We are grateful to many of our members for sharing their work with our community through our events.


We share their talented writing their permission.

Enjoy these stories from our past Writers in Residence.

‘Bertha’ by Danielle Davey

He conceals his true spirit as he now hides me. A respectable facade has been painted, yet inside, hidden deep within, his passions are prone to excitability as readily as mine. God knows you're lying, Rochester. I know...and He knows. Uprooted from my Jamaican home,...

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‘Re(pre)sent’ by Danielle Davey

My Babbles has a nasty knack Of keeping monkeys on her back.   Her back is filled with 'monkeys' now A tattooed memoir recording how Those she knows have done her wrong She wears these grudges all day long.   In actual fact, they do all vary These ink...

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‘Mnemosyne Peninsula’ by Danielle Davey

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" they'd ask when I was a young girl. (It is well they didn't know). It struck me then as curious, given my head was neither particularly attractive, or undersized, but I supposed this phrase was intended...

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‘Wooster in Sorrento’ by Danielle Davey

‘A Coffee Palace? No Gin?! It's positively rummy! What ho! Jeeves. Did you hear that?’ ‘Yes Sir. Very amusing.’ ‘I'd be dashed if we're related at all. Aunt Alvina runs her own business. That sounds positively unlike the Wooster female. On the contrary, Wooster...

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‘Like Mother, Like Daughter’ by Sue Brown

The back door slammed shut. The noise made her start but she carried on weeding, determined to finish the patch she was working on before the light went. She knew her mother would have wanted the garden to look at its best when the new people took occupation....

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‘The Coffee Shop’ By Sue Brown

It was in Germany I learnt to drink coffee. In my childhood home we drank milky instant coffee, I took it with two teaspoons of sugar so it was a rather sweet beige drink tasting of well…coffee as I knew it. On holidays in France, I was young so I was expected to...

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‘Writer’s Block’ By Sue Brown

Cyril sat, as usual, hunched up in his chair, away from the group.  He grunted in response to greetings from the other members as they arrived. It had been ten weeks since the last meeting of the Wycherley Writer’s Block Support Group and everyone was keen to get back...

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‘My Life With Agatha’ By Sue Brown

There were many book cases in my childhood home, one of which I brought to Australia when Mother died.  It’s a fine piece of furniture—solid oak, presented to my grandfather on his retirement by his grateful parishioners. It had stood in our sitting room exhibiting...

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‘Bob Marple P.I.’ By Sue Brown

I live on the Mornington Peninsula down the bottom bit where, after hundreds of years of shifting sea, the dunes have been reclaimed as a golf course. I could wax lyrical about the meandering Moonah trees, whose undisciplined growth legitimises the council’s view that...

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‘What the Night Snow Knows’ By Wendi Bradshaw

As far as I could tell she was part of the furniture, the infrastructure of the place. Ancient she seemed then – probably no more than 45 years old, to my reckoning from now. Although, the few wisps of soft hair that were visible beneath her tight, starched cap were...

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