Rachel Deeming
Bio
Mum, blogger, crafter, reviewer, writer, traveller: I love to write and I am not limited by form. Here, you will find stories, articles, opinion pieces, poems, all of which reflect me: who I am, what I love, what I feel, how I view things.
Stories (367/0)
The Hardship Generator
I call myself "The Hardship Generator". Good title, eh? It's not your typical hero's name, I'll grant you but then what I do is not your typical hero work. I'm working for the good of humanity but mine's more the long game, not the "swoop in and save them" like your Superman.
By Rachel Deemingabout 9 hours ago in Fiction
Waiting for the Ice
This story comes with a Dharrsheena warning I sit and I wait. White bear is with me. He sits and waits too. He is hungry like me. I keep my distance as he would tear me apart in a heartbeat, crush me in his jaws like the furry meat morsel I am to him. Sometimes, I forget and he moves and I dash away, using what little energy I have left.
By Rachel Deeminga day ago in Fiction
Rachel Reviews: The Heart's Invisible Furies by John Boyne
Ah, John Boyne. I know that I will never be disappointed picking up one of his books. He is a great storyteller and his books, the ones which are specifically focused on Ireland, seem to have the most depth and the most feeling. Is this just coincidence? I don't think so. I think Ireland is important, because out of the four books by Boyne I've read, the most intense for me as a reader have both been set in Ireland: this one and A History of Loneliness.
By Rachel Deeming2 days ago in BookClub
Dreams of the Savannah
I am hungry. The dust is familiar, a similar colour to what I've known, but there are none of the scents of the savannah. The grasses would find plenty to feed them here but they would not be given the chance to grow. They would not provide cover in which to hide, to camouflage, to aid the hunt.
By Rachel Deeming2 days ago in Fiction
Roar
"You have to get up. Come on. Come on!" He was dazed but he could hear the urgent pleas of another. He opened his eyes to blazing sun and he smelt the dryness of dust. His leg hurt. He reached to put his hand on it and it felt wet, slick but also rough where dirt had stuck, like a crust. His head was pounding, like his heart was in his frontal lobes, trying to beat its way out.
By Rachel Deeming3 days ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2024
Stargazing
It was her first beach party. There was something primal about it with the bonfire spitting sparks into the sky and the crackling cackle of wood burning. The sea's constant wash added to the sense of timelessness and ritual, the moon bright, sprinkling its silver shavings on the surface of the ocean so the night was imbued with magic. Drink was helping create this sense of a forbidden gathering. And the stars! The stars! Mara had never seen stars like them away from the muting of the streetlights.
By Rachel Deeming8 days ago in Fiction
The Blind Woman at the Bus Stop
He was a callous bastard. This proved it all the more. I knew it from junior school. He'd take a kid's sandwich, bite into it, spit it out and crush the rest in front of them. His laughter would be maniacal, especially if the kid cried.
By Rachel Deeming9 days ago in Fiction