Diane Foster
Bio
I’m a professional writer, proofreader, and all-round online entrepreneur, UK. I’m married to a rock star who had his long-awaited liver transplant in August 2025.
When not working, you’ll find me with a glass of wine, immersed in poetry.
Stories (228)
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The Quest I Cannot Speak
This poem is pretty weird, as it relates to my husband having to go through regular x-rays, and every time I sit in the waiting area, I find myself wondering about the technician! Who are they beneath the scrubs and the neutral smile? What are they thinking when they gently position a person who's hurting, or when they see something that might change someone's life? Are they secretly longing for adventure?
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Poets
The Garden at My Feet
My foot is stuck in a garden. Not just any garden—one carved into the skin and bone of you, where wildflowers curl over your bruised toes and a golden path winds past your ankle to a domed pavilion no bigger than a thimble. I had to laugh at the absurdity. Of course I’d find myself here, motionless, the past blooming like moss between the cracks.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Fiction
Confetti, Capes & Catastrophes
Timothy “Tumble” Blake wasn’t born heroic. He was born sideways, fell off a hospital table, and kept toppling from there. His powers—limited flight, mild telekinesis, and an allergy to shellfish—were neither impressive nor reliable. But in Pinegrove, a sleepy town tucked into a fog-kissed valley, Tumble was the only one who could sort of fly and maybe throw a lawn chair with his mind.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Fiction
Satellites and Other Miscalculations
“Did anyone remember to plug in the mainframe?” Carla’s voice cut through the room like a misplaced chainsaw in a library. The five of them froze, their faces lit by the icy blue glow of flickering monitors. The countdown was still on the screen—T-minus 1:27:15—but they all knew the number meant nothing if the system’s heart wasn’t beating.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Humor
