Susan had never really understood all this tech stuff – smart this and smart that. It was all too smart for her. So she was the only person in her town who didn’t have a fully connected house. She couldn’t even get emails except at the library.

But as time went on she began to wonder if she was indeed being old fashioned and even stubborn about it.

Until the day every smart meter and speaker, smart fridge and smartphone was taken over by the aliens.

As her neighbours were all forced to obey their new overlords, Susan felt smugly justified.

E.M. Swift-Hook

At that precise moment, Edward knocked softly on the door and entered. ‘One of Percival’s young men is here, with a delivery for the Wolflady.’
‘Bring him in then.’
A very young man came in carrying a battered cardboard box in both hands. He wore a grin of triumph on his homely features. He bowed. ‘We’ve been trying to make this for days now, and we just cracked it. Percival said to bring it
here as fast as possible if we could make it work.”What is it?’
He put the box down on the table and took out a seven-pointed diadem, made in some white metal. It was obviously smith’s work, being delicately fashioned, and having many white stones set in its soaring points. The boy touched a switch on the side of the crown and every white stone suddenly burned with a fierce blue light.
‘Well, I’m buggered’ said Ragnar. ‘The diadem of a thousand stars.’
‘Sheesh. That’s clever’ Tatiana crowed.
‘Bloody genius’ Edwiga agreed.
I had absolutely no idea what had them all so excited. Yes, it was a clever toy, but I couldn’t see its relevance.
The boy read the question in my eyes and switched off the blue lights then grinned again. ‘According to Percival’s reading of the legends surrounding the Winter Queen, she is supposed to wear the diadem of a thousand stars. A seven-pointed crown, in which live all the stars in the night sky. The stars are said to shine with their own brilliance and illuminate the Queen with their cold, blue light. And we made it! We only bloody made it! Percival found a case of these tiny, cold lights months ago and put it aside to look at later. He reckoned now would be a good time to see if we could make them work. It took a bit of fiddling, but we got there. Then the smiths did the metalwork, brilliantly – every stone unscrews. We unscrewed ’em all, soldered a tiny blue light behind each one, wired it up, fashioned a battery pack that fits in the crown itself, and screwed all the stones back in. There ain’t quite a thousand, but we think there are enough to look impressive. Batteries and lights have been tested at sub-zero temperatures and have a life of twelve hours minimum. Good enough?’
‘Oh yes’ Ragnar breathed. ‘Let your hair down and put it on Rosie.’
I did as he asked, finding it a comfortable fit, and not too heavy.
‘Now light her up.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘Feel along the band just behind your right ear.’
I found the tiny switch and pressed it.
‘Oh my gods’ Tatiana breathed. ‘I can scarcely believe my eyes, and I know how it was done.’
I reached up and pressed the tiny switch again, then took off the diadem. I turned to the young techie.
‘Thank you, my friend.’
He blushed.
‘You are more than welcome my lady. May I say something?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t think this Winter Queen idea had any merit. Then you put that thing on and lit it up. It was all I could do not to get down on my knees and worship. Your crazy plan really just might work. Bless you.’
He bowed, blushed again and all but ran from the room.
‘Another one more than half in love with you’ Tatiana laughed. ‘To think that not so long ago I would have been jealous. Now? Now I know what a responsibility you are carrying and I’m selfishly glad it’s not me with the perfect face. Do you know the thing that really freaked me out? Any woman but you would have looked at herself in a mirror when she was wearing a crown of lights. I don’t suppose it even occurred to you. Did it?’
‘No’ I said with some asperity. ‘Is this a failing in me?’
She smiled a bit sadly.
‘No Rosamunde, it’s a strength. And one that makes me feel quite shallow.’

From The Barefoot Runners by Jane Jago.

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

I’m old and the winter is trying
Cold winds have me swearing and crying
So I’ve now come in here
With a bottle of beer
And my wrinkly old fingers are drying

© jane jago

Take a peek into The Lizard Lords of Jupiter by the self-proclaimed queen of exotic sci-fi,Venus N. Uranus.

It seemed that they were only just in time as the doors opened fully. The round-faced woman entered, and bowed all but double.
“The Mushir Szzrt.”
Cyrus bowed and Clea curtseyed.
Kerenza kept her eyes on the floor.
“Look at me,” the voice was oddly sibilant, but commanding.
She lifted her eyes and had her first sight of a lizard soldier. Her mouth went dry with fear. He was about seven feet tall with blue scaly skin and a thick muscular neck supporting a narrow reptilian head. He was dressed from neck to ankles in black silk bound with gold, and twin sword hilts were visible over the massive width of his shoulders. The eyes that regarded her with cold antipathy were so light as to be almost white, with vertical pupils and nictating membranes that constantly moved across their surface. He stared at her in silence and she felt a blush rise from her neck to her forehead. After what seemed a very long time the mushir turned his attention to Cyrus.
“Have the high lord’s instructions been obeyed?”
“To the letter, Mushir.”
“And what are your observations, flesh trader?”
“She is a ripe little thing. It would be an honour and a pleasure to break that one to harness.”
“Ssskrrt,” the lizard made a strange noise in his throat. “Indeed.” The sibilant voice was dry. “Is it intact?”
“Yes lord.”
“Display it. I am ordered to ascertain its condition.”
Cyrus snapped his fingers…

A Bite Of… Venus N. Uranus 

We had three questions only to learn a little more of this enigmatic lady.

Question one: How much of yourself is in the heroines of your so-loved books?

Very little. But had you asked how much of my villains lives in my own breast the answer might have been more illuminating.

Question two: What is your favourite indulgence?

Ah. Champagne, I guess. Or possibly silken underwear.

Question three: Chips or doughnuts?

Neither child. One has an aversion to calorific snacks. The figure is above all importances.

At which point we had to retreat to the door as she began throwing shoes at us – shoes with sharpened six-inch stiletto heels…

Other works by Venus:

Animal Passions on the Ark
As the Ark flees a dying earth Captain Twerk and his crew are sucked into a dark sensual vortex from which only the prayers of a thousand virgins can rescue them. As far as we know they are still there… 

Boinking for Freedom
Captain Tumescent Schlong and his Martian sidekick Wan Ka Dribblefloop save the universe with nothing more than KY Jelly and a swivelling hip action

Candles for Callisto 
Two nuns and a redundant space cowboy carry the Candles of Callisto from their hiding place on earth to the Venusian temple where their ignition begins a multiverse-wide orgy that lasts a thousand years

Dominant Destroyer 
Captain Selfie the Daandehoopian Dom and his faithful retainer Whippin’ Winnie beat the universe into submission with the aid of a bullwhip and a large silicone appliance

Katie the Qlingon Kleptomaniac 
Aboard the prison cruiser Thrust, the only way Katie can avoid the attentions of Big Brenda and her blue banana is if she can become the prey of Captain Rutt Bigthong and his dog Sniffa

Marianna and the Testicles of Mars
How a silicone-enhanced glamour model saved the known universe using only the power of her ‘mind’ and a secondhand toothbrush

Neptune’s Nymphos
When the good ship Sphincta lands on Neptune, the male crew members quickly find themselves sold as sex slaves. Heaven? Or Hell? You decide…

Pulling Poseidon 
The starship Donkey Parts is pulled into the orbit of a dark planet. Only the pulchritudinous Petunia Petals and her Venusian nose flute can save the day

Saturnalia on Saturn
Space explorer Thea Throbscuttle may have bitten off more than she can chew when she crash lands her flitter in the middle of a very rowdy midsummer party. Only the satyr Longtongue can save her, but what can she offer him to secure his aid?

The Virgins of Venus
Deep underground in the Caverns of Hi’Men live a thousand young women who have never seen a male in their lives. When the tunnelling machine breaks through the wall of their prison even the prodigious Throb Loverage is forced to flee for his life

Venus is a retired pole dancer and rectal explorer who now earns a living by writing, and knitting decorative merkins for ladies who are bored of their Brazilian. You won’t find her on social media because she is too busy penning her next exotic sci-fi bestseller or participating in the SETI program…

((WTB Ed. Note – We think the underling who put this piece together might have made a repeated typo in their use of  ‘exotic’))

“There’s many a thing I’ve seen as I wish I could unsee,” the old spacefarer sat at a table in the bar, “Space gribblies, the face of a man about to be put out the airlock without a suit and the final breaths of last living being on a dying world.”

The young man nodded eagerly.

“So tell us about these space gribblies?”

The old spacefarer smacked his lips

“Talking is thirsty work, son, thirsty work.”

Three drinks later, the young man left and the barman wiped the table.

“Not bad for one night,” he observed.“Those youngsters’ll believe anything.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…
I am old my reflection reminds me
That smooth skin and youth are behind me
But I shall not lament
Rather, I’ll be content
With whatever diversion might find me

© jane jago

The Rabid Readers Review Maljie, the episodic memoirs of a lady by Jim Webster

Where to start with this review? First of all a health warning. Do not read this book when drinking coffee/beer/WHY.  Neither is it a great notion to read somewhere sudden bursts of laughter could be seen as inappropriate.

I must confess upfront to being a fan of Jim Webster’s writing as he has a talent for making the most wildly inconsequential of observations seem matter of fact and perfectly believable. Any of the tales he weaves around the imaginary but utterly believable city of a port Nain are going to be chuckle worthy at the very least.

Therefore I approached the chronicles of Maljie’s varied and exotic life with great expectation.

I wasn’t disappointed.

In fact, there were places where I actually howled with laughter.

Our heroine veers from situation to situation – rarely finishing without a profit. And some of her jobs are so silly and improbable.  But you still keep reading and chuckling.

The ease with which Jim, in the guise of Tallis Steelyard (poet, visionary and unreliable witness) pilots this rickety craft through the shoals of Maljie’s life is exemplary. 

But don’t just take my word for it. Read for yourself. But don’t forget the health warning.

Five big shiny stars.

Jane Jago

The Female of the Species…

Maljie is a pretty amazing woman, especially when you consider she has to deal with living in Port Naain, which is a medieval fantasy city. However, she is not one to let such things as expected gender roles hold her back – indeed no, those are merely there to be exploited!

We see Maljie and learn of her adventures through the eyes of Tallis Steelyard, a jobbing poet and himself an acute and wickedly perceptive inhabitant of Port Naain.

These stories are not so much a collection of anecdotes as a tour de force of hilarious and unlikely situations brought together in a single volume and showing the unstoppable rise and rise of the irrepressible Marjie.

If you want some feel-good reading to brighten your day, Jim Webster is your man and Maljie is, most certainly the right woman for the job!

E.M. Swift-Hook

It was only a child’s musical box, but Emma felt as if her heart had been ripped out when he crushed it under his heel. 

She was too proud to let him see her cry, simply turning back to the potatoes she was peeling. He came up behind her and she tensed for a blow, but none came.

“If you didn’t talk back I wouldn’t have to punish you.”

He went and sat in his fireside chair as if nothing had happened.

Three days later he drove his tractor into the slurry pit. Heart attack, they said.

Emma smiled secretly.

©️jj 2020

Maybe by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook . Sometimes we walk the edges of realty…

Annis got up and went to the small drawer where she kept her few personal possessions. She took out an obviously old newspaper and handed it to Jess.
“You read.”
Jess took the paper in careful hands and read the story of that catastrophic night. She handed it back to Annis, who gave her another yellowed sheet. This was dated some six months later and concerned a memorial service for the dead. The report contained three photographs: the funfair at the height of its popularity; the burnt out wreck; and the cleared site after the wreckage had been demolished.
“So the fairground isn’t really here. But what about the thugs at the gate?”
“Were here before bulldozers came.”
“Okay. So I’m sitting in a cabin that doesn’t exist, in a fairground that doesn’t exist, being pursued by a vampire that I don’t believe in. Am I talking to a girl child that doesn’t exist?“
She watched Annis closely as she asked the question and saw something that could have been sadness briefly touch her face, then fade back into uncertainty. The girl gave a small shrug.
“I don’t know.”
“Fair enough.”
Jess reached over and squeezed Annis’ hand.
“Friends?”
“I never have a friend.”
“Well you do now.”
“May change your mind before this is over. The thing I think you must do is hard. Needs brave.”
“Then you probably have the wrong woman.Maybe I used to be brave. But now – well, now I’m just broken.”
Annis snorted. “Stop silliness. If you had no brave you would be curled in corner crying. Or under vampire’s will.”
Jess shrugged and Annis went so far as to give her a sharp little shake.
“Stop stupidness. You don’t have to even try. But if you can’t you are stuck here. With blonde bloodsucker for company. And you see, he not so pretty when he here.”
Jessica managed to smile at that.
“No he’s not. But you are here, aren’t you?”
“Me and cats. But I not make good company.”
There was a longish silence while the sounds from the fairground outside grew more and more hectic and less and less controlled. In the end Jessica lifted a shoulder resignedly.
“So what must I do?”
Annis stared into her face for a long moment, trying to weigh the chances that telling the truth would send her guest screaming into the night. But she couldn’t bring herself to lie. Not here. Not now. And not to the woman who had called her friend. She squared her slight shoulders and spoke with care.
“Underground there is a place. Belong to the oldest of the Old Ones. There is black basalt throne, and beside throne is Stone of Remembrance. Stone is green jade, striped red with the blood of sacrifice. If you would be free you must sit on the basalt throne, and give blood to the Stone. Must cut your own wrist with the Stone Knife. Blood given willingly will break circle….”
“And then what happens?”
“I know not.”
“But we have to try. Don’t we?”
Annis nodded and said no more, being unwilling to push, and having nothing to say that wouldn’t sound as if she was pushing. Jessica sighed.
“Will I even get to this throne?”
“Yes. Is not problem. I can get you there.”
“I was afraid that might be the case. But once I’m on the throne?”
“I can help no more.”
“I was afraid that might be the case too. Is there any way I can see what I’m getting myself into?”
“I have pictures. I draw.”
Annis fetched a thick sketch pad from her drawer and handed it shyly to Jess. The older woman opened it and her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. There were sketches of the cats, the fairground, and a whole group of pictures of a swarthy teenage boy whose arms were covered in tattoos. She opened her mouth to ask about him then saw the stark misery in Annis’ dark swirling eyes. 
“Mine. I still hear him whistling.”
Jess put the book down and cradled the teenager in her arms.
“I’m so sorry.”
Annis sniffed unromantically.
“Not you fault. Next pages is what you need.”

Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

Part 12 of Maybe will be here next week…

If it were so easy then we’d never have the pain of trying
Those who win in life in any art speak of creative striving
When success is so much less of talent more of chance
They miss the four-leafed clovers they trampled in their dance.

One woman works for twenty years as hard as any could
To bring herself prosperity and sure, she does make good.
Another works another twenty more and twice as hard
But never gets to own her home or have her own back yard.

The lie is oft-repeated those who succeed deserve the best
They worked the most, did longer hours, drove themselves hardest.
But for every millionaire proclaiming hard-earned, self-made wealth
A million others, toil much harder, even breaking their health.

You can work a dozen jobs a day and still not have enough
To pave your path with luxury and avoid the rough
It’s not just hard work and talent paves the road to high success
It’s also what you know and who you know – and luck sees to the rest.

E.M. Swift-Hook