Latest news with #shortstories
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Sunday short stories, episode 1 : My Big Fat Greek Honeymoon
This week's story takes us to the beautiful Greek island of Santorini, where love and suspense dance under the setting Mediterranean sun. Hello readers! My name is Kay Kingsman and I am a fiction author and travel writer. I am starting a new weekly column called "Sunday short stories" that will be travel-focused short stories, each week featuring a new story in a new destination - a la Shakespeare when he used to publish his now famous stories in his local newspaper. If this particular story is not your cup of tea, feel free to skip; each week will be a different genre. If you love reading, please consider subscribing so you can be the first to read every week! Now with that intro out of the way, let's get into the story. My Big Fat Greek Honeymoon, by Kay Kingsman location: Santorini, Greece genre: crime, suspense content warnings: murder (off-screen) *This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ——— I was the one scared to get married. Everyone knew that. Yes, it was a bit stereotypical of me, being a 30-something male and all, but marriage was a big deal. If anything, society was a bit too relaxed and casual about the fact marriage entails completely merging everything about your life to another person. And how long did newlyweds typically know each other? A couple years? Practically strangers. I was certainly not the man I was even two years ago. Plus, my heart had been broken before so I didn't fancy the idea of having to pay thousands of dollars to eventually have the same thing happen all over again. Thankfully, Iris, bless her sweet heart, was very patient with me. When we passed jewelry stores, she pretended to check her phone or suddenly feigned interest in the particular color of the sky. If we ate at an upscale restaurant, French if I chose or Mexican if she did, Iris would politely excuse herself to the restroom while the host looked up our reservation. However when my eyes followed her body sashaying into the bathroom, she would always pitstop by the kitchen to question the staff by miming kneeling and opening a box. Most of the time, they would shake their head, but on the off-chance they confirmed her suspicious of any proposals, we would promptly eat anywhere else. I had never watched a romantic movie with Iris either. She claimed that genre was nauseatingly ridiculous and catered to the chauvinistic ideal that a woman's life, no matter how successful, was not complete without a witty and slightly arrogant male partner. "Are you just saying that because I'm not witty or slightly arrogant?" I would tease. "Well, you are definitely one of those," she would retort with a smirk, turning on Top Gun for the fiftieth time. Not that I was complaining. And while Iris wasn't completely wrong, about the romance genre not my level of wit, I couldn't help but notice her Netflix saved list was cheesier than a plate of nachos. Iris did it all for me, which, when I was finally ready six years later, made my actual proposal extremely difficult. I had to catch her completely off guard. She foiled my restaurant proposal twice, a fireworks proposal once, and she even caught the time at the Ferris wheel. I had asked the conductor to stop us at the top when Iris ran to grab a bag of cotton candy, and even made eye contact with him as we got inside our pod. We stopped at the top, sunset dazzling in the background. I took the box out of my pocket, then called out her name. My heart was in my throat as she looked at me. Then she threw up all over my shoes. I put the box back in my pocket. It had come to the point where I wasn't nervous anymore, just frustrated about carrying around an awkwardly shaped velveteen cube for six months. For those who asked later of our proposal, they were answered with the story of how we stayed in Friday night for our favorite activity (again, Top Gun) and Iris asked me if she should skip her Pilates class in the morning and I responded with 'Will you marry me, Iris?' Not the cutest story, but at least vomit wasn't involved. She even had a work around for my hesitation around price. "A destination wedding?" I looked at her incredulously, but she just beamed back with her dazzlingly white grin. "They're actually so much more affordable than normal weddings. Resorts usually have a package so less planning too. And my yiayia and Papou can join us." My eyebrows furrowed together. "Wait, what do you mean?" Now it was her turn to look at me incredulously. "I'm Greek." "Oh. Really?" "My name is Iris." As if that was supposed to mean anything to me. Most of the Irises I had known were Asian. "Well, that's cool..." because I didn't know what else to say. Iris had never mentioned anything about her heritage before. See - practically strangers. "But you were born here, right?" Her eyebrows rose into her hairline, "Does it matter?" "No not at all." I quickly backtracked. "Greece sounds incredible." And it was. Iris was beautiful in Greece. We arrived to the island of Santorini, Greece a full week before our wedding so she could show me the streets she used to run down barefoot every summer on her annual family trip. There was something about the Mediterranean sun kissing her skin that made Iris even more beautiful. Her bright blue eyes sparkled like the water lapping up at our feet on the rocky shores. Her hair glistened, soaking up the warm rays until the curls expanded into a full thick halo around her head. The language dripping from her tongue blossomed a new personality, one that I had only briefly seen after Iris had a glass (or three) of wine. On our wedding day, she was beautiful. In between resort staff pulling and prodding me in every direction as they ushered us through the schedule, friends and family sobbing throughout the entire day, plates breaking one thing I remembered was how beautiful she was. The day after our wedding day, she was also beautiful. Looking down at Iris now, her eye makeup smeared down her cheeks and one set of fake eyelashes perched on the side of her forehead, she was still beautiful. The day we met, it was at a dim bar on a Wednesday night. I just had a bad day at work and she was out for happy hour with her girlfriends. Her future bridesmaids, in fact. Iris had absolutely no makeup on, but her laugh made everyone turn around to watch her. For one, her laugh was very loud and on the verge of a snort with every inhale, but it was also invigorating. She was beautiful then too. Meanwhile, those same bridesmaids stood behind her at the alter, their eyes as dry as the whiskey shots that night. The way the sheet laid over her naked curves, revealing no information but teased to their secrets, I wanted everything to happen all over again. The meeting, the first day, the first kiss, the second kiss, every kiss after, all the hand holding and laughing and binge eating then stomach aches and the fairs, movies, vacations, running errands together. And the wedding. Oh the wedding. I wanted it all again, and to last forever. Bruises from last night trickled down the side of her neck in a twisted galaxy of blue, purple, and red, but already starting to lose vibrancy. Iris still wore her veil, I couldn't get her to take it off. Not even a full day after the wedding. No one could convince her to part with it, and I knew she wanted to live in the dream again. For it to last forever. The veil was ripped, torn into thin lace curtains cascading down the chestnut curls of her hair, now matted from hairspray and friction. Even with her eyes closed, I knew Iris was the love of my life. 'Is that her?' The coroner asked again, his hand firmly gripping my shaking shoulder. I hadn't even realized I was shaking. I hadn't even realized I was crying, barely holding myself up as my heart landed in my gut. Even with her blue skin and her fingernails ripped off and scratches running up and down her limbs, Iris was beautiful. And it was only the beginning of our honeymoon. ——- Stay tuned for Sunday short stories, episode 2, when we head to the continent of Africa for a rivals-to-lovers story set nestled in the mountains of Morocco! Solve the daily Crossword
CBC
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- CBC
Fredericton author's collection of short stories 'complex' and 'poetic'
Mark Anthony Jarman's life and writing are a mix of experiences and locations. The Fredericton author considers himself a collector — of newspaper clippings, and bits of dialogue, characters and ideas — which all find their way into his stories. Born and raised in Edmonton, he travelled across Canada for school and work before landing at the University of New Brunswick, where he accepted what he thought was a temporary job teaching creative writing. That was 25 years ago. His 2015 collection of short stories, Knife Party at the Hotel Europa, is part of this year's Books and Backroads series. Readers in six small communities in rural parts of New Brunswick took part in book clubs in CBC's partnership with New Brunswick public libraries — reading books from all genres and all with a connection to New Brunswick. Knife Party at the Hotel Europa is set in Italy, but was inspired by a New Brunswick crime. Jarman said he read a story in Fredericton's Daily Gleaner newspaper about a fatal fight that broke out at a party. One person attacked another with a staple gun and then a knife. Jarman remembers thinking, "There's a story there." That fight ended up in his collection of short stories about a man who travels to Italy after his marriage falls apart and finds himself lying on beaches in the sun while refugees' bodies wash up on the shore and violence surrounds him. "I wanted to write a slim, sunny novel set in Italy that would sell — and instead ended up with a much darker book," said Jarman, who spent time in Italy teaching creative writing in 2008. "Italy just blew me away," he said. "I just thought I want to write about this place." New Brunswick influence Jarman describes himself as "a sponge" and said since moving to the province, New Brunswick locations and people have influenced his writing. He has played in a blues band, on an "old-timers" hockey team and has worked on The Fiddlehead, a Canadian literary magazine, published at UNB, for 25 years. "I started writing stuff about New Brunswick right away," he said, crediting his hockey teammates with sharing the real New Brunswick. "If you're in the English department, you don't learn anything about New Brunswick," he laughed. "But you get on an old-timers hockey team out in the country and it's just a completely different world. It was great." His book was originally meant to be a novel, but Jarman had more luck selling the chapters to magazines to be published as short stories. "I just pulled out chunks and worked them over, and I find that's easier for me. I can't juggle a big project, but I can really focus on smaller sections," he said. "I felt like I made every section stronger doing that." Port Elgin book club describes writing as 'deep' Knife Party at the Hotel Europa. Members of the book club described Jarman's writing as poetic, complex and deep. "I felt like he was on something or lacking a lot of sleep," Monique Pereira laughed. "The way that he writes is extremely unique. It can be very complicated, but it evokes an emotional response," said Joyce Morouney. She advised readers to take their time and not to read it quickly. Jarman grew up in Edmonton in the 1950s and '60s and was "always a bookworm." He said he's always written about death and dark themes. "My writing is not everyone's cup of tea — I just kind of know that," he said. "Sometimes it's very tender, sometimes it's very dark and crazy. Ugly things happen but there is beauty as well," Morouney said of the stories. Max Ducsharm appreciated how Jarman's depiction of Italy was different than the romanticized versions that are common in fiction. "It's dark and it's real," he said. "The imagery that he uses to highlight those things is really beautiful." Make collecting a habit Jarman said his advice to aspiring authors is to always be collecting. "I never have a blank page because I always have notes and journals where I can find lines and details or bits of dialogue," he said. He compares his attention to the details in the world around him to a guitar player rehearsing. "To me, it's just like practice — you get better at it."
Daily Mail
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
'Utterly brilliant': the best short stories out now - Every One Still Here by Liadan Ni Chuinn, Oddbody by Rose Keating, Autocorrect: Stories by Etgar Keret
Every One Still Here by Liadan Ni Chuinn (Granta £14.99, 160pp) Inherited trauma, families, grief and the quiet sorrows of everyday life mark these melancholy, utterly brilliant short stories. It's a remarkable debut, as Ni Chuinn heads into the heart of the characters' lives and sets about a delicate delineation of their most devastating emotions, delivered with tenderness and understanding in prose that is hypnotic and melodic. Take Russia, where an adopted man, mired in unfathomable feelings about his estrangement from his sister, consults a psychic for answers; or the equally impactful We All Go, where a young man is dealing with the death of his father and the legacy of living in Northern Ireland. Oddbody by Rose Keating (Canongate £14.99, 208pp) Rose Keating's debut collection is wonderfully weird, a world where a character can declare, hatchet in hand: 'I could tell you about things that are slick and warm and red, things that are hidden, whispered and wet'. It's very much a mantra for these tales that take ordinary experiences and swerve them into the unexpected. In Squirm, an overwhelmed daughter takes care of her needy dad – who's turned into worm and is living in a compost-filled bath. In the title story the vagaries of a co-dependent relationship are unspooled in all their complexities – but one of the partners is a ghost. Keating successfully marries gorgeous prose to playfully grotesque scenarios. Autocorrect: Stories by Etgar Keret Translated by Jessica Cohen and Sondra Silverstein (Granta £14.99, 208pp) Renowned author Etgar Keret packs some big ideas into his very short stories. Alien space ships, parallel worlds, rogue virtual reality, reincarnation and the afterlife all play their part in disrupting the lives of his down-to-earth characters who are attempting to deal with love, loss, faith and failure in Keret's somewhat surreal settings. Occasionally the tales are too pat, a punchline a little obvious, but the best of these 33 stories are deft and inventive. Keret's droll humour and deadpan delivery add a light touch to the darkest of situations, as seen in Cherry Garcia Memories With M&Ms On Top when a mother with dementia movingly declares to the son she doesn't quite recognise: 'I know that you love me and I love you. Isn't that enough?'
Yahoo
05-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Heidi Wicks's new novel, Here, imagines a century of St. John's history
When Heidi Wicks was researching for Here, she experienced a chance encounter that might have made a fitting entry for the book. It happened the day she toured the heritage property on Circular Road in St. John's that — in effect — became the book's central character. "I came out of the house," said Wicks. "I was walking home, and I ran into a friend on the street, and I said I was working on something about this house in the neighbourhood. And she said, 'My friend lived there for 30 years, and she's going to be in town in a couple of weeks. Do you want to meet her?'" A few weeks later, Wicks spent several hours chatting with the former occupant of Canada House, collecting stories the woman had heard from her mother. "The ballerina storyline that recurs throughout is inspired by her," Wicks said. Released in June, Here is Wicks's second collection of short stories. Her first book, Melt, was released in 2020 and named one of The Globe and Mail's hottest reads that summer. It also received a silver medal from the Independent Publisher Book Awards. Wicks, who was born and raised in St. John's, describes Here as a "family connection book," identifying the ways she has drawn on influences from her parents to inform the stories of Newfoundland history and culture honestly. "My dad did a history degree, so we grew up hearing the stories. And mom is a music educator, so we grew up with music from Newfoundland," she said. In her family lore, there is a grandmother who worked as a house servant in the same neighbourhood where Here is set. Living in the past, present, and future Does Heidi Wicks have a preoccupation with the past? Although the historical and somewhat magical elements of Here distinguish it from Wicks's first book, both books share a spirit of nostalgia. "Maybe I'm a bit obsessed with how the past shapes who we are in the present and the future," she said. In her engagement with the past, Wicks can track her own development as a writer. Melt, also a collection of interconnected short stories, is concerned with the evolving relationship of childhood friends growing into adulthood. "That's how you start to learn to write, is to write about your own experiences. So, my experiences at that time were relationships ending … being a new parent, and friends starting to deal with parents who were ill, those kinds of things that start to happen when you're in your 30s," she said. For Here, by contrast, she explains, "I went deeper into that, and I tapped into my interest in history and folklore and music and the culture of Newfoundland and how that weaves into how we interact with each other." The colonial-era architecture on the streets surrounding downtown St. John's provided the inspiration for the interconnected stories in Here. In turns historical fiction, magical realism, and Newfoundland folklore, but they all provide a nostalgic framework for a contemporary story of St. John's life. Her short stories imagine the perspectives of those who might have occupied the house during different eras — a troop of suffragette house servants, a crew of Blundstone-wearing musicians, the province's first premier, and even a pet crow. Although the house and characters in Here are fictional — or fictionalized — Wicks based her stories on actual events in Newfoundland history and set the stories inside the house located at 74 Circular Rd. Canada House, as it is known locally, was built in 1902 and served for a time after Confederation as the residence and offices of premier Joey Smallwood. Wicks said the writing process for Here brought her down many avenues of learning. "A lot of it was researching, watching old documentaries, going deep into the Heritage N.L. website, the Boulder book Birds of Newfoundland, I had that next to me all the time. And the Jenny Higgins book [Newfoundland in the First World War]. The old footage with Smallwood, Waiting for Fidel, all that stuff." In the stories set closer to modern day, Wicks says she draws to some extent on her own experience. Of the story titled Birdsong, she said, "that was me during the pandemic, wandering around the neighbourhood and looking at the birds and trying to escape what we were dealing with down here." Despite the Birdsong connection, she pushes back on suggestions that her stories are literal depictions of her personal life. "The emotions that I have felt in my life are connected to some of the characters, but that's really it," she said. Download our free CBC News app to sign up for push alerts for CBC Newfoundland and Labrador. Sign up for our daily headlines newsletter here. Click here to visit our landing page.
Times
30-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Times
Michael Palin: I wish I'd written Pulp's Common People
Dubliners by James Joyce, enhanced by being immaculately produced in the Macmillan Collector's Library edition. I travel a lot on the London Underground and have read these wonderful, evocative short stories many times and on many lines. For a longer train journey I need something more meaty so I've been reading A Delicate Truth by John le Carré. There's a lot of anger in his books, which I like. EL Doctorow is a confident, absorbing storyteller and of all his output I'd most like to have written The Book of Daniel, about the trial of and executions of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg.
