Mojacar Writing Group

Federico was of French descendant a well educated, rich and powerful man born in Argentina. His father like many European arrived in the third quarter of the XIX century. He owned houses and cattle ranches in Chile and in Argentina.  Although his father had helped to build his fortune, he was determined to get richer whatever the cost.  He had hundreds of natives working his land, and gave them food and shelter. He didn't trust the natives, he believed they would take advantage or steal from him if he was friendly.  At one of his cattle ranches lived his new foreman, Isidor López with his  wife and their one-year-old son. Rosario was a beautiful dark-skinned green eyed woman from Chiloe, aged eighteen at the time.  One morning Isidor rode out to herd the cattle to fresh pastures but never returned. No one searched for him.   Rosario and her son were left alone helpless without any support or resources. Federico, who had a soft spot f...

  Failing Kentucky, a bar fallen on hard times. An odd name, but it had a back story. The band Green Ragon had their US tour cancelled, except for a gig in Kentucky. Morry their manager had his 15seconds of fame when he appeared on CNN and told their fans, Failing Kentucky, the tour was finished. The name stuck. The band as usual, fell apart, and reinvented itself as a Surbiton Pub on the outskirts of London. Griff Lingo entered the dim lit bar. Ed Byrne the comedian was going through his new routine. He was getting some laughs from the sparse crowd. A Punk band was limbering up to go on stage after him. Cal was sitting at the bar, exactly where Lingo was told he would be. A glass of untouched whiskey in front of him. Dressed from head to toe in black. With his long black hair, he looked more of an undertaker on his lunch break than the ex-Jesuit Vatican enforcer monk he’d been. Lingo’s source had warned him about Cal. He’s an unstable element, lives on the edge. He's killed mo...

The ninety-three year old Gordon had finally begun to understand that the internet was a useful and versatile tool. Emails filled his inbox faster than he could read them.  One rainy  Monday,  he opened a message that read: “Congratulations you've been selected” Gordon quickly reached for his reading glasses. “You have been selected as the oldest man in the world. Your courage and bravery are legendary. Report to the underground headquarters on Friday at 22.00 hours. Find attached the map."  He smiled. “Well, that's an unusual way to celebrate my ninety-fourth birthday,”  he muttered. His granddaughter has helped him to create an email account and showed him how to reply to emails. “Thank you for your invite. I shall wear my  ‘special occasion tweed jacket’.” signed, Gordon Mills The email bounced back but Gordon didn't give much importance. Friday evening arrived, carrying  a walking stick, a torch and a flask, then  he followed the m...

  The Nanny's Revenge After a month-long fast, a disgruntled nanny assumes a new identity Sarah became a nanny by accident. She was kicking her heels, eating peanut butter from the jar and getting rejected for jobs she didn’t want, when her Mum’s best friend got a big promotion, with lots of business travel, so needed live-in help with her twins, and Sarah’s Mum suggested her. Sarah wasn’t keen; she had no experience and didn’t like children. As it turned out, this made her ideal for the role. The twins were a handful, but Sarah’s sharp wit meant that soon, much to their mother’s astonishment, they were tidying their rooms and doing their homework. Apparently being teased mercilessly and fed cookies worked better than so-called ‘boundaries.’ It helped that Sarah didn’t care whether the twins liked her and appeared curious, rather than stressed, when they misbehaved. She carried a notebook and wrote down all their transgressions. The twins thought she was keeping tabs on them. They ...

That’s us, Gemini. Identical twins born of a common mother and different fathers. My name is Castor, immortal son of Zeus. Pollux my twin, is the son of King Tyndareus of Sparta. We were like peas in a pod, loving brothers, seldom seen apart. That was until Pollux began to fail. He was an equestrian and his horsemanship skills had been legendary, leading his steeds to tap and dance with precision to the music. However, at one evening’s performance the treading of hooves was at the will of his horse. The seemingly unbreakable spiritual line of communication between the artists was no longer and Pollux purely became a passenger. His horse became the centre of attention, whilst he clung on, without focus, as if in La-la land. He was thrown off like a rag doll, mercilessly tossed to the ground. My father Zeus laughed a belly chortle at his misfortune, ridiculing the star. His teasing of Pollux gradually became worse until it became outright bullying and utter humiliation. From that point o...

For a long time, I thought and I thought about what my story would be about. All kinds of ideas came to mind. Maybe I could write about the four seasons: autumn, winter, spring and summer. Though my two favourite seasons are Autumn when the leaves on the trees change to different shades, from green to deep red and then yellow before they fall to the floor; and Spring when it bursts into full colour of whites, pinks, reds, oranges as the plants come into full bloom. But then, late one night something incredible happened. My brain pinged and I was wide awake, my mind racing. The image of Dad playing one of his favourite pieces of classical music, ‘The Four Seasons’ by Vivaldi - was so vivid it felt almost real. Was I dreaming or was I awake? I reached for my mobile and began to make notes before the idea vanished like the smoke into thin air. Dad had been practicing modern ballet since his early twenties and had performed on a few occasions at the Velarde Theatr...