Thrilled that one of my short stories was Highly Commended by judge Alexander MacLeod in
The Sean O'Faolain International Short Story Competition October 2023
https://munsterlit.ie/2023-sean-o-faolain-short-story-competition-results/
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So pleased to have my short story 'Tattoo' read on The Jealous Wall Audio Book Podcast on Dublin Digital Radio read by Eimear Keating 10 August 2021
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I was delighted to have my short story 'Is today Tuesday ' published in
The Galway Review 2020
Click on link below to read
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My short story 'Tattoo'
Francis Mac Manus 2017 Competition
You can listen to it on the link below
The Francis MacManus Short Story Competition was established in memory of the writer and RTE radio producer Francis MacManus. It has been a critically important launchpad for new and emerging writers since its inception in 1986 in Ireland.
Past winners have gone on to receive national and international acclaim, including Claire Keegan, Molly McCloskey, Anthony Glavin and Nuala O’Connor.
Doreen Duffy was recently shortlisted for this competition; you can also listen to her short story ‘Tattoo’ by clicking on the link
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It was great to have one of my short stories long listed for the Over the Edge New Writer of the Year 2017
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I was thrilled to be invited to act as Guest Editor for Live Encounters Christmas Special 2017
I chose the theme 'Home'
This collection of short stories delves into the concept of the home as a concrete structure, a place of physical shelter alongside it being a representation, a sanctuary, an inner place of safety where trust and love must be paramount. Unfortunately for some, home is not a safe place and within its walls can be a place of fear and vulnerability to the extent that they are forced to leave even with the prospect of nowhere else to go. – Doreen Duffy, Guest Editor
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I was delighted to have my short story 'Sweet Night' published in Live Encounters Poetry & Writing August 2017
Dad let me sit on his knee while mom got his dinner
ready. She was turning the liver over and back on the white plate with the blue
trim, dusting it with flour before putting it into the pan. The flour barely
hid the wetness of the red. It made a loud hissing sound as it went in. I hated
liver. I hated the look of it in the tray in the butchers. It made me think of
the bags of blood in the hospital that they hang on the high metal stands and the
machine that beeps while the bag empties into me. I hated the way when the butcher
scooped it up into the shiny white paper; he was never quick enough to stop a
splash of blood drop and pool in the tray...
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I was delighted to have my short story 'Vico Road' published in Live Encounters Poetry & Writing March 2017
You can read an excerpt here
Gina couldn’t believe she was still sitting there. The rain hadn’t let up; it was spilling onto the windscreen. She flicked the wipers but the scene in front of her made her feel sick. The orange glow of the clock said 12:08. She thought she heard thunder or was it the sound of the other car moving away from the tree it had been rammed against. She turned quickly almost wrenching her neck, checking the blurry view, straining her eyes trying to make sure there was still nobody around...
http://liveencounters.net/le-poetry-writing-2017/03-march-pw-2017/doreen-duffy-vico-road/
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My short story 'Is today Tuesday' is included in the anthology Circle and Square published by Fiery Arrow Press,
Winner of the Carousel Aware Prize 2017,
for Best Anthology 2017,
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My short story 'Kissing frogs' was published in Woman's Way Magazine
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My story 'Birdcage' featured on Podcasts.ie as part of All Points West Audio Productions click on the link below if you'd like to listen
http://www.podcasts.ie/doreen-duffy/
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My story 'Tightly Knit' longlisted in the RTE Guide/Penguin Short Story Competition.
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My story 'Cuts like a Knife' published in the Ireland's Own Anthology, you can read an excerpt here
'Cuts like a Knife'
It was Friday, the day for collecting his pension. Patrick Michael Dwyer, Paddy, went through his normal routine. Up early, washed and dressed, his neat white short hair combed, his soft cap given a little tug to secure it into position. He ran his hand across his square jaw, rough, packed tight with short sharp bristles and buttoned the collar of his shirt to keep out the cold in the absence of a tie.
He opened the kitchen drawer and took out the long pointed silver handled knife, the blade so sharp that he always took care to return it to its safe resting place after use. The weight of its handle pressed into his hand, the engraving rough under his fingers. He went into the hall and as always placed the point of the knife into the lock of the old hall table; he jiggled the knife and heard the lock turn as the drawer slid open to reveal the small pile of money. He took what he would need and when he twisted the knife backwards to re lock it, his mind suddenly threw up memories so nasty and sour that he breathed deeply through gritted teeth as they started to play out like a film across the screen of his mind...
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My story 'Round Tower' published in South of the County:New myths and Tales by Fiery Arrow Press. You can read an excerpt here
'Round Tower'
I was awakened last night with a feeling of dread and fear, I knew I was being drawn to the Round Tower. It was a chilling feeling because although it had been four years since the Goddess Chalchicue, Goddess of the Tower had summoned me, at that time she told me I had been chosen and that I must wait earnestly for the call.
I left my house and tried to quell the stomach clenching feeling of dread. I decided to cut through St John's Wood, no longer a woodland but land that's now filled by acres of houses. The old rusted gate at the top of the road still hangs upon tired hinges, no longer there to keep the wandering cows within, redundant except for being a gateway to many memories of childhood days. I crossed the stile into Corkagh park and walked past where Corkagh House once stood within the moat of a castle. It was completely demolished in earlier decades and although there are no features left visible above the ground the aura of that great house is still palpable in the pre-dawn mists that roll through the park. I passed through the overgrown arch of yew trees and was shrouded once again in darkness as the beech hedge alongside had grown to the height of the tallest trees. I quickened my pace and was relieved to reach the ruins of the old oil and gun powder mill where the water from Mill pond gave light as it reflected the moon...
I left my house and tried to quell the stomach clenching feeling of dread. I decided to cut through St John's Wood, no longer a woodland but land that's now filled by acres of houses. The old rusted gate at the top of the road still hangs upon tired hinges, no longer there to keep the wandering cows within, redundant except for being a gateway to many memories of childhood days. I crossed the stile into Corkagh park and walked past where Corkagh House once stood within the moat of a castle. It was completely demolished in earlier decades and although there are no features left visible above the ground the aura of that great house is still palpable in the pre-dawn mists that roll through the park. I passed through the overgrown arch of yew trees and was shrouded once again in darkness as the beech hedge alongside had grown to the height of the tallest trees. I quickened my pace and was relieved to reach the ruins of the old oil and gun powder mill where the water from Mill pond gave light as it reflected the moon...
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