Rebecca Lupton

Joined February 2021

19 stories

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Stories (19)

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Virtual Daddy
I don’t have a lot of memories of my father. He died of lymphoma in his late forties, when I was eight and, until he became really sick, he had the kind of job that meant he worked…unusual… hours.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Families
Under the Milky Way
The big glass doors were stuck, well and truly. Roxanne could just see the carpet on the other side, swollen and thick with some kind of moss. At least, she hoped it was moss. The gum boots of her waders slid on the slick tiled forecourt as she pushed and pushed, gaining absolutely no traction whatsoever.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Fiction
How hard can it be?
When I’m in full flight, when I’m waxing lyrical, holding court or speaking passionately about any particular subject, it is usually about making something. I am a crafter, a maker, someone who will have a go at pretty much anything that looks interesting or difficult. As a kid I used to make jewellery from copper wire stripped out of the electrical cable offcuts discarded by the sparkies who worked on our house. At the age of 10 my sisters would “encourage” me to make scones for them. As a teenager I found a cookbook for sweets and would boil sugar for taffy and caramels. I made my own clothes, including a coat and school uniforms.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Motivation
Subversion in the classroom, one pair of pants at a time.
When you become a teacher, you know you are walking in the well-worn footsteps of the great and good (and not-so-good) who have come before you. You are well aware of the heavy responsibility of moulding the minds of the young of today, soon to become the adults of tomorrow. You are determined to not destroy any of those young minds, while at the same time hoping to actually, you know, teach them something.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Motivation
Wild landscapes and constrained behaviours: Westworld vs The Crown
As a librarian I am very accustomed to making recommendations, whether solicited or not, whether welcome or not. I love the conversation, the questioning. It’s not unlike choosing a restaurant meal. What do you feel like? What mood are you in? Would you like to be adventurous or safe? Books, movies, songs, cuisine, the same process applies. Do you go off piste or do you take the well travelled path, the familiar flavours or foreign food, the well-thumbed or freshly cracked spine?
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Geeks
Lavender Farmer
The lavender farmer stood at the top of the hill, watching the woman in the neighbouring paddock. She was tending her hives, or at least trying to, and seemed to be doing it in a very strange way. She would approach a hive gingerly, then retreat, turn in a little circle, then move towards the hive again. At first he thought it was some kind of hippy new-age bullshit, mimicking the dance of bees when they found a new source of honey, until he realised she was crying, bawling. She wasn't wearing her protective gear.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Humans
Coventry
The weather was unusually warm that morning; the barrel was no longer frozen solid. Usually only the water in the deep inner storage was in liquid form when the sun first rose. Usually the barrel, abandoned at the entrance, was a immovable block of ice. Something was different. Not a lot. Just a little.
By Rebecca Lupton5 years ago in Futurism