#MythpunkMonday: Festive #Writingprompts 3. Frau Perchta
Happy #MythpunkMonday – For our third festive writing prompt, here’s a female Christmas character to frighten your socks off through the festive season! Yikes, hundreds of years ago, Crimbo certainly wasn’t the glittery, sugar-coated fest it is now was it? Frau Perchta was also known as ‘the belly slitter’ because if you’d been bad she would slit your belly open (or if you were lucky, just cut out your tongue!), remove your innards and replace them with junk and rocks! If on the other hand you’d been good, she might just leave you a silver coin in your shoe…
There you go, run with it (or from it, lol!) – poem, flash, short story, novel, if it inspires you to write some marvellous mythpunk do come back and tell me about it in the comments! And of course you can still share your own and others Mythpunk creations either using the hashtag or in the comments here!
As a heads-up I will be going into hospital on Friday and hopefully Saturday as well and then I’m planning to put my feet up for a couple of weeks and re-coup. I’ll schedule as many posts as I can so there’s no big gaps and I’ll check in as much as I can but if I don’t speak direct to all you lovely peeps before the big day, here’s wishing you and utterly ineffable Christmas and a truly cracking New Year, thankyou for all your awesome support as always! 😀 xx
Blessings on your third week of Advent!
#MythpunkMonday :Festive #Writingprompts 2. Krampus
Happy #MythpunkMonday! Our second festive mythpunk writing prompt is probably known to you already but I just think it’s fabulous that so much goatishness is around at this time of year! XD (If you are following my Necromancer snippets, this may be me accidentally channelling Reynard’s weird goat obsession… a-hem…)
The Krampus…
“It is believed that the long-horned, shaggy, goat-like monster with a long, angry face and lolling, forked tongue would visit the home of misbehaving children to punish them. It was believed he would give beatings, and kidnap the kids, bringing them down to his underworld lair to live for a year.” – Ancient Origins. Net
You can read more about this fiendish fellow on Ancient Origins. Net personally, I’d love a tale where the kidnapped kiddies have to find their way home… perhaps even befriending the old goat man along the way, or uncovering some other, darker secret… not really sure what could be darker than a giant goat kidnapping you in the middle of the night but, there we go…
There you go, run with it (or from it, lol!) – poem, flash, short story, novel, if it inspires you to write some marvellous mythpunk do come back and tell me about it in the comments! And of course you can still share your own and others Mythpunk creations either using the hashtag or in the comments here!
Blessings on your second week of Advent!
Festive Friday Filk: Dr Who Regeneration Carol
HAPPY FRIDAY! Yikes, sorry I fell off the Friday Filk wagon the last two weeks – having realised that the majority of my filk lyrics are on Handles (If you’ve been with me long enough you’ll know that Handles is the name of my old laptop who died and regenerated so very many times before he finally gave up the ghost, taking with him many of my files) XD
But it’s festivish time and so I have decided instead to share some of the tons of festive filk that is out there to bring some quirky cheer the the tinselly season! 😀
#MythpunkMonday: Festive #writingprompts 1. Jólakötturinn
Happy #MythpunkMonday! Here’s our first seasonal Mythpunk writing prompt for December, all the way from Iceland, Jólakötturinn – The Yule Cat.
“The Yule Cat is a huge and vicious cat who lurks about the snowy countryside during Christmas time (Yule) and eats people who have not received any new clothes to wear before Christmas Eve.” – wikipedia
There you go, run with it – poem, flash, short story, novel, if it inspires you to write some marvellous mythpunk do come back and tell me about it in the comments! And of course you can still share your own and others Mythpunk creations either using the hashtag or in the comments here!
Blessings on your first week of Advent!
Elevenses: Two Spurtle Gloves
Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! You find us this morning in a state of oaty bliss as we gleefully anticipate The Annual Wizmas Golden Spurtleglove Oatcake Championships (we understand you have something similar in your own dimension?)
Of course cake is illegal here in Ire but oatcakes (those foul impostors ) are permitted ‘in moderation’ provided salt is used to flavour them and not sugar.
If you are not sure what spurtle gloves are let us enlighten you – the spurtle glove is an oversized oven mitt used for oatcake flipping and a golden one is made in Lancaster every year and given to the contestant who can faultlessly flip the most oatcakes in six minutes.
The judging is conducted by three highly trained oat flip observers and presided over by Lord Ashton himself but there are also smaller prizes for the most original oatcake creations and these are voted on by the general public.
Last year some of the winners in the Innovative Oatcake Recipe section included Chorizoat Cakes, Plum Compoat and Chocoloat pudding.
The best part by far, though, was the riot which began when the voted winner of the Oatcake Sculpture section (a truly gargantuan oatcake with a smiley face put on with raisins) was declared by Lord Ashton to be “An offensive and infantile attempt at insubordination and mob-rule.” He then proceeded to disqualify the oat face (an irony which will probably only be appreciated by our British friends) and award the prize to a detailed oatcake sculpture of Lord Battenberg, the noted explorer, instead.
Lord Battenberg’s donations to Ashton’s extensive collection of arthropods is no secret and the furious crowds stormed the stage, seized the judges and began hurling lumps of the hated Battenberg into the River Lune. In the end Ashton had to call his man eating Liver Birds and we all fled for our lives… but it was worth it. All jolly good fun!
It is frankly difficult to imagine a scenario that would upstage that little fiasco but we are keen to see if Penny is up to the task. In the meantime we wish you a delightfully oat-free elevenses, crammed with illicit sponge and belligerent fancies and we leave you with this little message from our festive parlour companions, the dust cats…
Morning Cuppa: Steampunk festive cheer
Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Max and Collin’s fabulously festive and expertly extravagant parlour located within the spledidly scenic city of Lancaster, Mor Ire.
True, some have called it an offensively ostentatious affair, filled with frivolous flamboyancy but we consider that such individuals are tasteless and we would never consider having them for supper.
You find us this morning turning the parlour into a veritable Wizmas Wonderland…
Apparently the final battle between Wiz and The Goddess took place on the snowy peaks of Siberia. (Having visited Siberia ourselves recently we are, to be candid, a little sceptical of this assertion.) and so it is traditional to cover one’s self and immediate surroundings in as much snow as possible throughout the Wizmas season. The more snow you are seen to sport, the more you likely to convince The Good Folk of your allegiance to our supreme ruler.
Of course there is always the small problem that snow in The Scattered Isles is not the most common meteorological phenomenon. Still there are ways to fake snow and we have pushed the iceberg out this year on that front!
We have carpeted the entire floor in sheets of cotton wool batting (We did try white crepe paper initially but it wasn’t nearly as messy, irritating or difficult to remove, this cotton stuff soaks up the water from the cellar floor beautifully too!).
The strange chains (which hang from the walls and do not invite us to ask our landlord their purpose) we have piled high with a mixture of baking soda, white and blue glitter, a few drops of vanilla and peppermint oil and a tsp or two of water just to get it to hold together. As Freddy is also chained to the wall we have simply wrapped him in tissue paper to keep him out of sight.
Upon the tea table, we have carefully sculpted a pyramid from ‘snow balls’. These were made by mixing glitter (again) with coconut flour and a little cold water.
Sadly we no longer have any windows, this being a cellar afterall, otherwise we could have stuck baking parchment over them to make them look ‘frosted.’
As for our own attire, we have given eachother a fairly good dusting with white glitter and talcum powder and can safely say we look perfectly abominable.
We simply can’t wait to see the look on Montmorency’s face when he sees the effort we have gone to…true it is difficult to read the facial features of a psychotic scarecrow, but we tend to guess that when his head is leaning to the left he is in a better mood than when it is leaning to the right, he looks a little friendlier like that you see.
And our furry pals the Dustcats seem to have got into the mood as well!
Anyway, now that we have enough snow to infuriate our landlord we can sit back with a nice cup of tea and begin writing our Wizmas cards. Fortunately, our fabulous friends over at Hopeless Maine have brought out several sets of ‘alternative festive cards’ this year to bring a massive helping of Steampunk Splendidness to the season! ‘Steamed Pudding’ , ‘He Hears His Master’s Holiday Message’ and ‘A Hopeless Holiday’ are available from the Hopeless Maine etsy shop (click the image to go straight there) and can be bought as separate designs or as a multi-pack! So if Robins and Penguins and fat men in red suits are putting you off reminding your loved ones that you still exist and would appreciate cash or brandy this year rather than socks or arrest warrants , no more excuses eh? …
Now all that is needed is some suitably seasonal audios to usher in the afternoon so let us tune in our Tesla Radio and ….
Marvellous! We wish you all a very splendidly snow filled afternoon, and we invite you back to join us soon for more festive fabulousness. So, until then please be always,
Utterly Yourself
Elevenses: Alternative Advent
Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! Well, it seems the Dustcats of Hopeless Maine are taking over our little parlour for the festive season in some strange steampunk parody of your earthly tradition of ‘Advent’ . Having put them sternly to bed on the mantle piece again last night we found them this morning in a state of spoons… with yet another odd note…
Morning Cuppa: Wizmas is here again!
Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to Max and Collin’s Wonderfully Wizard parlour located in the splendidly scenic city of Lancaster, Mor Ire.
True, perhaps, some have called it a house of ill manners, ill repute and illicit tiffin, but we consider that such people are merely embittered that they have not yet received an invitation.
You find us this morning in something of a panic-fuelled frenzy.
Wiz being the usual, run of the mill egomaniacal dictator that he he is, has decreed that for at least six weeks of the year every New World citizen must drop what they are doing and spend every waking moment celebrating his rise to power and general magnificence.
And of course being the paranoid loon that he is, the date that this ‘Wizmas’ is to be celebrated changes every year, nobody knows when it will strike or who exactly decides on the date but Wizmas cards and wrapping paper will suddenly appear in shops over night and then the mad rush to buy presents and arrange parties will begin because if The Good Folk or The Watchers catch anyone displaying a ‘Lack Of Wizmas Cheer’ …well…
So, as we’re both rather fond of our necks, we will, over the next few weeks, be celebrating Wizmas with all the flamboyant flare that only an octopus and his Very Quiet Gentleman Friend can muster. So, if the Turkeys and Nativity Plays, the Tinsel and the Wassailing of your own world is driving you insane, you can rest assured that The Parlour will remain, throughout December, a veritable haven of sanity.
Hm? Oh, Max says ‘There is a phrase that is not likely to be heard again.’
Here you will find only witch hunting, spoon duelling, spurtle wielding, soup reading and other New World shenanigans as we attempt to push subversion, parody and insubordination to the limit…without being arrested and hanged.
But before we begin rampaging about wrapping eachother in foil and wotnot, we must take a moment to introduce you all to a couple of pests…er…I mean PETS who have appeared in the parlour yesterday afternoon. They are Dust Cats, usually residents of our favourite gothical island Hopeless Maine and we are at quite a loss to know exactly how they got here, however we put them quietly to bed on the mantle piece last night and in the morning we woke to find they had created absolute havoc with the tea and left us a rather sinister note…
Hm, we are going to be keeping an eye on these little chaps over the festive season and any further shenanigans will be posted here!
And Now we really ought to start this holiday thing in ernest and that means a cup of tea (if we have any left!) and a fabulous list of splendid Steampunk books to keep you glued to the chaise throughout December…
The Illusioneer – Karen J Carlisle
A Study In Temperence – Ichabod Temperence
Gifts – Margaret McGaffey Fisk
The Dandelion Farmer – Mathew McCall
Legacy The Reunion – Michelle Lowe
Heart Of Brass – Felicity Banks
Silver And Stone – Felicity Banks
The Antics Of Evangeline Vol 1 – Madeleine D’Este
The Tale Of Raw Head And Bloody Bones – Jack Wolf
The Befuddlement Of Flash Mahogony – Tim and Kathy Hunt
Strax And The Widow – Victoria L Szulc
Red Dog Conspiracy – Patricia Loofbourrow
And our tea this morning is something rather special and splendid – gunpowder and ginger from We Are Tea
This smokey, spicy blend reminds us of our recent adventures in The Temple of Heaven and how lucky we are to have survived all that and be safe and snug here in our lovely cozy parlour…hm? …. oh, sorry, Max says ‘Don’t go too far old man’ … was I going too far? Well…
As I am apparently being censored this morning, there seems nothing left to do except consult our oracular cephalopterois (who has been notably quiet these last few weeks – probably the move has unsettled it) and see if it has any Wizmas cheer for us this morning…
Thankyou Mr Colin Furze. Ah, how enlightening! So that is how you do this ‘Christmas Dinner’ thing in your dimension? Well it puts our hum drum Wizmas Salmon to shame indeed.
And on that slightly warped note, we had better pour a nerve-settling brew, kick our tentacles up on the table and not lift a finger to clean up the dust in case we upset our dear little guests.
We wish you an utterly splendid morning, filled with tranquillity and calm, only dust if you absolutely must! And we invite you back to join us tomorrow for elevenses so, until then,
please be always, Utterly Yourself
Pipe And Slippers:The Gospel Of Betty Martin
Good evening my dears and welcome to Perilous Wight’s Lovely Library (which we are keeping safe for him until he returns from his ‘business trip.’) I am Mrs Baker (otherwise known as The Last Witch Of Pendle) and Peril has kindly allowed me and my little street urchins to shelter down here from the flesh eating Liver Birds and Wizmas Witch Hunters until he returns.
Tonight I will be reading to the orphans from The Child Gospels, which we discovered on our expedition to Siberia. The chronicles were chiselled onto ice tablets and had been preserved inside a lead lined soupophagus for centuries before we smashed it apart and salvaged them for all humanity to enjoy.
Sadly, our return journey took us through the heat of the Jentacular Jungle and so, as the ice tablets began to melt (and even though it was three o’ clock in the morning and nobody had any tea) our quick thinking octopus, Collin, speedily copied their contents down onto banana leaves with his own ink, using only his tentacles for a pen.
This desperate act of heroism, he claims, should excuse the rampant spelling mistakes, technical inaccuracies and absence of all artistic merit which glare out from the manuscript like the foul raisins in that cookie you thought was chocolate chip.
Peril has of course preserved the banana leaves as only a pedantic book-fetishy ghost can, but Collin asks that we all bear in mind the manner of their construction and the great suffering he endured and risks to his life and mental well being and so forth and send him extra packs of medicinal biscuits whenever he indulges in…I mean suffers from, a bout of psd over the whole affair. Poor Collin.
So, are you sitting comfortably? Good, then I shall begin…
