The Friday Fiction featuring Patrick de Moss

 Patrick's intriguing author portrait has been created by photographer Tanya Linnegar.

Patrick’s intriguing author portrait has been created by photographer Tanya Linnegar.

 Lost Dreams I

“Auntie” Rita and her Tree

Tonight, Rita dreams of her tree. She can’t help it. In this place, she has no power, not even over her own dreams.

Maybe it’s the sound of the neon sign below her bedroom, flaring in the window of her shop. Some drunk rolling up Main from downtown, howling like a coyote at the moon had thrown a half-full beer can at it in the wee hours, the witching hours, and left it fizzling, flaring off and on and off again, making the whole blue and red PSYCHIC sign struggle to come to life with every flash of electricity.

Really need to get that fixed. Rita thinks to herself as she falls into the dream – a dream that is more memory than appetite and ambiance and emotion, a dream that pulls her back into her younger, slimmer, smarter body. The dream pulls her back to an island in a place they tell her never existed. But the ache for it is real, and for this short time in the dark hours, the remembering hours, she is there once again. A cool morning in early autumn, a crisp morning on the turn of the year…

It was a cool sunrise, dew clinging to the bottom of her robes, working its way into her shoes, just a shade colder and it would be frost, frost covering the grass like a breath across the green covering it in radiant crystals that would sparkle in the sun. Erede (and how easy, how deliciously, tragically easy it was to fall into that name. Her first name, her real name and true.) had come to this small meditation before Aposia and Merai came stumbling each from their small initiates cottages, blinking against sleep, shivering a little against the chill, drawing their robes close against the cool breeze.  Read More

The Friday Fiction | WIN a FREE Paperback Copy of BOTH my Conor Kelly Books!

Me and my book-babies

Me and my book-babies

Conor Kelly and The Four Treasures of Eirean (Book One of The Tir na Nog Trilogy) and Conor Kelly and The Fenian King (Book Two of The Tir na Nog Trilogy) are now both available to buy in PAPERBACK! And to celebrate, I’m giving away a free paperback copy of each book.

To be in with a chance to win a paperback copy of Conor Kelly and the Four Treasures of Eirean , all you have to do is follow this link to enter an easy competition.

If you’re after a paperback copy of Conor Kelly and The Fenian King, then all you have to do is follow this link.

Why not enter both? Closing date for both competitions is Sunday 2nd November.  Good luck!  Read More

The Friday Fiction featuring Grace Joliffe


The magical, mystical Irish town of Ballyyahoo.

 The Witch of Ballyyahoo

Chapter One – The Rumours of Ballyyahoo

pic1My name is Gerry and I live in Ballyyahoo. You probably never heard of it because it’s just a tiny little place on the west coast of Ireland. We think it’s a pretty boring place to live, because there’s nothing much to do.

Okay, so there are farms, fields, and beaches, if you like that sort of stuff, but there’s nothing that’s really exciting. We haven’t got a racetrack, or a football stadium, or a cinema, or a bowling alley, or anything that you’d get in a big city.

Not that I want to live in a big city. I don’t really want to live anywhere that’s big and full of strangers. All I want is to stay here in Ballyyahoo, but have way, way more craic! Read More

The Friday Fiction featuring… ME!

Visual Tweet4 Conor

No, I haven’t run out of authors to feature here, I have a fair few fab scribblers already lined up for your future delectation, but I thought as this is my blog, I might promote my own story  on it now and again. This excerpt comes from my new book, Conor Kelly and The Fenian King, which is Book Two of The Tir na Nog TrilogyRead More

The Friday Fiction featuring Jay Howard


A Nice Cup of Tea

Laura parks in front of the sprawling farmhouse and walks back across the yard to close the five-bar gate. The metal spring catch is warm in her hand, the air suffused with the scent of apples ripening on a half dozen sun-dappled trees.

Against her will her eyes are drawn across the valley and the gentle contours of the Chilterns towards Ivinghoe Beacon. She feels her heart start pounding. That’s where it had happened, with the Harvest Moon silvering their bodies and the chalk landscape glowing a ghostly white. That memory is all she’s had for so long now she finds it hard to remember the wonder, the joy.

“Go on!” The voice in her head is as loud as the voice she heard on that fateful day nearly forty years ago. “Get off this land, you lying whore, and don’t ever come back!”  Read More

The Friday Fiction featuring Allie Cresswell

allie cresswell

One Dog Too Many

This is a true story. Actually, it’s a confession – I’ve had this on my conscience for twenty years now and it’s time to say – to the woman with the predilection for white – I’m sorry.

Twenty years ago, in March, I was expecting a baby; expecting it quite imminently. It is a wearisome time, that last week or so; you have done all you can do in the baking and brewing line and it’s time to see the fruits of your labours. Moreover, frankly, nine months is a long time to go without a gin and tonic.

We had a Yellow Labrador, in those days, Ben; an adorable, intelligent, faithful and well-behaved dog who had genially adapted himself to slower and slower walks over shorter and shorter distances, commensurate with my gradually growing girth. He eyed me with a certain doleful foreboding, it is true, a doggy sixth sense perhaps forewarning him that his life – his place in the pecking order – was looming liable to radical review. Read More

The Friday Fiction Featuring Jane Dougherty


 Excerpt from beginning of The Dark Citadel

dark CitadelShrill voices shattered the orderly silence as the pupils from Providence Central Institute for Girls made their way home from school. As they approached the corner of a narrow, dusty street, a tall figure broke away from the group and turned aside with a determined stride. The other schoolgirls bunched together at the corner to watch her go, then carried on up the main thoroughfare, their shapeless garments fluttering.

“My name is Deborah, not Serpentspawn, you foul-mouthed bunch of bitches!” the girl shouted over her shoulder after her departing classmates. “You think I care what your cretins of parents say about me?” Read More

The Friday Fiction featuring Craig Boyack

Boyack photo (2)

“This excerpt is from a fantasy called The Cock of the South. I hope to have it published on Amazon by the end of summer. This involves a group of dwarves who become refugees from the humans. The setting is Greco Roman, and it gets pretty violent in places.

“The dwarves, a few other fantastic creatures, and some downtrodden humans are on an exodus away from their pursuers. In this scene, they meet one of the supporting characters who isn’t from around these parts. I hope you enjoy it.”

 “What are you building here?” Cobby asked.

“It’s dem camels, by golly,” the fellow said in a nasal tenor. “They gets all jumpy when the mountain shakes and the whole string runs off into the lake.”

Cobby smiled at the way he said “dey, yumpy, and ven”. The story didn’t make much sense. The fellow kept his back turned and focused on his job. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Big string comes from the east.” He pointed without looking up. “When the mountain shakes, those camels goes crazy. They running around knocking down porches and everything. Then one of the boss camels, she runs into the lake and they all follow her. They’s all carrying silver bars and they sink just like an anchor, by golly.

“Then this here smart guy comes who says he can get the silver. He makes this pump and some tubes out of ox gut. It blows air into a funny hat he wears and now he looks for the silver. He pays me to work the bellows.”  Read More

The Friday Fiction featuring Squid McFinnigan

The Friday Fiction is a new regular feature to Aliisaacstoryteller. It’s my small way of supporting my fellow Indie Authors, while bringing new and exciting writers whom I admire to your attention. There will be no interviews, no book reviews, no freebies, no authors singing their own praises; this is simply a chance to showcase their talent, to just let their writing ‘do the talking’.

Squid pic

Kicking off the Friday Fiction in fine style this week is author Squid McFinnigan, whose charming tales, gentle wit, warmth, humour and empathy have made a big impression on me. So without further ado, here is his story, Granny Fitz. Enjoy!

Granny Fitz

Running a bar in a small town along the west coast of Ireland qualifies you for many roles; financial adviser, councillor, medic, peace-keeper, not to mention the provider of drinks and hangovers for a whole community. You will find the young and not so young rubbing shoulders nightly, you may even find a dog or two snoozing under an owner’s stool while they mingle. Any of you that have read my stories will know that I am a bit of a dog lover. I have never yet encountered a dog that caused an ounce of bother in my bar, but plenty two legged customers have ended up on the pavement, backside first.  Read More