Pick of the day

Elaine

On either side the profiles lie

You choose the ones which catch your eye

The pretty girls get picked, not I -

Elaine of Cardiff (Splott).

 

For everybody swipes me left

And leaves me stranded, quite bereft

I'm not romantically deft –

Elaine of Cardiff (Splott).

 

I saw him on eHarmony

His coal-black hair, all blowing free

And knew that he's the one for me –

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Story of the week

A Hare's Breath 5 - The Dark Hedges

The thoughts of an old fella on his return to a wee town in the North of Ireland in the 2020s and his love for hares and nostalgia.Read more

Poem of the week

Elaine

On either side the profiles lie

You choose the ones which catch your eye

The pretty girls get picked, not I -

Elaine of Cardiff (Splott).

 

For everybody swipes me left

And leaves me stranded, quite bereft

I'm not romantically deft –

Elaine of Cardiff (Splott).

 

Read more

Features

Story and Poem of the Week and Inspiration Point

These are the final Picks of the Week before Christmas so I've put some lights up to make things a bit festive!

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Story and Poem of the Month

With grateful thanks to Turlough, here are the ABCTales Picks of the Month for November:

 

ABC Tales Story and Poem of the Month for November 2025

 

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The Payout Game by ABCTales Writer Robert Craven, Available to Preorder Now!

A dead bookmaker. A rushed verdict.
Inspector Crowe isn’t buying it.

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Xion Island Zero by Katherine Black - Out Now!

I'm very pleased to announce that Katherine Black (our very own Sooz Simpson) has just published Xion Island Zero, the sixth in her Inspector Nash series. 

Here's a review by celticman and a link to buy:

 

 

 

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Want to join ABCTales?

We've had to suspend the automatic joining facility for a while so if you would like to join us please email 

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Posting From Your Android Phone - Fixed!

Some of you have been having issues with posting your work using an android phone. Ewan and John our techie have been working really hard to fix this.

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Bee's Journey

Picks of the Month

Afterwards

We wind the clocks of our lives
without ever once knowing the time,
ignoring our ever slowing pulse
with little regard for what is to come.
But what of afterwards?

What remains of us when we slip from view
and hide our shadows from the sun?
Do we watch from the nothingness,
our hands trembling from the forging of memories,
smiling at how it was? 

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