Diane Foster
Bio
I’m a professional writer, proofreader, and all-round online entrepreneur, UK. I’m married to a rock star who had his long-awaited liver transplant in August 2025.
When not working, you’ll find me with a glass of wine, immersed in poetry.
Stories (233)
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The Hollow in the Bed
She had never liked the woods. Even as a child, when the stories were still just stories whispered by the hearth in the dead of winter, she felt something behind the trees watching her; some presence crouched in the shadows, too patient to ever be seen fully.
By Diane Foster7 months ago in Fiction
Voyage to Isla de Muertos
Captain Jack Sparrow never thought he’d lay eyes on Isla de Muertos again. The black silhouette of the island rose from the sea like a nightmare made of stone, unchanged by time or tempest. The jagged cliffs caught the dawn light, throwing long, uncanny shadows across the waves, as if the island itself were a living thing, waiting patiently for him to come crawling back. Which, admittedly, was rather rude of it.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Fiction
The Vacancy in the Flames
The sky is a bruise tonight, blooming pink and violet above the crooked rooftops. Smoke unravels in slow ribbons as if the fire is less an emergency and more a performance. Even after a decade on the job, I still feel it, a hollow in my chest where courage meets dread.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Fiction
Rock Songs for a Breakup You’re Finally Over
I never thought I’d be the person who left. For years, I was convinced that staying, no matter how small I felt inside, was the only way to prove I was loyal, the only way to keep the peace. But sometimes, peace is just another word for surrender. Sometimes, it’s a way of disappearing slowly until you hardly recognise the shape of your own voice.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Beat
A Slice of Sunshine
In the heart of an aging Victorian neighbourhood, nestled between lace-curtained windows and wrought iron balconies, stood The Velvet Teacup; a quaint tea shop renowned for its fragrant brews and delicate pastries. At the base of a sprawling citrus grove just beyond the back garden, Maribel ran the shop with quiet devotion, inheriting it from her grandmother. The air was always tinged with the scent of fresh blossoms and simmering tea leaves, but Maribel’s pride was her lemon meringue pie, a recipe passed down with its perfect balance of citrus tang and sugary sweetness.
By Diane Foster8 months ago in Fiction
