Exclusive sneak peak: Victoria Richards' delightful insanities...

Plus novel and novella submissions open today!

A Jewish woman has been having unnatural thoughts about the softness of another woman's skin.

A feminist arranges to meet her online troll.

A woman worries, under her duvet, whether she should sit content in a marriage that has turned comfortable...that is, until she falls in love with a tree...

SYLVIA PLATH WATCHES US SLEEP…BUT WE DON’T MIND by Victoria Richards is out today! Short stories of midnight musings, of women itching to be heard and of delightful insanities. Grab a copy direct from us here or from your local bookshop or Waterstones!

“Surprising, Tender, Upending - Gosh. It’s rare that I read something that manages to juggle the literary depth I adore with suspense, beauty, heartbreaking sadness and intrigue.” - The Deal Bookshop bookseller review

Also today… our Novel and Novella submissions open! Full guidelines here. I am currently creating an ‘art’ catalogue to showcase Fly on the Wall Press books throughout the last five years, and the below 'Novel ‘intro’ page may give you a feel for our current novels…

Plus, if you want to quiz me on anything publication related, we will be covering both agent and small publisher routes to publication at my masterclass on June 21st! Taking place on Zoom at 7.30pm. Sign up here.

Now onto a sneak peak of Richards’ short story collection from one of my FAVOURITE stories in the book, in which a woman falls in love with a tree… do pass onto a friend if you enjoy this extract!

Story; EARNEST MAGNITUDE’S INFINITE SADNESS from ‘Sylvia Plath Watches Us Sleep…but we Don’t Mind’ by Victoria Richards.

…Deb says, the planet is stressed out, and she makes a stressed out motion next to her head with her fingers. And I know what she means, she means that the planet is basically holding up its hands and saying, guys – I can’t take this anymore, I need some breathing room, okay? And I know exactly how that feels because of Philip; because I too am suffocating in a sea filled with his files and folders and tea-stained papers on Ancient Greece, a pile that keeps getting larger even as his number of students gets smaller, every year; and when I tried to suggest that perhaps it’s because the other lecturers don’t clutter their houses with paper, that they’re a more attractive proposition precisely because they take a more modern approach, using whiteboards or doing it all online, and Philip should really think about moving with the times, he just stared at me and I knew that in his head he was in Macedonia and not in Manor Park at all.

Look, I know it’s hard, my love, I told him, because you’re naturally old-fashioned, like one of those people who looks like they were born, already fifty, wearing a bow tie; and that’s one of the reasons I love you, because you don’t care about fashion or raves or cocktail bars or the latest thriller on Netflix, and I adore that about you but maybe we could make an appointment and go to Specsavers and try on some frameless glasses together, just once, what do you say? But he just looked at me again, blankly, so blankly, his shirt like one of his lecture notes, all spattered with coffee and untucked and his belly undulating softly like Hokusai’s Great Wave Off Kanagawa and I could tell it was a losing battle; the way it’s a losing battle every time I ask him to please not stuff handfuls of dry cereal into his mouth in the kitchen and crunch it right from the packet, standing up, gazing absently at the birds from the window; but to pour it into a bowl and eat it at the table. And I’m not sure I want to be with him anymore, and the crushing sadness that consumes me when I think about what that means is enough to send me beneath the duvet for hours, sometimes days. I’m like the planet; I just can’t take it anymore. Not for one more second, though I’m delaying doing anything about it, because I’m so used to him, I really am; I really am far too stressed out to be single again, and it took me long enough to find Philip in the first place, and maybe it’s okay to settle for a comfortable love, one that feels like you’re pulling on a favourite jumper that’s been washed a hundred times and is a bit bobbly but you’re so accustomed to the way it fits that you don’t even notice.

And Philip never notices. Not even when I’m wearing one of my brightest, most garish dresses, in colours that force the blues away.

Thanks for reading!

One thing I want to leave you on is simply this: if you’ve enjoyed our books, or our events, please do tell a friend and leave a review on Waterstones, Amazon, Goodreads - wherever you most shop/review books! The last five months I have been fighting and fighting against inflation, rising paper costs and the loss of European sales since Brexit are still being deeply felt. It feels like a pivotal year for us and I really appreciate your support!

Take care,

Isabelle