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Father Christmas, a poem by Lynn White at Spillwords.com

I was born and raised in Yorkshire, England. At fifteen I left school without the skills or maturity to appreciate the wider world. At nineteen I packed a bag and wandered through Europe and North Africa, learning from the road. At twenty‑five I earned the qualifications for university, eventually becoming a high school teacher and later an education manager. Now I live with my amazing wife on an island north of Seattle. After retiring and with encouragement from Spillwords and the Clever Park Writers Group, I traded reports for storytelling. And that's where the fiction began...

Cast Off by Niall Crowley

The two computer screens tighten their grip. Tom pivots between them, tracking one while he works on the other. Careful discipline from early morning to close of business. Number crunching, he would have termed it before. Now it’s data management and verification, his task to model and tabulate clients’ financial situations and options. Bookkeeping, he would admit to, in more candid moments. He’s tethered firmly to the task, though, and has been since he started here, nearly two years now. Bound in the rigour the work requires, as if life itself depends on it. Top floor, dormer window ...

Features

The Stepmother

Vanishing Ink

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Patricia Carragon

Spotlight On Writers – Mark Woodward

Spotlight On Writers – Vaishnavi Pusapati

Pin Drop

Don’t Remember Her This Way

Father Christmas

The Road to Heaven

Shopping

Down On One Knee

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Why Won’t They Stop?

The Rise and Fall of Mr Cruel

Liturgy

Second Chances

The Stepmother

Vanishing Ink

Growth and Aging

Shade Dispenser

In Cabalistic Caverns

Through Life

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