May showcase

Wendy Gregory

I am getting old now and rather creaky, but that’s not surprising really. I’ve seen a lot of action in the last forty years: insatiable young lust, conception, childbirth, energetic but demanding children jumping all over me, then the slowing down of fond familiarity which has its benefits. In the words of the late Margaret Thatcher, we seem to have swapped “the hurly burly of the chaise longue for the deep, deep peace of the double bed.” At least I get a bit of calm at night. But it all takes its toll and I am experiencing the angst which I know is common amongst the middle aged – can I keep the affection and attention of my nearest and dearest? When I was young and supple, it seemed like everything just sprang back into place. Have you heard of the crocodile test- where you pinch a piece of skin on the back of your hand? When you’re young it just pings back into place. As you mature (that great euphemism for growing old), it takes several seconds, in a rather repulsive way, to snake back into place. Depressingly,what used to just spring back into its previous shape now takes considerably longer. Put pressure on any part of me and it makes a clearly visible dent, sometimes lasting for several minutes. Bits of me are not just creaky but positively sagging. Quite often, there doesn’t seem any point in getting made up or smartly attired: who cares? On the rare occasions when I am involved in carnal relations, I find that my joints groanmore and more loudly every time. I’m convinced that it won’t be long now until I get dumped for a younger model. I guess it’s inevitable. Or maybe not? After all, Tracy Emin won a Turner prize for hers.

The Wendy House

Facebook: https://tinyurl.com/y2uy8abb

The Little Book of Retorts



April Showcase

For April we are shining the spotlight on one of our published authors: Jonathan Posner.

Jonathan has published a short story book as well as the first in his YA series: The Witchfinder’s Well. It follows the adventures of Justine who travels back to Tudor times. The second novel in the Witchfinder’s Well series, called The Alchemist’s Arms will be published soon. Keep an eye out on his website or Amazon for the release.


Jonathan’s Website

The Witchfinder’s Well Website



March showcase

A bit late. March’s theme was pirates or robbers

Pirates by Vivien

Stronger than they look, the waves endlessly move their shimmering peaks as if to trick one’s eyes.  Only a few inches high, yet they hold and caress our carnivorous vessel.  The trade winds fill our salty yellow sails propelling us towards our destiny.  Expertly set, the weathered fabric hardly flutters as every part of the breeze is captured.  We cut through the water, like a knife through belly flesh.  Our nineteen-strong crew, buoyed by the recent feast of swine, perch with weapons glinting in the sunlight.  They watch the victim ship floundering ahead, awaiting the slaughter.  This should be easy.

Robbery by Phil

Anastasia settled into her favourite corner of the sofa, watching the saucer through cold blue eyes. She had the ten-bedroom country house to herself, and the drawing room was warm from the log fire burning in the grate. As fat as a toad and ten times the size, with long, thick hair, she rested her snub nose on her paws. Well-fed from the Earl’s kitchen, the cream was an unnecessary treat. Sleepy from lack of exercise, Anastasia soon dozed off. 

Alert, the mouse turned from her brood to the escape hole, sniffing the air and listening for the slightest sound of activity.She knew that for all its apparent torpor, the cat would rip her apart, if it saw her. Checking her babies were still, the mouse dragged the cotton wool out onto the polished floor towards the cream, her heart beating at over six hundred beats per minute. Watching Anastasia, she dragged the cotton wool into the saucer, allowing it to soak up its precious load, before returning to her den. Six more times she made the perilous journey.

Awake, Anastasia knew immediately about the robbery and its perpetrator. Furious, she vowed terrible retribution, then went back to sleep.

Pirates by Carolina

“Who’s got my leg?” bellowed the first mate.
Blasted parrot! I thought. The parrot was always trying to fly off with the leg. It was clever enough to avoid being plucked and roasted.
Sighing, I toppled out of my hammock and made my way on deck.
The parrot was perched on the ship’s wheel. It cocked its head and I noticed the leg on the deck.
I edged towards the wheel. The parrot squawked and flapped its wings.
I searched my pockets and found a coin, which I put down. The parrot flew over and I grabbed the leg.

Pirates by Shirley

The vast ocean stretched its glittery waves all around the ship to the far distant horizon, no speck of land visible to the despairing sailors, uncaring wind heaving the decks this way and that, ‘til a sudden yell from the crow’s nest caused a stir amongst the crew. The captain’s telescope peered in the direction pointed out, as thoughts of ‘friend or foe’ spread throughout the ship.

“What flag is it, cap’n?” shouted the bosun. “Are we doomed or are we rescued?”

“It’s turning away from us, maybe it’s spotted our flag,” said the captain, as his black flag flapped in the wind.

Writing tasks

January showcase

Every month we will be focusing on the work of one of our members.

For this month, we have a collection of our 100 word stories.


Ray by Phil Appleton

As a tiny hole in a black sheet of paper, a pinprick of light shines, dim but steady. Then the faintest twinkle, a flash and a movement of energy, seen by no-one. The photons multiply, faster than space, gathering speed and momentum, dazzling bright.

The earth sits, quiet and dark, its slow rotation signalling presence, unlike its sterile moon. The ray approaches, bursting with power and blinding whiteness, wider than an ocean until its cataclysmic collision with rock and sea. The planet shakes in hot defiance, holding firm in the cooling fireball, as the first of life prepares to form.


Ray by Amanda Buchan

I belong to the Royal Association of Yodellers. I had to audition but I reckon I got in because the lads loved my big boobs and my wicked sense of humour, it’s a killing combo!

The RAY visited the German Yodelling Centre this year. It was so hot and sweaty, I poured a load of talc down my cleavage. This Hun was staring at my breasts so I pushed his face right down my front and he came up all covered in powder. Did we laugh!

Well, he didn’t, but Huns don’t have a sense of humour, do they?


Shirt by June Kerr

So I bought this shirt you see

Cause it was pink and sparkly and very ‘me.’

It was covered in flowers and sequined creatures

And was low enough cut to show off my best features


But she ripped it off my back that night

In what could only be described as a nasty cat fight

When she pulled my hair and tore the sleeve

After discovering I’d had it off with Steve


It wasn’t really my fault all that hurt

Over a pink and sparkly shirt

I know I shouldn’t have slept with Steve but

I blame the shirt for being too low cut


Ray by Rosa Carr

 “Dawn is not long off,” he says, urging me on. Yawns stifle my grumpy response. 

“I promise you won’t regret it.” He’s dragging me out the door. 

It’s far too early to be this happy, I think, too tired to actually vocalise. 

I’m trying to shoot a death stare at him as I’m half lifted into the car. It probably looks more like I’m going back to sleep rather than the death rays I’m hoping for. 

He hops in the car and speeds off. Screeching to a halt across the lake in time to see the sun’s rays break the horizon. 


Ray by Robyn Kayes

I sit by the window enjoying the rays of bright sunshine, reading the story of Marie Curie and her wonderful work with X-rays. I would dearly love to follow in her footsteps.  As clouds cover the sun, and the room darkens, I shiver in the absence of warmth.  Suddenly the door to the library bangs open, and in walks Mother with her hand resting on the arm of a strange man. “There you are child, why are you sitting in the dark? I have some wonderful news for you. This is your new step-father, his name is Ray.


By Kulwant


You know in dreams – when you feel outnumbered, on the run; being chased by faceless assassins?


You stumble onto The Long Walk full of petty tourists. Well, there’s a Chinaman there photographing the grass – stroking it as if it’s some long-lost lover.


He sees you and looks alarmed. He plucks one to show you.


“Blade of glass!” he shouts.


“No … You mean blade of grass.” you say.


“No.” he says. “BLADE OF GLASS!”


A shadow falls as I turn and her diamond stiletto plunges straight into my cheating heart. A rush of blood that jolts me awake.

*********** THE END ***********

© Kanthé 2018


Six word stories

This month’s task was to write a six word story on cake.

• Cut the cake, eat more salads.
• More champagne, one cake, two forks.
• The cake: cocaine. Bring ’em in
• Happiness is a piece of cake
• Window glass, cakes inside, money spent
• What? Jamaica Ginger? No, sponge cake

• Scone.The fastest cake in Scotland.
• Who ate all the cakes. Me.
• Fruit cake. Is it current? Discuss.
• Mr Kipling, will you marry me?
• Cake. Loved by lips and hips.
• Cake. Insert into mouth for pleasure.
• Weight watchers cake – prepare for disappointment.
• Eat muffins. Wear them for life.
• Eat cake. Get fat. Die happy.
• Cake. Provider of diabetes and obesity.

• Last icing swirl wrong. Start again.
• One nut in the mix? Sorry!

• The guests departed, the cake uncut.

• Cake shop on fire fireman munching.
• Mud caked hand rises from the dirt.
• Cupcake shared, one dead, one alive.

• Kirsty’s cake crumbled under close scrutiny.

• Birthday cake. Marriage cake. Death cake.

• All day baking. All night crying.

• She baked. We ate; survived. Barely.
• She chose sponge. He’d wanted fruit.





A year in review

A year ago we celebrated the launch of our anthology of short stories about or set in Windsor, Windsor Tales. It was a great achievement for us.

Since then we’ve welcomed some new members who have been great additions to the group and brought a new fresh outlook into the group.

We’ve found a new venue which is perfect. The Hope Pub, on Alma Road, has a big room called the library which is perfect for us writers and book lovers.

We’ve had a few guest speakers, Essie Fox, Tessa Harris, and David Bullock. All local author who we’ve enjoyed learning from and hearing their stories.

Now we look to future meetings and are always welcoming new members.



Author Panel Event

The author panel was a great success on Thursday night as part of the Windsor Festival.

Jonathan was joined by Julie Cohen, Tessa Harris, Essie Fox, and Oliver Tidy.

This event recalls our founding, back in 2013. There was an author panel which Julie and Essie were also part of and someone asked if there was a local writing group and thus Windsor Writers was born.


It’s behind you!

Creating tension & suspense in fiction, a workshop by author Tessa Harris. 

Tessa joined our group this month to teach us about her techniques for creating suspense.  A big thanks to Tessa, I’m sure we’ll all be using suspense in some for in our work in future. 

Tessa Harris is the author of 7 historical suspense novels, her most recent published this year is The Sixth Victim which is about Jack the Ripper. 


Windsor Tales book launch

We launched our book at an event on Thursday evening and it was a great success. The Firestation was an excellent venue.
 Our books were flying off the table.


Some of us read out parts of the stories.


And there was art on display from the But Is It Art? group.

Big thank you from the whole group to everyone who showed their support.

And if you missed the event, there are books available for purchase online

Buy now