Researcher, writer of historical, paranormal, and general fiction. Poet.
My social media presence consists of an addiction to Twitter/Facebook:
My blogging presence is historical, but fairly influential in the spheres of theatre history (always a surprise to me):
I also blog about general history and here I find inspiration for my fiction:
The Swan Circle
The Guinea Ghost
The Sea Of Conscience
Waves To Light (September 2015)
A very short story:
Department stores have the inexplicable ability to seem large, spacious, and overcrowded at the same time. One always feels surrounded by an expanse of white despite the brain faintly acknowledging colour: brown duvets, green cruets, gold lamp shades, chinoiserie curtains, all cluttering a space so our minds are confounded by the quantity of it all. Movement stalls the confusion, staff and customers mill about with preconceived timetables and itineraries, shopping lists and job rotas; we focus on them and they guide our direction towards the point we want to be. Do we want the curtain department or do we want wedding services?
The wedding department seems a peculiar place to pick up an item ordered online. Why there for a coat? A pedestal mat? A cheese grater? Is it because the amiable somewhat matronly woman who sits behind a desk has nothing better to do? There does not seem to be a rush of brides, so dishing out items ordered online from the stockroom appears to be her main task.
She looked at me, smiled and asked 'Can I help you?' I gave her my creased order form and passed on the smile to a baby in a buggy, the child was addictive, but my attention was drawn to small packets of confetti and cones, bridesmaid dresses and fascinators: how my life could have been, but a reminder of how it was not and never will be.
The baby's smile only added to my introspection and I was relieved when the friendly matron returned with my parcel.
'Do you have ID?' she asked.
I fumbled for my visa card and satisfied, she asked if I would sign the receipt form before handing over the parcel. The baby watched every single movement with a finger raised as if she was about to have a eureka moment or tell me something she had discovered. I waved to her as she left and as I made my own way to the exit, I pondered that developing brain, how in those years before we have become us, we are all a blank canvas with endless possibilities.
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