Happy Saturday! Hope the storms haven’t blown you all away! We’re wrestling with the Beast From The East in a far less dramatic and exciting way than Tolkien envisaged (ie: hiding under the duvet watching endless episodes of Once Upon A Time!)
Still posting from the novella I’m working on. It’s called Jack and Marjory and it gives space for two of my bigender characters to tell something of their own side-adventure (which played a massive part in the history of Ire in a behind the scenes sort of way.) If you want some world background, check out the Introduction page above 🙂
To see all the other fabulous rainbow snippets of LGBTQIA+ fiction for this week check out the rainbow snippets facebook page
The previous snippets from Jack and Marjory were posted here:
And here’s snippet 6 – Jack and Marjory are down on their luck when Eightups Max, the octopus-wielding leader of the revolution, tells them he needs someone to do a big favour for him…
he paused and looked at us earnestly, “…someone who can be discreet…I spoke to Kitty and she suggested you…two…” he grinned and petted his octopus.
He laughed and leaned back in his chair, “You don’t want to know what it is first?”
We shook our head. Max boarded in the old fish factory – that was Montmorency’s gaff and you’d only doss at his place if you was skint and had no other choice. So, whatever this ‘big favour’ is, we doubt our gentleman friend can meet the bill for it.
“Alright then, it’s this,” he pushed a leather satchel across the table.
We took it casually and opened the flap, just enough with two fingers to cop a deek inside,“Blimey!” We swallowed hard and opened the satchel a little wider, it was imprudent, sure, but you have to understand, there must’ve been 8lb of gunpowder tea in there in neat black resin bars.
being an entertaining and informative piece of travel writing by a couple of rogues on the run as they attempt to avoid the machinations of wizards, monarchs and a ruthless band of beatnik poets, deflect a civil war and deliver a priceless, historical tea set before the owner finds himself at the gallows.
rainbow flower image courtesy of mariah22 at http://www.freeimages.com
book cover image by Renphoto
Happy Saturday! I didn’t have an author snippet sent to me for today so I thought I’d share another six lines (well sorry a bit more than six because otherwise it would have ended in a weird place, hope that’s ok) from the novella I’m working on right now. It’s called Jack and Marjory and it gives space for two of my bigender characters to tell something of their own side-adventure (which played a massive part in the history of Ire in a behind the scenes sort of way.) If you want some world – background, check out the Introduction page above 🙂 To see all the other fabulous rainbow snippets for this week check out the rainbow snippets facebook page
We wasn’t always called Jack and Marjory.
Then again we didn’t always live in Lancaster, we didn’t always own these boots, we couldn’t always wield magic, didn’t always work for Kitty Flynn…
Kitty’s coffee house, The Angel, is always full, always bustling, always respectable and everything above board.
They serve government standard issue caffeine-free coffee – the lifeblood of the workforce and the would-be well-to-do alike.
Chicory, acorn, dandelion … the great copper pots of caffeine-free brown liquid sit simmering in the seventeen fire places all day long and Kitty’s daughters run to and fro serving it out in pewter tumblers on silver trays.
The rules are framed in mahogany on the white washed wall: no foul language, no char-latin, no anti-royalist, anti-religious or anticlimactical notions, no games of chance, no business dealings, no magic.
Yes indeed, The Angel is a perfectly respectable place. It must be. The patrons run the great societal gamut from the lowliest mill worker, to dockers, street traders and Sho’vani barge folk; from town Tinkers like The Time Keeper and The Spoon Smiths, to landlords like Montmorency and Clitheroe, even true aristocrats like Lord Ashton and Lady Grace and wizards like that so-called ‘Dr. Smith’…
The Angel is always full, never a spare room in the place. Kitty rents rooms alright but you’d be damned if you could ever get one. Very particular is Kitty Flynn about who she’ll let a room to and once she gets a tenant in, they tend to stay for a very long time.
We, certainly, intended to stay for a very long time.
Because once you’re in, like us, there’s only one way out – and it ain’t pretty. No, indeed, it really ain’t. Dying in a Hex fight, your atoms ripped apart by some aether-wielding maniac, is no one’s plan for their day trip to Abney Park. Certainly, it has never been our aspiration.
Being an entertaining and informative piece of travel writing by a couple of rogues on the run as they attempt to avoid the machinations of wizards, monarchs and a ruthless band of beatnik poets, deflect a civil war and deliver a priceless, historical tea set before the owner finds himself at the gallows.
rainbow flower image courtesy of mariah22 at http://www.freeimages.com
book cover image by Renphoto
Greetings! I may have got a bit behind with inktober postings but rest assured the old pen and brushes have been whirring behind the scenes…
Here is Jules WHY-Verne in ink and excitingly his first lil story book has all the words finished and will be well on its way to being published in the near future 🙂
Here also is Christina taking her tea in the back passage, painted in tea and coffee. I think I’m getting better at the backgrounds, I just love the way you can build up these little clouds of colour. This one isn’t finished, I’ll be building up the layers of coffee over the next few days to give a rich, dark sheen to some areas.
and here also is the little excerpt from Jack and Marjory which sets her in context… Jack and Marjory (who were trying to smuggle a priceless historical teaset which everyone seems to want) have just been captured by a ruthless band of beatnik poets and taken to The Golden Lion in Lancaster to wait for Max, the leader of the revolution, to be hung on Friday…
There were poets everywhere and everyone was talking, some were reciting and some were conversing and some were just ranting loudly away to themselves or perhaps the room at large or perhaps the universe or someone in particular on the other side… and men and women with quills and nibs and paintbrushes and wells of ink and mugs of cold black chicory coffee were writing all over the walls the things that were being said or thought or sung around them or inside them so that they became essays and poems and novels by the look of some of them… and still others were reading aloud what was being written as if it were prophecy or scripture or a recipe for the most sinful cake in Devon…
…all come to the golden lion… all come to see Max… get hung…
The Golden Lion ; a shrine and a womb and a cathedral and a tomb and a chrysalis all at the same time… all to see one man who wasn’t perhaps, by his own admission, even a man at all, get mullered for love.
« Cause that was all it was, really » Johnny Moonstruck, owner of the Garish Theatre Company is standing with his foot on a bar stool rocking it back and forth back and forth while he drums with his paintbrush on the side of his mug »
…is this really just chicory they’re drinking…
« love of a woman, love of too many women, love of too much tea, love of One’s own autonomy and freedom, love of being Utterly Oneself »
We nod, we understand the narcissistic drive that says ‘I bloody well can and will and the devil take me I shall. » but he’s not done …
« … the love of Oneself and then of course the sacrifice of that love for love of another but, in the hope of what ? That love then being reciprocated ? It’s the same with The Cause, the fight for One’s own freedom has to be the fight, eventually, for every One’s freedom, but it’s all driven by that same Utopian ideal of love eternal and unconditionally reciprocated, be it platonic or otherwise. That’s what lead him here, that’s what has lead us all here. Look around you , Mary, »
« Marjory »
« Marjory… »
« and Jack »
« Right… It’s not even that they believe or care about any Goddess or any old heretical religion, or even Amelia, they don’t really give a damn, they just want to love what they love and who they love and be left alone… have you got enough cake ?»
« …the soul of the teapot… the soul of the commonest object… the last bag of flour… the poem in the heart of the treacle miner…»
That might have been the theme that ran through all the words and pictures and pantomimes as we moved from cacophonies of colour to grotesqueries of sound, but it might not have been as well. We couldn’t say if there was any truth in that reduction of all things either, havin experienced little of this love thing ourselves, we was more inclined to say, from our own perspective, that survival was what had brought us here and the random kindness of one crazy Land Pirate.
Even if we could possibly have said something that would add to that… even if we could have found a voice through all that upper-middle-class artistic ego venting … we had no one to say it to. This was hardly about us at all…
« Hey, hex slinger are you ? Mm, mm, that’s what it’s all about, taking back the magic…hey, Wainright, get this woman some cake… »
And that was how it went in The Lion for days on end. Pushing the seams, pushing the rafters…pushing…
« …the limits of the diaphane… »
and Christina walked among them all like a china doll, like one of Amelia’s automatons…a little white idol of a goddess they’d created in her own bloody image… wearing Joyce’s words poured out onto teabags and stitched together into the daintiest little wafers of dresses and long bridalesque trains that just might melt given enough steam…
« the soul of the commonest… the dream in the heart of the treacle miner… »
I’m afraid I’m running a day behind so Mrs Baker will be in her soup kitchen tomorrow with a cute little grey furry helper… in the meantime, Blessings on your brew and all your inktober endeavors 🙂
Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome back to Max and Collin’s indeterrably intrepid and frabjously furry parlour located somewhere within the irritable bowels of the splendidly scenic city of steampunk’d Lancaster.
True some have called it a devilishly delinquent dive, frequented by only the most diabolical demons, but we consider that such people are merely getting a little carried away with the festive spirit.
This morning we are feeling far too warm and fuzzy inside to be entering into the Halloween / Samhain / All Souls / Candy-fest / Thing atmosphere because we have just finished reading two of the most delightful books ever written and we would like to share those with you over a spot of Galli-Grey Regeneration Tea ( because, New Doctor and, of course, Earl Grey…)
George is a small grey bear of adventurous inclination and these two books detail two of his intrepid adventures. He is also a Ghost Bear – which is something really quite marvelous indeed!
In book one, George and his chums are kidnapped by wicked pirate squirrels and are forced to endure scathing reviews of their performances of Gilbert and Sullivan and in the second book our little furry hero pits his wits against the some sweet-toothed skulduggerists on planet Mars!
These heart warming illustrated adventures are beautifully produced and an absolute joy from start to finish. The urchins we read them to were beaming with glee throughout and there many excited squeals of delight, particularly at ‘the end’ !
We actually shed tears and the urchins literally leap up and down with excitement when we discovered the story-related recipes in the back cover of each book (you know how emotional we get about cake…) We will definitely be baking these soon and when we do we will post pictures in our elevenses slot (but not the recipes! You’ll have to read the books for those because the recipe is given as a little story which is just too, too adorable to miss!
There is enough warm-hearted, gentle but highly witty humour throughout both books to keep both urchins and adults chuckling and engaged from start to finish and they immediately became firm bedtime favorites.
If your own little urchins are of the intelligent and discerning sort who prefer A A Milne, Kenneth Grahame, Edward Leah or Lewis Carroll to the average uninspiring mass produced picture books on offer, then these are a couple of gorgeous gems to add to your storytime treasure chest.
As for us, we are still plucking up the courage to have those stern words with Montmorency about the flooding in here – our pig has set sail for the land where the bong tree grows and I believe we may be heading that way soon ourselves if Max doesn’t bail out fast enough. Still tomorrow we will share with you our #inktober tea painting efforts and inky things and a little bit of story to go with them.
In the meantime stay dry and warm and do remain always