Joanna writes short stories and flash fiction, has had her work published in a number of magazines and anthologies. She lives in London with her ever growing collection of Brooches.
Thank God, Charles Dickens’s last antibiotic tablet. It has been a battle of wills. I’m sure he has a 6th sense and knows when it’s due. Today I found him on the top of the wardrobe behind a hat box. A good deal of bribery with treats and coaxing eventually persuaded him down. The vet…
With all the things going on last month I completely forgot about Hilary’s birthday. What with Dad, the poetry night and pancakes with Derek. My mind has been distracted. *** Rang Hilary and had long heart to heart. I let it slip I had made pancakes for Derek and how it felt so natural and…
Dad is still in hospital, he’s hoping to be discharged in time for his birthday on the 5th. I spoke to Hilary last night, she says he’s much better, off the antibiotic drip and complaining about the hospital food. A good sign. Fingers crossed he can come home. She said the girls had knitted Grandad…
Mum rang last night, Dad has a nasty cold. She says he is snoring so much she has banished him to the spare room. If snoring was an Olympic sport Dad would win gold every time. As children he would keep Hilary and me awake. *** It’s the great Victorian writer Charles Dickens’s birthday…
Last day of my Christmas and New Year break and I don’t feel I have achieved much. In December I made a list, wrote it on coloured paper in turquoise ink. I thought it might spur me on, didn’t work. Have decided not to brood on the unachieved but to start afresh tomorrow. New list…
“How long for?” Susan was sitting opposite Derek, her half-drunk cup of herbal tea in her right hand between lips and saucer. “They are looking for people to be seconded for one to two months” Derek said. Susan had first met Derek at the local auction house, he had been a porter for ten years…
Original Susan Tate Illustration by Michael N Green “Where are those extra thick socks?” Susan Tate had her head in the oversized drawer at the bottom of her wardrobe. Eddies of snow swirled around outside and a branch bashed the window as if it wanted to come in from the cold. Charles Dickens lay…
I bought a window box, painted it sage green like the style mags said. Planted multi-coloured pansies and red geraniums. You didn’t notice. I added a windmill. It whirled and twirled in the breeze. Irritated the hell out of the neighbours. I swapped it for a gnome. Not ‘on trend’. You still didn’t take any…
It had been three years and in that time Alice had mastered numerous bits of technology, learnt to mow the lawn in under twenty minutes and shop for one. She decided now was the time to tackle the attic. She had ignored the rectangular shaped hatch door in the spare room ceiling for long enough,…
Hidden behind the old wooden door, my courtyard sanctuary. Cool and quiet. I am safe from the hustle of the office to eat my lunch. Here there is serenity and peace. I dare to switch off my phone. I will not be contacted. I will not be found. The small wall fountain gurgles away my…
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Text & stories © Joanna Sterling
Stories © various authors
Editing by Joanna Sterling & Alyson Faye
Audio by Menna Bonsels
Brooch photography by Mark Colliton
Website by Brighton WEBtech