During my clear-out - well, half a clear-out - I realised I have folders and drawers full of writing. From courses, odd ideas, things that never got any further than a few scribblings, jottings that I may not even have written so unfamiliar are they. So I decided I'd go through them all with one eye on the recycling bin and one on future possible ventures. Which doesn't actually leave me an eye to scan the writing. Hm, must rethink that.
Anyway, needless to say, I have not progressed with that idea. No time. Yes, I could have done it instead of playing solitaire or checking Facebook every five minutes, but I need a concentrated space of time to, well, concentrate. Yes, that's always my excuse. I will do it. Who knows? Maybe I have a yet-to-be-discovered masterpiece lurking in there.
In the unlikelihood of that, in the meantime, I thought some people may enjoy a piece I wrote a few years ago. It's the fun version of another longer story I wrote that was published in the Parthian anthology, Mama's Baby (Papa's Maybe). Daughter also has a story in the collection. (Talented family, see.)
Anyway you'll find Little Mrs Men O'Paws here. And here's a taster:
The next morning Mrs O’Paws and Mr O’Paws were having breakfast in the kitchen. They were having dry corn flakes and black tea because Mrs O’Paws had forgotten to get any milk.
Mr O’Paws was reading his newspaper. He looked at Mrs O’Paws.
‘It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?’ he said.
Mrs O’Paws burst into tears and ran upstairs to the bathroom. She stood behind the door sniffling. Mr O’Paws followed the noise.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ he said.
‘Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.’
If this sounds familiar find out how Mrs Men O'Paws resolves her problems here.
What it needs, of course, is illustrations. I shall work on that.