Gwendolen stories

After reading my story about Gwendolen the fairy, several people were kind enough to express an interest in reading more about her, and I promised to publish links to them.

Here are the links!

“The wonky wand” is a fuller version of the story I recently blogged.

“Santa’s problem” is a Christmas story about – yes, you’ve guessed it! – Santa Claus.

I hope you enjoy them!


Friday Fictioneers – The Wonky Wand

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The wonky wand

The fairy’s name was Gwendolen. She was dumpy, her iridescent wings looked clumsy, and the star on her wand flickered.

“Oh bugger!” she said, “I’m stuck.” She glared at me. “As long as you’re watching, I can’t leave.”

I looked away.

“And I must recharge my wand. Please wish for something you want really badly.”

I wished, and felt a surge of energy, tingling like intense pins and needles.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

Gwendolen had gone. I strolled to the hotel bar.

“Hi! Are you Fiona?”

He was tall, with a warm smile.

“Good luck!” Gwendolen’s voice whispered faintly in my imagination.

My box

This Thursday’s guest poem is by Hope Owen-Gadd, my grand-daughter. It’s here because it’s the new poem that I’ve enjoyed most this week. Hope is 8 years old. I wish I could put such vivid images into my writing!

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Hope poem 2 170323

I will put in my box
The ping of a drumstick hitting a super cymbal,
A jewel of fire forest from the darkest caves,
The wool from a new born baby lamb.

I will put in my box
The gentle twinkling of a fairy’s wonderous wand,
A mouth-watering cherry pie freshly baked,
A spark from a shooting star.

I will put in my box
A bubblegum tree and a cat with wings
A parrot teaching a class,
And a teacher in the rain forest.

My box is constructed from the fossils of ammonites,
Shells, and sand, and sapphires,
With a crystal flower on the lid and love in the corners.
Its hinges are the scales of fish.

I shall hike in my box
On snow-covered rocky mountains,
Then stare into the ice cold eyes of a yeti
And rid my heart of fear.