Ian Vince

Joined October 2020

123 stories

Bio

Erstwhile non-fiction author, ghost & freelance writer for others, finally submitting work that floats my own boat, does my own thing. I'll deal with it if you can.

Top Writer in Humo(u)r.

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Stories (123)

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The Back of His Hand
The boy knew his father like the back of his hand. The back of his hand, the front of his hand, the father's palm connects with the boy's leg in multiple, wild swipes. He’s a man possessed by his own inadequacy. His short temper and busted ambition turn him to a frenzy of hate, barely held, with eyes that betray his fear. Nobody knows in the moment, least of all him, whether it’s fear of who he is or how far he could go. Something inside of him wants the boy to feel it too.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Families
Close to Home
A short stretch of tarmac path curves away from the mock-ochre–brick houses perched on a low ridge. The path is at the far corner of a suburban estate of new-builds. A parade of low streetlights follows the path and peters out into the ragged fringes of development; the dog-walkers’ fields, the urban scrub and hinterland of an ancient city.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
A Ringtail on the Trail of Montagu’s Harrier
I leap from a hedge to escape the nettles, arms held aloft like a poorly-controlled marionette, and manage to scare away every single living thing for fifty yards, apart from the grass.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
Reading Between the Lines in Border Country
A murmuring throng, led by a rector and a red cassocked-choir, shuffles west along the narrow street on Ascension Day. Apart from the cleric, every member of the moving crowd holds aloft a withy of hazel five or more feet long as they make their way down Pembroke Street in the heart of Oxford.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
Made of Chalk
A harrying gust of icy raindrops blows along the crest of England’s South Downs as blades of distant sunshine shift and spotlight the town below. It is late October and the afternoon has assumed a burden, almost a petulant sulk. With my eyes stinging, screwed up, squinted tight against a shower of tiny needles, I look for an easier path and head for the coastal strip of suburb below, leaving the high down behind.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Families
The Short, Fat Man of Wilmington
The third in a series for pandemic lockdown refugees offering the opportunity of ‘being there’. An offbeat, experiential glimpse of life for all those unable to move freely in the interests of continued health.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
A Merry Meet Under a May Moon
The second in a series for pandemic lockdown refugees offering the opportunity of ‘being there’. An offbeat, experiential glimpse of life for all those unable to move freely in the interests of continued health.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
Bonfire of the Baptist
The first in a series for pandemic lockdown refugees offering the opportunity of ‘being there’. An offbeat, experiential glimpse of life for all those unable to move freely in the interests of continued health.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Wander
Free Cake for 2021
Dear Me, Dear You, I have arrived at the beginning of the end of something negative. That’s an odd way of expressing positivity, but if there's one thing that the previous 12 months has taught me, it is that the old, normal way of doing everything is no longer a viable basis for future plans. Having said that, who doesn't take the year just gone as a template for the year to come? It isn’t as if it could be any worse, after all.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Motivation
Twinkle, Twinkle, Bang!
A roaming group of hunters, the direct ancestors of modern humans, gaze at a new star, a piercing pinpoint of bright, white light that shines in the late afternoon sky. As evening draws in, the light reveals its source; the dazzling glint of a sword, the blade of another hunter who has emerged from the night – the constellation of Orion. A full moon rises and its shadows compete with those of the new star; except that the star is only new to Homo heidelbergensis and its glare, which outshines an entire galaxy for months on end, is the last that anyone will see of it for around 340,000 years.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Futurism
Unlucky for Lady's Day
What links the Ladybird, a versatile Norse goddess, her Roman counterpart, every woman in Germany and a Christmas office party ritual? Furthermore, what has all that to do with paraskavedekatriaphobia and the reason for setting fire to your socks on the roof of a skyscraper?
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Futurism
Of Sanitiser and Sanity
It seems like an odd time to count your blessings, when the world is focussed on counting its afflictions, punctuated by 20-second choruses of Happy Birthday To You as we dutifully rinse the plague from our hands. But this has been the year of counter-intuitive, unintended consequences.
By Ian Vince5 years ago in Psyche

Ian Vince

Bio

Achievements .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(6)

Stories (123)

Filter by community

The Back of His Hand

Close to Home

A Ringtail on the Trail of Montagu’s Harrier

Reading Between the Lines in Border Country

Made of Chalk

The Short, Fat Man of Wilmington

A Merry Meet Under a May Moon

Bonfire of the Baptist

Free Cake for 2021

Twinkle, Twinkle, Bang!

Unlucky for Lady's Day

Of Sanitiser and Sanity

Achievements (6)