V. Press is very very excited to announce the publication of The Trajectory of Ghosts by Tom Vowler.
“Tom Vowler takes us into the thick of the moment with slow confident detail that makes us poise within time, where actions have distinct consequences and there is a path taken through havoc. He captures what happens at the intersection of human fragility and the might of nature, using language that caresses and haunts.”
Catherine McNamara
“Beautifully written bite-sized stories, exploring ghosts and hauntings and loss. Stimulating and satisfying – a splendid collection.”
Alison Moore
The Trajectory of Ghosts is very ethereal and very necessary.
ISBN: 978-1-7394122-3-4
36 pages
R.R.P. £6.99
A sample flash fiction from The Trajectory of Ghosts can be enjoyed below.
BUY The Trajectory of Ghosts NOW using the paypal options below. [The Trajectory of Ghosts is out in October 2024; pre-orders are posted out in the week of publication.]
N.B. Any international customs/duty charges are the buyer's responsibility.
Ghost Rock
We’re losing the moon, you say. It’s past midnight and we are sitting in the rubble of our eight-year coupling, sipping cheap red wine in a pool of moonlight on the kitchen floor. You’ve told me this before, but I indulge you as you articulate this little-known quirk of astrophysics, how our ghost rock is gradually slipping its orbit, an inch or so a year, the rate a fingernail grows. You are wearing the burgundy jumper we fought for custody of, its scent now a blend of our odours. I consider the division of other nouns we’ve accumulated: CDs, furniture, friends. The tidal bulge caused by the moon always sits just ahead of it, you continue, the force slinging the moon outwards, like being on a roundabout. I have to teach a writing class in the morning and, for a second, I marshal sufficient pragmatism to note this phenomenon as a potential prompt. Lunar poetry can occupy them while I try to buttress myself. You announce that days will lengthen as the Earth’s rotation slows and, like a spinning plate losing its centrifugal force, the planet will become unstable. Eventually, it will cease turning altogether. From nothing, a car alarm mauls the air, violating the stillness. You wait for it to discontinue, then offer me a seductive smile. It’s possible we may yet converge in the bedroom, a final plundering of one another, rhapsodic and ferocious, an act guillotining past and future. You know the Americans were going to detonate a nuclear bomb on its surface, you say. In the 1950s. Just to flaunt it at the Soviets. Despite the wine harshening with every sip, I realise I could listen to you all night.
LAUNCH EVENT
