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Happy London Press

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Happiness in Books & Writing

Happy London Press likes to look at fiction in alternative ways, by exploring the vast talents that lay around us and hidden from view. We like to recognise debut authors for the gifts they offer us. We are Happy and we love the idea of offering a place for talented writers to shine. For us it’s about discovering the unknown, because for some things, it takes the tipping over of an applecart – so to speak, to discover real talents that hides in between conventions and traditions.

We love putting on events to share the experience - meeting our authors, being the first to read an unpublished book or dramatising a brand new novel. Do come and join in our inspirational friendships and community - or just follow our adventures and stories....

Writer’s Gossip : https://happylondonpress.blogspot.com/

Or Discover new works of fiction : https://www.happylondonpress.com

I am a Gi**lo. And doesn’t he know it. Good looking, a wow with the ladies, especially where it counts. But we have a little secret. A little problem we won’t be discussing right now. Just make sure you don’t tell anyone if you find out, madam.

Killing me softly. He got rich through gambling. Bet with a mate he’s have me wed within a year, and won. Bet we stay wed for ten years, and he won. I’m bored witless with him. He’s dying now, thank Gawd, and I’m helping him on his way, with flowers. What a laugh. And I’ve taken over all his bank accounts. I wasn’t born yesterday. Thing is, he don’t seem worried by any of it. What’s he up to?

Coals to Newcastle. Horace Cummings is a fool. Fabulously good-looking, maybe; a brilliant salesman, perhaps, but one of those types that are helpless without a spouse to mother him, organise his life, change his socks. He’d like some degree of intimacy with his wife, but she’s soon disabused him of all those fanciful notions. But then could he be having an affair? Signs might be there. But no. He’s far too timid for that sort of thing, isn’t he?

Fondest Love. He’s dropping her at the airport. It’s going to be goodbye, but he can’t bear it. After all this time together? She’ll change her mind before it’s too late. He knows she will. A final meal together. They were always a pair, a real team. There’ll be no turning back. And now she’s gone and he’s driving home, devastated. Up the drive, and there she is, coming towards him? But how can that be? An hallucination?

Crossfire. ‘He’s my boy. Chip off the old block. Handled those knife wielding thugs with me next to him like they was nothing. Wants to join the army, like his dad. Now he says he wants to be a girl. WHAT? Forget it buster. Over my dead body. You’re all man my son. And that’s how you’re staying.’