About the Author

I'm John B. Sullivan, a published author and retired musician based in Manchester, England. I write literary fiction specialising in time-slip, magical realism, and supernatural romance—stories where the impossible becomes tender, and the past and present share the same air.

As a lifelong storyteller who came to serious fiction writing later in life, I've always been captivated by the nature of time—how it shapes us, how we navigate it, and the mysteries it conceals. This fascination drives every story I write.

I'm also a composer and musician, and my background in music informs my fiction in subtle ways. Many of my stories begin as songs, or find their way into song form afterwards. The rhythm of language, the emotional architecture of a scene—these feel like musical decisions as much as literary ones.

My work has been published through Draft2Digital, including The Guide, a collection of five interconnected stories about the afterlife, and The Impossible Distance, a nuanced supernatural romance novel about two people connecting across the Atlantic through impossible means.

About This Site

Temporal Scribe is a dedicated space for my time-slip and speculative fiction. Here you'll find stories—some flash fiction, some longer—that explore those moments when time becomes permeable, when the past reaches forward or the present reaches back.

I believe story comes first. While I appreciate flash fiction's elegant constraints, some tales need room to breathe. You'll find both brief moments and longer explorations here.

Most stories on this site are free to read, though some will appear first as tasters for work I'm publishing elsewhere. I ask only that you don't republish them without permission.

Meditation on Time

Time is the one currency we possess without knowing our balance. Rich and poor alike wake each morning to an account they cannot check, cannot replenish, cannot borrow against. We are all, in this singular way, equals—millionaires and paupers both, ignorant of our wealth.

This unknowing makes time our most precious possession. Not our talents, not our treasures, not even our love—for all these require time to exist, to matter, to be given meaning.

And so it follows, with a logic as simple as breath, that time is the greatest gift we can offer another soul. When we give our time, we give what we can never reclaim. We spend minutes and hours that might have been spent on anything—or anyone—else. We offer up fragments of our finite, mysterious store.

The gift exists in all its forms: given intentionally, like a wrapped present placed in waiting hands; given accidentally, in the moment we stop to help a stranger; given even under duress, when circumstance demands we show up, stay present, bear witness.

In each case, we have given what cannot be replaced, what cannot be earned back, what cannot be undone. We have said, without words: You are worth this irretrievable piece of my existence.

This is the heart of generosity. This is the mathematics of love. This is what it means to truly share our life with another—not our possessions, not our wisdom, not our sympathy, but our time itself.

For in giving our time, we give our life. And there is no greater gift.

Support

If these stories bring you joy and you feel moved to give back, please consider donating to a charity supporting those in need. I particularly recommend the Salvation Army, or making a direct contribution to someone experiencing homelessness in your community.

Alternatively, if you'd like to support this work directly, you can buy me a coffee on Ko-fi. Your support helps me keep writing and sharing time-slip fiction.

The best support you can give my work is to read it, share it with others who might appreciate it, and let me know what resonates with you.