50 Word Thursday – The Price of Fame


and the words:

“Casting a desperate glance over her shoulder Felicity pursed her lips as the sound of running feet advised that they were still in hot pursuit.”   – Misfire – Deb Whittam.


The Price of Fame

Casting a desperate glance over her shoulder Felicity pursed her lips as the sound of running feet advised that they were still in hot pursuit.

As she ran out of the Oasis Hotel and down to the beach, still wearing her high stiletto heels, her staunch and screaming admirers followed.

Kicking off the heels and hiking up her skirts she ran across the sand to make her escape.

It had taken a while to perfect her act but with the passage of time, she had now achieved stardom and a decent wage. However, this mob of fans and autograph hunters that now regularly bothered her every evening after her show was getting her down. If only she could find some private space so she could remove her wig, make-up and sparkly sequinned ballgown and return to being just Kevin Smith rather than Felicity Fawcett, the best drag act in town.

[150 Words]


This story was written for the 50 Word Thursday challenge, this week hosted by Deb Whittam of the Blog Twenty Four, click on the link below:



I have also included the following word prompts:


FOWC with Fandango — Wage





A Smile in a Foreign Land – A Multiple Word Prompt Poem

This poem was written in response to the following word prompts:




FOWC with Fandango — Abroad



A Smile in a Foreign Land

If you want my opinion,

here is my narrative,

some things seem quite foreign,

but it’s only comparative.

When travelling abroad,

what seems strange at first glance

becomes far more familiar

if you just take a chance.

So keep an open, clear mind

when exploring the new

and then you will find

a different point of view.

So, if your tingling nerves start

when experiencing new places,

where your fears stalk your heart

in crowds of strange faces,

though people may be different in fashion and style,

it won’t feel quite so foreign

if you remember to smile.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 19/May/2019





My Jaded Heart – A sad poem.

affection board broken broken hearted
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


My diary tells the story,

The pages wet with tears,

Of the many lonely hours,

And all the wasted years.


Once I wrote of youthful hopes,

Now my face is old and jaded,

My outer shell reflects my soul,

Where all my dreams have sadly faded.


Happiness was not predicted,

Not an aspect of my astral chart

Of love pains, I’ve never been afflicted,

But beats softly, my jaded heart.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty – 05/November/2019


I have included the following word prompts:


FOWC with Fandango — Diary





Twittering Tales – Lonely Girl.


Photo by kalhh at Pixabay.com

She laid out the picnic cloth on the damp ground and passed around the victuals.

It wasn’t the place most people would choose to have a family picnic, among broken tombstones, many just about to keel over, but it was her family plot and she wanted her dearly departed around her.

[279 characters]


This story was written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales Challenge, click on the link below to see her post:

Twittering Tales #160 – 29 October 2019


I have also included the following word prompts:




50 Word Thursday #44 – A Midnight Feast.

IMG_2972.JPGAnd the Words: “The man Jack sniffed the air. Then, without hurrying, he began to walk up the hill.” – From Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book.


The graveyard over the hill had achieved the status of a legend. No one went there after dark, especially at Halloween. It was a shame no one told Jack.

He had an interest in history, someone had mentioned that there were graves in that cemetery that dated back to colonial times. Jack was also fascinated by the supernatural, there were bound to be ghosts. He could smell them.

The man Jack sniffed the air. Then, without hurrying, he began to walk up the hill.

He was surprised to see two figures dressed in plain dark clothes with white collars and cuffs. Straight out of olden times.

Then they turned and he saw the grey flesh and murderous eyes.

Jack fell and hit his head. The last thing he heard was an old-fashioned voice calling out “Martha, come and eat these fine tasting victuals” as something bit down on his leg.


[150 Words]

This story was written for the 50 Word Thursday Challenge, click on the link below if you’d like to take part:



I have also included the following word prompts:




50 Word Thursday #40 – The Results

Well, another week has just flown by! The 50 Word Thursday challenge has come to an end. Click on the link to see the post:


The Rules:

  • Find the muse within the photo or line provided and follow where it leads. It can be a story, anecdote, poem. Anything!
  • The Story must be between 50 and 250 words, in 50-word increments. (so 50, 100, 150, 200 or 250 words)
  • Link back to this post with the tag 50WordThurs so that everyone can find it, or post your response in the comments below.

Here was the picture:


And the Words: “It is quite true that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most conscientious in all things connected with the supernatural.” – The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde.

To some of you, this may have seemed like an insurmountable challenge, but to others, it was a challenge that they were determined to meet. Here are the eminent entries of those intrepid writers, some of the stories are dark, shadowy and tenebrous, guaranteed to send a chill down your spine! 🙂


50 Words Thursday #40


50 Word Thursday








Deb Whittam, of the blog Twenty Four, who created this challenge originally, has agreed to co-host this challenge with me. I am honoured to hand the baton over to Debbie, who will post this week’s 50 Word Thursday Challenge!

Deb, over to you 🙂


I have also included the following word prompts in this post:


FOWC with Fandango — Chill






50 Word Thursday #40 – Without Qualms.


And the Words: “It is quite true that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most conscientious in all things connected with the supernatural.” – The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde.


He materialised in his usual place, within the ruins of the castle that had once been his home. He cast his mind back remembering the splendour of his great hall once lined with red silk tapestries.

Spotting what he’d very much hoped to see, a lingering tourist, who had come unawares that this was one of the most haunted sites in England, he drifted over, slow and steady in his usual manner.

His body had become incorporeal but he retained his sentience and his desire to kill.

It is quite true that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most conscientious in all things connected with the supernatural.

As he reached out to this living creature, hoping to scare him to death, the man turned and stood there, without a qualm, no delicious screams.

“People were so hard to scare nowadays”, he lamented woefully.

[150 Words]


This story was written for the 50 Word Thursday challenge, click below if you like to take part:



I will be posting all the entries tomorrow evening.


I have also included the following word prompts:


FOWC with Fandango — Cast




A Murder Mystery – Epilogue


Last year I tried my hand at writing an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery. The main character was Lady Audrey Patterson, who was my ‘Miss Marple’. You can read the start of this particular story here:


When I wrote the ending (linked below) I always intended to write an epilogue to tie up loose ends. This is the Epilogue.



Her nephew lay on the cold kitchen floor completely knocked unconscious. Mrs Buscombe, the cook still held the large frying pan in her hand and a look of pure acrimony on her face.

“He was the one that Killed my Elsie! I knew it as soon as he tried to run through here.”

Four tall policemen came into the kitchen followed by her guests still looking confused.

As the police carried her nephew’s unconscious body away, Lord Halifax spoke.

“I Still don’t understand why he killed Claudia? Were they lovers?”

“No, Claudia liked to flirt with the young men, but they didn’t really mean anything to her. I think his motives were more financial than sexual. Charles, you see, liked to borrow money, I think she indulged him, just like I did because he was young and handsome and full of life. I think she decided to stop giving him money, maybe she threatened to tell you about it. That’s what caused him to act, I think.”

“Oh, I see, all her loveliness and vivaciousness snuffed out for mere cash.”

Lady Patterson shook her head, to someone as wealthy as Lord Halifax, he could never understand the desperate lengths some people would go to acquire more money. Unfortunately, her nephew was one of those people to whom morals were less important than the meeting of his own desires.

Continue reading A Murder Mystery – Epilogue

A Frisson from the past – Part one.

Some of you may be aware that I recently took a trip down to Devon and while there visited the home of one of my literary heroes, Agatha Christie. It was such a thrill to see her house and it really felt that she was still there, maybe just popped out to get a pint of milk. Inspired by my trip I wanted to write a story based on one of the minor characters that she’d written. So here is my attempt:IMG_4417.JPG

Miss Felicity Lemon sat at the desk in her study, the morning light streaming through the window, and did what she always did at that point of the day, she made a list. Always methodical, she sat down every morning and made a list of the all the tasks she intended to do. She left out the mundane things, like washing, attending to her hair and breakfast, but listed all the other tasks in a systematic and thorough manner. An early riser, she always wrote her morning correspondence first thing, so that she could ensure her letters went off in the morning post. It was too early for most people to make her necessary telephone calls, people seemed to be quite upset if you rang before 9am.

As she wrote, her eye fell on a silver-framed picture that had pride of place on her desk. It was a picture of her one of her former employers, Monsieur Hercule Poirot. Of all her employers, he had been the most satisfactory. He had a sense of order and method that matched hers, and a sense of decorum that sadly was lacking generally nowadays. Looking back on those days as his secretary, she remembered him fondly. He had been a great man, a private detective and though very famous in his day, now seemed to be almost forgotten. She considered it strange that when the fictional detective, Sherlock Holmes, still loomed large in peoples mind the greatest detective, M. Poirot, had sadly diminished. Lacking any British sense of modesty, he would have vehemently agreed with her view, but despite his ego, he was undoubtedly the best. Not without acrimony, she considered it a shame that he no longer had the fame he so deserved.

She had a frisson of emotion, remembering those times when she had helped her employer solve a gruesome murder. She would never have admitted it to anyone, but underneath her calm and ordered manner, she had enjoyed working on those cases. Each one, like a jigsaw puzzle or a crossword, so impossible at first, but as you slowly slotted things into place, the solution became clear. She’d never murmur the phrase, ‘little grey cells’ but she had used her own methods and often had guided her employer to the right conclusion. Not that he ever really knew she had. She was always discreet. Oh, how she sometimes longed for something like that to happen, just like the old days. Her life had become so humdrum, and while she looked very much like the person who preferred life to be dull, predictable and humdrum, and she would never be one to actively court adventure, she did enjoy it when life brought something to her door.

She finished her last letter, a complaint to the laundry who had taken to using far too much starch on her collars and having stamped and addressed the envelope she stood and walked towards the front door. As she did so, she heard a loud scream come from one of the other apartments, followed by a frantic ringing of her own doorbell.

No English person ever rang a doorbell in that persistent and demanding manner, foreigners often did but only in a state of pure desperation would an English person ever hold down the doorbell for longer than two seconds.

Opening the door, Miss Lemon was surprised to see a young woman standing there, her long brown hair dishevelled and looking quite pale and distraught.

“Oh, please help, there’s been a murder!” the woman said.

To be Continued…..


I have included the following word prompts:


FOWC with Fandango — Court




Twittering Tales – The Serenity that comes before.


Photo by MarkusmitK@pixabay.com


He sat on the railway bridge and felt a moment of serenity.

And smiled as he considered that Life was so full of vapid worthlessness; an entity of nothingness; a rotting fungus living parasitically on time.

He took a deep breath, nothing drastic, then fell under the 8:29 train.

[277 Characters]


This tale was written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales Challenge:

Twittering Tales #155 – 24 September 2019

It was also written for the Tuesday Writing Prompt from the Go Dog Go Cafe, where the word prompt was Serenity:

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge September 24, 2019


I have also incorporated the following word prompts:



FOWC with Fandango — Vapid