The Washerwoman is a little story about the friendship of two women at either ends of life and their conversation at the washing line one late Spring afternoon. It’s a little story of a realisation of greater things, a gentle reminder to ourselves of what often lies hidden in plain sight.
People are inclined to take on board a message more firmly from a story than they would be from being preached to. Stories kind of draw us in, preaching drags and pushes us kicking and screaming. We can never influence anyone with our message unless they come willingly. That's the job of a story, to coax to lead and to entice a reader in. Here in the stories archive, you'll find short stories of mine, each with a message. It's kind of like; "hey take a look at this!" Many of the stories I draw on personal experience with a healthy dollop of imagination. I hope you enjoy reading.
Today I have a little story to share, a story that to me is remarkable, one that I won’t forget as long as I live. 10 years ago I lived with Joanne in Blanchardstown, west Dublin. It was a rough kinda shop and we had a desire to find a better place to live.
Young Connor Bryan sat poised on the edge of his bed. His Dad’s wire snips in his right hand, the miniature Child of Prague in his left. He could hear his mother preparing dinner and the high pitched noise of girl talk from his sisters in the kitchen below him. It was Wednesday and the usual […]