Waiting for Don-ot
She shuffled in her petticoats – perhaps Donald was on the next tram?
He wasn’t.
R and Wr
A writer wrote relentlessly. Repeatedly rephrasing and wrewriting his writings until all that was written was unwreadable. After a rapid wrethink the wrevolutionaries wrejected his writings and offered the pamphlet writing contract to Robert Roland Rivers instead.
Too Good to be True
John sat, dumbfounded, as the reverend, his mule, his friend from the synagogue and all of his celtic cousins strode, cocky as anything, into the alehouse. He looked sadly at his sixth pint of Budvar and shook his head theatrically, as one might in a film – no one would ever believe this onstage.
This is a much shorter/totally different version of a story that failed to win me money in 2010 which can be read here: http://hcatswell.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/walks-into-bar.html
The Editor
‘Fwriends, Wromans Countwrymen?’ Sneered the Editor, tossing the folio aside.
The writer looked at his shoes, now fairly certain that he had lost the proofreading job.
Prolepsis/Analepsis
Fragrant Arthur Bodkin imagined himself in the future thinking about the past. A waitress clinking a spoon disturbed his daydream and he looked sadly at his coffee and sighed.
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