http://slow.writerscafe.org/fidheallir The original writings of author Fidheallir en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776010138 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Devon was late. For the first fifteen minutes or so, Nick Jones had thought it nothing important, because his friend was always late. This time, though, Devon had not answered his phone, or left any indication of his whereabouts. Judging by the black hole of despair into which he had been falling .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/379971/ Hours later, most of the town’s population was still sitting in MacLeod’s. Every few moments the door would swing open with a gust of chilly air, and someone else would come in. It was just four o’clock in the morning: the sun had not yet risen, and outside thick, icy fog had pushe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/372070/ A description of one of the characters from my novel. He gets killed off pretty quickly (spoiler!) so he doesn't get very much time, which is too bad, because he was one of my particularly favorite characters. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/369800/ MacLeod’s became steadily more crowded as the afternoon faded into early autumn dusk. Outside, the sky darkened to a rusty purple and the light in the room deepened to a warm saffron glow. Every time the door opened, a gust of cool, salty air poured into the slightly musty warmth inside. Nick .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/367889/ Nick kicked an empty tin aside, and leaned against the back of the couch. In spite of the large storm windows, the room seemed small and dark, the air heavy with smoke and dust. He had been pacing the front room of the lighthouse for half an hour, as his thoughts worked in frantic circles. Fresh a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/367888/ He was walking in the fog, stumbling over wet, dark rocks. It seemed to Nick as though he had been walking aimlessly for days, lost in the gauzy clouds of mist. Finally, he stepped into a patch of clear air. “Not too bad,” Devon was saying. “Considering.” He sat on the ed.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/367887/ Life changing moments are strange sometimes. This happened to me when I was a senior in high school, and shook up my worldview like nothing else. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/367482/ “And what do you expect me to do, Chris?”“He’s your cousin.”“Really now? I’d missed you telling me the last thousand times.”Something poked his side. Spots of light bobbed in and out of his cloudy vision. “Fine. Fine. This all comes down .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/363095/ Alasdair stopped, one foot on the porch and one on the top step. “What?”“How can I get out of here?”Alasdair stepped back onto the porch. “I need to get out of here. Now.  It’s-- I mean... I’m lost... actually, I wasn’t lost I was... it&rsqu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/363093/ Night was falling rapidly. The rain had abated into low, silvery fog that blended with the clouds and the soft creases of the hills. Shapes blurred into one another in the murky plum-gray shadows. Through the dripping trees ahead Nick could see the weathered remains of a few abandoned cottages, and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/363091/ It was a road to nowhere: a long line of crumbling asphalt stretching to the gray horizon. The only other marks of civilization were a few twisted scraps of what had once been a low wooden barrier along the shoreline, most of which had broken and slid into the water after years of winter storms. A c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/362456/ TwoRipples. Light and dark. Strangely geometric ripples.“I think he’s awake.”Nick blinked, and saw ceiling tiles above him.  Ceiling tiles. How odd. Odd dream. He wondered how the ceiling tiles got there. There weren’t tiles in his room before. And there was a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/361968/ “In recording these truths, it must be remembered, however, that no other music can touch the human heart with greater effect than a Scotch reel...”--K. N. MacDonald, The Skye Collection, 1887Nick sat up slowly, pushing the quilt back down to his ankles, causing an open book of S.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/361966/ Nick Jones, a talented young musician, sets out to find his mother's estranged family in the wake of a personal tragedy. However, he finds her Canadian hometown economically collapsed and tearing itself apart. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/fidheallir/361965/