Monday, 14 December 2015

Day 14: Snowdrop by Linda Flynn

Idea for Snowdrop:
Snowdrops are amongst my favourite flowers, even though they have a simplicity to their beauty. In my mind they suggest hope at the end of the winter. 

Normal style:
I don't tend to have a fixed style, my writing varies from symbolic to humorous. The beauty of writing short stories is that I can experiment with different approaches without the long term commitment of a novel.
Young Fiction

Two short stories for children, The Secret Messenger and Timid Tim published in the Hipp-O-Dee-Doo-Dah anthology to raise money for Children's Hospices UK. Foreword by Michael Morpurgo OBE, cover by Children's Laureate Andrew Browne and featuring award winning writers Lauren St. John and Alan Gibbons. (ISBN 9 781907 335112 Bridge House. Available on and Amazon.)

Children’s humorous book featuring a rescue dog, Hate at First Bite. (Flame Lily Books, and Amazon ISBN  9780956610805.) Winner of Best First Chapter in the Writers’ Billboard Competition.

Teen Fiction
A humorous novel, My Dad's a Drag. Winner of Best First Chapter in the Writers’ Billboard Competition. ISBN 9781478396345 Solstice Publishing, (available on ,Amazon and Barnes & Noble.)

Short story, The Wild Ones, in the Devils, Demons and Werewolves anthology. (Bridge House and Amazon ISBN 9781907 335082)

Adult Fiction
Prize winning short story, I Knew it in the Bath in the Something Hidden anthology. (Solstice Publishing ISBN 9 781907 335310. Available on Amazon  and

To Take Flight, as short story published in the Going Places anthology, Bridge House. (ISBN 9781907335068 and Amazon.

Short story, Snowdrop available in the Snowflakes anthology from November 2015, (Solstice Publishing and Amazon.)

Non Fiction
Six educational books published for the Heinemann Fiction Project.

A number of newspapers and magazine articles, including theatre reviews and several articles on dogs.

An extract from Snowdrop 

Fluttering flakes swirled in a dance, celebrating their uniqueness. Silently, stealthily they settled, merging and losing their identity in one solid mass of snow.
At first the heavy door to the wooden chalet seemed wedged shut. Sylvie scraped back some more of the burgeoning, compacted snow from the step and wrenched it open, just a slither, but enough to slide through.
A chill permeated the room as she swept the ash from the grate. All around her she could see signs of the last visit, the red wine circles bled onto the oak coffee table, dishevelled cushions sloping off the sofa and the runched up crimson rug.
She coaxed a flame to shimmer into life and sat back on her haunches as it trembled against the wall. It was not so very long ago; it was another person, a different life time. Only shades from the past danced in the shadowy fireplace.
Sunlight flickered through the slats in the green shutters, enticing her awake. She gave a languorous stretch, then reached out to pull the window open, allowing the dazzling brightness and cold air to burst into the room.
Iridescent, sparkling drops twirled against the pane, gracefully gliding to the ground.
She longed to rush outside, crunching her boots in the crispy snow, indenting pools of her own footprints.
These are my daisy chain days, she sighed, savouring this moment of happiness. Yesterday on the sleigh they felt exhilarated and alive, tumbling, twisting, hurling down the mountain, with their scarves thrown out behind them.
Flocculent snow flew into their hair, flowed onto their tongues, feathery, fleecy and flimsy as confetti. Their cries wirled into the billowing veil.
With flushed cheeks they had built up the fire, its rosy glow suffusing the room with warmth. Sylvie had placed a flickering cinnamon candle on the coffee table and stood back to watch the burnished walnut basking in the honey glow.

About the author

Linda also works as a Head of English and PR at a school in Middlesex. Her interests include swimming, reading, walking her rescue dogs and far too much time spent daydreaming.

Linda’s website is:



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