Category: Original Fiction
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Valentine’s Day / Flash Fiction/ Shards of glass
With the twins asleep and my mother was watching reruns on the telly, I took my chance. Grabbing my purse, I slipped out the door, and hurried down to the shops. This was Bob’s and my first Valentine’s Day together and it was going to be absolutely fabulous. I’d taken in in some extra sewing…
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if you were a literary agent …how would you respond?
Dear Ms Agent, In the aftermath of The Great War when Europe is cloaked in social disillusionment, twenty-four year old, newly widowed, Sophie de Belcoupe returns home to Paris. With conventional ideals of the feminine thwarted, she determines it’s through art that she will forge her future. Complications arise when, by accepting a job on…
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Tatterhood (A Norwegian Fairytale)/ Original Drama
Tatterhood (A Norwegian Fairytale) / Original Drama by Debra Moolenaar Players: Daisy (D)– the beautiful daughter Bella Dona (BD)– the ugly daughter with her goat and wooden spoon Queen Jessamine (QJ)– the Queen Pansy (P) – the maid Christmas Eve witch (CEW) ACT ONE / SCENE ONE QJ: Where is my maid? Why is it so…
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One Enchanted Evening/original short fiction
One Enchanted Evening by Debra Moolenaar On such an enchanted evening, nothing could go wrong. A soft summer breeze before Easter was a good omen and just look at those candy cane clouds. After battling her way off the number 7 tram at Leidseplein, Astrid hurried to the agreed-upon meeting spot. Stationing herself between…
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The Prodigal Son (act one of a new play)
THE PRODIGAL SON By Debra Moolenaar ( a short play inspired by Camus’ “The Outsider”) Act One NARRATOR: (to us.) Listen up. Your life may depend on it. Think you can play around and not get burned? Think again. MRS NOVAK: Let me get this straight, Mr Kermak. You want me to believe you once…
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The Secret Book of John
Anger and The Secret Book of John Short fiction by Debra Moolenaar © 2010 “Tomorrow I shall have to tell them.” Glancing down at my hands, I wince and stuff my wedding ring in my jean’s pocket. After shuffling across the room, I practice silent arpeggios before the well-stoked fire. A week before Christmas…