Literature 21 results

Book Review: Learning not to drown by Anna Shinoda

Two lessons. That's all I had. One from Luke: learn to float. One from Peter: a basic crawl stroke.[...]Dad's idea of teaching me was throwing me into the deep end and yelling, "Sink or swim!" Mom refused to help, using her disgust for the lake water as an excuse.
13014522With her debut novel "Learning not to drown", Anna Shinoda tells the heartbreaking story of a young girl trying to cope with the criminal nature of her brother while her family fails to support and understand her. ...

Toni Morrison Receives Presidential Medal of Freedom – Meet my Favourite Author!

Toni Morrison, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1993, is probably one of the most influential ...

Short Story Contest Voting! Vote now for your favourite Story!

During the last weeks, I have posted all submissions to the Short Story Contest, and now it's time ...

Short Story Contest Submission: Ierra Miole – Time’s Up

This is the last submission for the Short Story Contest. VOTING IS OPEN NOW!

Time’s up!

by Ierra Miole             It was an ordinary day for me. I woke up and cleaned my house. Every day has the same happenings and what will happen next was predictable, a daily routine. If only my father is here, at least that daily routine would change. But it has been three years of not seeing him and the last letter from my father that says he will come back, was three years ago. And until now, he is still gone. The boredom that we always feel is like a virus that loses up our energy. Maybe that’s the reason why people always have a complaint because every day, they have the same things to do. And because I am one of them, I’m used to it. And maybe that’s the reason why I am very conscious of time. But I didn’t imagine that this boring life would end up so soon. I am just walking in the mall when I met a man. He bumped me and my pouch fell. The guy picked it up and smile at me as he gave the pouch. Then one woman shouted from my back. “A thief!! A thief!” she said. “What happen?” asked the security guard. “That guy took my wallet!” the woman replied, pointing to the direction of the guy who bumped me. ...

Short Story Contest Submission: ShindaHotaru – Time Will Tell


Time will tell

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, husband out with the boys and the house empty and silent for once. You wanted to relax for once, just for once, even though you wouldn't have minded your husband's company. But the kids wanted to watch a movie you can't even recall the name of and he suggested to take them out, probably the only way to get your oldest son out of the house.

Things have gotten out of order the past weeks, or months or so, you can't remember when family life has stopped being only about weekend trips, movie nights and playing hide and seek in the garden. Someday your oldest son stopped coming downstairs for a play of hanafuda, the next he took his lunch upstairs into his bedroom. Logically, a fifteen-year-old boy needs privacy, some time on his own. But you can't find an excuse nor explanation why your son wouldn't want to eat with you anymore. What, upstairs in his room, was more interesting than familiar company?

You shake your head, nuzzle your back more into the sofa cushion and sigh your thoughts away. This is your evening, no need to have your family problems on your mind while they are out of the house. So you lie there on the champagne couch, your gaze wandering through the living-room, a mixture of crème and brown-colored furniture, the little nostalgic lamp on, sitting in her beauty on the table on the other side of the sofa.

Now that you are home alone, you have no clue what to do with the time given. Your husband and kids only left half an hour ago and they won't be back in the next three hours. Maybe even in four hours, when your husband comes up with the idea to treat them all with some fast food. He spoils the kids too much, you figure, he would grant them a wish when you didn't even allow them to make one. Or perhaps he has a better idea of raising kids than you have, and after all you're just too strict in most of the cases. And maybe that was why your oldest likes to stay up in his room instead of jamming on the guitar with you.

Maybe not? Well, you could use the time to find out, now that your son is far away, physically, and mentally even farther away. You get up, climb the marble staircase and walk over to your son's bedroom door, determined to enter and look for any evidence. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, your husband's voice echoes, that having trust in your children was essential, but you have no trouble to ignore your inner voice and walk into your son's bedroom.


Short Story Contest Submission: Tensh_iie – I’ll Try Not To Destroy You


I’ll try not to destroy you“

Warm rays of sun wavered through the window, bathing the room in golden lightening. Birds were tweeting on the outside, talking and singing almost as if they wanted to greet the new day that was rising from the ground. Another warm and sunny day in Los Angeles. Another day full of chances, dreams and opportunities. Another chance to make things right.

Standing on the back porch of his house, a young man took in a deep breath, letting the fresh air rush through his body and fill his lungs with oxygen, as he stood there and greeted the new day himself. He did that every morning, no matter how the weather was outside. No matter if the sun was shining, or rain came crashing down from the sky. It didn't matter. Every morning at six-thirty A.M. he stood in the same spot, in the same position – taking in the first deep breath of the day. It was a ritual, something that meant a lot in Jon's world – the world he lived in.

Looking up from the ground, he watched a pair of blackbirds jumping over the green grass of the back yard. They were probably searching for some worms or seeds, which they could fill their growling stomachs with. Or maybe they were on the hunt for little branches they could use to build a nest somewhere. Who knew – Jon most certainly did not and yet he enjoyed watching them.

Smiling gently he finished the cup of coffee he was holding, another ritual that he fullfilled every morning, and turned around to step back inside the house, closing the sliding door behind himself. Every morning started the same; a routine that never got old.


Short Story Contest Submission: Alison Bour – Hero



By Alison Bour

  Honestly I wasn’t all that scared until the bigger dude told us to hit the floor face down and put our arms out to the side. I felt like I was hanging on a cross that fell forward. I initially didn’t remember feeling that way. It’s interesting what surfaces now that I’ve moved on. A few people started to panic. Someone yelled, “My husband’s sick; I have to get home, please!” One woman started to whimper, and a man next to me sounded like he was hyperventilating. “Shut the hell up, everyone!” The guy’s voice roared like he was announcing a bullfight. Everyone got quiet, but I could sense fear building in the room like the moment just before a pot boils over. There was a smaller guy, too. Both were dressed in black and wore ski masks with slits for the eyes and mouth. I noticed that before I went down on command. I wanted to sneak another peek but it wasn’t worth it. Not with my wife, Jenna and little Nathan at home. “You,” the big dude said to someone behind the teller windows. “Fill this! Do it now!” I heard the sound of something hitting the counter. The guy next to me started to say, “Oh, God. Oh, God.” I clenched my mouth like a ventriloquist and told him to stop. At first I thought the robbery wouldn’t last long—they just wanted in and out with their cash—and we’d be OK. But for some reason the hyperventilator seemed like an omen. I thought maybe he would draw attention to himself and the robbers might snap. Someone behind me—there were about 14 of us in all—started reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I was afraid if I told her to lower her voice they would hear, so I silently joined in and hoped for the best. I’m not very religious so you might think praying during a crisis is hypocritical. I never know how people will judge the things I did that day. I’ve learned to forget all that, and let the chips fall where they will. That’s one of the biggest lessons I can pass on....

Short Story Contest Submission: Amanda Hendrick – The Man And The Swamp

VOTING IS OPEN NOW! Her is the second submission for the Short Story Contest. You can vote for your favourite story after all submissions were posted. More to come! The Man and the Swamp

By Amanda Hendrick

We all know how arguments begin; they start very small with a word or a phrase, not meant to bite the way it does. And then a few words later you are both drowning, unable to tell up from down, in an argument neither one of you wanted to be in. People as with most other things, often come in sets, sets of two. The beginning of this story is no different. And these two people were currently drowning.

They pillaged and plundered and screamed and yelled, until what they were saying no longer sounded like words. The man hissed and the woman returned his fire. The man yelled out insults, but this time the woman spoke louder and words emerged, “You should leave, just leave. Come back in a week, or don’t come back at all. 7 days- no more no less or I will be gone. And you will never see me again.”

The man in a huff stormed from their home. His anger propelled him forward for three days. He would never go back. He spent those three days stomping and slamming doors everywhere he went. He spent three days with his fists clenched and his jaw tight. He spent three days bellowing instead of speaking. He spent three days scaring off any one kind or nice with one look from his dark anger filled eyes.

Then on the fourth day, he sat down and like a puff of smoke the anger left him. The next three days he spent in sorrow and self-doubt. Was he good enough? Should he go back? Would they work out? Was it even worth it to keep trying? He spent three days with his hand rubbing his forehead. He spent three days with tears just almost forming in his eyes. He spent three days slightly hunched over as if the weight of the world had just been placed there. He spent three days forming a new furrow in-between his brow. Should he go back?

On the seventh day he awoke with a start and instead of sorrow he felt something warm growing in his chest. Of course it had always been there, but the heat of his anger had disguised its warmth, and then the cooling off of his sorrow had made the warmth seem natural. Of course he would go home. This warm feeling that he felt deep inside himself was love. He spent the day filled with the passion of love and the contentment one can only feel when they recognize a soul mate. He spent this day moving with sure-footedness and dedication. Nothing would hold him back from his love. He would return today, beg for forgiveness and enjoy every fight and laugh with this woman he loved.


Short Story Contest Submission: Jeremie Guy – The French Quarter

The response to the Short Story Contest wasn't mind-boggling, but I'm happy that six great authors submitted their stories to the contest. Quality is more important than quantity anyways! =D In the next two weeks, I will post their stories here, so you have time to read them. Then there will be a voting for the best story, so check back and vote for your favourite story! The winner will get an Amazon giftcard! To the authors: Thanks for your participation and good luck! EDIT: VOTE NOW! Here's the first submission:  

The French Quarter by Jeremie Guy

The fake sound of an airplane taking off awakened him from his daydream. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, realizing that he’d grown sleepy since he’d sat down. “Don’t go to sleep, bud, I need someone to keep me company,” said Hugh. William wrinkled his face and just wanted to nod off, but Hugh tapped his shoulder. “You need to just forget about Evanka. She’s no good for you.” Hugh stopped talking and William wondered if his best friend realized that talking about her was still a touchy subject. He knew that he was taking the trip down to the French Quarter in New Orleans because he needed some time away from his wife Evanka. He wasn’t sure if he would ever go back. After he discovered that she was having multiple, drunken affairs he had to leave to resist the temptation of assaulting her. Just because I cheated doesn’t mean I don’t love you, William remembered her saying. We’ve been married for ten years and you better not be getting ready to throw that away. Thinking of another man inside his wife made him shudder and a chill crept up his spine. Tears burned his eyes and he blinked to keep them inside. ...

Short Story Writing Contest – NEW DEADLINE MARCH 25!

EDIT: DEADLINE EXTENDED TO MARCH 25th! Prize: - Blog Post about the author - Amazon Gift card ...