Susan Carey

Susan is a Brit living in Amsterdam. Susan has been a runner-up in the 2018 and 2017 Casket of Fictional Delights Flash Fiction Competitions, ‘The Plughole Picker’ was published online and ‘To See a Star’ was recorded as a podcast and published on a number of audio platforms.  Her writing has also been published and performed by amongst others; Mslexia, Liars’ League, Reflex Fiction and Writers Abroad. She has a love hate relationship with her adopted hometown and often dreams of living in a thatched cottage, far from the madding crowd. In 2020 Susan published her short story collection, Healer.

Susan Tweets @su_carey

Susan has an Amazon Page 

  • Maids of Pen Neidr

    “Tell the story Uncle Jack, go on.” My brother handed Jack a mug of tea.  We were spending the summer holiday on Uncle Jack’s farm in the Black Mountains, in Wales.  It was getting dark.  We’d had fish finger sandwiches for tea and run out of 50p coins to put in the telly.  Uncle Jack…

  • Only Half in Shade

    Image by Jörg Peter from Pixabay July, a heatwave.  In the valley below, wind undulates across a ripening crop of barley.  A rivulet of sweat trickles down the well of my backbone.  You sit on a bench next to me in the shade of a Beech tree in Arley Arboretum.  The air sighs a potent whisper, like the…

  • The Taste of Shoe Polish

    Henry Monxton spent a lot of time arranging all the cans and packets in the kitchen cupboards so their labels were exactly parallel and facing outwards. It had driven his first wife mad. Wife number two, well, not much is known of her apart from Henry shaking his head and saying to whomsoever should enquire,…

  • To See A Star

    The commuter ferry that sailed to and from Amsterdam Central Station reversed into the northern harbour. Elsa pedalled so hard that a rivulet of sweat ran down the valley of her back. A day without seeing him would be a day not worth living. Elsa’s bike skidded to a halt and a German soldier patrolling…

  • A Gentleman’s Wager

    My bones rattled like a physician’s skeleton and my limbs felt as if they had been bashed and tenderised for cooking, so exhausted was I from the journey in the stagecoach. Potholes were rife as we travelled up country towards a new land where no one would know us. “Papa, we must stop and rest….

  • The Plughole Picker

    Maya pulled the tangle of hairs from the shower plughole. Long black ones clung on like greedy tapeworms but the blonde ones gave in quickly. The red ones were often quarrelsome but this morning they cooperated. She stood up and marvelled at the knot of hair colours glowing in the bathroom’s fluorescent light. Then she…