The Icognito Writer

A Tale Of Miss Fortune

One of my favourite pieces from last year

The Icognito Writer

Mark Hamwell drove out of house in his silver hatchback; he would have gone with his truck but he was planning a surprise. The air was a bit cold outside but it didn’t bother him that much; nothing did these days. Mark turned right at the corner and drove up the highway; he wanted to go the fast route, after all, he had so much planned and so little time.


Mark arrived at the little flower shop on the 71st Avenue about fifteen minutes later. He parked in one of the few open spaces on the street; it was crowded with cars whose owners had left for the shopping markets a couple of blocks down.

As Mark got out of the car he was hit with nostalgia; this place brought back memories. Mark looked up to the familiar sign, ‘Flowry Dreams’; the ‘e’ had fallen off a long time ago making the sign seem…

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I am not who I say I am but who my writing says I am; my characters define me. Like puppets in a play, they tell you who pulls the strings. I'm not who I say I am; I'm who you think I am.

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