Playing the Game

Play the Game is a book by Karen J Mossman and it has a great story.

“He couldn’t take responsibility for me as it was tough looking after himself.”

Blue Girl

This is Stella talking about her dad. All she ever wanted was his love again, but he never recovered from the shock that tore their family apart.

Someone had to be strong and Stella took on that role, always living in hope that her dad would come back to her.

Meanwhile Stella’s own life was non existent as she fought to pay the bills and keep them afloat.

That was until she met Kelly. Taking refuge from the cold in a hotel, there he was and they struck up a conversation.

Dating was never on her horizon and the thought scared her and she almost backed out.

But she went, and knew she had to keep her dad a secret. She never guessed Kelly had a secret of his own.

She found out from the cruel girls as work. Just another way to mock her.

Can Kelly and Stella make it through their secrets?

Read Play the Game to find out!

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Play the Game is an Electric Eclectic novelette and can be read in one sitting. All books are just £1/$1/€1

Lonely Girl


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Watching the Sunrise

I’ve reblogged this on

Electric Press


As the sun rose and the darkness faded the sky took on a burnished amber hue.

Birds started to welcome the dawn with the melody of their chorus.

I breathed in the sharp crispness of the morning air and looked up, a few wispy clouds hung motionless in the stratosphere.

It was such a fresh, bright morning, I predictably recalled the hymn ‘Morning has broken’; in this instance, my mind heard it being sung by Cat Stevens. I half-consciously found myself humming along, (out of tune of course.)

This was soon followed by the voice of Bob Marley and ‘Three little birds’. I smiled inwardly as I realised both of these hqdefaultvoices were inside my head and I wondered why on earth we become so full of angst when someone admits to hearing voices in their own minds, or indeed fearful if they inhabit our own?

This morning…

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Ken Dodd, Comedian 1927 – 2018

Today, it’s a year since Ken Dodd died. So I thought I would share my post about when I met him again.

The Magic of Stories

by Karen J Mossman

Screen Shot 2018-03-12 at 09.54.35Today, we lost wacky comedian Ken Dodd and I thought I would share a personal memory of him.

In late seventies, early eighties, Ken Dodd came to the Police Club at Hough End in Manchester.

He did his act, which had everyone in stitches. His jokes were always clean and so funny. At the time I didn’t think anything of it, but as time has gone on realises how unusual that was. Too many comedians need crudeness to make themselves more amusing.

As with many comedians, you don’t get up during their act to visit the ladies – as I quickly discovered.  I tried to sneak out unnoticed and he made some comment. On my returned everyone applauded. Later when he asked someone to come up on stage, he chose me. I didn’t want to but was cajoled.

He was an odd looking man, especially with…

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Mr Blobby!

This picture was taken in 1993 when I was at Granada Studio tours in Manchester. I was wearing my favourite white padded jacket. It was co-ordinated with my then fashionable track suit.

Everyone has an item of clothing they love and this jacket was mine.

The following year I went on a day trip to Chester with my friend, and her two daughters. They were similar ages to mine.

We were having a nice day out at The Groves,  by the River Dee. A boat trip is always a must and the band stand takes you back to a bygone era when brass bands once entertained the day trippers.

The suspension bridge across the river always rocked when there is a wind and I  remember my dad telling me as a boy during the forties, he and his brothers would jump from the bridge into the water and swim. You couldn’t do it now, both for safety reasons and of course the water is too dirty.

We were having a lovely day and the kids enjoyed running around on the cobbles and eating ice cream from the kiosks. We were crossing the road when a car went by with a group of lads in it. They opened their window and shouted at me:

“Hey, it’s Mr Blobby!” It sort of spoiled the day and I never wore the coat again.