tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144972102024-02-03T14:46:57.126+00:00Short stories, prose, and comments jotted down on an occasional basisMyles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1156868030441337882006-08-29T17:04:00.000+01:002006-08-29T17:14:11.583+01:00

The second hand continued its majestic sweep around the face of the clock. Lucifer had often wondered about the clock. For the most part it looked like every other timepiece on display here above the firmament. It silently indicated seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, and aeons just like the others. The difference was that this clock was designed to only make one complete revolution and

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1152206337599797052006-07-06T18:16:00.000+01:002006-07-06T19:52:56.433+01:00

When you spend all day at a cricket ground watching live bands whilst the rain cascades down from gloomy clouds you quickly come to the realisation that all day gigs aren't necessarily about the music. They are about the company you are with.Night gigs are about the music. They are all about getting people into a small, dark, sweaty, hall and making them jump up and down to live music being

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1151161806868670642006-06-24T16:01:00.000+01:002006-06-24T16:10:06.880+01:00

Well there's a good chance this blog is going to suffer another bout of irregular updates. I will try and update as often as I can but my other, newer, blog is going to take up quite a bit of time between now and Christmas.The drama group I belong to (Acting Up) is working on a new production. It's going to be an original, adult, pantomime devised by the group and written by the director Ian. It

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1150731532948052982006-06-19T16:33:00.000+01:002006-06-19T16:38:52.976+01:00

'An Imperfect Evening' was originally written as an entry for a magazine competition. Like a lot of these things they provided the start line and the entrants had to come up with a story to follow it.In terms of theme I wanted to write something about control in relationships. Often (usually?) in relationships one person is dominant over the other and this begins very early from when the couple

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1150567043903792572006-06-17T18:56:00.000+01:002006-06-17T18:57:23.916+01:00

He read the note, folded it, and edged it into the gutter. So that was that. An imperfect evening to end an imperfect relationship. Not that what Craig and Julia had could ever really be called a relationship.As he walked, alone, back to the taxi rank Craig’s mind reflected on when he had met Julia. A mutual friends wedding, one marvellous night together, a promise the next morning to speak

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1149884467211409982006-06-09T21:13:00.000+01:002006-06-09T21:21:07.240+01:00

With the World Cup now started I guess it was time for a bit bandwagon jumping.In my defence I have to say that the original story goes back a couple of years to an idea of two people stuck in car listening to a football match on the radio even though they supported opposite teams. That story was planned to be a script for a radio competition (which I never entered) which explains why there is a

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1149630784613360902006-06-06T22:24:00.000+01:002006-06-06T22:53:04.656+01:00

The computer’s fan spun down and with it the dull monotonous hum left Rob’s ears. At the same time a crackle of electricity signalled his monitor turning itself off. It was four o’clock. Time to leave.“What time is kick-off?” Her face obscured, Kath’s voice sneaked out from behind her monitor.“Five Thirty.” Rob stood, “Plenty of time yet.”“Going straight home?”“No.” A shake of the head, “First

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1148915921329405312006-05-29T16:09:00.000+01:002006-05-29T16:21:25.583+01:00

I've been rather lax on the writing front for quite a while now. The reason for this is that I joined an amateur acting group at my local arts centre (www.pyramid.org.uk) and since Christmas I've been rehearsing for two plays. Those plays are over now and since the next production isn't till December (it's going to be an adult panto) I've got a bit more free time to devote to writing.I'm also

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1148908110858771132006-05-29T14:07:00.000+01:002006-05-29T14:08:30.870+01:00

As she walked across the field the blades of grass stroked the angels’ feet, their tips brushing gently against the bottom of her soles. The angel smiled to herself as the sensation rose through her feet and up her legs into her body.Once in the centre of the field she stopped and delicately lay down; stretching her arms and fingers out as far as she could. Once they were fully extended the angel

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1143982925498427342006-04-02T13:59:00.000+01:002006-04-02T14:02:05.510+01:00

There it was. The low, soft, white noise that greeted Adrian every morning as he opened his eyes. At one time he’d believed it was something to do with his central heating switching itself on but he'd switched the timer off months ago and the noise still remained.Wednesday today. A work day. Time to get out of bed. Adrian showered, unsure if the water was hot or cold, he stood with a cascade

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1139776737975806892006-02-12T20:37:00.000+00:002006-02-12T20:38:57.986+00:00

Whenever people go looking for something you can pretty much guarantee that in the end it isn’t what they find that’s important but rather what they learn along the way. Well not this time. This is a search for gold and no new age ‘the journey is its own reward’ type nonsense could be more fulfilling than digging into the ground and pulling up a bright green pot full to the brim with gold coins.

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1136414647692317142006-01-04T22:07:00.000+00:002006-01-04T22:44:07.736+00:00

Let’s start with our monthly trip to the cinema. There we are, the second Tuesday of every month, standing outside the Odeon trying to decide what film to watch. After several minutes we come down to two choices. Something involving space-ships or something involving flowers. And I hate space-ships and you hate flowers. So we bicker for a couple more minutes till one of use concedes. That’s why I

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1133124251651814102005-11-27T20:41:00.000+00:002005-11-27T20:44:11.653+00:00

This story started from my own childhood memories. When I was small my brother-in-law used to make up stories of how things worked. The one that stuck in my mind was how clouds were made by factories and that was what the steam coming out of towers were. The rest of the story just followed from that.I am thinking of rewriting the story at some point as a short scene for the stage. I think it

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1133123916175417632005-11-27T20:36:00.000+00:002005-11-27T20:38:36.196+00:00

Andrew turned the lock and allowed the front to gently swing inwards. He stood there looking though the doorway into the dark hall, the sunlight illuminating dust particles disturbed by the unexpected breeze blowing into the house, and was overcome.From behind, Andrew felt a hand touch his side and from his left ear came a voice,“Are we going in?”“Sure Helen. No point coming all this way and

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1131919621294682182005-11-13T22:00:00.000+00:002005-11-13T22:07:01.296+00:00

Firstly I'd like to say the title is awful but I can't think of another one.In any group people take on certain roles and I just wanted to write about three characters and the roles they take. David is the protagonist because he hasn't been happy with his role, Mark has the potential to take on another role within the group but is more concerned with group harmony than his position and Peter just

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1131918970561975552005-11-13T21:48:00.000+00:002005-11-13T21:59:39.876+00:00

David’s knowledge of the ancient Greek myths could not be described as encyclopaedic however he had a nagging feeling that the way he and the others were trying to push this car up the hill was the modern day equivalent of a story he’d heard as a child. Something involving rocks and eternal suffering.Shaking himself back to the present David placed his hands firmly on the car boot and checked

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1130702858711214022005-10-30T20:05:00.000+00:002005-10-30T20:07:38.733+00:00

The Reverend Thomas Green surveyed the audience from the pulpit. Audience was the right word to use. These people had come here to watch a performance and once the funeral was over they would quietly file out of the church not to return until the next death, birth, or marriage. In the front row sat the grieving widow. The vicar noticed her arm was wrapped tightly around her teenage son. The

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1130080159853990602005-10-23T15:52:00.000+01:002005-10-23T16:09:19.866+01:00

I've decided to provide more background information on my stories. Just so anybody reading can see what I was trying to achieve and so can judge how successful I was.Starting with 'Saturday Was On Tuesday'. This story grew out of an exercise I was given at my writing group. The challenge was to write something that reflected my own feelings on life and 'what it's all about'. I'm not very good at

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1130001039901694052005-10-22T18:09:00.000+01:002005-10-22T18:11:10.866+01:00

Saturday Was On TuesdayHearing the dawn chorus was a wonderful way to wake in the morning. Having the first strains of summer sunlight drift through gaps in the curtains just helped to improve it. Once Paul realised it was Tuesday this made the morning perfect.Unlike most of the working world, who were currently sitting in queues of traffic with a sickly feeling of depression as their car slowly

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1129988989013220392005-10-22T14:47:00.000+01:002005-10-22T14:49:49.020+01:00

Okay so I started with good intentions and then immediately threw them away. From now on I promise to try harder and to show I mean business by the end of this very day I will be back on here posting another short story. Probably. No definitely.

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1121806620306594222005-07-19T21:56:00.000+01:002005-07-19T21:58:55.513+01:00

Here it is. My first posted short story...Peter stood with one hand on the open car door. The office was positioned on the opposite side of the street but even from this distance he could see a small crowd of people gathered by the entrance.Ducking slightly, in order to use the car as cover, Peter reached into his jacket pocket with his spare hand and retrieved his sunglasses. He then stood

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14497210.post-1121376238135964552005-07-14T22:12:00.000+01:002005-07-14T22:24:26.000+01:00

This is my blog. Hello.I'd like to take a minute to explain what this blog is for. I'm one of those people who's always been a frustrated writer so last year I joined a local creative writing group in order to encourage myself to write more. This has worked and now I have a small collection of stories and other bits of writing that I want to reach a wider audience through this blog.As and when I

Myles Winstonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17555786419493365944noreply@blogger.com0