Writing sample 04: ‘Grin and Bear It’

Excerpt from The Adventures of Edward Brett: Volume One, Chapter One: ‘Grin and Bear it’.

In their bid to escape the ghoulish grinners, Edward and Wanda find refuge at the top of the council’s clock tower. But whilst Edward slams all the puzzle pieces together, has he just overstepped the mark as he analyses his new mortal friend?

Read the full spooktacular story here!

———-

“We should be safe here,” Wanda panted, leaning against the window that overlooked the green outside the offices. It was dusty on the small, high landing, which existed only to house the hatch for the clock tower on top of the building. “I’ve never seen anyone else up here, ever. I only come up here myself when I’m -”

“Busy?” Edward asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Sick building syndrome,” he announced like he was introducing someone. He too stared out of the window onto the green below, illuminated by street lamps. It looked peaceful out there. Cars drove by. A couple walked a dog along the pavement.

“What?”

“Have you heard of it?”

Wanda had heard of it, but literally just that. Heard of it. “Yeah.”

“It’s a real thing – it’s not supernatural, not normally. People who work in offices for too long, they get these symptoms, like the building’s making them sick. Headaches, like you and your colleagues. Breathlessness, eye strain and stress, too. That’s where it’s meant to stop. Office employees bored out of their wits, staring at screens all day and being bathed in more harsh artificial light than a guppy in a fish tank.”

“Fish tank?”

“Just go with it. As I said, that’s where it’s meant to stop. But here – here’s it’s done something different. It’s evolved. Hats off to your managers; they truly must have created the worst office you could possibly ever dread to find yourself in. All that frustration and boredom and sadness and aches and pains and headaches, all those thoughts of ‘could I do better?’ or ‘I want a new job’, all of that sickness – it’s got so strong here that tonight it’s actually reached a point where it can manifest itself. Thoughts and emotions, so strong they’ve pushed themselves into reality. The sickness embodied.”

“Can that happen? Thoughts can just come alive?”

“Well, no, it’s never that easy. But there’s some history to it: stone tape theory, the wall people, similar kind of thing.”

“Why me, though? Come on, you dodged it before, but it’s me, isn’t it? They want me?”

“You said you’ve been having headaches for a while. Just here, just at work. And you’ve worked here a long time. You’re not the longest staff member, though, so there must be something else about you, Wanda.” Edward turned to her and gave her an examining kind of look, like he was a coroner giving a corpse the once-over to determine the cause of death.

“Oi!” Wanda snapped. “Mind how you look at me. You’re looking at me like them.”

“What aren’t you saying, hmm? ‘Busy’ – you come to these out-of-the-way places when you’re busy. Except that doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Wanda felt herself clamming up. “You don’t know.”

“I think I do. I think busy means sad.”

At that, she clammed up some more, only it was angry clamming this time. “How dare you. You think because you say you’re a god and you know all stuff about ghosts and sick buildings, you can just put on a therapist’s hat and pass comment on people’s lives and emotions? Hmm?”

Edward looked a bit flummoxed, the most caught out she’d seen him since they’d met. “No. No, I–”

“Zip it, Mr Brett. I’m not some mystery for you to solve. I’ve seen you, enjoying puzzling out what’s happening here, putting all the pieces together and thinking you’re a top-drawer boffin for doing it. And you are. But you don’t do it to me, okay? Got it?”

He nodded like a kid who’d just been told off at school. “Got it.”

Read on partner …

I can’t decide what to put here.

Daily writing prompt
If you had a freeway billboard, what would it say?
View all responses

Honestly, that’s probably what it would say. I have the exceptional talent of being able to be razor-sharp decisive when it comes to decisions for other people, I’m great at that – but when it comes to deciding things for myself I would probably find it easier to traverse the rocky coastline of Pembrokeshire whilst doing the Macarena blindfolded.

It takes me an age to decide what to have for dinner. What clothes to put on in the morning – because I’d like to wear that new shirt but then if I wear that today it won’t have that special ‘new’ feeling any more, and I’m not really planning on going anywhere today so would it be a bit wasted if I wore it now? But then at the weekend I’m going out but I’ll be outside, and it’ll be cold so I’ll have to have a coat on and the shirt really looks best without a coat – so maybe I should wear it today because at least I’ll be able to see it. And what snack do I want in the evening – if indeed I even want a snack. Because I’m trying to be healthy, so I shouldn’t really have biscuits. Although I could have a healthy snack – that’s it, I could walk to the shop and buy some healthy snacks … but then I’m trying to save money and I don’t really need to eat anything at all.

You see how fun it can get?

If I’m psychoanalysing myself, which let’s face it is such a fun and fruitful activity that never goes wrong, I’d say this probably stems from my hatred of uncertainty and my love of control – and my concerns that if I make a choice for myself what will the consequences of that choice be? Because any choice I make for myself, no matter how small, I want it to generate the best possible consequence. I want it to create the most joy that it possibly can. Lasagne might be nice for tea. But then Macaroni Cheese (I refuse to call it Mac’n’cheese) would be supremely better – and what if I don’t choose to have that and then I end up dying in my sleep and I’ve missed out on the best last meal I could have ever had? Being in my brain is wild sometimes. It’s been pointed out to me before, quite rightly, that this is an awful lot of pressure to put on oneself, so I am going to try in 2026 to let go a bit more and take the heat off of myself.

Still, it’s a journey. I never used to be like this, and as I say I’m excellent at making choices for others, I can do it in a snap. Getting older is a funny thing, you change in ways you never even thought about when you were just a skinny little thing running around in your pea green converse (just me?). Maybe there’s a way to get back, whilst still moving forwards.

Writing sample 03: ‘Grin and Bear It’

Excerpt from The Adventures of Edward Brett: Volume One, Chapter One: ‘Grin and Bear it’.

Wanda’s trapped in a pitch-black supply cupboard with the strangest man she’s ever met, a man who claims to be a god – being hunted by gaunt, grinning, ghoulish doppelgangers of her colleagues. What are they? And what do they want with Wanda? Read the full spooktacular story here!

———-

She held her breath, listening in terror to the footsteps trudging slowly down the corridor outside, a second at least between each tread. No other sound, no sound of breathing or chatter, nothing. Just the footsteps.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

She poked Edward on the shoulder and looked at him with a ‘what do we do now?’ expression.

“I can’t see your face, it’s pitch black,” came the breathy, sardonic reply.

Wanda resisted the urge to whack him about the ear, instead biting her lip in frustration.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

They weren’t getting particularly louder or closer, just continuing, almost as if the crowd were circling the corridor, waiting for them.

Piranhas, Wanda thought. Although she wasn’t completely sure whether piranhas circled or not. What is it in westerns where someone’s stuck out in the desert and birds start circling? Crows? Vultures? Probably vultures.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped. A dead stop, no fading out, no drifting away. Immediate.

Wanda waited a good five seconds before daring to speak as quietly as she could. “What now?”

“Now get ready to hit me.”

“What?” In the dark she sensed movement. He’s going to open the door! “No!” she cried in a long breath. “Don’t!”

“I have to, Wanda. We need to know what they’re doing!”

The next thing she heard was the quiet clunk of the door handle. Then a thin crack of light flooded into the room. She tensed, holding her breath, able to see Edward for the first time since they’d gone into the room. He peered through the crack. Eyes widening, he stared at something for a long moment.

Then, with a suddenness that made her jump, he threw the door wide open. The light blazed in, and Wanda, forgetting they were meant to be quiet, screamed at the top of her lungs: “Oh my God!”

Eyes. All those eyes! Oh my God look at their eyes! The grinners were all there, right in the doorway, pushed up against it like sardines. They were all staring in at her, looking right at her with those horrid vacant eyes and their wide, yellow smiles.

“Mr Brett!” she screamed again. “Mr Brett, shut the door!”

Edward ignored her. He’d taken a step back and was coolly observing them with a finger to his chin.

She dived forward and grabbed the door to slam it shut herself, but he shot out an arm and stopped her.

“No need.”

“But they’re right there!” she shrieked incredulously.

“Yes, yes they are,” he replied in a calm, curious voice. “And they’re not moving.”

 Wanda forced herself to look at them. He was right. They were stood in the doorway as if there was some kind of invisible barrier stopping them from coming in. “But they can see me? I mean, look, they’re staring right at me!”

“Oh yeah, they can see you.” Edward stepped forwards, as close as he could to the doorway without crossing the threshold. He was almost nose to nose with the grinner that looked like Matthew. “They know you’re there and I’m willing to bet my boots that they’d very much like to come in and get you.”

Wanda felt a chill go through her. “Lovely.”

“But they can’t.” Edward stared into grinner Matthew’s eyes. “Why? Hmm? Why don’t you come on in and get her if you want her?”

“Oh God, don’t say that!” Wanda warned him. “You don’t know how they work. Maybe all they need is the invite.”

“No, no, it’s not that. We don’t own this cupboard, they don’t need our permission. It’s something – ooh!” He sounded excited now. Inappropriately excited. “Now, I wonder. Wanda, tell me, the colleagues that these malaperts have taken the forms of: did any of them ever come into this room?”

Wanda managed to shake her head, despite the tension in her neck. “I shouldn’t think so. We’ve had photocopiers in the main office now for ages. I only come in here every now and again when I’m –” She stopped herself from finishing the sentence honestly in the heat of the moment. “Busy.”

Edward gave her a look that said he knew she’d just lied, but he didn’t question it. “Right. So that makes me think that these things, whatever they are, they’re using your colleagues’ day-to-day lives in this building as blueprints for existence. They think that because these people never came in this room, it means they couldn’t come into this room. They must think it’s a rule, like gravity or not eating your sweet before your savoury.”

“So what does that mean? For us? What are they?”

Edward stared at the grinners with a kind of horrified wonder. “They’re new. It means they’re brand new.”

With an effort, Wanda met their terrible eyes once again. She still didn’t really get it, but she didn’t dare ask again. I’d only get another riddle-y answer.

“Can you talk?” Edward asked Grinner Matthew, their faces just inches apart. “I know this is all new to you, but try breaking those smiles, try opening the mouth, come on –”

“Why are they smiling anyway?” she asked. “It’s horrid.”

“It’s the face they’ve seen most.”

“Smiling? In this place?” Wanda scoffed, almost laughing.

“Think about it. You might all feel like bashing your heads into the wall but that’s not the face you put on most of the time. All those fake smiles.”

Actually, he had a point. Their deputy manager, Susan, was always grinning like an idiot at anyone she came across, even people Wanda knew she hated with a passion.

“Come on, say something. Whatever’s on your mind. If that happens to be what you are and what you want, then –”

“Good morning, Fellbridge Planning!” Twenty creaking voices spoke in unison as all the mouths of all the grinners opened at once.

Edward took a step back in surprise. “Okay.”

“Are you free for a quick get-together I’ll just be five minutes shall I make a coffee first okay then will you make one for me too?” The mouths opened and closed with a fast-paced, mechanical stiffness, like a ventriloquist’s dummy at triple speed.

Wanda gasped. “Susan and Jean had that conversation just this morning! Only Susan said one bit and Jean said the other, obviously.”

Edward smiled, enjoying this new development. “So it’s not just movements they’re copying, it’s speech, too. Recycling things they’ve heard before.”

“They must not know what they’re saying, though. I mean, it’s all office gobbledegook. They’re just mimicking it like scary parrots.”

“No, no. They’re babies, just babbling. But they’re clever. They’re learning.”

“I need these copies done today please okay I can get those over to you before lunch. To you before lunch. To. To you. Get. Get to you. Get to you. You. Get you”

Wanda shrank as far back into the cupboard as she could, feeling her skin crawl as the grinners continued to stare right at her. “Mr Brett, Mr Brett – I don’t like this.”

“They’re fast learners. Okay, Wanda, I’m bored of this cupboard now. What other places of interest does this stunning example of eighties architecture have?”

“We can’t get out!” she exclaimed. “It’s wall-to-wall things out there!”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a mobile phone that even Wanda, with her limited knowledge, judged to be ancient – for a start, it still had buttons. “Yeah, you say that. Except, when duty calls –” He punched a number in and put the phone to his ear. In the distance, she heard a phone start ringing. Without hesitation, the grinners immediately turned and headed back to the main office. “Someone’s got to pick up.”

Wanda burst out with a celebratory laugh and clapped her hands. “They’re going!”

“Just like their human counterparts would have to if the phone rang.” Edward tucked the mobile back into his pocket.

“You’re a genius!”

He shrugged.

“Even with a phone that makes my crappy old one look really whizzy by comparison.”

“Geniuses don’t need smartphones. Just a pay-as-you go sim with enough money on it to occasionally make ‘distract the bad guys’ phone calls.” He stepped boldly out of the photocopy room. “Shall we?”

Wanda couldn’t help but smile at him. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. He was … she didn’t know what he was. He was something else. “Where to?”

“Well, I’ve bought us two minutes at most. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going on here now, but I need to check it out. And I need to ask you a question.”

Wanda tried to look casual. “Go on.”

“Do you have a headache?”

Wanda opened her mouth to say no, thinking what a jolly weird question to ask. But then she realised that actually yes, she did have a headache, and it was the same one that had come on in the office earlier; it had never gone away, just faded to a spot in the background where it’d somehow got forgotten. It was as though hearing the word had made her remember it, remember the pain. She put a hand to her head. “Yes.”

Edward barely reacted. Instead he marched past her towards the doors that led to the central part of the building. “We need to go to HR.”

“Hang on!” Wanda cried, not wanting to let him get away that easily. “Just a second, sorry, how did you know I had a headache?”

He looked at her, confused. “I didn’t. That’s why I asked.”

She pursed her lips and exhaled loudly through her nose. “Don’t get smart with me. What is it? What’s wrong with me? I’ve been having them more and more, and only here, never anywhere else. And those things, those grinner things – they keep looking at me. What do they want?” Surely, if anyone had answers, it would be this man, this stranger. And a strange stranger he was at that.

Edward’s face softened a little. He ventured a hand forwards, as though he was going to put it on her arm to comfort her, but instead he just left it hanging midway between them. “Let’s get to HR. Come on, before they come back.”

“You’re not telling me everything.”

“I’m working it out. Trust me.”

Again, she couldn’t tell why, but she knew that she did. She did trust him. The man who’d just claimed to be a god. She trusted him. “Okay.”

Read on partner …

Writing sample 02: ‘Grin and Bear It’

Excerpt from The Adventures of Edward Brett: Volume One, Chapter One: ‘Grin and Bear it’. Read the full spooktacular story here!

“He was sat there,” she said, pointing fearfully to the desk opposite her own. “That’s Matthew’s desk – the chap that the thing looked like.” 

“And he just appeared out of nowhere?” 

“Yeah, I looked up and there he was, grinning at me. It was horrible.” 

“Grinning?” 

“His face was set in this horrid toothy grin. It looked like him but he was all kind of faded, like he’d been through the wash too many times. If that makes sense?” 

“Not remotely!” the man said dismissively, eyeing the full scope of the office warily. “And at the same time, entirely. Did he look, well…dead?” 

Wanda shrugged exhaustedly. “I don’t know. I haven’t actually seen any dead people lately.” 

The man walked over to the desk in question. “Lucky you.” 

“I mean, he didn’t look well. If you saw him on the street you’d probably say he needed to get himself down the walk-in centre.” 

The man pulled Matthew’s chair out and got down on his knees, examining underneath. “No burns on the carpet, no scorch marks. So that rules out, well, any kind of magic for a start. And Kentish Fire Monsters. No, wouldn’t be them anyway, what am I thinking, we’re in Surrey. I’m Edward, by the way, Edward Brett.” He added the introduction like an afterthought. 

“Wanda Smith,” said Wanda, feeling strangely formal. She never introduced herself with her surname. And Kentish what monsters? “Is Matthew dead? Was it a ghost?” she asked hesitantly, feeling ridiculous for even saying the word. 

His head popped up from underneath the desk. “Hahaha! No.” 

Wanda’s cheeks prickled. She didn’t like being laughed at. “Well, I don’t know,” she muttered. 

“Humans always think it’s ghosts. There’s a lot more out there than ghosts, Wanda, trust me. I wish it was ghosts. If it was ghosts we’d be finished and in the pub by now.” Edward hopped back onto his feet and walked over to her. 

She looked at him, wondering why he’d used the word humans like he had. “Who are you?” 

“I told you. Edward Brett.” 

“And you do this sort of thing a lot? Barging into offices, investigating things that aren’t ghosts?” 

“Hey, I didn’t barge anywhere! Your caretaker chappie let me in.” 

“Who, Phil?” Wanda asked incredulously. 

Edward nodded in a ‘sure, why not’ kind of way. “Yeah. Yeah, he looked like a Phil.” 

“Good grief! They go on at us about wearing our ID passes all the time and security risks and whatnot, then the caretaker goes and lets a nutter into the building.”  

“Oi!” 

“Well, you’re acting like a nutter.” 

“So what? Are you allergic to nuts?” 

“No.” 

“Right then. Jolly well stop complaining.” 

Read on partner …

Writing to feel

Us mortals are emotional creatures. We sometimes might like to think that we’re rational, logical, straight-brained beings that can handle decisions based on pure logic and reason, much like a computer (although tell that my battered old laptop who decides that mid-way through writing the best chapter I’ve ever written is the perfect time to crash and perform a total reboot). But the truth is we make so many of our choices based on feeling. Gut feeling, heart feeling, a feeling in your waters – call it what you like – but we can’t help but react to those wacky synapses telling us to do something because we’re upset, or angry, or moved or happy.

That’s why I think injecting emotion and heart into writing is so, so important. Emotion changes minds. Emotion changes opinions, emotion changes – full stop! Emotion changes us. And words are one powerful tool in eliciting emotions out of us.

You can use this to your own benefit if you’re running a business and you want to encourage your potential customers or clients to engage with you. Some might levy accusations of that being duplicitous or manipulative at you, trying to manufacture emotions in people to get them to buy in to your business or organisation. But I don’t think it’s as straightforward or crass as that, so long as the story you’re telling, the way you’re using words and the picture you’re painting, is genuine. So long as the feelings are real. Tell a genuine story. Present yourself through words with openness and honesty, and you’ll endear your readers to you in a real, authentic way. You’ll get them to feel something. And then – if they’re the right fit for the service you’re offering, they’ll find a quicker path to you.

Beyond business though, even just as a writer of stories, I love to inject my words with feeling and emotion because I want to bring good, uplifting feelings to my readers. Ultimately, my stories are about hope and joy and happiness. If I can infuse my words with enough of that, there’s a chance it will pass on to the person who’s reading it. And if just one person reads my writing and thinks, ‘actually, do you know what, I feel a bit better about things after reading that,’ then my work here is well and truly done, because I can’t think of a better achievement.

Writing sample 01: ‘Greenteeth’

An excerpt from my short story from the world of The Adventures of Edward Brett, called Greenteeth.

“Beware the places where water is still, 

Where flows do stop and airs do chill. 

For when gloom and bloom hide all beneath, 

Traveller beware, the water has teeth.” 

“And so then she lets go, watching him descend deep into the dark, into chaos – into hell, even, that’s what some of the ancients thought it was.” Edward shuddered as he spoke. “Forever falling, down and down. Whilst she remains in the land of the living. Chilling stuff, not to mention heartbreaking.” 

Wanda looked at him askance. “Are you sure that’s how Titanic ends?” 

He nodded emphatically. “Trust me. An elephant never forgets, and neither does a five-and-a-half-thousand-year-old god. Have you really never seen it? We’ll have to get the video.” 

“We’ll have to find somewhere that still sells videos for a start.” 

They were ambling along a single-track country lane in Lancashire, not far from the village of Croston, sharing a bag of chips bought from the layby where Edward had parked the camper van. The sun was shining brilliantly, early spring warmth beating down on them. Birds sang in the hedgerows, and daffodils bloomed in daring shades of egg yolk and mustard on the verges.  

“I watched it sail off, you know,” Edward said offhandedly, spearing a chip with a tiny wooden spork. 

“What? The Titanic?” 

“Yup.” 

“You never did!” Wanda was agog – his age never ceased to amaze her. She felt old enough at sixty-two much of the time, but when he talked about the things he’d seen it made her feel like she’d hardly been born. “What was it like?” 

He shrugged. “Shipshape and shiny, I suppose. Very smart, but a disappointing lack of water slides from what I could see. I was only there stopping a Trachvor demon from stowing away … quite a funny story actually, you see it’d stolen the skin of this rich old woman –” 

She held up a hand. “Woah, woah, no thanks. We’re having a nice day out, that’s what you said! No skin-stealing, no monsters – just chips and a walk.” 

“Oh come on, I’m only talking!” 

“No! Because the next thing you know it’ll be, ‘Whoops, I forgot that just talking about this Tractor-whatever demon also happens to summon it … and oh dear look at it running off with Wanda’s skin.’” 

“Fine!” he snapped with faux-huffiness. He sporked another chip. “But you’re missing out.” 

The lane dropped down, ploughed fields on either side. Soon they found themselves on an old stone bridge arched over a rushing, full river. The bridge had no sides, no railings or parapet of any kind, just a sharp drop over the edge to the water some ten feet below. They stopped, taking in the view of the river valley, the fields and the naked trees that rose up into the bright blue sky.  

“Now that’s more like it. Not bad,” Edward sighed happily. “Not bad at all.” 

“Yeah and a great spot for a game of Pooh-sticks,” Wanda said with a chuckle, wondering if there were any suitable racing sticks nearby. “I do love rivers,” she continued. “I love the sound of the water.” 

“So did my mum. She’d sit for decades by a river like this, just listening to it.” 

Edward’s mum, she well knew, had been murdered along with his dad several thousand years ago, by his psychotic brother. But he rarely spoke about her, about either of them for that matter.  

“What was she like?” 

“Mum? Ah, she was …” He broke off, suddenly flustered. “She was kind, I suppose. She was really kind.” 

“Like you, then.” 

He smiled sadly. “Not a bit.” 

“You must miss her.” 

“I suppose I must.” His voice went far away for just a moment, before – as was his usual habit when conversation became too real – he cheerfully changed the subject, swinging his arms and almost spilling the chips. “What next, then? There’s a witch in the next village over who makes a fantastic Victoria Sponge if you fancy some pudding?” 

Wanda laughed. “No! Blimey, it’s like an illness with you, isn’t it? A normal day, Mr Brett! Just for once, just for me, please?” 

But Edward was staring down over the side of the bridge, towards the riverbank. 

“Mr Brett? Oh Lord, you’re not sulking now, are you? You know what I say about sulking: it’s like digging a hole, and the more you dig the harder it is to …” She trailed off, realising that it wasn’t a sulky stare – it was an I’ve sensed something stare. One of the few godly powers Edward still had, after the rest were stolen by a band of interfering monks over a thousand years ago, was the ability to discern supernatural goings-on when they were nearby. “What is it?” 

“Look down there.” He pointed over the side. “On the rock.” 

She craned her neck over, holding Edward’s arm for support as she leant over the edge, head spinning from the height. Down on the bank below was a young man in a red Puffa jacket, sitting on a large boulder with his legs tucked up under his chin. She could see, even from this angle, that he was crying. 

Looking back to Edward, she pulled an awkward face. “Oh dear, trouble at mill.” 

“Trouble indeed.” 

“Surely it’s just normal crying though, no? I mean it could be something, you know, personal … what if we stick our noses in and then it’s awkward?” 

“Two things you should never ignore, Wanda: one, someone crying alone, and two, a cat if you’re out for a walk. Always say hello.” 

“Don’t tell me, cats are all actually magic pixies who were cursed by an evil wizard or something?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just good manners. Come on.” He waltzed off towards the end of the bridge, where a steep footpath led down to the water. “Magic pixies?” 

 “Shut it,” Wanda grumbled.