Prose has been employed in English from the early 1300’s. It is written language without a discernible metrical structure. Prose includes fictional stories, like fantasy or romance, through to memoir. Our members enjoy all forms of creative writing as those below attest.
Discovery Writers' anthologies feature winning texts from competitions and submissions. They reveal a wide variety of writing styles and themes.
Stories range from humorous to sad and poignant, from local to international. Both poetry and prose are included. Memoir and short story. Epigrams
and pithy sayings are a recent feature. To obtain your printed copy please query by email: click to send.
Click on the titles below to open the pdf:
Reminiscence - a haibun
Penny dozed in her cane chair that overlooked the garden. The warm day and soft humming of bees had lulled her into slumber while Gracie, her ginger cat, sat preening herself in the mid-morning sun.
The garden had won many local gardening awards. Floral fragrances filled the air. But now Penny’s roses struggled against an onslaught of aphids and rampant weeds. Gracie cast a nonchalant glance at a skink scurrying for shelter under a flowerpot then continued with her grooming.
The harsh caw of a crow startled Penny. Dishevelled and fragile she rose unsteadily and reached out for a chair. She teetered towards the kitchen using the wall for support as she went.
Gracie quickly jumped from her perch and dashed inside before Penny. The kitchen was small but luckily Gracie had settled under a chair leaving the path clear for Penny to make her way to the calendar hanging prominently on the bright yellow wall. As tears formed, Penny reached up and traced around the red circle already marking the day’s date.
Life in ruins
Now Corona virus and all the bans; economy on hold don’t make plans.
YouTube walkers have become my best friends, since the lockdown began. TV’s full of poor royals and celebrities feeling sorry for themselves. All we’re seeing is COVID-19 stats. Could be worse, there’s grinning politicians scrambling to get on the air.
Experts predict a great decline in mental health, what do they expect when all we see are reports of death. Yet like a man possessed, come six thirty I turn to SBS.
Trying to finish the next story for my writer’s club, I concentrate on my typing, while listening to all the crap. Suddenly a voice catches my ear and I look.
This is where front door used to be, said a woman entering a ruin. Walking through random piles of grey stone, she leads the interviewer through what was her home. Black, jagged beams poked from everywhere. She stopped, this was our lounge room; a TV used to be over there.
It’s been more than six months since bushfires raged. Christmas deluge that followed blew away their tent. Standing stern, I have nothing, the lady said, and a tear welled in the corner of her eye.
Camera turns, when she points to a dusty orange track. There in a little caravan is where the family slept. If not for a kind hearted soul that saw their plight, they’d be living in the open, sleeping under the stars.
Time was up, on the story short yet bittersweet. And I shuddered at the thought of losing everything.
My scribbler friends and I, we have plans. Will find you, when travel restrictions end, will bring hope, will help, given half a chance.
by a Writer
Still at the editing stage. Stay tuned.