The latest installment of our free audio podcast features short fiction from Lane Ashfeldt. You can either right-click here to download a copy of the author reading her piece, “The Bells at Christchurch”, or you can subscribe using and get automatic updates with your RSS reader or through iTunes.
While we were still basking in the morning after glow of last November, we were asked by the editor of Big Bridge to record our feelings about this historical event. Even today, in the day light of “politics as usual”, I still feel like something great was achieved that night.
Have a read, Big Bridge’s Election 2008 reports from London and see if you feel the same.
We’re back from our summer vacation, and appease your appetites we’ve got Jarred McGinnis reading his short story, Today I Eat The World for this week’s podcast. Jarred’s work has been featured in Gold Dust, Underground Voices, Big Bridges and Liars’ League. You can follow him online at Wicked To Mock The Afflicted.
And whether you prefer an open source feed reader, a slick new portable audio player, or just to listen through your computer speakers, don’t forget to subscribe to our free weekly podcast which is available in fresh RSS or citrus iTunes flavours.
Click here for this weeks podcast, which features Green Press writer Bilal Ghafoor reading his story, Charass. It’s the tale of a man travelling through the heartland of Pakistan, and discovering something more than just shelter and rest.
Dont forget to subscribe to our free audio podcast. Next week we’ll have some poetry, so let us know what you think.
Sunday saw a group of talent from What We Were Thinking Just Before The End assembled to read at the Respect Festival in Brent. For almost 2 hours the “Shhh! Tent” was the host to fiction, poetry, and just a little bit of banter. Photos and such follow below…
Don’t forget to subscribe to our free audio podcast, and if you’re in the London area this Sunday, come see us live at the Respect Festival in Brent. For more information, see the Events page of our website, or check out the brochure from Brent Council.
Clare Sandling‘s story, Smirnoff Vodka – One Litre, was selected for reading at the Liar’s League this week. Which, along with an event at Tales of The Decongested, makes it the third time in 2009 for this Green Press writer to have her work read aloud for London audiences.
So this week’s podcast is a recording of Clare reading her story How To Win At Scrabble And Life, live at Willesden Green. Download, listen, and let us know what you thought of Clare’s story.
I’m too scared of losing a finger in the machines that make our books, so I can’t tell you what the press sounds like. But if you want to know what our authors sound like, that’s a different story. Specifically, a story called Marula Beer, read here by author Andrew Mayne, in the first of our series of podcasts.
Let us know what you think, as we’ll be making more audio content available soon.
It’s been a while since we spoke, and things have probably been just as busy for you in the last couple of weeks. But now that spring has truly sprung (in the northern hemisphere, at least), you’ll soon see and hear all sorts of things sprouting. And if you’re not inclined to look for the green shoots of economic recovery, may we suggest some blooming fiction of a slightly darker note?
by Bilal Ghafoor
The bells draped above the old wooden door ringled-tingled beautifully, as they always did whenever someone came in. The old man pushed one last white and pink carnation in to the vase, wiped his ropy fingers on his apron and bent himself past the boxes to see who had come in. Normally, he would have gone up to the customer and showered him with smiles and avuncular advice; how to apologise to a spouse with just the right shade of blood-red roses or how to charm a friends wife on her birthday without flirting using yellow roses. The customer who had just walked in seemed, however, to have no such needs; he was quietly bending over a spray of azaleas and starting to examine each bloom carefully.
Albert returned to his work, lovingly arranging each stem; he almost forgot about the young man, when he heard a gentle cough. Another wipe of the hands and he shuffled behind the cracked old wooden counter. He stared into the eyes of the young man. They were speckled green and blue, and yet they sucked in the light around him. They narrowed slightly as he tendered a ten pound note. Albert glanced down at the counter. Three flowers. Kerching, change and he was gone. Continue reading