Honoured for this on the last #WriteCBC, especially with one that was very personal. Itโs been so much fun, have connected with some wonderful people and hope the community continues even when the monthly competition doesnโt โค๏ธ
Honoured for this on the last #WriteCBC, especially with one that was very personal. Itโs been so much fun, have connected with some wonderful people and hope the community continues even when the monthly competition doesnโt โค๏ธ
Thank you โค๏ธ
Thank you. Unfortunately lived it not too long ago so this one came from the heart.
The house smells like disinfectant. Every trace of my Dad boxed, sold, gone. One last look, and I can almost see his shadow like heโs there, just out of sight. I place the keys into the estate agentโs hand. He thinks Iโm handing over a property. Iโm handing over the last place Dad existed. #WriteCBC
Silent Night and Stille Nacht met over No Manโs Land. Weโd be shot if we acknowledged the lives, loves, and dreams of the men we shared chocolate and football with, or apologised for the bullets to come tomorrow.
โMerry Christmas, Hans.โ
โFrohe Weihnachten, John.โ
That would have to do. #WriteCBC
For the past 16 months, Iโve been working on a novel that explores different kinds of grief, societal expectations (particularly of women), and the challenges of love after loss. Itโs set mostly in the Lake District.
Next week, I should be finishing the first draft whilst in the place itโs set ๐
The hotel lobby had been so normal, I was surprised by the large portraits of angry faces around my room. I fell into a restless sleep, disturbed by the hateful gazes of the paintings.
Dawn came, sunlight streaming through the windows that surrounded the room. No paintings, only glassโฆ #WriteCBC
Thank you for the shout out @cbcreative.bsky.social! Fun prompt this month and as ever loved reading through how creative people can be with 300 characters! Looking forward to next month.
<3 thank you!
In the back cover of the book, a faded promise outlived the hand that had wrote it. His handwriting was soft and blurred now. Words of love, whispered in ink, drowned by the scream of war. The man she married slept beside her, never aware of the inky ghost of the boy who hadnโt come home. #WriteCBC
Thank you! Really strong entries this month, it was fun to read them all.
Thank you for the shout-out, @cbcreative.bsky.social! My entry has got me thinking about a full length project that Iโm excited to finish work today to be able to start planning on.
I love reading everyoneโs entries for #WriteCBC, looking forward to next month!
She lingers by the telegrams in the war exhibit. Tiny paper bombs, each creased square once splitting a life in half. His is still in her drawer, unopened, yellowed at the edges. She reads the others like scripture, searching strangersโ grief for words she couldnโt bear to read about him. #WriteCBC
โIโm you,โ he said. โ20 years from now.โ
I laughed, one hand holding the door. โVery funny. Steve put you up to this?โ
He pulled up his sleeve. The scar. *My* scar. I looked at it, then
at my own. Impossible.
โI remember what youโre planningโฆand how it ends. Letโs not do it again.โ #WriteCBC
Her grandson had almost finished the puzzle. She studied 5-down. โDouble cipher, not a clue.โ
He laughed, confused. She just smiled. She hadnโt meant to say it out loud. 70 years, and the habits still stuck. Theyโd trained her to spot patterns, but when the war was over, not how to stop. #WriteCBC