Flash Fiction: Decree 770

April 6, 2016April 9, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 59 Comments

jhardy

Around the back, saplings have sprouted, some growing up through the floor and out through the shutters. She isn’t sure if they are trying to break in or to escape.
‘Better the place is bulldozed, forgotten,’ Vişinel says.
‘We grew up here,’ she says.
‘And spent the whole time trying to get out.’ He kicks some litter. ‘I don’t know why we’ve come back.’
She remembers the rows of iron cots, the thin blankets, the years she could only speak Romanian.
‘I’ve bought it,’ she says. ‘The building. I’m going to make it whole again.’
They both know she means us, not it.

This is a 100-word or so Friday Fictioneer story, inspired by the picture. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields hosts the Friday Fictioneers, posting a picture each week (this week supplied by J Hardy Carroll). Click here to read other people’s and click here to join in.

My story this week might require some explanation. Decree 770 was a 1966 Romanian law which restricted abortion and contraception, which led ultimately to many children being placed in state orphanages where they were forced to live under terrible conditions.

Flash Fiction: Crossing the river alone

March 16, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

antiques-along-the-mohawk

Yesterday I asked the fat nurse to describe the view.

‘A river,’ she said, her big hands moving confidently as she changed my dressings. There was no disgust in her face, although even I can smell my decaying self, my rotting body.

‘And on the opposite bank,’ she said, ‘are two yellow chairs. What d’ya say we break out of here and go and have a nice sit down?’

Today it was a new nurse, thin. I imagined her fat colleague, weighing down one yellow chair, waiting. But I didn’t ask her to look. I don’t want to know that both chairs are empty.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) short story based on the picture provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, and written about by writers all over the world.

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This week WordPress interviewed me about my writing, and included a big mention for the wonderful Friday Fictioneers. Read the piece here.

Flash Fiction: Into the Sun

February 17, 2016February 17, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

crook

Cara goes by bicycle to the village shop. The sky is polished blue.
As I lie down with Peter in the grassy hollow I imagine Cara peddling home, into the sun.
Time slows: minutes become hours
Peter turns towards me.
Hours become days
I think of Cara squinting, stopping.
Days become weeks
Peter leans forward.
Weeks become months
I picture Cara pushing the bicycle, head bowed.
Months become years
One first kiss, and a shadow falls. We shade our eyes, look up. Cara, her face dark under her hat, frowns.

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This is a Friday Fictioneers story: a 100-word piece inspired by the picture (this week provided by Sandra Crook). Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read other people’s stories, or here to join in.

I’d love to know what you think – constructive criticism gratefully received – leave a comment below.

Flash Fiction: Third Person

February 3, 2016February 3, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 65 Comments

In books there’s always the drunk one. And the hesitant one. And the sober, sensible one – the person warning about the lake’s depth, the submerged dangers and the weeds to get tangled in. I should have been that person when we went down to the water in the dark, but instead we three were all the first kind. Giggling, we pulled off our clothes, plunged in, screaming at the cold.

A full five minutes of laughing and splashing went by before we missed him.

‘Peter!’ We tread water. ‘Stop messing around!’

In the blink of an eye we became the third person.

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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this weekly 100-word Friday Fictioneers writing event. Join in. Read other people’s. The picture this week is supplied by Erin Leary.

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Another competition to win BOOKS. But this time not only Our Endless Numbered Days, but also books by Kazuo Ishiguro, Yann Martel, Kate Atkinson, Danielle McLaughlin, Julian Barnes and others. Click to enter.

Flash fiction: The Sable Stole

January 27, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 54 Comments

chateau-de-sable-ceayr

‘My Aunt – my mother’s sister – had a sable stole.’
‘Stole?’ Cara frowned.
‘A collar, a scarf, made from real fur,’ I said. ‘Once, I came home early and it was draped over the back of a kitchen chair. I was reaching out towards it when she came down the stairs, my father following her.’
Cara raised her eyebrows.
‘She said I could stroke it and touch the tiny paws if I said nothing to my mother.’
‘And did you?’ Cara asked.
‘Touch it, or say something?’ I sighed. ‘She left me the stole in her will. I watched it burn.’

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The name of this house took me in a less than obvious direction this week for my 100-word Friday Fictioneers story. Join in. Read other people’s. The picture this week is supplied by Ceayr.

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Author and book-blogger, Jen Campbell is doing a worldwide competition to win one of five copies of my book, Our Endless Numbered Days, or Sweet Home by Carys Bray. Click here to enter.

Flash Fiction: When They Were New

January 20, 2016January 20, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 62 Comments

hh-spinet

The harpsichord had woodworm, much of the ivory was gone and one broken leg was jacked up on bricks. Peter flicked out his coat tails, eaten into fine lace by moths, and sat.

Dressed in ragged petticoats and crinoline, Cara curtsied low and I took her hand, kissed it. As we danced I thought of those who’d played and danced before us; the people who’d worn these clothes when they were new. And as if from above I saw Peter sitting and us cavorting on the dusty floorboards, fading and turning, turning and fading until we too disappeared into time.

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A Friday Fictioneers 100-word flash fiction inspired by the picture above, provided this week by Jan W. Fields. Click here to join in and write your own, or here to read other people’s.

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If you live near Bath, England, you might like to know that Our Endless Numbered Days has been selected as The Big Bath read by the Bath Literature Festival. You can get a free copy of the book, read it and come along to open book clubs, and a couple of events I’m speaking at. More information.

Flash fiction: Leaving on a Jet Plane

January 6, 2016January 6, 2016 / Claire Fuller / 56 Comments

Simon was whistling a tune, an old song I couldn’t place. I heard Cara huff. We’d taken a picnic up to the roof – cold salmon, cheese and bread, olives, too much wine – and we lay on the rug amongst the empty bottles and chimney stacks. When I opened my eyes an aeroplane trail had cut the blue sky in two.

‘What is that song?’ I said, turning onto my side.

Simon’s lips were stained red.

Cara staggered angrily to her feet. ‘Simon thinks I’m going to leave him,’ she said to me.

‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’ Simon said.

She swayed; whispered. ‘You’d never let me.’

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This is a 100-word (or so) flash fiction piece inspired by the picture above. You do need to know that old Peter, Paul and Mary song to know what’s going on. This week the picture was provided by Melanie Greenwood, and the whole Friday Fictioneers thing is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Join in. Read others.

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The paperback of my novel, Our Endless Numbered Days, has just been published in the UK, and I’m delighted that it’s been chosen as a Richard & Judy Book Club book (the closest we have to Oprah), and also the Waterstones Book Club. Read more here.

Flash fiction: E45 to J17

November 18, 2015November 20, 2015 / Claire Fuller / 78 Comments

ce-grate

Richie yawned. Pounding head, furry tongue, woolly brain; he’d rather be sleeping. He drove the sweeper out of the depot. He didn’t like today’s route – too many parked cars, but he could do it with his eyes closed, almost.

Fragments of the previous night came back: the club, the dancing…that girl. That girl! He’d been sure she was up for it. He’d spent a fortune on drinks, then when they were on the street she’d changed her mind. Silly cow.

At E48 the machine swept up an object and stopped. Richie sighed and climbed out. Odd, he thought. Right by last night’s club.

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This is a 100-word story for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to read some more inspired by the picture (this week provided by Ceayr) or here to join in and write your own.

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This week I’m a NaNoWrimo Coach, and taking over the organisation’s Twitter account. So if you’re writing 50,000 words in November, search for #NaNoCoach on Twitter, and come and ask me a question.

Short story: Food

August 28, 2014August 28, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 31 Comments

For almost a week in April or perhaps May – I had long lost track of the months by then – we ran out of food. The snow had melted but the cruel earth still refused to yield and no animals struggled in our traps.

I dreamed of Ute’s apple strudel as plump as a breast under a peasant’s blouse, and when I woke the phantom scent of cinnamon and pastry continued to tease me.

A mile from the cabin, we found a bed of heather which an insect had colonised, laying its grubs in gobs of spittle. My father and I ate them all.

This is a 100-word piece of flash fiction based on the picture above. It’s actually a summer re-run…our group mistress, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is on holiday, and so has suggested that all us Friday Fictioners can also have a week’s holiday and dig out our story from August 2012.

This scene, changed and expanded, actually made it into my novel. I love the idea that all these flash fiction pieces, mine and other people’s might have a life beyond our weekly writings.

To read more of what has been written in response to this picture click here. Or to join in and write your own, visit Rochelle’s website, here.

Short story: Whitewash

August 8, 2014 / Claire Fuller / 49 Comments

He adjusted his binoculars to bring the house into focus as he had done a thousand mornings. He watched the girl on the roof in ragged shorts hanging out washing. He liked it best when she bent over the basket.

Later she was at the kitchen window, working hard – preparing vegetables, cooking, washing up. She never ate with the family; always alone on the fenced-in balcony and quickly, looking over her shoulder. Scared.

The next morning the man of the house was painting the balcony wall.

He focused his binoculars and could just make out the letters H E L before they too, were gone.

For those who don’t know how Friday Fictioneers works, this picture, this time from Bjorn Rudberg , is our inspiration for our weekly online writing group hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each story is only about 100 words long, so why not read a few others: click here to read some more or to join in.

And please comment below with any suggestions on mine, or just to show you’ve visited.

I’m very excited to let you know that one of my short stories – Baker, Emily and Me – has won the BBC Radio 4 Opening Lines competition, which means it will be read out on Radio 4 on 29th August at 3:45 BST. So do listen out for it and let me know what you think. For those readers not in the UK, it will be up on the BBC website for a week afterwards.