and lacy white clouds. From the horrors of a road accident and the fury of a village mob, to near death experiences and then to the wings of butterflies, she lets her imagination fly, like dandelions dancing in the breeze. She celebrates children who found perfection in the imperfect, aunts and
Something appeared to be amiss in the Anglo-Indian town of Landsend – Doug Geoghegan could feel it as he drove to work that morning. The two young men whom he'd noticed by the Cross Road looked hardened and desperate, and very familiar.
About an hour later, all hell broke loose when 25 children of the Mount St. Joseph School and their teacher were taken hostage by two armed men. What made it personal was th
The beggar woman is frail and tattered and perhaps lives in an abusive relationship with a big, unkempt man whom she calls her husband.
Join her for one day of her life as she begs by a busy railway crossing and dreams of a better life, where there is comfort and a lot of money to spend.
But will she take that big leap? Will she leave all that’s familiar and embrace the ‘rat-race’ of life that sometimes fills her palms with co
Included in this collection are some stories written more than 20 years ago and some that are fairly recent. Each story tells a different tale; some are humorous, some are witty, some carry a mild streak of pain and some just tell a simple tale with no frills attached. The characters in each story are normal people who lead normal lives, with successes, regrets, triumphs, humiliations, grudges and a little ‘shedding of baggage’ along with a healthy dose of
Greg remembered Gran and the Weeping Willows all too well. He remembered she loved the place and had a strange connection to it. When she stayed there, it became bright and alive, its vast gardens, fruit trees, flowering hedges and ancient willows, all reflected in the ocean that lapped against its Read More...
My grandmother said that my dad was a very mischievous kid. She also said that he was a ‘pukka’ little rascal, that he was always in trouble and ever tasting the tail-end of Grandpa’s belt! Even his brothers, and my dad has eight, would not refute this; but they all insisted that i Read More...
The little girl, per pig tails tousled and unkempt with a complete red bow tying one bunch of light brown hair, but its partner all open and undone peeped through a coin sized hole in the board that divided the front room of her humble home from the bedroom. She wore a hand-me-down T shirt and a ski Read More...
Peepal Trees or the Sacred Fig Trees are tenacious No, this is not going to be an essay on a tree that is considered holy in India. But a little background will help. This particular tree among others is considered sacred and has been worshiped for over thousands of years. This is a 24-hour oxy Read More...
About a year or two before my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she began to show small signs of it, forgetting obvious things, hiding food in uncommon places and almost always misplacing her rings, spectacles or her wrist watch, or something or the other. Quite naturally, as a result she Read More...
It was a pleasant Friday evening and he decided that he would by-pass the dusty village of Javangalli and ride on to Bangalore through the town of Malvalli. He rode out of Sategal and over the bridge across the Cauvery, feeling the wind swish-swash as he passed each pillar of the long, gigantic stru Read More...
It was early morning yet and the mists of late November had clouded his shack so heavily that he could not see more than ten feet before him. He urinated in the common toilet shared between six houses in the row and mechanically ambled toward the tap to fill a pail with water, gently moving away ano Read More...
28 Feb 2020 – We leave for the airport early in the morning to pick my brother and sister-in-law up. They are going to stay at our home during their holiday. Everyone is talking about Covid 19 ravaging Wuhan. No one even realises what this whole thing is. My brother has a cough. He insists tha Read More...
I am not fond of knives. By that I mean that I am not a collector of those bits of weaponry or cutlery, depending on your preference of usage. I don’t collect them; I don’t store them. I use them now and again in the kitchen when I putter around there to experiment how far my body would Read More...
Varun considered himself a 21st century man, abreast with the times and sensitive to the demands of a rapidly transforming society, which was in favour of woman and their empowerment. When he married, he ensured that not only did he live separately from his rather conservative mother, but had also k Read More...
It wasn’t difficult for any of us to recognise the statue despite the grotesqueness of the work itself – the figurine of this great architect of India’s Constitution was absolutely dissimilar to the actual man himself, Dr. Ambedkar. It had a small head, a strawberry pink face, a gr Read More...
Flowers are flowers when ‘live with sap, They smile above their glossy leaves; When petals ope to butterflies, And welcome, nosy humming bees. Not so bound fast to a string, Or to a circular frame enslaved; For one adorns a woman’s hair, The other sighs upon a grave. Flower Read More...
When my cousin Rosalie passed away some five years ago and my eldest brother called up and gave us the stunning news, we were absolutely shocked. Rosalie had perhaps been 34 or 35 at that time, with two very small daughters and a husband whom I had never met before the funeral. But it’s not Ro Read More...
It was sharply cold outside and it was dark. Yet high in the heavens, above the cloud of churning, white mist the stars were bright pins of icy light. The road was lit up by my cab’s headlights, but ahead of the beam, hazy in the swirl, all was dark. Behind us, in the distance shone a single b Read More...