I get to the woods at dusk, seeking silence. Solitude. Nestling into a tree, I watch spiders spin webs as leaves brush tears off my cheeks. Until the wind whispers warning. A man's coming. Blustering into his phone. Stepping on twigs, snapping like bones. I grasp a rock. Craving silence once more.

Can't recommend The Honest Editor sub stack enough for all sorts of writing and publishing advice!

'Pyralidae,' I tell the empty museum, but there's nobody to impress. 'Snout Moth,' my echo tells me back. Forever trapped behind glass. My eyes reflect in its outstretched wings, dull and solemn. Why have they surrounded it with the brightest butterflies? Condemned it to be forever lonely. #WriteCBC

It's you, you're back, smelling of mud and rot. The bed creaks, the duvet tightens on my throat, your skin a cold teabag on my back. I freeze as you finger the fag burn on my neck like a scratchcard. A prize to win. To keep forever. On the anniversary of your death. Back for revenge. #WriteCBC

I press the shell to my ear and it whispers a memory. When the sun kissed my bare shoulders and the sea glittered with our laughter. When games tasted of salt and sand. Before greed a thousand miles away rutted our home and turned the sea red. I ask the shell, 'will I ever see you again?'. #WriteCBC

The framed Chagall as I open the door draws a smile - I have one too - but it's the fresh bread that pulls me in. Sourdough, my favourite. I follow my nose, admiring the shoes and coats, colours and styles I'd choose, to the kitchen. I knock, enter, freeze. It's me. Just with different hair.

Yes please, if it's not too much trouble! This would be really helpful to better shape future queries.

Thanks Tom - you did a great job hosting it.

My 2025 writing goal is to give my recently completed manuscript the time it deserves for proper review & edits (structure, pacing, character arcs, etc). To resist eagerness and excitement and not hurl myself into querying agents too soon. In short, to be more patient!

Thank you for the shout-out! And thank you for running this each year - it's always such fun!

The man had holly for a beard and sadness in his eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said, holding out his hand to Ella.'Time for the Christmas Star to return.' Ella found a memory in his touch, cold and soft as snow. 'It's okay,' she said to mum, 'Wishes don't last forever. I'll be back with flowers in Spring.'

Ella could only move her lips, but it was enough. She sang, low and soft, a yule song of hope and fire mum made her practice each winter. The ice retreated. Colour breathed back into the room, into mum's cheeks. The Snowman at the door melted. 'I had to try,' he gurgled,'it's why your Gran made me.'

Ice crept under the door, reaching through the house like fingers, until it latched onto Ella's mum's feet. 'Jack', she breathed as the door swung open. Eyes the colour of winter, he peered down at Ella. 'Two decades,' Jack said from under a frosted beard, 'too long a wait to see your child's face.'

I love this idea! I've just placed an order to take part - hopefully I did it right...

What a beautiful scene! This just has to be followed up with a cosy chair, a good book and a warm drink.

The old folks said the mist made strange things happen, but Fin didn't believe them. It was the best time to hunt. He raised his shotgun, slowly, gently, aiming between the deer's antlers. Pulled the trigger. The pellets hit the back of Fin's head. Maybe there's truth in the stories afterall.

Definitely! Is easy access to Pastina too much to ask for? Saying that, we do have a great little Italian food shop in Bristol that we stock up from periodically.