Heavenly Road Trip , livre ebook

Help for Writers - Fiona Linday

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26 pages

English

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A mini collection of short stories for young adults. All of the stories in this collection are hopeful, dealing with contemporary and futuristic issues. They deal with life's journey and important decisions made on the way. Perfect for any road trip! Written by Fiona Linday this fantastic book is sure to keep you entertained.

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Publié par	Help for Writers
Date de parution	30 avril 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780957186804
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Copyright © Fiona Linday 2012
Illustrations by Bethan Williams
Published by Horus Music Limited.
ISBN 978-0-9571868-0-4
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission of the author.
A Short Biography
Based in the East Midlands, initially I was published on the web at a writers’ site, in 2007. That was at www.therecusant.org.uk under prose, with a short piece called ‘Off the Beaten Track.’ This story raised awareness of the plight of teens suffering abuse in Eastern Europe, for which I won a local short story competition. The first prize came from the local Fosseway Writers. Recently, I’ve enjoyed the festivals performing at the Arts 4 Human Rights TransEuropa Festival in Shoreditch, along with other spoken word artists in 2011. This was with the above piece that also challenged attitudes to gypsies.
Then, I took up the challenge of recording prose more seriously in 2009, achieving a Certificate in Creative Writing at Lancaster University. After volunteering in a day hospice and child bereavement centre, I wrote a debut young adult novel covering the issue of family bereavement, called, ‘Get Over It!’ The novel adventures were published by Onwards and Upwards Publishers. It is written giving a hopeful scenario.
I’ve recently written an article in summer 2010, issue 51 of Writing in Education Magazine. This details my successes in primary school encouraging creative writing during lunchtime sessions called, ‘A Chocolate Box of Short Stories.’ For numerous years I’ve supported literacy in schools and specifically writing for purpose.
Also in 2010, I won the Unique Writing Publications Short story award with ‘Love’ which was an adult piece of prose. This sensitively touched on the subject of miscarriage, in the bad old days! Happily, I performed this in 2011 at the Lincoln Book Festival; it was recorded by Lincoln Siren FM radio. It is available to hear as a podcast on my website. Warning! Make sure that you have tissues available!
More recently, I’ve enjoyed performing some poetry with the Lyric Lounge and young people in Rutland. There have been some wonderful results working collaboratively within arts in health in Leicestershire, where my words have been interpreted for a picture to celebrate the success of a local day hospice.
At present, I’m busy writing a second Y.A. novel, again set in a contemporary setting but this time alternate history called ‘Back and Beyond’. I continue to work freelance as a creative writing practitioner.
Finally, I’d like to thank my family for their continued support and those fantastic young people who inspire me to write. You know who you are!

See my website www.fionalinday.co.uk.
Off the Beaten Track
My first tale set in Eastern Europe, telling of a girl’s escape from being trafficked.
This was a competition winner! In 2007 it won the Fosseway Writers’ Short story Award.
Thanks go to a mentor called Gwen Grant, made available to me during the polishing of this story through the generosity of Arts Training Central.
Off the Beaten Track

Snaldov, the Baltics and me. We just don’t seem to fit. Since all the trouble, I’ve changed. I know it’s me because I don’t feel part of anything, any more.
It all seems safe here but things aren’t always what they seem.
From where I stand I can see twenty-two bullet holes in the wall of our house. Mrs. Ivanova, across the road, has only fifteen. I counted them.
Yes! That’s thirty-seven bullets that missed.
I came out here for fresh air but there’s no fresh air, only mud. But that’s okay.
One day this mud will be a meadow of tall buttercups. I know it.
Right now though, I have to collect the eggs.
I despise those chickens. I despise the way they’re turning our yard into a grey, slippery, mess. It’s horrible. Still the eggs are lovely.
When I look out over the huddled rooftops that seem to squash me, I think of
Branimir and my eyes follow the pillars of smoke that drift over the village to the hills.
Branimir is in those hills, with his family. They’re gypsies and no one likes gypsies, except me. I really like Branimir. His smile does it for me. When I’m with him everything seems safe.
I met him last summer, a summer that went on forever. The sun excited the whole hillside until the flowers, the trees, the bushes and the grass, all burst into colour.
Then a bundle of feathers dropped from the roof, startling me.
“Stupid creature!” I shouted.
I want Branimir. I want his life and his freedom. And I want it now.
But this is my life. Chickens, mud and my dad, Konstantin.
I hate my dad.
I didn’t always hate him. A long time ago we used to have great fun together.
He was always laughing, always ready for a game. At bedtime he’d tuck me in and read me this story, the same one every night. It’s like the bible story about the child, Isaac, being given back to God by Abraham, his dad. Only instead of Isaac being saved in this story, the boy gets turned into gold. I don’t trust my dad. I used to love him but that was then.
And this is now.
In our house we only have five rooms for eight of us and my dad fills them all. I share a bedroom with my sister but the boys are really cramped in their room, top to toe in two beds. The front room’s full of dad’s mysterious boxes and we’re not allowed in there. If I so much as touch the door he yells, “You girl. Here! Now,” and I dread that.
I yell back, “I have got a name you know! I’m Yuliya, Yuliya.”
That’s when he gives me a smack round the head.
“Bring it on, Yuliya,” he jeers.
I don’t care what he says. I won’t cry because there’s no point.
So, anyway, I quite enjoy my boiled egg for breakfast, sometimes with fresh bread but not always.
My mum left for work before I was up. It was still dark when I heard the latch of the back door. She does her best. She has lots of jobs. It was freezing cold this morning and I needed to check on her because I wanted to know if dad had done a, ‘Bring it on, Elena,’ on her, too. But she seemed okay. She wasn’t limping, anyway.
For some strange reason she hasn’t given up on my dad, yet, so neither should I.
I get up and put on layers of clothes but as mum’s already filled the stove burner, I warm myself by the oven before heading outside.

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