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Cercis Siliquastrum, my first story at Spelk Fiction from 3 years ago

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It must be Judas tree time in Istanbul. As it’s the 1st of May, I remember the picnics we used to have on this day, the happy memories of childhood, surrounded by purple blossoms.

Here’s a link to my first story at Spelk Fiction, from 3 years ago: Cercis Siliquastrum (Judas Tree/Erguvan Agaci)

https://spelkfiction.com/2017/04/21/cercis-siliquastrum/

 

 

via Cercis Siliquastrum

 

Erguvan zamanı6jpg

Red Napkins – Corona Chronicles – Flash Non-Fiction

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Red Napkins 2

 

 

 

Red Napkins

 

While looking for tissues at an online supermarket, I come across my favourite red napkins. Two packs into the basket, I continue my virtual shopping. Going over the list, adding, deleting stuff, I complete the task and pay by card. My provisions for the lockdown replenished, the delivery due the following day, I resume my daily chores. Red napkins on my mind.

Why did I buy them? It’s not likely I’ll be inviting people to dinner in the near future. I like the colour, haven’t seen them on the shelves in the days I could visit the supermarket, and I can use them myself. Good excuses, but the cupboard is full of paper napkins in all the colours of the rainbow. Why not use them instead? Red napkins are prettier.

I’m not a panic shopper. I don’t stock things and have little room to store them. Yet, the question of what if  lingers at the back of my mind. Instead of buying one packet of hair dye, I buy two, an extra pack of cheese or two more cans of tuna fish. What if they run out of stock? It’s helping the economy, but depleting my budget.

Behind this hoarding tendency, lingers the anxiety of holding onto a lifestyle which may no longer exist. A variety of choices, favourites, brands that dominate our daily lives. Despite knowing this is not a matter of life and death, that the groceries or dry goods at home might last me at least three months, I worry about running out of stuff  I’m accustomed to buying. I won’t die of starvation, but my choices in the future might be limited.

The supermarket delivery arrives. I look at the red napkins and laugh at myself. I make a pledge not to buy any more until I use the ones at home. It dawns on me Mother Earth is suffering due to the mass manufacturing of this diverse merchandise and choices in the market, whether it’s  food, household items and chemicals, not forgetting clothes and accessories. Buy less, waste less, be inventive and creative. The lack of choices is not a death threat, but the virus is. I’m learning …

 

#StaySafeStayHome

 

 

 

 

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Stream Of Consciousness Drawer Four

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I’m delighted to have my story, The Pedestrian Underpass, together with many tales from brilliant writers, in The Cabinet of Heed‘s Stream of Consciousness Issue-Drawer Number 4.

Many thanks to The Chief Polisher, Simon Webster.

Thank you very much for reading.  🙂

 

via Stream Of Consciousness Drawer Four

 

Cabinet of heed cover

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Venice

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via Venice

It’s great to be back at Spelk Fiction, my favourite literary magazine, with a love story. Many thanks to the Editor-in-Chief, Cal Marcius.

Thanks for reading and Happy Easter! 🙂

 

Venice by Monet

Venice by Claude Monet

Shirts by Sebnem E. Sanders

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sebnam e sandersI’m honoured to be back at the Punk Noir Magazine. Many thanks to author Paul D Brazill. 😍

Punk Noir Magazine

Shirts

  

Sandy had a fetish about men’s shirts, especially white ones. French cuffs and cufflinks as additional attractions, she hunted males wearing elegant bespoke suits, lately hard to find. Not fond of the current fashion trends, she loathed modern jackets which looked as though their owners had outgrown them. Why did men want tight outfits? Didn’t they understand generously cut pieces made them look more masculine? Body clinging clothes were for women to accentuate their figures. Men needed to look like men.

Her secret fetish was the period shirts musketeers wore, the ones without buttons, loosely styled to tuck inside their breeches. Having discovered an Italian company that manufactured them, she’d ordered half a dozen to try them on her lovers. If the relationship lasted more than a night, she asked them to wear one and watched them parade before her as the pirates and highlanders of the…

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The Hill, inspired by Gabriele Munter’s Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908 #HappyWomensDay

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Gabriele Munter Jawlensky and Werefkin 1906

Gabriele Munter, Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908

 

 

I have always been inspired by Gabriele Munter’s paintings, especially this particular one, Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908, which tells me a story.

Gabriele Munter , one of the few women artists in early 20th century, who were recognised by the male-dominated art world. I have great respect for her.

I thought I’d written a flash fiction story inspired by this painting, a while ago. It turns out to be a poem. I’m no poet, this probably needs editing, but perhaps that was the only way I could express my feelings.

 

The Hill

(1908-1948)

 

 

We sit at the top of the hill,

under the cosy spring sun,

and watch the world below

 

The bouquet of flowers you pick on the way up,

I fix to the ribbon around my plain straw hat,

and feel like a member of the nobility.

 

My eyes shifting to the puffy, white clouds,

I dream a bright future for us

You observe the movements of the ants,

and say, we must be so well-organized

 

 

I still remember that day, my love,

though I lost you to the insidious war.

Left with two young children,

in the shambles of our dream house,

I had to work to support them.

 

It’s been forty years since that day,

with another war claiming lives.

Grateful that our children have survived it,

I’m now a retired grandmother looking after theirs

 

The world has changed so much,

you wouldn’t believe it

We don’t have to wear fancy hats and long dresses,

even gloves have gone out of style.

 

Women can vote, go to universities,

and become professionals.

Life is easy with telephones, radio,

automobiles, electric trains, and airplanes,

so thoroughly organized.

 

I still live in our restored dream house,

and go up the hill to celebrate our anniversary each year.

Though much has changed,

spring flowers decorating my straw hat,

the puffy, white clouds above, and the village

have stayed the same.

 

 

Sometimes I miss the elegance of the past,

though life is much simpler now.

But I miss you most of all,

and have never found anything

to replace your love.

 

Happy Women’s Day!

 

Thank you for reading. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Story, Penelope, is in the March Issue of The Bosphorus Review of Books

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The Bosphorus Review of Books

 

My story, Penelope, is in the March Issue of  The Bosphorus Review of Books. Many thanks to the editor, Luke Frostic.

Penelope BROB March 2020

Here’s the link to the story:

https://bosphorusreview.com/penelope?fbclid=IwAR2aVcL0Y-5_oMFZmyHg8OMP-uYlQ7c8aSMBwtGdughW3b6TexXAs9F_lLk

 

And the link to the contents of the March 2020 Issue for further reading:

The Bosphorus Review March 2020

 

Many thanks for reading. 🙂

 

BROB March Image

 

My story, The Hunter, is at the Yellow Mama Webzine

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The Hunter Image by Ann Marie

Many thanks to the Editor, Cindy Rosmus for publishing my story, The Hunter, at the Yellow Mama Webzine. The above artwork is by Ann Marie Rhiel, the Assistant Art Director for Yellow Mama Webzine.

Here’s a link to the dark, holiday season story which appears on Issue  #77 of YELLOW MAMA:

The Hunter

http://blackpetalsks.tripod.com/yellowmamaarchives/id712.html

 

 

Many thanks for reading and Season’s Greetings to All!

 

 

Happy Birthday, Ripples on the Pond!

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Ripples on the Pond  is celebrating its second birthday this week, and she has been travelling to many magical destinations, over the past two years.

From 2019 to 2017, here are some photos with highlights from a few reviews on Amazon and Goodreads :

Ripples in PorosRipples on Poros, Greece

Sublime Power Each of the seventy-one stories creates more than a ripple – it’s a surge that transports the reader to unexpected places, people, and situations existing all over our world and the magical ones beyond. BTW, ‘Weeds’ is a marvel – an environmentalists delight! Ripples on the Pond stays on my nightstand. I will continue to enjoy the abundance of wisdom revealed in such beautiful and powerful stories. Gratefulness to and thanks sent to the author!”

 

Ripples in Ithaca

Ripples at Phatrithias, Ithaca

“Rich storytelling guided by intelligence, empathy and keen observation of life. Wisdom cannot be taught, bought or borrowed – yet, it can touch us through words. As I read each story, I wondered, how far willl the Ripples of Wisdom travel, how many lives will be touched? I’m delighted to have tasted the delights of this exceptional flash fiction anthology. Recommended.”

 

Ripples on Yaya Beach Itaca

Ripples on Yaya Beach,  Ithaca

 

Ripples with Joanne

Ripples on Yaya Beach, Ithaca

This is a perfect book to leave on the nightstand and read before sleep. Bedtime stories for the soul. These tales invoke emotions spanning from joyful to painful, and at times, feel deeply personal, as if the author has glimpsed inside your life. Ripples on the Pond will be a staple for me to pick up when I need a reminder of what is truly important in life.”

 

 

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Ripples in Çeşme, Turkey

This remarkable compilation of short stories is quite different to anything I have read for a long time. Sebnem Sanders writes beautifully, often with an anthropmorphic slant that reminds me of the stories and plays of Classical Greece, yet with a modern voice. In these vignettes, nature can sometimes take on a life and voice of its own, immersing the reader in a world that is viewed from a different perspective. There is a also a deep sense of reflection in the writing style which I enjoyed and her stories make us think, but in a subtle and contemplative way. I look forward to reading more from this author. Highly recommended.

 

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Ripples in Datça, Turkey

This delightful collection of short stories encompasses a span of human emotions, frailties and flaws as well as a wider perspective on what it means to be human. Sebnem Sanders examines loss, love, despair, joy as well as the philosophical picture of our place in the world and our relationship with nature. In ‘Selma of Soghut’ she explores transience and ageing, in ‘Shards of Glass’ the magical realism of another self performing shocking acts, and in ‘King of Hearts’ an unlikely friendship is struck between a dying man and a sick child.”

 

Varmdö collage

Ripples in Stockholm, Sweden

 

 

Jeanne with Ripples

Ripples in Florida

Brought a book along, to read, while on the white sands of the Gulf of Mexico. From Clearwater to Venice, Sebnem traveled along, telling stories the waves often whisper and the gulls cry out loud. This book is for those who oft think and find beauty in everything or yearn to live mindfully. Each story has you linger a bit longer, while waiting for a sunset… or perhaps you are the person anticipating the sun rise. A real treat! A fantastic beach read!

 

Thank you very much for all the wonderful reviews, I’m most grateful. 🙂

Season’s Greetings and much love! 🙂

 

Ripples on the Pond Full Cover 5x8 VIII

 

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36954446-ripples-on-the-pond

 

Amazon.co.uk

 

Not all the stories in Ripples on the Pond have specific locations, but these area few that do.  Trailer for Ripples on the Pond.

 

Ripples in My Handbag

 

 

 

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The Muse by Sebnem E. Sanders

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I’m honoured to be back at the Punk Noir Magazine with a story for Halloween! Many thanks to author and Editor in Chief, Paul D. Brazill.

Punk Noir Magazine

Sharma’s passion was writing, but she had to toil at a boring job. She devoted any free time to her work in progress, trying to adhere to her daily word count target of 1000. Always scribbling in her notebook, at lunch break and after dinner at home, she immersed herself in stories instead of going out with friends or watching TV. At weekends, she transcribed her work onto the computer and spent her time editing.

On a sunny weekday, she could be found on a bench in a remote area of the park, next to the woods. It was a niche, a pocket, surrounded by trees, with a small opening in the front. Sharma considered this to be her private patch, since visitors preferred to mingle on the wide lawns with the lunchtime crowds. Sharma felt comfortable, undisturbed by the commotion beyond. Sometimes she would close her eyes and listen…

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