Character interview – Giddy Tucker

Who’s Giddy? Gideon Jonathan ‘Giddy’ Tucker is the narrator of the short story I’m writing for the Guinness World Record attempt. The interview Writer: Morning, Giddy! Say hello to the ladies and gentlemen. Giddy (removes his hat and smiles brightly): Mornin’, folks! Here are some cookies that Ma sent, miss Terblanche. W: Thanks, kid! So, Giddy, I told you that we’re having an interview today, right? G: Yes, ma’am. W: Are you ready? G: Of course, ma’am. Fire away! W: Alright, so first off, tell us a bit about yourself. How old are you? Where do you live? Do you […]

world record

We’re trying to break a world record!

One anthology, one hundred writers. I am part of a group of 112 writers that are trying to break the Guinness World Record for most authors contributing to an anthology. The previous record is held by a group of fifty people. We are trying to publish an anthology of a hundred stories by a hundred unique authors. The publisher and brain behind the whole operation is a South African from the Western Cape! I’m super excited to participate in this event (and it’s totally not just because I think the certificate would look cool on my bedroom wall. Come on, […]

The Tired Man

The paint was tired and looking for a fight by the time Bruce rode into Alvareza that afternoon. The town was quiet as he went up Main Street, sitting tight in the saddle and feeling the people on the sidewalks stopping and staring, their eyes boring holes into the back of his blue shirt. They would notice the dusty horse, the notched gun, the callous set of his shoulders. He never could figure out the uncanny way these small town folk could know a man for what he was at first glance. Across the street a man in a suit, […]


The beggar only sat on the corner of Baker and Delaney for one single day, but people never really stopped talking about it. Nobody exactly knew where he came from, which was rather strange, in a town as small as Ruthermere. He was just there one morning, huddled in an old grey blanket. He sat with his back against the northern fence of the old Delaney Public Park. He wore a grimy old army coat, and his hair was the colour of dirty suds, and the skin of his hands, neatly folded on his lap, was like some kind of […]