Wendy Gill

Wendy Gill


Wendy Gill lives in Hertfordshire. Several years ago, she gave up a successful career in business and commerce to pursue her love of writing. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Middlesex University. Her first short story Moving Mike was published in the anthology Stations in 2012 by Arachne Press. Another of her short stories, The Deal, was selected for inclusion in the inaugural anthology Words and Women One published in 2013 by Unthank Books. She is a member of Book, Music & Lyrics and has written the libretto for a London based musical called That Man, which previewed in 2014 at the London Theatre Workshop and will made its West End debut at The Hippodrome, Leicester Square in September 2016. She is currently working on a collection of short stories for women, entitled The Female Condition. Wendy is interested in modern day issues and how one small event can be life-changing. She describes her style as ironic and pared down and is a Raymond Carver enthusiast; 'A little autobiography and a lot of imagination are best.' (Carver, The Paris Review, 1983)

Credentials


Wendy Gill in 60 seconds

When did you start writing?

2009 Newbury, UK.

What do you love about Short Stories?

Arrive late, leave early, give the reader plenty to think about, no space for waffle!

Do you write in other forms?

Plays, dabble in poetry, part written crime novel.

What distracts you from writing?

Family commitments.

Outside of writing, what are your other passions?

Theatre, Gardening, Walking, Singing/songwriting.

What is your favourite book?

The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch

Who are your favourite writers?

Raymond Carver, Thomas Hardy and Anton Chekov

Where is your dream location?

Antibes

What one item would you put into Room 101?

Bad manners

Do you have any advice for new writers?

Read a lot, write a lot, keep at it.

ebooks by Wendy Gill:

Bin Day
A woman in a controlling marriage is liberated by an unfortunate turn of events. "“I have my routine… Wednesdays, I dust and do the midweek wash. Thursdays is market day; I take the bus into town and shop for the week. Fridays, I bake and prepare food for the weekend. Weekends used to be busy. When Samantha was younger the three of us used to go for days out, a picnic in the park, a trip to the zoo. She was all blue eyes and blonde curls then. And her clothes were pink, she wouldn't wear anything else. As a teenager, it was black, her whole wardrobe. Now at weekends I usually potter around the garden. Samantha's out a lot. And I'm not sure what Tom does half the time, apart from taking all day to read The Sunday Times. Mondays, I strip the beds, clean the bathroom and the kitchen, but Tuesdays are my favourite; bin day. I wait for Tom and Samantha to leave the house and I hoover; the whole place, from top to bottom, emptying the bins from each room as I go. When I hoover, I tune into the sound of the bits of dirt as they are sucked along the aluminium tube. I find it satisfying, comforting. Like listening to rain. Dry rain. That Tuesday, I started in Samantha's room. Her room is always a challenge; discarded garments, shoes. Used tissues and make up wipes surround the bin. Every surface cluttered like a beach in Benidorm.' ‘I don't like coming into your room,’ I tell her. ‘It's like an obstacle course, I don't know how you can sleep in here.’ ‘CBA, Mum,’ she says. ‘You're OCD. A clean house is a life wasted.’ That morning, when I finished her room, I took the hoover and her bin to empty into the wheelie bins. As usual, I sorted the rubbish; plastics into brown, cardboard into green, paper into blue and general rubbish into black. But, the black bin was missing; the third time in as many months. Twice before, I'd complained to the council and ended up having to pay forty pounds for a replacement. Things have changed in our street. There was a time when I knew everybody. Not now..."
Bin Day
Wendy Gill
£0.99 Added
A woman in a controlling marriage is liberated by an unfortunate turn of events. "“I have my routine… Wednesdays, I dust and do the midweek wash. Thursdays is market day; I take the bus into town and shop for the week. Fridays, I bake and prepare food for the weekend. Weekends used to be busy. When Samantha was younger the three of us used to go for days out, a picnic in the park, a trip to the zoo. She was all blue eyes and blonde curls then. And her clothes were pink, she wouldn't wear anything else. As a teenager, it was black, her whole wardrobe. Now at weekends I usually potter around the garden. Samantha's out a lot. And I'm not sure what Tom does half the time, apart from taking all day to read The Sunday Times. Mondays, I strip the beds, clean the bathroom and the kitchen, but Tuesdays are my favourite; bin day. I wait for Tom and Samantha to leave the house and I hoover; the whole place, from top to bottom, emptying the bins from each room as I go. When I hoover, I tune into the sound of the bits of dirt as they are sucked along the aluminium tube. I find it satisfying, comforting. Like listening to rain. Dry rain. That Tuesday, I started in Samantha's room. Her room is always a challenge; discarded garments, shoes. Used tissues and make up wipes surround the bin. Every surface cluttered like a beach in Benidorm.' ‘I don't like coming into your room,’ I tell her. ‘It's like an obstacle course, I don't know how you can sleep in here.’ ‘CBA, Mum,’ she says. ‘You're OCD. A clean house is a life wasted.’ That morning, when I finished her room, I took the hoover and her bin to empty into the wheelie bins. As usual, I sorted the rubbish; plastics into brown, cardboard into green, paper into blue and general rubbish into black. But, the black bin was missing; the third time in as many months. Twice before, I'd complained to the council and ended up having to pay forty pounds for a replacement. Things have changed in our street. There was a time when I knew everybody. Not now..."

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