The Lumber-room
Friday, 12 April 2013

[North 3] the princess visits the kitchen

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There was an open door just past the cabinet. She darted into the room and took a deep breath. On the table just in front of her was a plat...
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Monday, 18 March 2013

cwic/alive

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Fierlen aesces forbyrnath bremels byrst bearn blithe Distant ash trees burn brambles bristle glad child Horrendous anglo-saxon gramm...
Tuesday, 12 February 2013

winter

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It was winter.   Your eyes were closed each time I came. I'd sit and talk   not knowing if you heard. It felt like the same things...

outsider

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Sea-bound, land-locked, ringed by high cathedral wall. Journey's end and pilgrims' rest: Saint Andrew's bones make travellers...

the archaeological rag

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(with apologies to Cole Porter) Times have changed and we've often rewound the clock since historians got a shock when Belzoni smas...

childhood

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Once summers stretched long and hot. Beaches became deserts. Woods were wild, dangerous places. We sat barefoot on branches. Trees ...

firstborn

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You always were the first: born before me (three years, seven months and sixteen days). You got a head start and kept on running. It was...
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The Lumber-Room

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Becca McCallum
Once upon a time there was a little girl who wanted to write. She made wonderful beginnings and then let them languish in notebooks and boxes underneath the bed and tucked away at the backs of drawers. They piled up, word upon word, getting all smudgy and dog-eared and sad. Beginnings don't like to be left alone, so this is my lumber room for all the things I'm working on. Be prepared for things to be a little dusty. Comments much appreciated, especially if you don't like something I've written. Tell me why, that'd be great. If you liked it, that'd be good too.
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