Born: Oakland, California
Age: 72
Family: Two sons, two grandchildren, one granddog
Occupation: Retired teacher
Favourite authors: Charles Dickens, Mark Twain. "Stephen King is one of my absolute favourites. I love what he's able to do with scaring people and I love that little bit of mystery or magic or something that makes you feel a little bit uncomfortable in writing."
Writing background: "I've been pretty well writing since I was a kid - not published or anything - but I've always used writing as an outlet and a fun thing to do. I belong to a wonderful, supportive writers group here on the Island. We're named after an Australian hangover cure: Barocca."
How often she writes: "I do a lot of writing in my head, before I even put it on paper, so I can't really tell you. I probably should do it every day - that's what Stephen King says - but I'm not that self-disciplined."
Where she writes: "I do a lot of it while I'm walking, so maybe along Dallas Road walkways. I also used to be a pencil-and-paper person, but I do write more on the computer now."
Preferred type or style of writing: "I like the flash fiction or the postcard stories the best. They seem to work well for me."
On the inspiration for her submission: "When I was growing up in Oakland, California, it was a real treat to get to play outside after dark. So the actual events that I described in the story, like seeing the spider that was the size of an all-day sucker, was actually true. And the woman who came out and screamed at us from the boarding house was also true. The rest I sort of embellished, except for the very end where the brother whistles me home."
Fun fact: Lived in New Brunswick for 27 years.
HER SUBMISSION: AFTER DARK
The web was a delicately constructed bridge between fence and tree. In the centre was a black spider the size of an all-day-sucker.
At first the raucous band of children was shocked into a moonlit silence until, as if on cue, they all began to scream at once.
Newspaper in hand, the wicked witch of the boarding house began shrieking at them from her balcony. "Shut up! All of you brats, just shut up!"
Children scrambled in all directions. Even the spider scurried to a safe island off the coast of its web.
As if enchanted by a dark fairy, Missy was alone among bush-trolls and waving tree-fingers.
Somehow her mother's voice was in her head. "Honey-bunch, you know there is nothing in the dark that wasn't there before," but she knew the trees were edging closer and she wasn't too sure where the spider was.
Sinking to her knees on the mossy path, she began to crawl, because you couldn't be tripped by a troll if you were already on the ground. Nor did she want the dark fairy to seal her in a cave somewhere.
Crunching gravel and the smell of cigarette smoke behind her. Do trolls smoke? A booming voice, a swear word; "What the heck are you doing down there?"
Not a troll, but close. Her best friend's brother.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Well, the trees moved and the fairy came and I ..."
"Come on, I'll whistle you home"
