JM is a bit new to writing fiction. She tries to draw on real-life experiences that she knows something about. JM gets her inspiration therefore from the experiences of some of her acquaintances, friends and family, as well as from her own life experiences. However, any resemblance to anyone that JM knows is purely coincidental, as she also combines or adapts the experiences to embellish her stories. JM certainly doesn’t know anyone who has been a murderer! Please take these stories with a pinch of salt! JM’s sense of humour may be a little weird, but she likes to think she can see the funny side of most situations. A few sample excerpts of her stories are below, or you can read more in the category Fiction.

The “M” Word 

In her madness, mild-mannered Martha mistakenly mixed mustard into the miniature meatballs made for the meal at the Mad March meeting of Manchester Masons. Meanwhile, making sure the musical melodies were meaningful, Continue reading →

 Back to Brighton

This was her fourth ice cream in a row. She was out of control. It was probably because she had deprived herself of so much during Lent, but that was no excuse for pigging out on Easter Monday. Brighton seemed to have that effect on her. First go to Harry Ramsden’s for fish and chips – there could be none better in the world. Then saunter down the pier watching the kids pumping their money into slot machines in the amusement arcades, just like she used to do before she became ‘sensible’. Then wander along the front looking to see how many youngsters were brave enough to take a dip at that time of year, as she had done as a teenager, while her parents were sitting wrapped up in thick overcoats on their picnic blanket spread over the shingle. Oh the memories that came flooding back!

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A night in the cave

We were all alone in the cold and clammy darkness. There was an eerie drip, drip, drip from somewhere further into the cave, almost muffled by the crashing of the waves against the rocks below us.

Why on earth had I let Rob persuade me to go climbing over the rocks with him? Even worse, why hadn’t we turned back while we still could before the tide came in? But there was no point worrying about that. We had to get through the night, marooned halfway up the cliff, with no means of contacting anyone. Why is it that mobile phones never have any reception when needed?

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Max, the Tracker Dog

I was sitting with my two German Shepherd dogs at a table near to the water’s edge in the pub garden of the Jolly Boatman waiting for my lunch to arrive, when a rather attractive young couple asked me if they could join me at my table, as there were no other empty tables. “Of course,” I said, “I’d be glad of the company.”

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