Flash fiction: Frost and fire

March 12, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 64 Comments

Richard laid branches in a wide circle on the frozen grass; then the skeletons of old Christmas trees which Flora’s father had stuffed behind the shed every January; and finally a layer of straw, like a bed. Almost comfortable.
‘Ready?’ said Richard.
Flora would never be ready, but she bent to lift her end. Her father’s body was heavier than she had imagined, and she and Richard had to swing it three times. Richard held out the matches, but Flora shook her head. Instead she watched the white grass around the edge of the fire melt into green and then blacken, as if seasons had passed in the space of a minute.

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A piece flash fiction which is supposed to be 100 words, but I’m 112 this week, oh dear. Usually I can slice and edit with no problem, but this week somehow everything here I wanted to keep. Friday Fictioneers is brought to us by the wonderful writer Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and the picture this week is supplied by the equally wonderful writer, Sandra Crook. Click here to join in with Friday Fictioneers, or here to read other people’s.

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Tin House, my US publisher has posted the first chapter of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days, on their blog. Have a read, if you like.

Flash fiction: Destroying Angels

March 4, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 73 Comments

Awe-struck and trembling, we lined up in front of the Reverend’s beautiful wives and opened our mouths obediently for a quarter of holy mushroom.

“There is only one rule,” the Reverend said, tears of joy in his eyes. “Don’t leave the compound.”

What would you do with your last half a day? There weren’t any surprises: a few couples went to the woods; some prayed, most read from The Book. None of us anticipated the sweats, and the pain and the crying.

And me, what did I do with my final six hours? I wrote it all down, so that you can read it now.

This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by the lovely Erin Leary. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces. I’d love to know what you think of mine – please leave a comment!

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Hurray! After nineteen months of waiting, my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days has been published in the UK (Fig Tree / Penguin) and Canada (House of Anansi). It will be published in the USA on 17th March by Tin House. Click on the Amazon links on the right to read the first chapter.

Flash fiction: Dogged

February 25, 2015March 1, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 76 Comments

Halfway home I turn and see him.

‘Shoo,’ I say, stamping my foot. ‘Don’t follow me, dog.’ Something in the way he looks at me squeezes my insides, loosens my bowels. I turn and walk fast, breaking into a trot, but can’t resist looking back; he’s still there, keeping pace, mouth closed, ears up, relentless. The day is hot, but my blood is cold. I stop and pick up a stone from the path, throw it. When it bounces off the dog’s shoulder he doesn’t even flinch; he just stands there looking at me, with my father’s eyes.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by the lovely Dawn Q. Landau. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces. I’d love to know what you think of mine – please leave a comment!

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The promise

February 18, 2015February 18, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 52 Comments

Afterwards, Dorothy would have sworn she knew something was about to happen: there was a lull, a silence as if all the molecules in the hotel bedroom shifted infinitesimally. Then came the flash, the choking dust and the noise like a star bursting from inside her head, and the floor and Alex and the walls and mirrors and everything flew apart and tumbled together.

‘Live, live, live,’ she whispered to Alex in the dark as she made her promise to God.

Alex had lived, and Dorothy kept her promise. Now she never swore and rarely spoke and her name was changed to Sister Mercy.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by the lovely Marie Gail Stratford. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces. I’d love to know what you think of mine – please leave a comment!

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I’ve had a couple of lovely reviews in for Our Endless Numbered Days (released in UK 26th Feb, Canada 1st March, USA 17th March). The first, from The Times (“A thriller of a fairytale,” and “a triumph”) and the second from The Sunday Express (“spellingbinding scary stuff”)

Flash Fiction: All Gone

February 4, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 68 Comments

Jimmy and I ran under the rhododendrons, pressed our foreheads into the earth and jammed our hands over our ears until the noise stopped. When I sat up my head was ringing and I saw blood trickle from Jimmy’s ear and soak into his collar. We crawled out into the garden and for a moment I thought nothing had changed.

But we were alone. The picnickers, the tourists, our parents: all gone.

Weeks later we remembered the camera, the photos taken that day. And that’s when we saw it: a beam of light and high above a huge shape, hovering.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (exactly this week) story inspired by the picture supplied by Melanie Greenwood. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces. I’d love to know what you think of mine – please leave a comment!

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This week I’ve had a post (‘First Catch Yourself A Squirrel‘) published on the Tin House blog about some of the research I did for my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days.

Short story: The cockerel

January 23, 2015January 23, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 43 Comments

Every morning for a month Nanette and I trudged behind our father down to the boat. We each carried an oar, and he carried the cockerel. Everyone stared as he tied the flapping bird to the transom, and rowed out to sea. He didn’t care.

‘What’s he doing?’ someone asked.

‘Looking for our mother,’ Nanette said. I turned away, too wretched to hear her explanation: that Norwegians believe the cockerel will crow when the boat moves over the drowned.

The following day the cockerel got loose and my father sat on the sand and cried, and I turned away once more.

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A Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by Georgia Koch. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces.

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If any Canadian readers are interested in winning a copy of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days, Goodreads is hosting a giveaway for people who live in Canada. (Apologies again to all the Friday Fictioneers from the States!)

Flash fiction: For Sale

January 14, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 69 Comments

‘Perhaps put some coffee on,’ the estate agent said, striding from the kitchen to the dining room. I tagged along behind. ‘Courtyard could be brightened up. And maybe lay the table.’ I must have looked bewildered. ‘It all helps. Viewers need to see it as a home, not just a house.’

It is home, I wanted to tell him. Was a home…briefly.

That night I fell asleep on the sofa surrounded by wrapping paper and boxes, but I had found the percolator and the dinner service. In the morning I put the rest of the wedding presents back under the stairs.

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A Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by Jan Wayne Fields. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces.

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This week I was delighted to be included in The Observer’s ‘New Faces of Fiction’ article. You can see it online here.

And for the next 15 hours only you can win one of five copies of Our Endless Numbered Days, via Goodreads. (UK readers only I’m afraid.)

Short story: Betty Came by to Say Goodbye

January 7, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 68 Comments

“It was about a month ago, I can’t be sure. Said she was going on a road-trip. Hitch-hiking Route 66. No, at the time it didn’t seem odd. Seventy you say? Wow. Her rucksack was real heavy. Now that I do remember… Well, let’s see, I suppose I must have picked it up. No, my wife wasn’t home. Sure, you can ask the neighbours, but I’m pretty confident they were at work. You want to take a look in my cellar? Go right ahead, just watch out for that second step, Officer; I’m gonna get it fixed one of these days.”

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This is a 100-ish flash fiction piece for Friday Fictioneers. Click here to read more stories inspired by the picture, or here to join in.

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This week I wrote a letter to my husband’s dead first wife: Dear Jane…

Spaghetti Wednesday

December 17, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 52 Comments

Nan plonked the bowls down on the table.

‘What is it?’ Flora asked.

Nan sighed like she did every Wednesday. ‘Spaghetti.’

‘Again?’

‘Again.’ She watched Flora push strips of Kraft cheese single into the sauce. Flaccid worms curled through a brown swamp, swirling with radioactive orange. She hated cooking.

‘What’s this?’ Flora held up a blob pierced by a fork tine.

‘Nothing,’ said Nan. ‘Just eat it.’

‘I think it’s an insect.’

‘It’s not an insect.’

Later, scraping the left-overs into the bin, Nan pretended not to see the pairs of tiny pincers, hooked legs and cooked eyes staring up at her.

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You can blame the picture this week on Doug MacIlroy and the choice of it on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read more Friday Fictioneers stories, and here to join in.

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This week, Our Endless Numbered Days has been picked as one of Isabel Costello’s thirteen Hot Fiction Picks 2015. If you visit her website you can enter a competition to win your choice of one the books listed. (UK postage only.)

Flash fiction: For the future people

December 10, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 65 Comments

‘There’s something in this one,’ Flora said, shaking a bottle. Green water swirled and an object clunked against the side.

‘Let’s go home,’ said Richard. ‘There’s nothing worth salvaging.’ He turned over plastic and tangled netting with the toe of his boot. ‘It’s all twenty-first century shit. How come they were so stupid, so wasteful?’

‘I can’t quite make it out.’ Flora held the bottle up to the weak sun.

‘A message to the future people?’ said Richard, sarcastically. ‘Sorry, we fucked up.’

Flora peered closer, shook the bottle again. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I think it’s moving.’ Slowly, she turned the lid.

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A Friday Fictioneers story. Click here to read more and here to join in. Thanks to Sandra Crook for this week’s picture. I’d love to know what you think – so let me know in the comments.

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For those who have been following my journey to publication you can read the third installment here.