Wednesday, 20 September 2017

News Update

Crushing Curiosity will be published as a paperback and eBook by Cambria Publishing by the end of September 2017 when it will be then available online,via all good bookstores and the British Library.

In the meantime, there will be some changes to this website to reflect the launch of this new novel..... the new book cover reveal to come soon.


Friday, 11 August 2017


My New Crime Thriller

Crushing Curiosity will be published by Cambria Publishing at the end of Summer 2017. I've been working with my publisher and a wonderful graphic designer who has created the perfect book cover for this unique and unusual story. 

You can find who I am in my Crime Thrillers and Contemporary Fiction. I was drawn to explore my darker side and I now find it is where I belong.


Friday, 28 July 2017


Denise Greenwood
I'm busy preparing the the publication of my new novel. It will be published by the end of Summer 2017 and then available in all good UK book stores as well as online in paperback and eBook formats.

More news to come over the following weeks......

Thursday, 22 December 2016

Christmas Magic - Magazine Short Story

This is my one-page short story in the Festive editions of the Littleborough & Shaw Magazines. I hope you enjoy one of my treasured memories.

Christmas Magic
When I was a child I didn't go to see Santa at a store, he came to me. It was always a week before Christmas and I’d stand patiently at my front gate and wait for him to appear. It didn’t matter if it was raining or cold. When it was nearly eight o'clock I heard music in the distance. It drifted on the night air and I’d raise my head to stare at the stars. It was only then I began to feel the magic of Christmas. He was on his way. Music and the ringing of bells grew louder as a brightly-lit horse and cart travelled along nearby streets. Then, I heard Santa’s voice ring out too: ‘Ho, Ho, Ho!’
His horse wore antlers and his cart was decked out as a sleigh but I never once questioned it. His reindeer was a magical creature and there was no need for explanations. I saw what I wanted to. Santa was bigger than life, bigger than anything and when we made eye contact it was as though he knew exactly who I was and where I lived. I reached up to catch sweets he scattered from his sleigh and then felt the magic still long after he’d disappeared around the end of our street.
For the next few days, whenever I passed a shop grotto, I’d feel sorry for squirming kids in a long queue then wonder why they screamed so when faced with Santa’s knee. One year my aunty took me to see Santa too. I stared hard at him. It wasn’t the same. When my aunt asked me why I was so serious I told her: ‘I can’t feel the magic. That’s not my Santa.’
I can’t remember how old I was when one year I decided not to go outside even though I could hear music and bells. The bubble had burst when I'd overheard the postman talking to a neighbour.  My Santa was just some local guy who liked to do the rounds for the kids but I soon regretted not going outside to see him. I felt grown-up and abandoned. When I peaked around the curtain I caught a glimpse of the back of his red gown as his cart turned the corner of our street. A big part of my childhood went with him.
I'd forgotten about my Santa until recently but I can still vividly recall that sense of magic he'd left behind. I realized that although that part of my childhood had gone the magic hadn’t gone with it. Back then it was a moment of simple naivety, a suspension of reality. Being out in the open night air and waiting for the magic to fill me with warmth and hope was part of the excitement.
So…if you find yourself sat at a dining table surrounded by people, perched on the end of a settee and smiling wryly at bickering relatives or sat alone in a chair with a tray and a TV remote, think back to when you still had your personal piece of magic. Think back to when anything was possible. Did you let go of it completely? Was it smothered by worldly things? Is it waiting for you to rekindle it or have you seen a glimpse of it in your child’s eyes? Don’t blink! You may miss it. My Santa was real, a man with a huge heart. When I think of him now I know he must have held on to his piece of magic and allowed it to grow so that he could share it with others. That’s the true meaning of Christmas. Magic is a feeling.

Friday, 28 October 2016

Happy Halloween - The Wishing Tree

Halloween short story in the October edition of The Littleborough Magazine and Shaw & Crompton Magazine.

The Wishing Tree by Denise Greenwood

The Wishing Tree by Denise Greenwood.
Photo taken at Towneley Hall Gardens, Burnley

Deep in White Star woods grows a magnificent tree. It grows out of a well that lost its source of water after a sudden shift of strata below. The trees bark is as red as blood and its branches filled with leaves as white as snow. A young girl lies outstretched beneath. Her eyes are closed and she’s smiling, cool and relaxed. The only sound is a slight rustle when she moves among a thick layer of white star flowers and leaves and when she does a wonderful perfume is released.
‘Why are you here?’ A whisper, barely audible, drifts downwards. The girl sits up and looks around with startled eyes. The whisper sounds again: ‘Tell me.’
‘I’m hiding.’ The girl can’t fathom where the voice is coming from. She shrugs but narrows her eyes to scan every branch of the tree above then they widen with astonishment. Just above her, within red bark, is a face. Although immediately terrified she can’t look away. Its deep hollowed eyes have a pinpoint of light.
‘Are you hiding too?’
Then the face laughs, its lips widen to reveal bright magenta. The voice within the laugh is no longer a thin whisper but deep echoes of sound. ‘You found me,’ the whisper returns but stronger. The face loses its smile.
‘Who are you?’ The girl is both frightened but intrigued.
‘I’m the wishing tree,’ the face replies and the girl’s eyes shine with wonder. ‘Can you grant me a wish?’
‘Yes, just one but, you must promise to do something for me in return.’ The girl nods eagerly, her eyes shin brightly. ‘You must return to me every year on this day and bring me one cup of blood. It must be human.’
‘What would I do with it?’
‘Pour it into the well around me.’
The girl thought about it for a moment.
‘I can’t do that. I’d spill a lot before I got here, see!’ She pointed to a steep rocky path down to the tree.
The tree groaned and the girl noticed that the perfume around her became too sickly-sweet. She gagged. There was foulness beneath the soft carpet she lay on. Long ropes of tree root sprang out and enveloped her. She screamed but the tree smiled again, wider and more sinister.
‘Then if I can’t have the blood I must have some of yours!’
The girl struggled, tears sprang from her eyes but as soon as one touched a root it shrank back. The more the roots tried to tighten the harder the girl cried until all but one root remained. It was tied around her shoulders. The root lifted her closer to the face. It was twisted with anger. The girl became calm and the face scowled.
‘You haven’t granted me a wish.’ Her voice was calm too.
‘What is it?’
As the tree hissed its question tiny splinters spewed out and cut the girl’s face. She didn’t flinch but the tree’s eyes widened. Its inner flicker of light grew. Then, out of its gaping mouth came a tendril of delicate new branch with a single leaf at its end. It stopped short of touching blood oozing from the girl’s cheek.
‘I wish,’ the girl’s voice faltered then she took a large breath despite the reek of decay and death around her. ‘I wish your sap was made...’ her tiny voice rose to a crescendo. 'From my tears!’
The tree’s face gaped with surprise then rage but it was too late. The root rope around the girl lost its hold and the girl fell into the carpet of leaves and flowers. She felt a tremor beneath before a deep rumbling shook her. She ran back to the rocky path and climbed as fast as her legs could carry her. At the top she turned to look down at the top of the tree. Its canopy of white flowers and leaves had once been so beckoning, the crimson of the bark like red velvet below. The flowers and leaves had withered, now brown and crispy. She gasped.
Slowly the tree sank into the well. Its leaves turned to water, salt water, the same as the girl’s tears and as the tree dissolved the well began to fill. The ground shook as the well overfilled. Water spilled out across the ground until a pool gathered then out of it stepped children. One-by-one they climbed the path towards the girl, smiling as they did so but as soon as they reached her they faded, their souls finally released.
The girl never shed a tear again and she never tried to hide from anyone or anything.

Happy Halloween!