Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $9.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Winter Splinter
    Winter Splinter
    Winter Splinter
    Ebook173 pages1 hour

    Winter Splinter

    By William Mays

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Winter Splinter presents poetry, fiction, and photography about winter. A disgruntled elf is sentenced to community service. A delusional man crashes an exclusive party. A woman recalls finding refuge with her young son on a snowy evening. Women look back on childhood dolls. A man thinks he sees a woman walking in the snow. Another woman walks in the snow–or does she? Needing money on Christmas, a man agrees to round up pigs from a field and deliver them to a corral. A woman finds no joy on Christmas Eve because her daughter is missing. Writers from around the world participated in this anthology. These include writers from Africa, Italy, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

     


     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilliam Mays
    Release dateDec 15, 2024
    ISBN9798230237389
    Winter Splinter
    Author

    William Mays

    William Mays has worked for twenty years as a videographer where he wrote and/or produced several documentaries of local interest that aired in Corpus Christi, Texas. He also worked as an apartment manager and tax preparer. He recently had a science fiction short published in an anthology, TIDES OF POSSIBILITY. He is interested in flash fiction and is trying to generate interest in an e-anthology with submissions from South Texas writers. He is an avid photographer and posts a picture a day on Facebook. Send him a friend request at “William Mays” (Corpus Christi).

    Read more from William Mays

    Related to Winter Splinter

    Related ebooks

    Anthologies For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      A Southern Christmas

      Nov 1, 2023

      A Southern Christmas
      7 min read

    • Article

      Let’s Go… Australia

      Apr 29, 2019

      She’s hot, punishingly hot in the out woopwoop town of Wilbrook on the Pilbara plateau in Western Australia, the location of James Delargy’s thriller 55. Usually, Sergeant Chandler Jenkins has a quiet, predictable life, punctuated occasionally by th

      3 min read

    • Article

      Charades Anyone?

      Nov 10, 2022

      Charades Anyone?
      6 min read

    • Article

      BITS & PIECES

      Dec 5, 2023

      Spending time with my uncle Nick was always a thrill. When I was 7 years old, one of our favorite things to do was to go hunting. We would go to a place called Crosby’s Farm. I’m not sure if Uncle Nick knew Crosby or not, but we had to climb a barbed

      6 min read

    • Article

      Winter Is Coming

      Nov 16, 2022

      I walk to Advent Matins in a thin, cold drizzle. Supermarket shoppers zip past. I can hear our church bells getting into their stride. How pleased Widow Sturdy would have been to know that the bell she created in her foundry was in good ringing order

      2 min read

    • Article

      The Ghosts Of Nativities Past

      Dec 2, 2020

      LAST weekend, Zam went to collect a second-hand fridge. The sellers weren’t expecting him until the following day, so he had to leave empty-handed, with the ratchet straps, the flatbed transit he’d borrowed and the young cousin he’d enlisted to help.

      2 min read

    • Article

      Kids’ Books Of The Year 2021

      Dec 13, 2021

      By Alexis Deacon Illustrated by Viviane Schwarz (Walker Books, £12.99) Well, this is an intriguing little book. Introducing children as young as three to the philosophical ideas of Plato, Descartes, Freud and Lacan is an audacious ambition, to say th

      7 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Special

      Dec 28, 2023

      The distinctive depth of characterisation shines in this tightly knitted story of therapist Nick and retired solicitor wife Zoe, as they decide to view a deconsecrated Victorian church which is for sale. It’s “even more picturesque than it looked onl

      11 min read

    • Article

      Worlds Of Ink And Paper

      Nov 22, 2022

      As a young girl, I still remember my dear mother, smile on her face, curled up with Family Circle magazine in her lap. She was engrossed in an article titled “Butternut Wisdom,” written by Gladys Taber. At my age, it didn’t mean a thing to me. But as

      6 min read

    • Article

      Rewind

      Oct 4, 2022

      Rewind
      2 min read

    • Article

      Reader’s Choice

      Jul 13, 2020

      Reader’s Choice
      4 min read

    • Article

      My Oz trials

      Dec 14, 2022

      My Oz trials
      3 min read

    • Article

      Letters To The Editor

      Dec 16, 2020

      WE recently bought two young donkeys. They had already experienced much in their short lives: transport from Ireland, several homes and a horse fair. In time, they settled, although the little grey gelding remained silent. We were astonished to disco

      2 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Special

      Dec 28, 2023

      Summer Reading Special
      11 min read

    • Article

      SAM LEITH On The Books That Delighted Him As A Child

      Nov 13, 2024

      When I was young, my parents had an old record of Dylan Thomas reading A Journey by Charabanc to Porthcawl and A Child's Christmas in Wales. Is there any piece of prose like it for evoking the glorious post-prandial carbohydrate slump, ‘the Uncles br

      3 min read

    • Article

      Great Read

      Feb 22, 2023

      Great Read
      7 min read

    • Article

      Simply Summer

      Dec 17, 2019

      Simply Summer
      16 min read

    • Article

      Great Read

      Jun 13, 2024

      Great Read
      5 min read

    • Article

      Scrooge for Christmas

      Oct 4, 2022

      Scrooge for Christmas
      2 min read

    • Article

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 4, 2018

      I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me. —Fred Allen I have always wondered, in reading travels, at the childish joy travellers felt at meeting people they knew, and their sense of loneliness when they did not, in

      4 min read

    • Article

      Lezley Saar’s ‘Diorama Drama’ and me

      Apr 1, 2023

      SEPTEMBER 2017. I didn’t know where I was going to live. I’d been surviving rent-free as a “granny nanny” in Orange County, California, for three years, living on $600 under-the-table per month. The agreed-upon term was over, and I was beginning to h

      3 min read

    • Article

      Great Read

      Jun 13, 2024

      Great Read
      7 min read

    • Article

      Great Read

      May 19, 2021

      Great Read
      5 min read

    • Article

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 3, 2019

      You are old when your longtime friend Melvin, turned seventy-five, writes you in rage about becoming old. … Melvin knows nothing about old age: Melvin can walk upstairs! Melvin flies to the West Indies with his girlfriend and his wife! In your eighti

      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Winter Splinter

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Winter Splinter - William Mays

      INTRODUCTION

      ––––––––

      Winter Splinter presents poetry, fiction, and photography about the season. Some of the works offer a jubilant view. Others suggest a darker perspective. A disgruntled elf is sentenced to community service. A delusional man crashes an exclusive party. A woman recalls finding refuge with her young son on a snowy evening. Women look back on childhood dolls. A man thinks he sees a woman walking in the snow. Another woman walks in the snow–or does she? Needing money on Christmas, a man agrees to round up pigs from a field and deliver them to a corral. A woman finds no joy on Christmas Eve because her daughter is missing.

      Writers from around the world participated in this anthology. These include writers from Africa, Italy, the United Kingdom, and Canada. For more information about these writers, go to MaysPublishing.com

      First Lines and Excerpts

      By William Mays

      A close-up of words Description automatically generated

      Icicles

      Photo by Rustic

      Icicles from a roof Description automatically generated

      Light Under the Door

      Photo by William Mays

      A door with a light shining through Description automatically generated

      BILL NEVINS

      Bill Nevins is a poet, songwriter, journalist, and retired educator who has worked in various media, including film and video. He has lived in New Mexico since 1996.

      ––––––––

      Christmas On Your Ancient Skates

      ––––––––

      You, this morning, as the light seeped in,

      stood by that crack beneath our door

      wondering who, mouse or man,

      left such space unfilled.

      Then, as we fell to pieces, each piece rolled free,

      curled off to the corners of whatever there may be:

      dust bunnies, bones, beer bottles, frozen tears clattering down!

      And yet, the long road is laid out on that dim sunset river

      Where you slide away, ice- borne,

      Gliding, red-scarved, towards peace.

      PRISCILLE NYECK

      Priscille Nyeck lives in Cameroon, Africa. She combines writing and agriculture. She likes to discover the wonders of nature and share them with the world.

      ––––––––

      To My Friend

      My Christmas vacations

      I’ll spend them at Grandma’s

      In the company of my brothers and cousins

      From all over the world

      In our country cabin

      Deprived of youth and commentary

      I’ll go with my new clothes

      I’ll take my best books so as not to lose any notions

      I’ll plunge into the luminous experience of each of them

      I’ll fill my secret notebook with my feelings

      I’ll learn a new language

      I’ll play new games

      I’ll declaim new poems

      I’ll adopt a new face

      Since you are my friend

      I’ll tell you about my family experience

      These moments are rare

      I’d like to make the most of them.

      December

      The new year is upon us

      From door to door, let us gather our childhood friends

      Let us gather around a fire

      Let the ice flow over our bodies

      That will cleanse us of our differences

      Better than we were

      Once again, we have the chance to still exist.

      Let’s not lose our childlike hearts

      Happiness is not forbidden to parents

      Let’s take pride in our wrinkles

      Let’s wear coats and hats

      Let’s go skiing on pastures

      Let’s build snowmen

      Let’s not be overwhelmed by nostalgia 

      Let’s live the present moment as the last

      Let’s give each other gifts

      Let’s decorate alpines and fir trees

      Let’s sing along to Christmas music

      Let’s jump, let’s dance, let’s drink

      Smile and admire the beauty of nature

      Time passes and we grow old

      We need that friendly love

      We’ve lost over the years

      Snowy Road

      A snowy road with trees on it Description automatically generated

      Woman and Child on Snowy Path

      A person and child walking in the snow Description automatically generated

      MARTHA ELLEN

      Martha Ellen lives alone in an old Victorian house on a hill on the Oregon coast. She is a retired social worker and has a history of social justice activism. Her poetry and prose have been widely published.

      ––––––––

      You called me Mama

      ––––––––

      Last night I dreamt of you my lost

      child now grown. We were on

      a long night journey. Cold.

      No stars. With mufflers and

      coats pulled tight around.

      You wore those yellow mittens.

      My silly Christmas gift before

      the break. Trudging on and on.

      A new path. Snow crunches under

      foot. I lead. Your steps in mine.

      We came upon the small cabin

      alone within the vast landscape.

      Shivering, exhausted we

      entered. Stomped the snow

      off our boots. Tossed our coats

      in heap on the chair. Silent.

      Warm and cozy. Heated by

      the old Jøtol stove stored in

      my basement unused since

      you left and I did not know why.

      A lush green velvet upholstered

      sofa with a cozy woolen afghan

      to wrap around knitted in my

      favorite pattern - Mended.

      Your pink froggie there resting

      on a pillow. I had thought it lost.

      My mom’s crewel embroidery

      hung above the door with

      summer vines and flowers

      and birds. Love One Another. 

      I prepared hot cocoa with

      the heavy whipping cream you

      always loved. A cup for each. We

      are sitting on the sofa now. You

      hold my frail hand in yours.

      "Mama, do remember your

      dream of the millions of luminous

      threads joining all living things

      within our garden and without?"

      Yes, I do, my baby.

      2024

      JILL HAND

      Jill Hand is an award-winning fantasy writer. Her novels include White Oaks, Rosina and the Travel Agency, and The Blue Horse.

      ––––––––

      One Thanksgiving

      One Thanksgiving, my mother made a turkey out of Spam. I'm not sure why she did it; she could have gone to the supermarket and bought a frozen turkey, the way she always did, but instead, she chose to fashion one out of multiple cans of Spam.

      She may have gotten the idea from one of the women's magazines that flourished at the time. They had all kinds of weird recipes back then, concoctions involving aspic and fondue and marshmallows stuck together to form snowmen with chocolate chips for eyes and licorice whips for scarves. It can best be described as food as art, and my mother was an amateur artist, the daughter of a portrait painter, and a clothing designer.

      Art in the blood, as Sherlock Holmes once noted, is liable to take the strangest form. In Mom's case it took the form of a deluge of crafts, crocheted ponchos, macramé plant-holders, bird feeders made out of empty bleach bottles, and once, notably, a Spam turkey. While it looked uncannily like a roast turkey, carved drumsticks and all, it tasted like Spam, which wasn't what the rest of us wanted for Thanksgiving dinner. There was an angry scene, with tears and recriminations and then we all went to a restaurant. It has since become one of my favorite Thanksgiving memories.

      PETER NEWALL

      Peter Newall was born in Sydney, Australia, where he worked in a Navy dockyard, as a lawyer and as a musician. He has since lived in Japan, in Germany and now in Odesa, Ukraine. He has been published in England, America, Europe, Hong Kong and Australia. Tomaszow was the site of Nazi atrocities in World War II.

      Winter In Tomaszow

      ––––––––

      Leszek had been awake since before dawn. He didn’t want to be; he’d been out drinking last night with some university classmates, and he’d rather have slept it off. But even before the grey wintry daylight leaked in through the window he was awake, lying with the covers drawn up to his chin, his head aching, staring up at the ceiling.

      The ceiling in his one-room flat was high, nearly five metres, so that in winter the place never got warm, even when the radiator was working properly. In its centre was an ornate circular plaster rose. A twisted rope of brown electric flex descended from it, bearing a single light bulb under a white porcelain shade.

      Once a chandelier would have hung there, Leszek was sure. The building was nineteenth century, the clumsy internal walls showing it had been divided up into these little flats much later. When it was built, its three storeys would have contained the spacious apartments of the well-to-do of the town. Now it was a warren, housing students, single mothers and men on the edges of employment. 

      Next to the ceiling rose was a patch where the plaster had fallen away, showing the wooden laths underneath. During the day, if Leszek noticed it at all, the damaged part was just a brown blotch. Sometimes at night, though, lying in bed without his glasses, he saw the blotch as a bear, standing on its hind legs, complete with upraised paws and stubby tail. More than once he’d dreamed about bears after falling asleep staring up at the shape above him.

      But now in the faint morning light he saw a different image; the head of an old man, bearded, wearing a tall hat. Leszek squeezed his eyes closed until he saw stars, then opened them again; the old man was still

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1