Interview with the Television Editor.

I have had the delightful / surreal experience of being interviewed about my writing experiences and self-publishing my first book by some hamsters… You can read the results below. Many thanks to Shehanne for taking the time and constantly being supportive. You can visit her varied and entertaining blog here

shehanne moore















Ha, well I’m being facetious when I say in my spare time.


My full-time job is as a Post-Production editor for television, but between trying to write and having twins aged 2 1/2, work can sometimes feel like the time that’s left over! Glasgow is a good city to work in at the moment for post-production as there are several companies based here, along with STV and BBC Scotland. I work at BBC Scotland, and have done for the last ten years. I started out doing various jobs – photo-copying, runner, camera assistant and eventually worked my way up to editor. The work of an editor involves, at it’s most basic, telling a story with moving pictures and sound. It’s often difficult to describe exactly how that happens and it varies between different types of programs. The basic mechanics involve sitting in front of a computer screen and television monitor…

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To mark the end of the year, and as a first attempt in the world of self-publishing, I’ve gathered together a collection of short stories and flash fiction from my blog and published it on Amazon Kindle and as a paperback. I hope you can find the time to have a look.

I’m grateful for all the people who visit my blog to read my efforts and encourage me to keep writing – thank you one and all – and I look forward to continuing this adventure with you all.




The last of his comrades made it to the end of the bridge. They didn’t look back.

He turned and saw the first of Franco’s troops cresting the hill and charging down the slope towards him.

He winced at the pain from his shredded legs. The blood pumped from the bullet holes. He tried pulling himself forward on the wooden planks of the bridge. There was no way he would make it to the other side in time.

He took the grenade from his pocket. He put the pin in his mouth and pulled it out. He held the grenade to his chest and lay down on the bridge. He saw the blue sky.

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details here). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (below).

For more stories, visit the INLINKZ GROUP

© Adam Ickes


They stood in a circle and passed the ball to each other. Freddy waited for it to come to him. Don’t mess it up, he thought, first impressions count for everything at a new school.

Danny, the team captain, took a massive swing with his left foot. The ball soared over everyone and disappeared into the woods that surrounded the playing field.

‘New boy,’ Danny shouted, ‘go get the ball back.’

Everyone was staring at Freddy. He nodded and jogged away. He paused at the edge of the trees. It was gloomy in there and he couldn’t see the ball.

He stepped into the dark woods. He saw the ball. He bent down to pick it up and revealed a bloody, severed hand. He shouted out in shock and jumped back.

He heard the laughter behind him. A boy emerged from behind a tree and picked up the plastic hand. Freddy turned to see Danny and the boys laughing. Freddy smiled and kicked the ball back to them. He was part of the team now.


Flash fiction story run by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Write a story based on the prompt photo (above). Learn more here: FFfAW

To read more stories visit the INLINKZ GROUP


The sunlight slowly peeked through the cloth that covered the window, and with it emerged the familiar sounds of the countryside awakening. Hens were scratching around the yard and clucking to one another, the birds chattered and sang on the rooftop and in the distance Farmer Pierrot’s mule could be heard braying. Sebastian propped himself up on his elbows, stirred from another long night of distracted and fitful sleep, and gradually dragged himself from the hard, unforgiving bed. He rested momentarily on the edge of the bed allowing his numb mind to acquaint itself to another day, brushing his tangled, unkempt hair from his face and rubbing and scratching his unruly beard. He rose achingly and padding slowly across the cold stone floor to the kitchen. Continue reading “REVENGE”