The Duck (A Story From An Anonymous Friend)

A friend wrote this, and I said I would share it on my blog. The friend requested I not name them. It is a fun story.


My agent says it won’t fly.
Which is apt, considering the subject of my latest children’s book.
He says he can’t find a publisher.
That, in fact, it is unpublishable in its current form.
And I need to change the title.
But, I argue, the title is also the hook, the line that repeats at the end of each segment.
It is the question each animal asks, and therefore the child who is listening, or perhaps even reading, will anticipate and remember.
This is how children learn to read, and to love reading.
The story tells of a cute little duckling who gets lost.
His whole family, Daddy, Mummy, and his seven siblings, Donald, David, Drew, Dottie, Debbie, Deirdre and Mary, go out searching for him.
Each of them meets a different animal, and explains the situation.
And each encounter ends up with the same punch line.
It is a good story, I say, built in the classic style of great children’s stories.
With an adorable collection of fluffy little creatures and an exotic array of animals – a giraffe, a fox, a crocodile, a kangaroo, a monkey, a dog, a hippo, a little bird and, of course, an elephant – you have everything needed for a great book that kids will treasure.
The publishers will not publish, he says, they say parents won’t buy it. Not with that title.
So I am faced with a rewrite.
Or, I guess, I could self-publish, prove them all wrong.
I ask you, dear reader, would you refuse to buy a book on the basis of its title?
It is catchy.
And funny.
Where the f*ck’s the duck?

Sunday Photo Fiction – How It Should Have Ended

Every week a photo is used as a prompt to create a piece of fiction in around 200 words. Usually called Flash Fiction. I haven’t done this in a while, and I got the idea from S Writings and thought I would have a go at Fan Fiction. Plus I was appalled at the latest season of Arrow and the ending left me feeling “meh”. This is roughly how I would have preferred it to end. Links to characters are after the story.

If you want to have a go at Sunday Photo Fiction, it runs from 4am Sunday to 4am the following Sunday UK time. You can read stories others have written here.

161 06 June 19th 2016

The Green Arrow – Oliver Queen – looked down the road towards Damien Darhk, hate filling his eyes, his soul. Ever since the latter murdered Laurel Lance, the Black Canary, Arrow thought of nothing but vengeance.

“You think you can take me with your pathetic arrows and your hoard of people calling for my blood?” Darhk waved his hand and a flicker of energy shot up between himself and the group of men and women coming to the aid of Queen, causing the ones in the front to bounce of an invisible wall.

Darhk held up a hand and lifted Queen off the ground and started to choke the life from him. Using the energy he was taught, Queen started to push back Darhk’s energy, but he laughed a sadistic response. “You think your hastily learned minor defense is any match for me? Thanks to your Overwatch, I have the energy of thousands in me. There is nothing that can stop me.” He was startled to find his grip loosening.

“Funny thing about demons,” Darhk turned to face the newcomer. “Is that you never know what to expect from them. “ The raincoat clad man flicked a cigarette and took another from a packet and lit it from nothing. “Take that skull totem you use. I remember when he was a real person.” He took a long draw on the cigarette and Darhk found he no longer had any control of Queen.

 “Sorry, let me introduce myself. John Constantine.”


Oliver Queen – The Green Arrow

Black Canary

Damien Darhk

John Constantine



Friday Fictioneers -Every Pun In Tend Did

Every week the wonderful Rochelle gives us a photo to use as a prompt to write a piece of fiction in around 100 words. I managed to keep it to the word limit again. I don’t often get the chance to do Friday Fictioneers, even though every week I say I will. So this week, I decided I was not going to do anything until I did it. I was not going to put it off.

This month marks the fourth year of Friday Fictioneers, so Rochelle used a previous photo supplied by Madison Wood. I couldn’t resist a pun post.

Friday Fictioneers is a very popular challenge, so if you want to read what others have written, then click on the little froggy.


© Madison Wood

When I first saw her, I was wired. There was something about her that started my emotions running wild. I couldn’t breathe when I thought of her, and when I saw her, I couldn’t walk, think or even string two words together.

I was on the fence when people asked me if I wanted to date again, but her … she made me want her. She seduced me with her eyes, she encapsulated me with her voice, she ensorcelled me with her scent.

I had to introduce myself to her.

“Hi, I’m Ken.”

She smiled that smile. “I’m Barbie”

Sunday Photo Fiction -Data Entry

Every week a photo is used as a prompt to create a piece of fiction in  around 200 words. If you want to have a go, then head over to the page here, and take a look. You can read what other people have written by clicking on the little froggy.

152 04 April 17th 2016

Merrick took another bite of her sausage roll as she entered data for the test. Glancing up at the equation, converting the haphazard confusion of symbols into numbers that would create history and maybe, she thought, even make life better for people. She picked a crumb from the corner of mouth and brushed the remains from her lap.

Finishing the remaining data, Merrick started the debug routine, stood up and walked away. She heard the whirring of machinery powering up and froze. Turning in horror, she realised that she pressed the execute command rather than debugging.

She tried to stop it by repeatedly pressing the escape button, when that didn’t work she yanked the plug from the wall, but to no avail. Running to the observation window, she saw streams of light passing each other and smiled at the fact that even though she pressed execute, everything appeared to work as it should.

Then forks of light started reaching across the barriers, fingers trying to intertwine, energy creeping toward each other, drawn by their own opposition. The tendrils touched … there was an explosion of light and excruciating pain for an iota of a second.

Then the blackness of death claimed her