Short Reads

by Jeanette O'Hagan @JeanetteOHagan

I love immersing myself in a thick novel with a large cast of characters, a stunning out-of-this-world setting, a convoluted twisty plot. But I will confess to a growing love and appreciation short fiction, stories that can often be enjoyed in a single sitting. Many classic and well-know tales fall into this category, from Aesops' fables to biblical parables to Grimm's fairly tales. Other memorable short stories include O Henry's heartbreaking Gift of the Magi, Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Match Girl or (novella size), Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol.

With the constraints of busy modern lives and the ease of publishing them online, short fiction is making a comeback. There are a number of Christian writers who have written shorter works.

Types of short fiction:

1. Mirco-Fiction - up to 100 words.

Though hard to write well, these are becoming increasingly popular with mobile phones and texting and Twitter (280 characters). Clearly, every word must count. 

Ernest Hemingway's famous example of a six-word story is as follows 'For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.'

2. Flash Fiction - between 100-1000 words.

These stories can be used as 'palate cleansers' between longer stories in magazines or may be included in collections and anthologies.   Breath of Fresh Air Press  publishes the top ten entries for the  Faith Writers Challenge (750 words on a weekly theme) including Genre-lly Speaking (each week focused on a different genre) or As Time Goes By (the themes all revolve around time). 

These are great to dip into when you have a few spare minutes to be refreshed and inspired.

3. Short Story - between 1,000 - 10,000 words

This is often what we think of as a short story. Many competitions, periodical, 'zines and anthologies require this length - often around 2000 to 3000 words.  Speculative fiction (sci-fi and fantasy) have bigger words counts of between 7000-10,000 words.

A good short story can be like a short black, a shot of imagery, emotion, life. It may enjoyed over a cuppa, but leave you pondering for hours afterwards. 

These days, short stories can be published as stand alone works as ebooks (for instance, my The Herbalist's Daughter or Lakwi's Lament)

4. Novellettes and Novellas - 10,000 - 50,000 words

There is confusion with the term 'novellette'. For some, it means a novella while for others it is a short piece that falls in between a long short story and a novella. While a novella is often 20,000 words or more up to 50,000.

A novella (and to some extent a novellette) allows more complexity, with perhaps more characters and twists and  develops over a longer period of time, though there is generally not room for subplots (as there may be in a full-sized novel).

While novellas are not generally popular with publishers, with the advent of ebooks and Indie publishing, novellas have become much more popular.

A novella may be a prequel.  Depending on the size, it might take two to three hours to read and might be enjoyed over a long lunch or a lazy afternoon. A novella can be a stand alone (e.g. Meredith Resce's romance Where There is Smoke), part of a series (my Under the Mountain series starting with Heart of the Mountain) or a serial with episodes and seasons (Adam David Collings Jewel of the Stars), or a prequel to a novel series.

Novellas and short stories can also be included in anthologies with multiple contributors (eg Glimpses of Light or  Noblebright's Still Waters), as a collection (as in  my Ruhanna's Flight and other stories) or as a boxed set of novellas usually with different contributing authors, (e.g. an Aussie Summer Christmas boxed set).

Why read short stories

They:

• Often can be read and enjoyed in one sitting or over a short period of time, so are great when you are busy or have limited time or mind-space for reading.
• Can provide a nice transition between enjoying longer works.
• May fill the story gaps in larger well-loved tales (as prequels or sequels or tell the story of secondary characters), and thus expand on a story universe.
• Can be a great introduction to a new authors or genres. A short story usually are lower in price and take less time to read. With an anthology or boxed set you can sample a variety of authors, some you might know and love, others that are new to you. 

A well-written short story can be memorable and satisfying and stay with your for a long time.


Do you like reading short fiction? What short stories or anthologies have you enjoyed and could recommend to other readers?

Jeanette O’Hagan first spun tales in the world of Nardva at the age of eight or nine. She enjoys writing secondary world fantasy, science fiction, poetry, blogging and editing. Her Nardvan stories include a mixture of courtly intrigue, adventure, romance, and/or shapeshifters.

Recent publications include Akrad's Children—a Young Adult kingdom fantasy; Heart of the Mountain and Blood Crystal— the first two novellas from the Under the Mountain series; plus Ruhanna’s Flight and Other Stories. She has stories and poems in seventeen other anthologies, including The Quantum Soul, Tales From the Underground, Like a Woman and Futurevision.

Jeanette has practised medicine, studied communication, history, theology and a Master of Arts (Writing). She loves reading, painting, travel, catching up for coffee with friends, pondering the meaning of life. She lives in Brisbane with her husband and children.

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Glimpses of Light

By Jeanette O'Hagan and Nola Passmore

Be challenged, captivated and moved by these imaginative reflections on faith, help in time of need, joy in the midst of tragedy, and surprising encounters with God.

During 2015, the International Year of Light, twenty-one authors from Australia and the United States have come together to explore the theme of 'glimpses of light'—finding light in dark places—through short stories, poems, flash fiction and creative non-fiction.

Glimpses of Light includes contributions from respected and award-winning authors and poets Jo-Anne Berthelsen, Paula Vince, Lynne Stringer, Adele Jones, Jo Wanmer, Jeanette Grant-Thomson and Ellen Carr, as well as exciting new talent.

Profits from this anthology go to CBM Australia, giving sight to the blind.

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In 2014, I spoke to my fellow co-editor, Nola Passmore, about the concept of producing an anthology to celebrate the Year of Light with profits going a charity like CBM (formerly Christian Blind Mission) in conjunction with Christian Writers Downunder. At the beginning of 2015 we invited contributions for the Glimpses of Light anthology.

Nola and I were pleased with the creativity and quality of the entries we received and delighted that our contributors were prepared to work with us in two rounds of editing plus proofing. We greatly appreciated our support team, including our back-up judges, editors and proof-readers – Jo-Anne Berthelsen, Lynne Stringer, Christina Aitken and Paula Vince. We’d also like to thank Australian romantic suspense author, Helene Young, for allowing us to use her gorgeous photo for the cover.

The anthology includes short stories, poems, flash fiction and creative non-fiction on the theme of glimpses of light (light in dark places), written from a Christian worldview and values, some with a more overtly Christian content than others. There are a number of speculative fiction entries, dramatic suspense, family drama, poetry and creative non-fiction.

We believe this is a delightful and inspirational anthology that is both encouraging to Christians and suitable to give to non-Christian friends.

We are currently running a blog tour - with a chance to win prizes from Jo-Anne Berthelsen’s (until 12th), mine (until 14th) and (from Monday) Adam Collings blog. The tour will continue with another six stops until the start of February.

Glimpses of Light is available for purchase in print and ebook format from Amazon.

JEANETTE O'HAGAN enjoys writing fiction, poetry, blogging and editing. She is writing her Akrad’s Legacy Series—a Young Adult secondary world fantasy fiction with adventure, courtly intrigue and romantic elements. Her short stories and poems are published in Tied in Pink romance anthology, Another Time Another Place, Poetica Christi’s Inner Child, Let the Sea Roar, Like a Girl.

Jeanette has practised medicine, studied communication, history, theology and, more recently, a Master’s in writing. She loves reading, painting, travel, catching up for coffee with friends, pondering the meaning of life and communicating God’s great love. She lives in Brisbane with her husband and children.

Website: jeanetteohagan.com

NOLA PASSMORE'S poetry, devotions, inspirational articles, and short fiction have appeared in magazines, journals and anthologies in Australia and overseas. Although she’s a former academic with qualifications in creative writing, psychology, and Christian ministry; she’s found that you can never underestimate the power of friends and mentors in the writing journey.

With ringleader roles in Quirky Quills and the Toowoomba chapter of Omega Writers, she’ll be nagging (oops, encouraging) other writers for some time. She and her husband Tim have a freelance writing and editing business called The Write Flourish.

Website: www.thewriteflourish.com.au

When God Closes a Door...

Writers are very familiar with the concept of closing doors. Maybe because we are always peeking through them while trying to sneak our foot inside. Queries. Proposals. Contests. Blogs. Everything we can to get the attention of reader, agent, or publisher. Some closing doors weren't very wide to begin with so it's not too painful. Query letters are a great example of this. You send out bunches and learn to expect a high rejection rate. Others, like a publisher you've been communicating with for months before they decide to turn down your work, carries a little more sting,  Every time these doors closed in the past, I convinced myself it was one of two things. Or a combination of both.

1. I need to make my writing better.
2. God has a better plan for this story.

But I've never seen His hand as clearly as I did this year:

At the end of March this year I gave birth to my third child. To beat baby blues I decided to enter into a writing contest. Namely, Love Inspired's Blurb-2-Book. (I've never had such an enjoyable recovery!)  I figured I had nothing to lose one way or another. And then I passed on to the second round. I must admit to being a little excited as I started in on a complete rewrite of a first draft I'd pounded out about eight years ago, which has been sitting as a file ever since. It went from being completely from the heroines POV to including the POV of on of the most complex, but easy to love (if I understand my critique partners and beta readers correctly) heroes I've written. The story came to life and I started getting hopeful.

Then the door closed.

I didn't make the third round in the contest. The editor enjoyed the story, but had a couple concerns about my poor, conflicted hero. She did leave the door unlocked for future submission of my work directly to her, but I was out of the contest.

I was disappointed, but that did mean I no longer had a tight deadline to have my story completed. Without the restraints on my time, I decided to enter a couple short story contests. I wrote two stories and entered them, and then went back to my novel, finishing it about the time the Blurb-2-Book judging was complete. At that same time I found out my short stories (which I wouldn't have even written if I'd continued in LI's contest) both won their contests and would be published.

And then the Lord swung yet another door open and shoved me through it.

A week or so after I won the short story contests, an author friend and critique partner said she felt a "God nudge" to mention me to her publisher, who wasn't accepting submissions unless you met them in person at a conference (hard to do with a new baby). They said I could submit my finished manuscript, and within a month offered me a contract!

It was difficult not to look back and not be amazed. Especially recognizing that if that LI editor had passed me on to the third round of the contest, I would have been scrambling to finish my manuscript (and it probably wouldn't have turned out nearly as well as it did), I wouldn't have entered any of the short story contests, and I wouldn't be working with my present editor who, from what I hear, will be excellent for me at this point in my career.

Most times we don't see the next doors open quite as wide or quickly as in this case, but looking back over the past ten years of writing I see how The Lord has prepared me, worked with me and steered me from closed doors to the ones that would bless my life. I am so grateful for such a faithful guide!

(As a side-note, last week I was offered a two book contract by another publisher on a manuscript -  and the premise of its sequel - that has had many a door shut in its face and and many a rewrite. I'm so grateful for the hands the Lord has placed it in!)

How have you seen doors open or close as the Lord guided you?

Angela K Couch is an award-winning author for her short stories, and a semi-finalist in ACFW’s 2015 Genesis Contest. As a passionate believer in Christ, her faith permeates the stories she tells. Her martial arts training, experience with horses, and appreciation for good romance sneak in there, as well. Angela lives in Alberta, Canada with her “hero” and three munchkins. 
Visit her at www.angelakcouch.com 
Follow on Twitter or Facebook!

Short, Sweet, and in Print! by Angela K Couch +giveaway!

After years and years of pounding out 50,000 – 85,000 word novels, last spring I tried my hand at something under 6000 words. My introduction to the short story. Needless to say, it took several attempts to get the story depth and length to coincide, but in the end I was quite pleased with my efforts—Fire In a Storm set in 1934 USSR—and even more pleased when I learned it was a finalist in the 2014 Storming the Short Story contest and would be published in the anthology Out Of the Storm.

After trying unsuccessfully to break into publishing with my novels, seeing my words in print within the next year felt really good. I was hooked. Just in time to be informed of another short story opportunity. This one gave me a whopping 7000 words to work with. Piece of cake. ;)

My second story, Shackled, a western romance, was quickly accepted for publication by Next Step Books for a romance anthology that will be released this fall. *Happy dance*. Since then, I have written two more short stories for contests (still waiting on those, but one is a semifinalist so far!), and would like to share what I have learned about the art of a short story—which I am still striving to learn.

Backstory: 
You can only use tidbits of backstory because of the word constraints, but make sure you still have it. The better you know your character—their little quirks, likes, dislikes, and everything from their past that made them who they are—the deeper and more three dimensional that person will look on the page. It will show in how they view the word.

(In Shackled, the hero’s occupation before he headed west was as a carpenter. He can’t help but notice loose boards, quality of wood, and craftsmanship, etc. It adds nothing to the plot, but it brings the character to life.)

Secondary Characters: 
If they are not vital to plot, character development or setting, you don't have room for them.

Tension:
Really this isn’t much different than in a novel, only easier as you have less words to extend it across. Make sure it’s there, from the first sentence to the last. I am actually more prone to set down a short story than a novel when the tension wanes. After all, there are usually other short stories to turn to in the same book.

Tightening:
The benefit of a short story over a novel is that instead of 80,000 words, you have less than 8000 to analyze in detail, making sure they are the best fit. It’s easier to cut all those lazy verbs, weasel words, and airy descriptions, bringing the action to life in a few short words.

Show: 
I know it’s often easier to keep the word count down by simply telling what happened, but don’t do it! I mean, you can—a sentence here and there—but still show us the story. Let us be there, experiencing those few minutes of life that have been etched into the pages—or single page—of your short story.

The End: 
Be ready for it, it comes quickly, and don’t linger after the resolution. Unlike a novel, you don’t have room for a full chapter or epilogue telling of their “happily ever after” (if you give them one) and you don’t need it. Reading a short story is not like watching twelve hours of epic Lord of the Rings and needing a half hour to unwind before you can live with yourself again. Don’t waste words. End it strong.

These are only my observations from my writing. Have you tried your hand at writing short stories? What have you found works?

If you like short stories, leave a comment and e-mail address for the chance to win an e-book copy of the anthology Out of the Storm.

Angela K Couch lives in Alberta, Canada with her “hero” and three munchkins. Fascinated by history and in love with creating fiction, she's been lost in writing most of her life. As a passionate believer in Christ, she can't help her faith from permeating the stories she tells. Often her martial arts training, love of horses, and appreciation for good romance sneak in there as well. She has been a finalist and semi finalist in several short story contests and was a semifinalist in the 2015 Genesis Contest. Visit her at www.angelakcouch.com, or follow on Twitter or Facebook!

Cover Reveal

I'm so excited to reveal the cover for, A Kiss is still A Kiss, the anthology featuring my early Regency short story, Disinherited Love!

This book, comprised of stories from 20 authors, comes out in November, but will be available for a pre-order discount in September!

I simply cannot wait to hold this book in my hands and read all the stories!

Have a wonderful day!

Eva Maria Hamilton is the author of Highland Hearts, a Love Inspired Historical novel published by Harlequin. Her novel, Highland Hearts, won 2^nd Place in the Historical Romance, as well as the Traditional/Inspirational Romance Categories in the Heart of Excellence Reader’s Choice Awards, and was an Inspirational Series Finalist in the 2013 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.

Highland Hearts

Scotland 1748
The Battle of Culloden is over, but one Highlander’s fight has just begun…
Logan McAllister survived years of indentured servitude in the Americas to reach this moment. Now he’s returned to Scotland, ready to redeem the secret promise from Sheena Montgomery’s father – that his years as an indentured servant would earn him Sheena’s hand in marriage. But when he arrives home, he learns that Sheena’s father has died, his contract has been lost… and Sheena is engaged to another man.

To connect with Eva Maria Hamilton online, please visit her at www.evamariahamilton.com

Introducing my Short Story - Disinherited Love

Spring has just begun here in Southern Ontario.

And after a long winter, it’s hard to think about the return of those colder temperatures, not to mention the dark nights.

But this year, there’s a warm, bright light waiting to shine.

I sold a short story that will be included in the anthology, A Kiss is Still a Kiss!

With the publication date set for November 2015, I’m looking forward to Christmas!

I can’t wait to see this book in print and hope readers will delight in my story, Disinherited Love.

I had so much fun writing this inspirational romance set in 1795 England.

With two star-crossed couples forced to deal with the pressures of society, the tension and excitement could barely be contained on the page!

At present, I’m in the editing phase, but I hope to share more information in a later blog.

Until then,
God bless you all!

Eva Maria Hamilton


Eva Maria Hamilton is the author of Highland Hearts, a Love Inspired Historical novel published by Harlequin. Her novel, Highland Hearts, won 2nd Place in the Historical Romance, as well as the Traditional/Inspirational Romance Categories in the Heart of Excellence Reader’s Choice Awards, and was an Inspirational Series Finalist in the 2013 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.

Highland Hearts

Scotland 1748
The Battle of Culloden is over, but one Highlander’s fight has just begun…
Logan McAllister survived years of indentured servitude in the Americas to reach this moment. Now he’s returned to Scotland, ready to redeem the secret promise from Sheena Montgomery’s father – that his years as an indentured servant would earn him Sheena’s hand in marriage. But when he arrives home, he learns that Sheena’s father has died, his contract has been lost… and Sheena is engaged to another man.

To connect with Eva Maria Hamilton online, please visit her at www.evamariahamilton.com

Travel Change: A Story Cube Flash Fiction

[December 18th. I have to write a blog! But I have no idea what topic I should take. I mention it to my visiting writer friend (who normally lives in Austria) and like magic, she pulls out a set of Story Cubes. She bought them in Sweden as a souvenir but since discovered they are all over the world. Nine dice, each with six symbols. Cast the dice and be inspired, apparently. Well - I'm game! I need a solution to my lack of inspiration. I shake the dice and drop them on the table. 

Footprint. Globe. Lightbulb. ID card. Abacus. Flower. Turtle. Cane. Falling star.

Here goes nothing...]

"There's a whole world out there," said the old man as he leaned on his cane. The boy squinted up at him in the hot sun. His grandfather continued. "All you have to do is take one step. Then take another. Pretty soon you'll be somewhere else and if you keep going, why, you might just see every country on earth!"

"Have you seen every country on earth?"

"Oh, not I, my boy. But maybe you will."

The boy dug his toes into the red dirt and peered at the low trees crowding the horizon. "Tell me about some of the places you've seen."

"Well, there was the time I swam with turtles under a night sky filled with falling stars. I wish you could have been there too." He grew pensive at the memory.

"Opa, don't be silly. They're not falling stars. They're meteorites."

"Of course they are." Opa laughed and waggled his eyebrows. "Then there was the time I lost my passport in Holland. I went to see the fields of tulips. Truly wondrous. But after a long day of walking around, I returned to my hostel and found I didn't have my ID on me."

"What did you do then?"

"I had this brilliant idea that the only place I could have dropped it was in the bus when the driver was counting out change. It turned out I was right, but it took a lot of legwork to find the company and their office. But the whole time I searched, I saw those fields of flowers and everything was worth it."

The old man talked for hours as the boy accompanied him on his slow walk around the village, and when the boy had work to do, Opa went too, telling stories all the way.

Finally, the tales fell silent, and after a while, the boy spoke. "In all your travels, Opa, what is the most important thing you learned?"

"Aside from always taking that first step?" Opa's eyes twinkled. "The first most important thing is to let it change you."

Dusk had fallen, and as they paused to survey the first evening stars, a bright point of light zipped across the sky. The boy gaped. Pointed. "Opa! Was that... was that my first falling star?"

Noise on Hamilton Terrace

Below is the second instalment of a short story I posted in August 2011. It follows the struggles one woman has in dealing with a conniving and manupulative mother-in-law. I hope you enjoy it.

Move now! Move! Osaro mentally implored the train as it sat immobile in between Edgware Road and Paddington tube stations. Osaro shifted in her seat as the man next to her shoved her arm with his elbow, taking up the entire arm rest. She took a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the stench of stale cigarette smoke filled her nostrils.

Fifteen minutes later, Osaro exited Warwick Avenue station and quickened her pace to a fast trot as she hurried home. Please Father let there be peace tonight. Please.

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Hamilton Terrace was home to some of the most expensive houses in London. Tucked between metropolitan Kilburn and slightly bohemian Maida, it was a three-quarter mile long avenue with Victorian mansions and Tulip and Redwood trees on either side. These perennials offered shade during the few London hot days and a sense of privacy from passers-by. Residents tended to avoid getting too close to their neighbours; some called it the paranoia of the very wealthy; not wanting eyes prying into their homes or businesses. On Hamilton Terrace children rarely rode their bicycles along the pavements; they did that in their parent’s compounds instead.

It was on this tony street that Kola and Osaro Williams started their married life 2 years ago. The house was a surprise wedding gift from Osaro’s parents and boasted vaulted high ceilings, 5 bedrooms, a swimming pool and some of the most fabulous furnishings and accessories that money could buy. Osaro was grateful and delighted, but Kola was less so.

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“Good evening Mama.”
Osaro knelt in greeting to her mother-in-law. The older woman, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was being broadcast on the telly, ignored Osaro. Osaro was solely tempted to get off her knees and walk away, but she had learned the painful lesson many months ago not to leave the room until Mama dismissed her.
“Mama, I hope you’ve had a good day. Have you had your dinner yet?” Osaro did her best to look and sound as docile as possible. As she looked closely at Mama she noticed the older woman was wearing Osaro’s diamond earrings! The very earrings she bought on her honeymoon!
Mama turned to Osaro, with a sneer on her face, as though daring Osaro to say anything. She turned back to the telly.
“Get up! Why are you pretending? I know you don’t want me in this house, but this is my son’s house and everything in it belongs to his family.”
Tears pooled in Osaro’s eyes. She was tired. Tired of her mother-in-law’s unwarranted insults. Tired of living like a guest in her own home. She had bent over backwards to win over her in-laws, but it seemed that the more she did, the more they hated her and tried to make her life unbearable. She slowly rose from her knees and walked towards the hallway.
“Where are you going? Useless woman!”
Osaro stopped in her tracks, her fists clenched. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She opened her mouth to tell Mama just what she thought of her, when Risi walked in with baby Jessica. One look at her eight month old daughter and Osaro felt calm wash all over her. She quickly crossed the room and took her baby from the house-girl.
“Welcome Madam.”
“Thank you Risi. Has she eaten?” Osaro was referring to her daughter.
“No oh! Mama say she go wait for Oga before she chop. But I don cook Efo riro with plenty stock fish.”
“I was talking about the baby –wait! Where did you get stock fish? How many times have I told you not to cook stock fish in my house? The smell upsets my husband and please stop calling him ‘Oga’, call him 'Mr Williams'.”
“I am the one who told her to cook stock fish!” Osaro jumped at Mama’s sudden outburst. She didn’t realise that the old woman had crept up behind her. She instinctively held Jessica tighter as though to obtain succour from her child.
“Who told you that stock fish upsets my son? Isn’t that what he has been eating all his life? You think all the Oyinbo mede medes that you are feeding him can fill him up? No wonder the poor man is losing weight!” With that she shoved into Osaro, causing Jessica to cry.
Osaro shook her head. No I will not give her the satisfaction! She walked out of the room.

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“My daughter you did well.” Mama patted the side of her bed, inviting Risi to sit next to her. Risi tightened the wrapper she’d tied over her chest and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mama, I no know oh! I dey sorry for Madam.”
Mama rolled her eyes. Stupid girl. She better not spoil my plans.
“Ah no oh! Don’t you want to be the madam of this house? Don’t worry, very soon my son’s eyes will be opened and he drive that woman away.”
Risi scratched her head, a question in her eyes as she looked at Mama.
Mama took off the diamond earrings she had on and placed them in Risi’s hands. Risi’s eyes widened.
“Mama, Madam go kill me o! She go think say I thief her earring.”
“Don’t worry. Who do you think buys all the jewelry that woman wears? My son! Don’t worry my dear! My son wants a son and all that woman could produce was another useless girl like her!”
“But Mama I know say Oga love Madam true true.”
“Love! Please!” Mama hissed as she tightened her head scarf. She drew closer to Risi and whispered conspiratorially. “I know my son. He does not love that woman. He is only confused because of all the juju she has used! But it will not work!” Her voice had reason a few octaves.
Risi visibly flinched. “But Madam dey go church. She be big Christian.”
Mama shook her head.
“Church?! You think say everybody wey dey go church na Christian? I beg! Listen, my friend. You will get pregnant and give me a grandson, and then my son will marry you.”
Mama squared her shoulders, a self-satisfied smirk on her weathered face.

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Kola took another sip of his now tepid orange juice. He grimaced and pushed the glass away.
“Bro you need to go home.” Kola turned around to look at his friend Derek. Derek took a seat at the other side of the chipped table.
Kola pursed his lips. He placed his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. Those women are driving me crazy.”
“You know this is your fault, don’t you?”
Kola’s head shot up so fast he felt dizzy. “My fault? How?”
Derek raised his eyebrows, daring Kola to disagree. He got up to switch off the whistling kettle in his tiny studio flat. He took his time making a cup of tea as Kola stewed, waiting for some insight from the 78 year old Polish man.
Derek returned to the table, stirring his tea as he blew on to the tendrils of steam wafting from his cup.
“You married ‘Saro so you need to let your mother go. Or at least stand up to her. What were you thinking moving her into your home, when you’ve barely had time to establish your marriage?”
Seconds ticked away, with only the sound of the men breathing filling the space.
“What was I supposed to do? My mother needed treatment.”
“And they don’t have doctors in Nigeria?”
Kola looked at his watch. He should have known Derek wouldn’t understand. He stood up.
“Thanks for the juice.”
Derek nodded.

Kola took the three steps to the door. He opened the door and walked through. As he closed the door the door behind him, Derek shouted, “And get that house maid out of your house. She’s trouble!”

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Ufuoma Daniella Ojo is a Technical Author and Software Trainer. She lives in London. She is editing a manuscript, learning French, working on some new stories about relationships and trusting God for connections leading to publication.

Christmas in Maputo, 1986; a short story

Our house in Maputo, 1986-90

No one had told her Mozambique would be hot at Christmas.  Not this hot.  Sweat ran down between her breasts to pool in her bra.  She opened the oven door to check the turkey they had brought from neighboring Swaziland and a burst of heat scorched her face.  She brushed back her damp bangs and slathered the bird with melted butter.  There must be a place for the stuffing.  It was her mother’s recipe, brought from a land where Christmas meant snow-covered pines and afternoons at the sledding hill.

“Why am I doing this?” she asked herself for the hundredth time.  The gas flame glowed blue beneath the rusted oven floor that served in place of the missing rack.  She maneuvered the stuffing pan into place and slammed the door.

She adjusted the temperature on the missing dial with a pair of pliers and tried to remember how lucky they were to have such a large gas stove when the rebels so frequently knocked out the electricity to the city.  She wasn’t feeling very lucky.

Her husband had volunteered to set the table—in the dining room where the antique air conditioner clanked away.  It didn’t lower the temperature much, but it did take some of the humidity out of the air.  The children were curled up in the same room, reading their Christmas storybooks and playing with new toys.

She wiped sweat from her flushed face and turned on the potatoes.  Soon they added their steam to the sweltering kitchen.  A can of cranberries, a plate of raw veges and a jar of olives, all brought from Swaziland and saved for this moment, completed the meal.

“Time to eat,” she called when the turkey was out and the potatoes mashed.  The rest of the family scurried to help.

“Man, it’s hot in here,” her husband proclaimed as if he had any idea.

When all was on the table, she sank into her chair.  Her husband opened the Bible.  The children grew quiet.  Only the air-conditioner on the wall continued its incessant noise.

“And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus…and Mary brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger.”

She took a deep breath of de-humidified, slightly air-conditioned air.  It wasn’t about pines or sledding or even her mother’s stuffing after all.