HEY THANKS FOR CHECKING OUT THE One Short Story To Be Told BLOG.


WE ARE DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU HERE.
But (did you see that coming?) the blog has moved.


THE GOOD NEWS IS YOU ARE JUST ONE CLICK AWAY AND IT IS HERE YOU CAN PERFORM THAT CLICK

Monday, October 25, 2010

video

the animation, courtesy of mark, for the launch of One Short Story To Be Told Volume One.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

LAUNCH NIGHT A WOW

WOW! WOW! AND WOW AGAIN! Leyton was overwhelmed by the turn out for the launch of Volume One in Tom Barry's last night. Amazing. Thank you all so much. Terri Anderson of London, Eng was the name drawn out as the very first receipient of a One Short Story To BE Told volume. So Waiting for Life To Return is winging its way to her as we speak. Stay posted for the story's journey.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Will We Make It?

Gremlins are appearing on a regular basis this week. But leyton has sworn blinding faith in the universe, and therefore refuses to believe that Saturday will be anything less than perfect. But we'd ask you to cross fingers (and anything else you'd like to) for us anyway.
Meanwhile Waiting For Life To Return is jumping about as if an anthill has possesion of his every atom. We all express excitement in our own special way, don't we!
88*googleplex all

Saturday, October 9, 2010

All Systems Go!

All required aspects for volume one are now with the printer. Presentation for the night is nearly there. Bits and bobs to do, but not a lot (we hope) and finally, details of launch are....are you ready?.... 23 Oct (as you know)...time 6pm...and the all important where.... TOM BARRY'S BAR BARRACK ST CORK. See you there.

Monday, October 4, 2010

leyton and Waiting for Life To Return finally agreed on an extract. Well, almost. They drew straws in the end and are now involved in a rather petty stand off. But forgive them their childish behaviour - this is afterall very importnat to them both. Anyway, here is the extarct. Enjoy, we hope it wets your appetite!

Exiting the tree-lined corridor, I step on to the wooden footbridge that traverses shallow water below, and pause to reflect. I look awful, the shimmering surface and dull lighting depict an abhorrent sight. ‘God I am old,’ I curse, and then watch my spit arc into the night, and angle, slowly, onto the glass below where the moon,weightlessly placed on a deciduous, doubles like a giant pair of balloons on the blanket of grey, undulating silk.