A turkey large enough to warrant its own postcode. Fist-sized roasties pyramided, cuffed with a battalion of pigs-in-blankets, glistening with gravy on each of their plates.
"We should give something back next year, Jules. You know, serve soup down at the shelter."
"Next year."
"Yes. Next year."

Totally agree.

News/media-speak needs to change. Rather than "last night, a woman was r*ped," it should be "last night, a man committed r*pe."

Powerful stuff. Had to take a moment after this one.

Gorgeous, as always, Thomas!

Damn right.

Thanks, CB! X

I just finished reading this. It's brilliant. That closing story! Wow.

Oh, how exciting! I shall bring a book for you to sign!! (If you're open to signings, that is.)

Cradled in his skyborne sanctuary, Ru watches on as his mother, her bare feet illuminated only by her swinging lantern's glow, runs towards the ladder. The earth begins to tremble. She trips. Her light dips. Ru opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes. But their home groans. Oh, how it wails.

Sending writing mojo your way! X