American Writers Review 2021: Turmoil and Recovery

Originally posted on Elwood Writers:
As of this writing, the pandemic continues, killing record numbers of people. Moreover, countries that had enjoyed democratic governments are facing authoritarian attacks. Divisions run through the fabric of our homes, our families, our nations. At the same moment, there are wellsprings of hope, love, and connection. ‘Our 2021 Issue’, from American Writers Review website A brand new edition of American Writers Review has just been released by San Fedele Press, and once again we’re excited to see the journal featuring original work from our own Elwood Writers Helen McDonald and Barry Lee Thompson. American… Continue reading American Writers Review 2021: Turmoil and Recovery

More reviews of Every Second Tuesday

Originally posted on Elwood Writers:
Every Second Tuesday | Elwood Writers Since we last posted, more reviews of Every Second Tuesday have come to our attention. Bruce Gillespie’s write-up of the anthology can be found on page 12 of SF Commentary No. 105, March 2021. You can read Bruce’s take on the stories here. Over on BookBub, Ann McCauley has listed the book as a recommended title. Take a look at Ann’s comments here. You might have to be a member of the BookBub community to access that link, but you can also go here for the review. Thanks so… Continue reading More reviews of Every Second Tuesday

Nets

She puts on one of her favourites. She likes it very much, this song. So much that she listens to it every day. Every single morning, the same song, just to start things off. She sways at her window, in front of the nets. People go by, on the street, and they look towards the window because the music’s loud enough to hear as you pass, but they can’t see in. You can’t see in through nets. Not in the daytime, anyway. She knows this. Her mother told her. And she’s checked it for herself. She’s stood outside her own … Continue reading Nets

Leaves

Our afternoons were spent looking through the window onto a driveway covered in wet leaves. It seems now that this is all we did, every day, for the entire time we lived in that house. Surely there must have been more. I suppose we worked, one or both of us, for how else did we make money? And not every day could have had rain, and not every season has leaves on the ground. And yet, however hard I try, I can’t conjure an image other than the two of us at that window. We’re talking, sometimes, but mostly just … Continue reading Leaves

Colours

When he’s nostalgic, it’s pale blue like seaside cottages. Circling seagulls in morning harbours, old-fashioned cream cakes, the damp wood of rickety beach-huts. Ease is liquid green, like late summer afternoons. The lazy buzz of insects in settled heat, the sweet anticipation of the evening ahead. Anxious is the colour of commuters in a cold rush of urgency. It’s frantic, the sound of doors closing on a crowded train, the smells and tastes and harsh fabrics of commerce. Continue reading Colours