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Nuwe skryfwerk | New writing > Fiksie | Fiction > English > Published authors

Published authors


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A crucial connection
Jaco Fouché - 2011-11-29
Untitled Document I was worried. Two months into my new job I had to admit I couldn’t do it. The job was selling water-related apparatus – high-pressure pumps, pH meters, conductivity meters, water filters, spraying nozzles, that sort of thing. Before that, I was in information technology, which I didn’t really take to, or maybe it was all the talk about starting your own business and being your own man that got to me. In those days, not long after Mandela came to power, white...

The Exploding Trousers Part 4
Richard Jurgens - 2011-11-23
Untitled Document Read Part I here ... IV Preparations for shooting the climactic scene of the film had been continuing since dawn. The set had been built in the barn of an abandoned farmhouse not far, Hilton guessed, from the majestic ruins of Great Zimbabwe. A small town of trailers and tents had been set up around the farm compound. The area was crowded with trucks, generators, mobile cranes and catering vans. Thick coils of electrical cables snaked all over the ground and into the old barn,...

The Exploding Trousers Part 1
Richard Jurgens - 2011-11-02
Untitled Document I “There we are, then,” Sandy said, standing back to examine his handiwork. Hilton Ellis had been making an attempt to learn his lines, and he hadn’t noticed the transformation that had been taking place in the mirror under the make-up guy’s subtly flitting fingers. He looked up to find Adolf Dorkman, Mombasa pirate, scourge of the East coast and greasy B-movie sub-plot bad guy, staring bellicosely back at him. “‘A rancid German adventurer’,...

The first time she smelled him
Hilda Smits - 2011-10-27
Untitled Document The first time she smelled him was some time after midnight. She had fallen asleep in front of the television again, the stem of a half-empty wine glass limply clasped in one sleepy hand. The half-burned cigarette in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa had grown a long grey tongue. The television was blue and blurring like the fragments of a forgotten dream and a woman’s irritatingly upbeat voice was jabbering on about some celebrity with enormous breasts and feisty shivering...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 1
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 1"Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" I approach the door of Anna Brink’s rooms in Observatory, Johannesburg, in which her clean-cut therapy chamber is located. I’ve been here before, on a couple of occasions when life – relationships and marriage – got too hot to handle. She knows me well. In fact, she’s like an old friend. I know that, once Anna opens the door, we will go immediately...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 2
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 2 "Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" ‘It’s my conditioning, Anna. I studied hard. I got more than one degree. First I was rough and then I got smooth. I still hang around Wits seminars sometimes, at the back, like I secretly want to become a professor... but then I go home quickly before they all start saying hello and bye-bye to each other, right at the end. The rough side of me is there, under...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 3
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 3 "Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" ‘Yes?’ ‘Yes, Anna! You see it everywhere! Women can call men bastards and get away with it. No one even bats an eyelid. It’s almost routine. But let a man publicly call women bitches, and see the flak he’ll pick up from the fairer sex – especially the educated class of woman ... ‘In other words, Anna, I’m saying this:...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 3
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 3 "Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" ‘Yes?’ ‘Yes, Anna! You see it everywhere! Women can call men bastards and get away with it. No one even bats an eyelid. It’s almost routine. But let a man publicly call women bitches, and see the flak he’ll pick up from the fairer sex – especially the educated class of woman ... ‘In other words, Anna, I’m saying this: just...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 2
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 2 "Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" ‘It’s my conditioning, Anna. I studied hard. I got more than one degree. First I was rough and then I got smooth. I still hang around Wits seminars sometimes, at the back, like I secretly want to become a professor... but then I go home quickly before they all start saying hello and bye-bye to each other, right at the end. The rough side of me is there, under the...

First Chapter: Bad Sex – Part 1
Leon de Kock - 2011-09-13
Bad Sex Leon de Kock Publisher: Umuzi ISBN: 9781415201527 Price: R190.95 Part 1"Licking His Knife: The Post-Mortem" I approach the door of Anna Brink’s rooms in Observatory, Johannesburg, in which her clean-cut therapy chamber is located. I’ve been here before, on a couple of occasions when life – relationships and marriage – got too hot to handle. She knows me well. In fact, she’s like an old friend. I know that, once Anna opens the door, we will go immediately...

First chapter: Bitter Pill
Peter Church - 2011-08-23
Untitled Document Bitter Pill Author: Peter Church ISBN: 9781920137359 Price: R165.95 Click here to buy a copy from Kalahari.net. The Pick-up Ten to ten in the Mother City, and the bars on the Claremont strip are a blur of action, booming music and heaving students shouting to be heard. ‘Shots! Come on!’ It’s Rick, with the puka-shell necklace and Dirty Skirts T-shirt. He’s a madman after one tequila, now he’s onto his third. On one hand he balances a tray sloshing...

Genre-bashing on National Short Story Day: Chain by The Edge of Things writers
Colleen Higgs - 2011-06-17
In celebration of National Short Story Day (21 June), LitNet invited The Edge of Things short story writers to bash genres. Authors’ brief, by Janet van Eeden “Each person’s contribution must take its lead from the previous piece while changing his/her paragraph to another genre completely. Some examples of genres which I’ve nicked from film as well as literature are: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Urban (Dystopia), Thriller, Horror, Romantic comedy, Chick lit, Drama,...

Leopard’s Leap 60 words competition
SA Partridge - 2011-03-09


Leopard
Anton Krueger - 2011-02-22


Looking for Comrade Stalin - Part III
Richard Jurgens - 2010-09-22
Click here to read Part I. Click here to read Part II. III “Tell the guys it’s time,” said Janos. “There’s work to do.“ The civil conflict was raging all around the city hall now, and the squatter squads had been waiting. At Janos’s signal they donned their helmets like racing drivers about to go into action and formed into groups. Then they charged into the crowd, against the stream, in the opposite direction to the fleeing protesters. Hilton turned...

Looking for Comrade Stalin – Part II
Richard Jurgens - 2010-09-15
Click here to read Part I. II When he thought about it, the explanation for that photograph also included the moment when he’d suddenly found himself on the street. Until that day he’d been accommodated by the state. He’d lived in former military barracks, old hospitals and subsidised youth centres, and they’d been convenient enough as places to sleep while he explored the streets and squares of the decaying city. But then the rules that governed his situation changed,...

Looking for Comrade Stalin – Part I
Richard Jurgens - 2010-09-08
I Lord, give me a normal life, thought Hilton Ellis, but not yet. He’d suddenly noticed his Doc Martins. The boots were creased and caked in fine grey dust. They looked like they’d survived a war – and they had, too. And he in them. “Where were you?” his lawyer hissed. Beside her on the waiting room bench were several large box files full of documents. Where hadn’t he been? During the past two days there’d been a near revolution in the city and he’d...

Bobby Brown - Part II
Tiah Marie Beautement - 2010-07-27
Click here to read Part I. Raquel followed her. “He’s in the kitchen, finishing lunch,” Mama Brown jerked her head to the right and Raquel’s eyes followed and spotted Daniel sitting in and old metal chair, pulled up to a card table while eating a bowl of bunny chow. He nodded at Raquel. Raquel nodded back. “Go on,” Mama Brown said, with a gentle push on Raquel’s back. “Don’t need customers seeing you loiter, just go on.” So Raquel did,...

Bobby Brown – Part I
Tiah Marie Beautement - 2010-07-21
There was a man people called Bobby Brown; and, rain or shine he could be found playing his guitar under the sign Bobby Brown’s Bunny Chow. Except Wednesdays. Never played on Wednesdays. But any other day, even when Bobby Brown’s was closed, as they always were before eleven, there he was, sitting on his wooden stump, wearing a white fedora, a blazer and shiny tan shoes. Whether Bobby’s name was Bobby nobody could say, but it was good enough for them, and he answered to it...

Beer Mystic: A Novel of Inebriation and Light
Excerpt #40

Bart Plantenga - 2010-07-08
LitNet is participating in a unique literary adventure that will take you on the longest, rowdiest literary pub crawl ever. Follow the Beer Mystic's story around the world through a global network of host magazines. Read the previous excerpt in White Fungus. Click here for a list of Beer Mystic Exerpt URL’s. Beer Mystic Excerpt #40Furman Pivo believes he (plus beer) may be the cause of a rash of streetlight outages. This sense of empowerment transforms him into the Beer Mystic....

The Third Earl - III
Richard Jurgens - 2010-07-06
Read Part I and Part II. In the ballroom, the micro-scenes of a bourgeois wedding were in progress. An assortment of upper middle-class characters had been dancing to Abba, Wham! and Queen and getting totally sloshed in the English way. Niceness hung in the air like a Bond Street perfume. Now it was the time of slow dances. The bridegroom’s father, CEO of a successful gold brokerage, was dancing formally with the bride’s mother, a straight-backed former prima donna of the London stage....

The Third Earl - II
Richard Jurgens - 2010-07-01
Read Part I here. Over at the Britannia it was too early for the evening crowd, and dead quiet. Kitchener, of course, stared grimly from a wall. The publican was manning his ornate draught taps with the boredom of a helmsman on a routine voyage. Hilton was tempted to tap on the counter with a coin and say, “Now look here my good man …” “You’ll be wanting your friend,” the man said. He looked like a former wrestler, but then, it was hard to tell; most British...

The Third Earl - I
Richard Jurgens - 2010-06-25
“A storm had gathered at the borders of the garden. Giant blue stick men stalked stiffly among the dense clouds on the horizon, stooping here and there to aim lightning bolts at street lamps, roofs, trees. With each step they drew nearer. “Inside the imposing Victorian villa lurked a boy. He was in the library overlooking the lawn, staring wordlessly at the gathering darkness. Rain was beating against the leaded casements. All around him the old house groaned under the weight of the...

Chockie
Richard de Nooy - 2010-06-09
I’m jammed between your saddle and carrier. Behind me, the sheep skull is snapping ferociously with its three remaining teeth. The rest have been rammed out against your brother’s handlebars. The wire runs in one eye socket and out the other. That was your idea – the wire. Your brother wanted to use string. “Don’t be stupid. It’ll snap.” It was his skull. He’d seen it first, the little prick. Always quickest at Easter, too. The Hell’s Angels had...

Mystery on the Zeppelin Express
Richard Jurgens - 2010-05-06
There is a pleasure in simple things which only those who have lived in squats and seamy boarding houses can know. Quietness. Time to think. A clean bathroom. An inviolate fridge. Hilton Ellis set down a tray of snacks and settled into his armchair. Sip of steaming mint tea, bite of samoosa (a Surinamese hole-in-the-wall nearby did them perfectly). The cats, which normally acted as if he was plotting to turn them into a pair of fluffy slippers, were sleeping. Lights, hot running water, a bathroom,...

Prussians
Richard Jurgens - 2010-04-08
Hilton Ellis searched the crowd for a familiar face. If someone let him speak, he’d latch on like a limpet mine and not let go, not until he blew up. It was another busy night at the counter-culture advice centre. The café, located in an old building that had once been a girls’ school, was full of people. Tonight, a lanky girl with a red Mohican had talked about some of the legal niceties of breaking into and occupying abandoned buildings. Then lanky Lang Willem had outlined...

Enemy of the Republic (Part II)
Richard Jurgens - 2010-03-10
Click here to read the first instalment of "Enemy of the Republic". * An aroma of burning rope, or smouldering creosote perhaps, was drifting into the room along the incredibly sharp Attic light when he woke the next morning. Down in his cement courtyard, Hilton’s landlord, a grizzled old salt of the Onassis tramp steamer fleet, was enjoying his daily communion with the paper and a pack of Papastratos. He did little else. It was a deeply Mediterranean art, this hanging around...

Enemy of the Republic (Part I)
Richard Jurgens - 2010-03-01
It was a brilliant afternoon, and the sky was a mirror of the intense blueness of the Aegean sea. The narrow streets of the Plaka district below the Acropolis had settled into a sun-baked torpor. Even the shadows had fled inside. Hilton Ellis paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He was walking up one of the narrow streets of the district, where dank tavernas jostled with hippie boutiques and small stone houses huddled in the neon shade of hard rock nightclubs. Once, Pericles and Plato had...

Good times at the Transkei Café
Richard Jurgens - 2010-02-19
It was six o’ clock on a Sunday evening and the café doors had been locked already. The crew were getting in the mood, aided by liberal supplies of fresh Kei weed, high-grade Colombian, and classy French Dom Pérignon. Gilandro and Sally Savvy were sitting at the counter with two of Boggsy’s mates. One of these was Tim Vermeulen, known in certain circles for his persuasive abilities with locked safes. The other was a man called Brian Jones, generally known as Mick, whose...

Something will happen
Richard Jurgens - 2010-01-07
Things were good after all, Hilton Ellis decided. He located the teapot and cleared a space on the table with a sweep of his elbow. There was food in the fridge. He had a paying gig coming up. And he was enjoying his breakfast like a gentleman, while the world was still sleeping off its week of work. He bit into a slice of well garnished baguette. The first tastes of the morning were crucial to the rest of the day, in his view: better no breakfast than a bad breakfast. He savoured the lightness...

One Night at the Roxy (part two)
Richard Jurgens - 2009-11-17
Click here to read “One Night at the Roxy (part one)”. He was out all night. Hilton ate breakfast alone. Darkness was gathering windily outside when Jamie returned the following day. Hilton was sitting in his armchair in the corner, talking on the phone. “Doing some work?” Jamie asked when Hilton put down the receiver. The boy’s face was flushed and his gaze was unfocused. Probably he’d meant his remark to be good-natured, but Hilton wasn’t feeling...

One Night at the Roxy (part one)
Richard Jurgens - 2009-11-12
Hilton Ellis knew that he was being suckered. It was the articulate charm, the warm interest, as if no one existed but the two of them. And yet it had been months since he had heard that voice. They had met at the market by the city hall, purely by chance. Hilton had been trying to be good, the doctor having recently reminded him of the poor state of his heart. But, well, he had been passing the market when he noticed the smell of fresh frying. Following the promptings of the little demon...

Utoponil
M Labuschagne - 2009-10-07
There was a fluttering of papers and white coats as the new psychiatry students walked behind Professor Doctor Franz T Smalberger through the Xenophobia wing of the Manto Tshabalala-Msimang Hospital. He stopped only when he reached the reception area of the ward and he waited as the students formed a semicircle before him. The students were ready with their pens to capture every word of the learned doctor. Everybody except Marius Troskie, who didn't look particularly impressed with the lecture....

A toast to the war veterans
Lucas Ledwaba - 2009-06-10
They say that sometimes a man doesn’t need medicine to get back to good health. The mind, they say, is a powerful tool that sometimes keeps men confined to hospital beds or wheel chairs for much longer than they should be there, simply because they believe they are sick or disabled. Sometimes, they say, a man of sound mind will remain in a mental institution for years simply because he believes, and is made to believe by those around him, that he’s mentally ill. They say even men...

Twilight maize
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-05-14


A weekend away
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-05-14
A winter weekend in a coastal hotel Passing through the dancehalls of old Their glossy floors slippery with rain That has blown in through open doors Unknown faces; couples that are So obviously couples And at dinner someone says That there is something sad About a one-man band An allusion to disappointments Later I watch a storm out at sea And try to distance myself From thoughts that refuse to connect That have no place to settle I am left with the fluorescence ...

You stroked my face
Sarah Frost - 2009-05-14
Remember Father, how here the sky at night falls smokily down, a humid cloth of cloud settling over the city bowl, reflecting the orange of the harbour lights? In the garden on the hill, a fruit bat swoops into branches, quick as a heartbeat, elusive as an unanswered question. There in the dark, we say goodbye, and the man I want more than I can say kisses my face on both sides, his stubble a near-absent graze against my cheek. The stranger drives into the unknown, while,...

Venus
Sarah Frost - 2009-05-14
In her bed upstairs she burns as strong as Venus, fizzling against a cool autumnal sky. The moon hiding oblong behind a fretwork of trees. The presence of the man with the knowing eyes, Anna’s husband’s brother, lying on the sofa downstairs, torments her like a cat playing with a small bird. She saw at the supper table that he wanted her. Like a gas ring flaring beneath the coffee pot he ignited a wildness, delicate as fireflies, insistent as the breakers booming in from...

Possession
Yolanda Holden - 2009-05-13
Certain cultures believe that possession is a way of dying temporarily. As the imposing entity enters, the host vacates their body – the soul goes into oblivion, and the victim can remember nothing afterwards. Sadness Masipa does not know how to tell her conservative parents that she is pregnant. She does not remember when she fell pregnant or how it happened. On her way home from school, walking the seven kilometre dirt road back to the village, she can envisage their response as she...

Belly
Yolanda Holden - 2009-05-07
"I can't believe that!" said Alice. "Can't you?" the Queen said in a pitying tone. "Try again: draw a long breath, and shut your eyes." Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said: "one can't believe in impossible things." "I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes, I've believed as many as six impossible...

Orlando falls today
Lucas Ledwaba - 2009-04-23
Soweto is intoxicated today. Orlando is buzzing. It's the day of the gospel. The disciples, the masters, are coming out to preach this very day. The masters of the craft, the gods of the game, are coming to the theatre of dreams. Orlando falls today, people say. Why would it fall today? It could have fallen that day back then, remember? No, Orlando can't fall today, they argue. Orlando falls today, everyone is headed there, e'sgodini they call it ... Orlando Stadium is buzzing....

The RDP Project
Phil Ndlela - 2009-03-24
I June 1997 As Advocate Moosa drove down Smith Street, the trial of the ex-homeland cops he had just defended was still fresh in his mind. “Guilty as charged,” had been the final words of Judge Oosthuizen. Moosa was 35 years old and at the peak of his profession. He had tried and won 14 murder cases in the Durban high court in a row. The latest trial had been hard fought, but no more difficult than many others he had won over the years. He thought he had done his best. But suddenly...

At the funeral
Phil Ndlela - 2009-03-10
Peasants1 The agony: I say their agony! the agony of imagining their squalor but never knowing it the agony of cramping them in roach-infested shacks the agony of treating them like chattel slaves the agony of feeding them abstract theories they do not understand … the agony of it all I say the agony of it all but above all the damn agony of appealing to their patience Africa beware! their patience is running out! – Syl Cheyney-Coker At the funeral2 Dedicated to...

No country for old men
Herman Lategan - 2008-09-17
He boarded the train in Kimberley. It was winter, it was cold and it was nightfall.He pulled the door wide open and smiled like a man unburdened by self-knowledge. Spikkels, as he called himself, exposed an immaculate set of white teeth nestled in a cavernous mouth.All of 17, he told me, flexing his farm-fresh muscles. "Rugby," he winked. He was wearing a tattered and torn T-shirt with an insignia on the front of a glowing hooded skeleton ominously peeping at the world. His low-hanging...

Running on empty
Omen Muza - 2008-06-18
Nhamo inserts the key and gingerly turns it to start the ignition, but the car splutters incoherently and dies down. This unexpected outcome jolts him into an upright position. It is as if the key has been crudely thrust into his mind but is failing - desperately and miserably - to ignite any sense of motion. Or sound. Not again, please! The sense of paralysis is overwhelming. He knows that if the car goes to the garage, it will be at least two weeks before he can have it back, because the garage...

The Rain Dance
Lucas Ledwaba - 2008-04-30
Nkholo Galane surveyed the sky with eyes that had seen much suffering. Even without his trusted spectacles the old man could tell the sky was still as cloudless as he had last seen it.Last year’s summer had come and gone without any rain. It was now the summer of the following year, and still, the gods hadn’t blessed the village with rain.Nkholo put on his spectacles just to make sure the skies weren’t playing games with his eyes. It was not clear how he managed to see through that...

The smell of tears
Al Lovejoy - 2008-04-15
“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” The door of the shack creaks sharply, scrapes open stubbornly and Hond stumbles out into the early morning mud. He’s not in a good mood. It’s cold, raining and there’s a spiteful mist hanging over the Joe Slovo informal squatter settlement. He lurches over to the side of the mean shack, coughs and hawks noisily, then spits, and begins pissing into the reeking garbage piled against the rusty corrugated...

Love thy neighbour
Lucas Ledwaba - 2008-04-15
Father Sibiya was sitting on a soft sofa by the fireplace reading his Bible when he heard a knock at the door. He slowly took off his spectacles, then put the holy book down near where he was seated. Slowly, he walked to the door, indeed like a man of God walks, with careful, tender steps, as if afraid to exert too much pressure on God's land.He looked through the pigeonhole on the door. It was a man. He did not know him. His hair was unkempt, his eyes wide with a combination of fear and starvation...

A rooster’s ode to dawn
Al Lovejoy - 2008-04-03
Whenever I found myself hitching on the road in very bad emotional shape I always tended to hitchhike non-stop. Being in the company of a stranger - lonely enough for conversation – helps to keep one’s own mind off whatever is eating or pursuing one back there in the shadows. Focusing on the lift and chatting with the lift means you have to stop thinking about yourself. I mean c’mon china - you are there for your lifts – your lifts are not there for you. If there is more...

Under the pomegranate tree
Frieda Groffy - 2008-03-10



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