Quarter Castle Chronicles is now available in eBook. The collection of 13 short stories written by 12 Canadian authors can be downloaded from Amazon in countries around the world, including Amazon.ca and Amazon.com.
Bridget Canning of St. John’s, Newfoundland, is the author of Indonesian Rice, the story that came in third in Quarter Castle Publishing’s first short story writing contest.
Here’s a sample from the story.
From: Winters, Candice
Sent: March 1, 2013 1:11 PM
To: Pomeroy, Tina; Smith, Claudette; Tenor, Joan; Wells, Moira
Subject: Potluck Ladies Night
So, this weekend—I thought a potluck at my place might be nice for ladies only. No theme, just a get-together. I was thinking Friday at 7:30.
Please do NOT bring seafood or shellfish as I have an allergy. I have lots of wine: Chianti, Shiraz and Chardonnay.
My address is 75 Waterford Cove Avenue. White house, huge driveway. If you get to the recycling plant, you’ve gone too far.
Please let me know by Wednesday if you can make it. Hope to see everyone! Cheers!
The two main things Joan knew about Candice was she was educated about money—she was the senior accountant at work—and at some point in her life, she had lived in Italy for a year and a half. Candice told Italy stories during coffee breaks in the staff lounge: the food and sunshine and wine and fashion. “In order to live in Italy, you must drop any hang-ups you have with people being on time. You must stop expecting meals to be fast. You must not resent beautiful women. Food is pleasure and the Italians draw it out. The women are stunning. If these things frustrate you, you better get over it or get out.”
Recently Quarter Castle Publishing interviewed Bretton.
QCP: When did you decide to become a writer?
I decided to become a journalist first. I decided to become a journalist during my first undergraduate degree at the University of Lethbridge and joined the student newspaper. From my late teens on, I thought about becoming a writer but didn’t seriously think about it until my late 20s. I didn’t really act upon it until my early 30s.
Bretton Loney of Halifax, Nova Scotia, is the author of The Beggar’s Show Box, the story won second place in Quarter Castle Publishing’s first short story writing contest.
Here’s a sample from the short story.
Aside from the shoe box, he didn’t stand out from other beggars downtown. He rattled coins around in a Tim Horton’s cup, muttering, “spare some change,” in a scratchy voice as he sat cross-legged on the sidewalk.
I had walked past him and was heading down the street when a friend, Diane, called out my name. I turned and waved. The beggar pulled a shoe box from a gym bag by his side, opened it and took out a slip of paper. He scribbled one word on it with a stubby pencil, put the lid on and slid the box into the bag.
I wouldn’t have given it another thought if not for the way he did it: like a miser stashing his gold.
I started to notice him after that day. He was tall and lanky, and always wore a red Hawaiian shirt and stained ball cap. He sat in the shade of a provincial building in the mornings and on other corners near my office later in the day.
When he thought no one was looking, he would pull out the black shoe box, take out pieces of paper and write frantically for a few seconds. Then he’d put them back in the box and bag in one smooth motion.
Ashleigh Rajala of New Westminster, British Columbia, is the author of Working Title, the winning submission in Quarter Castle Publishing’s first short story writing contest.
Here’s a sample from the short story.
We fade in as the sun sets. In Hollywood, they call this “Magic Hour”. It’s brief but timeless in that way so few things are. The first we will see of Nick is a thirty-five-year-old man: some wrinkles but ultimately boyish. The production company ensnared a former portrayer of superhero sidekicks and sex-obsessed teens. “Nick” is the actor’s chance for emotional redemption, career resurgence, even an awards show run, perhaps. So Nick is now tall, dark, bankable and far-more handsome than he should be.
But in this world of magic hours he is awkward and pitiable. We know this because his suit is wrinkled and mismatched. He is wearing it only because it would not fit in his backpack. That lumbering thing pokes out over his head; it contains everything he still wants in the world.