Jane Stories

  MARTIN HANDED A MUG of fresh coffee to Jane and slid into the seat opposite her at the breakfast table, pausing a moment before he spoke. “Jane, I need to ask you something.” Caught off guard by the statement, she slopped a little of the steaming liquid. “You always do that when I’m holding a drink,” she chided gently, dabbing the spill with a napkin. Her lighthearted tone belied the knot in her stomach, which was quite...

  THE CALENDAR TAUNTED JANE, its little yellow-highlighted square outlined in a bold red stroke mocking her lack of progress. ‘You’re going to miss the deadline, you know. I’m just six weeks away now,’ it scoffed. ‘Whatever made you apply for that fellowship anyhow, and what could the panel have been thinking when they gave it to you? You’re no writer; you’ve proven that over the past ten and half months.’ She glared at i...