Author Archives: Helen

About Helen

Writer, coffee drinker, yarn wrangler and parent. Living in rural Dorset, England and trying to make things slowly, by hand...

Constant gardeners

The sun shines bringing some scant warmth finally to the exotic flowers and shrubs artfully lining the byways of suburbia Everthing aligns perfectly each frontage gardened and honed to perfection owners flit from door to SUV harmonised, with ease In … Continue reading

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Traction He goes further than you or I might on the ice laden sidewalk rollerblading saw in hand. What cold desperation I ask Leads him to the hardware store across frozen tarmacadam risking life, and limb. I imagine bodies lying … Continue reading

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A taste of NaNoWriMo

There’s a moment every evening, if you live any distance from the equator, when the sun closes in on the horizon and the long rays strike their golden faces against the bricks and mortar of a thousand cities. The buildings … Continue reading

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BC bud

The marijuana was not her biggest headache, we both agreed. Nor was the Asian gangster buying up grow houses and illegally stealing electricity under an assumed name (all paid for, in due course, via a mysterious transfer from a bank … Continue reading

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Sunday, Alma Street

The homeless guy who hangs out by Seven Eleven is playing his guitar, pacing aggressively across the parking lot. I’ve seen him walk between cars at the intersection – this is new, since he found the guitar I guess, as … Continue reading

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Featured on 6S

If you love flash fiction you should check out the excellent ‘6S’ blog. One of my new pieces ‘unplugged’ is featured there today! Click here to check it out.

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The need for geraniums

I saw them once; maybe it was a week ago? No my mind has cut out a two week trip to England propelled by grief and circling loss embedded with music and old, old hills. And so after four last-minute … Continue reading

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“Stop whining…stop whining,” the Filipina nanny is talking softly to the little boy, just two, arching his back in the stroller. Ironically to my English ears her intonation, born of the sing-song half-Chinese half-Spanish of her native tongue, gives the … Continue reading

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New wheels

The cigarette is hanging from his lip above a collection of gnarly grey stubble. Grease monkeys in long dirty blue overalls lean in close sharing the flame, a little taste of death. He beckons me forward onto the ramp. Obedient … Continue reading

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A chinese ghost

She’s standing at the crossing in Yaletown, slim, Asian, dressed in white like an unlucky ghost. Hair dark and cropped, neck level. From the back it seems as though she is about to cross but getting nearer in the right … Continue reading

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