Welcome to the Forge! Easy now, mind you step. A wordsmith’s forge is a surreal place for the uninitiated. The floors are uneven and walls are said to move of their own accord. Clocks run fast or not at all. The windows display a new vista every morning and the doors never open into the same room twice. The forge is a place of dreams and like a dream it is a strange and incorporeal place.

White hot nuggets of inspiration are extracted from the wordsmith’s subconscious here, moulded here, into something she hopes will resemble great prose or powerful poetry. Each molten work of art is left to cool in a room where melancholy coats the furniture like a diaphanous film and twinkling motes of joy wink in and out of existence. It is said that if you stay too long you too will succumb to the wordsmith’s whim, never to be seen again except, perhaps, as a secondary character in a story somewhere so keep your wits about you! You have been warned!



Short Stories


Aurora’s Dream

Grandad’s Little Magpie


Flash Fiction