The drunk on the platform desires someone he can no longer name. A woman on a night train through Poland refuses to wipe tears from her eyes. In a Whitechapel box room, he pours himself another measure, attempts to call her back. Everything and nothing happening all at once, people moving through life at good speed.
Tumbleweed Words is flash fiction and poetry written in hostels, on trains, and in streets that don't know your name. Published in Adelaide Magazine, Litro, and The Dundee Anthology. Pushcart-nominated. Over a thousand readers. Every week. Free.
Free · Weekly · No ads · No spam · Unsubscribe any time
"Everyone wears black so hard you don't notice after a while that there are differing shades."
David — ‘train in vain’ — Berlin, winter
"Everyone wears black so hard you don't notice after a while that there are differing shades."
"Written on a plane while flying away from love and loss. The city below until it wasn't."
"I wait for a train that circles the city like bats. At night in Berlin you can imagine anything you want. The carriages are full of inviting people I never talk to. Everyone wears black so hard you don't notice after a while that there are differing shades."
Written on a Berlin U-Bahn in winter. A punk on the platform, chewing gum the colour of her hair. A toothless man watching her move. The Clash in your ears because some things travel. This lands in your inbox every week. Not a summary. Not a reflection on Berlin. The thing itself.
Flash fiction and prose poetry in the minimalist tradition. Short. Specific. No wasted sentences. Working class voices, city streets, borrowed rooms, overnight trains. Carver's restraint. Hempel's compression. Published internationally.
Written in hostels in Lisbon. On trains between Warsaw and Berlin. On park benches in Buenos Aires at two in the morning. Not gathered and processed later. Written in the moment. The street is the desk.
Published in Adelaide Magazine, Litro, and The Dundee Anthology. Pushcart-nominated. Five years on Substack. Over a thousand readers. No publisher. No algorithm. Just the work landing in your inbox.
In growing pains, two boys sit cross-legged on worn carpet eating Chicken Kiev off steaming plates while their dads drink their wages at the pub. The detail is exact because the memory is exact. David doesn't gather material. He writes from inside it before the city moves on.
A man in a box room in Whitechapel. Love Is A Dog From Hell on the floor. A flip phone and a rolled cigarette. Calling her back. Specific enough to be true. Compressed enough to land in your inbox and stay there. Published in Litro, Adelaide Magazine, and The Dundee Anthology. Read by over a thousand people who found it without an algorithm pointing them here.
Tumbleweed Words has been going for five years. It will keep going. The question is whether you want it in your inbox.
Somewhere out there, on a lamplit platform waiting for a last train. At a bar in a city not yet understood. Among crowds moving through after-midnight streets. Poetry and fiction taken from the streets, sent from the road to your inbox every week. Tumbleweed Words is a newsletter inspired by stories found on the road — sometimes discarded, sometimes gifted.
Tumbleweed Words is a community of creatives. The newsletter is free to read and always will be. A paid subscription supports the work directly and gives you access to everything — the full archive, all posts, and the ability to support five years of independent literary publishing from the road.
One poem or story a week. Written from wherever. Free to read. No conditions.
Start reading Tumbleweed Words →Free · Weekly · Unsubscribe any time · No spam · No ads · Ever