The Secret Life of ‘Nomes – Enough

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Big Bertha had a headache, which meant that most of the gnomes were walking carefully. But there’s always one idiot.
Today it was Norbert, who was voicing the latest conspiracy theories loudly and nasally. He had got to the lizards in human costume who were invading somewhere called the White House when Bertha appeared. She stomped over and squirted something between his teeth.
The ensuing silence reigned unbroken until Bertha disappeared.
“Superglue,” someone whispered. “He’ll be okay in a year or two. If he learns his lesson. Don’t piss off Bertha. And. Listening to biggers is deleterious to gnomely health…”

Jane Jago

How To Speak Typo – Lesson 45

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago

askhole (noun) – mouth

beliveable (adjective) – of a fixer-up house, the state it will attain in about five years

brois (noun) – compulsive liar

canservative (adjective) – self-serving (see brois)

carrit (noun) – measure of orangeness 

delsion (noun) – unsatisfactory explanation 

drafth (adverb) – to drag out unnecessarily as in his accusation was both drafth and probably baseless

freght (noun) – someone else’s luggage found where you expected your own to be

hadnsome (adjective) – a man who may have been good looking in his youth, who is now rather jaded and ragged at the edges

lotal (adjective) – humourless and with a leaning towards religious obsession (Example: The Lotal Singing Nuns of Saint Crumplesham)

otherircumstances (noun) – puzzling twist in a fantasy story usually heralded by the arrival of a mysterious wizard

plitics (noun) – the shenanigans in government that surprise the electorate so much they can’t even say ‘oh’

pointsome (adjective) – handsome, but only in small areas of the body (eg navel, or the baby toe on the left foot)

prinisple (noun) – one of a number of redundant nipples

politcal (adjective) of cake, heavy and tasteless

qween (noun) – very old woman who likes a nip of gin

reep (noun) – the cry of the lesser-spotted blabberbird

somaething (verb) – trying to smoke a damp cigarette

trcik (noun) – a special karate move

uwswall (verb) – the rinsing of one’s mouth at the dentist

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Drabblings – Aunt Artemisia

Telling an entire story in just one hundred words…

Aunt Artemisia had long been the repository for family secrets. Telling her something, was as safe as talking in your own head. A visit to her house. A nice cup of tea. Sharing the burden.

It even continued when she moved into residential care. Until one day, while sharing marital issues, Jack got a shock.

“Yes dear. Marianne hates you shouting at the telly.”

Secrets were no longer sacrosanct it seemed.

This changed the family, who started talking to each other.

“Such a shame. Her mind’s gone,” they said.

Artemisia smiled inwardly. She had wanted to do this for years.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV Advises on Writing Denouements

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Bonjour mes braves,

It is one, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. The teacher beloved of your hearts and minds. The author of the remarkable and much remarked upon science fantasy ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’. The pedagogue on whose delicate prose depends your understanding of the literary arts. That happy man who breaks from the few moments of ecstasy this life will allow him to present you with the fruits of his mind and the essences of his labours.

Denouements

Thus far one has been leading you gently by the hand through the rose garden of the literary arts, providing you with the petals of perennial wisdom and alerting you to the sharp, tearing thorns that await the unwary novice as you struggle with your first stumbling steps into the wonders of writing.

Today though, one shall thrust into the meat of the matter, penetrate boldly into the underbrush with decisively strong and muscular intent. For this is the climactic moment of your novel and it needs to leave your reader breathless and fulfilled.

Ah yes, the denouement.

That moment when all becomes clear. That place to which one has been leading, through passages and parlance, the unveiling of understanding where one’s magnum opus finally brings the reader.

It is the climax if you will.

The crescendo when the conductor brings his baton crashing down and the horns blow, and the drums crash, and the strings wail. It is that place where you offer some reason for all that those who travelled stumble-footed through your works endured. That place where you choose whether to bring your reader laughter or tears, happiness or despair, completion or destruction.

It is your big moment. Treasure it. And write it from the bottom of your soul. Use words that drip with drama and exude emotion. Drench it delicious descriptors – all those admirable adjectives and adverbs you have been practising so assiduously. Pump up your prose, that your words are wrought with wonder. Spare not the syllables, for this is the place to prove your true literary worth!

If it is sad, make of it a tragedy. Ensure that it wrenches tears and painful sobs from your reader’s very soul. If it is happy, make it joyous and life-affirming, let it fizz through the bloodstream like champagne and uplift the spirit into ecstatic rapture.

I offer for you one humble exemplar:

When the doorway brought the golden one to his eyes, he felt tears of pain and anticipation sting at the back of his own orbs. Would he be sufficient that such magnificence even deign to notice him? Would he be able to speak around the thorny lump in his throat? Would the dampness of his palms give him away? And what was that hot and heavy sensation in his hitherto unfulfilled loins? He dropped his eyes in real fear, and did not see his destiny approaching him. It was not until a voice like unto nothing he had ever heard before bespoke him that he dared to raise his eyes. He found himself transfixed by a warmly golden gaze and his lips turned up into a smile as the golden one cupped his chin in long fingers and traced the contours of his mouth with the forefinger of the other hand.
“Why do you tremble, pretty one? I won’t hurt you. Much.”

And whether this ending is happy or sad I neither know nor care…

Study well my children.

Next time. Erotica.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

In my eye

I dreamed that I could see the earth
Could fly above the patchwork land
Could oversee both death and birth
Could hold the future in my hand
I dreamed of wonder unalloyed
A world where we could mend what broke
A place we might cry tears of joy
But, come the morning I awoke

©️jane jago 2024

The Easter Egg Hunt – XXVIII

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

It wasn’t at all surprising to find Roz and Allie packed into my big chair in front of the wood burner. As we trooped into the family room they leapt into action, but instead of hurling themselves on me and bombarding me with questions, they were quiet, gently patting and petting. When I crouched down to their level they wrapped their arms around me, singing their favourite lullaby in soft voices. I hugged and kissed them.
“I’m all right my loves.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I am.”
“And Cherry’s husband? Is he really waiting to die?”
“He is. But he’s calm and peaceful now.”
They thought about that for a small while before nodding.
“We think we’d like to go to bed now.”
Ben lifted them into his arms. “Come along then. Mummy and I will come and tuck you in.”
By the time we had done kisses and cuddles, and had a brief cuddle ourselves in the quiet corridor outside the twins’ room, the crowd in the family room had thinned dramatically. Six people sat round the table, although Simeon looked a bit uncomfortable. I put my hand on his shoulder and he looked at me.
“I should go,” he said. “This is a family gathering.”
“And you aren’t family?” I punched him gently. “Morgan is family and you and she are together. That makes you family in my book.”
“Mine too,” Ben said quietly.
Morgan leaned against his arm. “I told you how it would be. Joss and Ben aren’t about excluding people. Me and my mum found that out.”
He grinned at her. “I just don’t want to mess anything up for you.”
“So long as you do as you’re told you’ll be just fine.”
The crows feet that leapt into life around his eyes as he tried not to laugh did my heart good, and turned Morgan into mush. Which she tried to hide by scowling horribly at him.
Stella looked at them and smiled softly, before turning a gimlet eye on me and Ben.
“What have you been at now, Joss? You look like something the cat dragged in and didn’t want.”
Before I could frame a reply, Neil chimed in.
“It went down a bit like this…”
Between Neil, Simeon and Ben there was nothing left for me to explain. For which small mercy I was truly grateful.
Morgan nodded just once, then blew out an explosive breath. “Dad said we shouldn’t be surprised if you were unable to explain tonight.”
“I don’t think I was able,” I could hear the weariness curling through my voice like woodsmoke.
Ellen and Sian were holding hands a thing I hadn’t seen them do since they were little girls.
Ellen spoke up. “Maybe we should all go home and let you rest.”
“No. Please stay a while. Let’s have big drinks and maybe Ben can tell us a filthy joke.”
He smiled and gathered together booze and nibbles. While he was doing that I went around the table hugging everyone. It felt good to touch warm flesh and strong bones after an evening of ghosts and men at death’s door.
Ben finished distributing brimming glasses and dishes of beer nuts. He sat in his big carver chair and pulled me into his lap. I sort of burrowed and he stroked my back.
“I thought someone might find it in their heart to entertain my wife,” he said plaintively.
“Your job, buster.” Neil snorted.
“I think I may be about to be an epic failure because I can’t think of a single filthy anecdote right now.”
Sian rose to the occasion by telling the story of Roz and Allie and the dog leads. Which Ellen capped with a gangster dressed in a dog bed and a pair of slurry pit boots following me across a rain-soaked car park like a pet lamb. Stella opined that at least living at the Fair Maid wasn’t ever boring, and we worked our way back to our version of normal with silliness to camouflage our genuine family feeling.
It wasn’t long before we felt steady enough to say goodnight, but that half hour of repartee helped me back to firm enough ground to feel sleepy and human, instead of halfway between this world and the next and far from those I love.
I slept like a dead thing and only woke when two small blondes scrambled onto my bed and patted my face.
“Time to wake up Mummy Beckett. Sian says you has fifteen minutes to jump through the shower and come to breakfast. She wouldn’t let Daddy come and wake you, because she said he’d interfere with you and your breakfast would be ruined. And you wouldn’t want that because it’s frittata.”
I kissed their rosy faces. “Let me up then.”
They scrambled down and ran off, adjuring me to not be long because they were starving.
I may not have precisely run through the shower but I made it to the table just as Sian was serving up frittata and crispy bacon.
“Bless you, Sian. Though I’m not sure we are paying you enough to look after me as well as my offspring.”
She blew a loud raspberry. “Probably not. So we’ll chalk this up as family shall we.”
Ben hugged her and she grinned at him. “It’s quite nice having two dads,” she opined, “though Ellen foresees trouble when boyfriends start looming large.”
“Not until you are at least forty.”
Roz narrowed her eyes. “What about Morgan and Simeon?”
Allie chimed in. “Yes. Morgan has two daddies and a nice big boyfriend.”
Ben started to look a bit overwhelmed so I stepped in.
“Roz and Allie need to eat their breakfast, and everyone needs to stop pulling Ben’s tail.”
Sian grinned and the twins fell into their breakfasts.
Once we had eaten, Sian shooed us off to work.
“You leave me to sort the gruesome twosome and be off to earn a crust.”
So it was that we started the day laughing, and finished it without any more than the normal small bumps in the road of a business that deals with Joe and Jolene Public on a daily basis.
For the first time in months I felt like we might be out of the woods and I said as much to Ben as we climbed into bed.
He smiled, and I thought how the edges of weariness had dropped off his smile.
“Me too, though I’ll be happier once Cherry is safely buried.”
“That’s certainly a factor, and for two pins I’d get out of bed at dawn to bear witness.”
Esme made her presence known and spoke aloud for both of us to hear.
“You can’t watch Cherry being laid to rest. Only the clairvoyants and Big Jed may do that. But we will be at the crossing to welcome them.”
“If you will help them to the light.”
“We will.”
She kissed my cheek and was gone.
Ben lifted a shoulder. “I was going to suggest a very early morning walk to the Memorial Garden. Seems to have been vetoed.”
“It does. But maybe we can help the girls plant their cherry tree.”
This time it was Grandmother who spoke. “That would be seemly.”

Tuesday rolled around and just as the sun peeped over the horizon I had a dream. I was shown a grassy pathway to a simple stone bridge and allowed to watch as a slender young woman carried her baby across the bridge to where a group of women awaited her. When the dream faded I found myself sitting up in bed with tears rolling down my face. Ben was also awake and as tearstained as me.
“You saw too?” I asked.
“I did. And I’m glad I did. But it wasn’t an easy watch.”
“It surely wasn’t. And I don’t want to go back to sleep in case I see it in my dreams. But what should we do now we are both wide awake at this early hour?”
The sorrow faded from his eyes and by the time he had run through his repertoire of Joss distracting moves I felt smoothed out, very well loved, and ready for breakfast.
I was in the kitchen making a batch of batter for blueberry pancakes when there was a quiet tap on the door. It was Jed.
“When do you want to plant that tree?”
I was about to say who knew what when two voices spoke in unison from the big settee in the sitting room.
“Now.”
Roz and Allie were fully dressed and fully awake.
“Okay. But we have to wait for daddy.”
Ben came in on soft feet. “I’m ready.”
Leaving the dogs on guard duty we walked quietly to the Memorial Garden, where Finoula waited. True to his word, Jed had dug a hole for the sturdy sapling and filled a watering can from the well.
“I’ll hold ‘un steady while you spread the roots.”
The twins nodded and Ben and I stood back as they climbed into the hole and did whatever they felt was necessary, singing quietly all the way as they did so. When they climbed out they held the trunk in their small, muddy hands while Jed filled the hole from a wheelbarrow of sweet-smelling soil. When it was tamped down to the trio’s satisfaction they rolled out strips of verdant turf covering the evidence that anything had happened there. As a final touch, Jed brought out a tray of small plants which the twins gently eased into pockets in the new turf. Job done they stood back and surveyed their work.
Roz pulled on Jed’s sleeve and he crouched down to a level where they could give him hugs and kisses.
“Thank you.”
“You’m entirely welcome.”
I stepped forward and prayed a silent prayer for Cherry, her child, and the husband who would be following her soon. Once I was finished I spread my hands.
“Anybody interested in breakfast?”
Everyone was and we ate in a mood of happy contentment.
Lunchtime saw the arrival of Seanmóir and his associates. They came in with no fanfare, filled up on mountains of tapas and generally behaved like ordinary customers. If you looked closely it was possible to discern a certain sadness underlying the perfect manners, but I decided that was none of my nevermind and went to work on the VAT books. It was a good while later when Ben found me. He slipped into the office and shut the office door quietly.
“Can I get a hug?”
I obliged and he held on tightly, rubbing his face in my hair.
“What’s up, love?”
“Them lot out there. Ordered a round of John Jameson. And the oldest man said something very quietly before they all downed their drinks. I think they were toasting Cherry.”
“Very likely. Are they gone now?”
“They are. Paid their shot. Left a ginormous tip and bowed to me as they went out to their cars. With drivers who all got fish and chips.” He scratched his head. “ I think it was the civility and impeccable manners that got to me.”
I nodded. “Yup that’s fucking unsettling. Shall we go and have a drink to finished business?”
He all but dragged me to the bar where we both had a reviving glass of wine.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Dying to be Roman X

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in an alternative modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules.

Dai flicked on the flashlight in his wristphone and led the way down the ramp into the tunnel. After a short time, he stopped and gestured Julia to keep still. From somewhere ahead of them he could hear a sound very like sobbing. Julia gripped his arm and pulled back shaking her head. Behind them four of Decimus praetorians in full combat gear emerged from the shadows and Julia pointed them along the tunnel.
Dai’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being pushed aside – in this case both literally as well as figuratively. Yet another reminder that this was not his case. The feeling eased a moment later when Julia again pressed her nerve whip into his hand, drew her gun and followed in the wake of the praetorians. It felt odd to be holding a weapon, especially one that had such a powerful emotive pull on him and all non-Citizens. The last time he had not really had the chance to think about it as combat had been instant. But this time the smooth grip of the weapon meant something. Last time Julia had needed him to be armed for her protection, this time she was choosing to arm him so he could participate fully.
There was, of course, nothing to do once they got to the end of the tunnel. The praetorians had the room completely under control and one actually saluted Julia. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Dai offered her the nerve whip as soon as the praetorian had turned away. She palmed it and winked at him. He realised then she could get in serious trouble for arming a non-Citizen, it was, in theory at least, a criminal offence.
The room reeked of stale urine, excrement and blood. Hanging on the walls, there were what Dai first assumed to be tools, but then he realised and felt ill. The result of their use could be seen in the state of the corpses, cloth still gagging their mouths so they could not scream out the agony they must have been put through.
There were two dead men in the room and Dai’s identipad revealed one was a Briton and one a Roman.
The Briton was Docca Vindiorix from Aqua Sulis in Britannia Prima. He was a young man and the brief details available on him said he had just been taken on with the Prima team for the Game, but had yet to make any kind of a name for himself. And now, Dai reflected soberly, he never would.
The Roman came up with some interesting caveats flagging his name and a number of messages that Dai’s ‘enquiry’ would be reported. Urbanus Hostilius Rufus was what Bryn would call ‘a bad boy’ and from the look of his contorted body he had come to a very bad end. Unable to access the full available information on him, Dai had to ask Julia to check for him.
She was helping the one survivor of whatever had been going on. A woman who, despite the terror and trauma of her position, was collected enough to explain she was Tegwen Drust, wife of the chief lion keeper. She knew her husband was dead, Dai had the impression she had been made to watch him die before he was fed to his own lions. But whoever had done the deed had been masked so she could not help identify them.
Julia arranged for Tegwen to be moved to security at the barracks then looked at what Dai wanted and managed to access the information on the dead Roman. 
“Well, it looks like there will be few tears and maybe even some cheers going up when news of Rufus being dead gets round.” She showed him the information stream the gist of which revealed he was well known for being involved in illegal gambling cartels and running under-age prostitution rackets. “Can’t see anyone weeping over this one.”
“Well someone might,” Dai said and pointed to one of the details. “He had a wife.”
Julia’s eyes widened.
“He had a wife who is from a Patrician family. How did a dirt-bag like Rufus manage that? She is Octavia Tullia Scaevia, and according to my information she lives here in Londinium. I think you should go and break the news to her right away, Dai.”
Dai balked for a moment then saw the expression on Julia’s face and nodded slowly.
“All right, I’ll go and tell her she is now a grieving widow.” He looked at the address and then back to Julia with a frown. “Coincidence?”
It was the block next door to the one they had been visiting that afternoon, where they had found the dead body belonging to Annia Belonia Flavia.
“I would be very surprised if it is. Do you want backup?”
Dai shook his head.
“I’ll take my decanus, that will look most natural.”
Julia nodded.
“I’ll go back with the praetorians and see if I can get the lion keeper’s wife to remember any more. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Part XI will be here next week. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

The Secret Life of ‘Nomes – Attack

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Very little the biggers got up to passed without notice. The gnomes knew what the alpha male did to the female that used the writing machine, and what games Mother played in the dark shed.
They saw it as their place to say nothing.
But.
When the fat bigger with the hairy chest cornered a frightened young female, their neutrality deserted them.
They erupted from every bush and tree, biting and scratching and emitting eerie eldritch sounds. The fat bigger ran away as fast as he could with his garment around his knees.
The female kissed Big Eric, who blushed….

Jane Jago

How To Speak Typo – Lesson 44

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago

belive (imprecation) – the opposite to be dead

cocnern (noun) – unreliable dildo

defrentiate (verb) – to unfriend in a history group 

egnlish (noun) – language of ladies who lunch

extatic (adjective) – applies only to men watching porn – exceptionally happy

gate hred (noun) – man who sits in the road by the gatehouse exposing himself to passing women

hiar (verb) – of upper-class twits to rent a posh car

improtent (adjective) – of high value but sexually incapable 

jealsoy (noun) – thick salty sauce

legmue (noun) – knee that appears to be pulling a face 

lubmer (noun) – person who thinks he’d like to be a sailor but is sick when he puts too much water in the bath 

nuremous (adjective) – of families, possessing many rodentine offspring

obnexyus (adjective) – having a very long neck

raibb (noun) – a weapon that shoots death rays and pieces of potato

seeance (noun) – three old ladies with a ouija board and a bottle of port

tuaght (adverb) – of speech, clipped and mildly threatening

tuseday (noun) – day on which it is legal to kill annoying people

vergin (noun) – pure young woman who doesn’t eat meat 

vigenar (noun) – lady bits

yur (noun) – the way year is pronounced by any royal correspondent on television 

zologoist (noun) – supernatural creature that manifests itself during seances by farting

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Drabblings – Gabriel

Telling an entire story in just one hundred words…

His angelic glory lit the small room as he spoke.

“Be not afraid. You have been chosen to bear a divine child,” Gabriel hoped he didn’t sound too weary. 

“Afraid? You’re kidding, right?” She stood arms akimbo by the laundry bucket. “No. I’m not having anyone’s baby. Go away!”

Gabriel left. Her words, “Creepy weirdo!” following him out. The fourth sulky teen he’d asked and so far no joy. Literally.

“Be not afraid, Hannah…”

“Go away!”

“Be not afraid, Rachael…”

“Stuff off!”

Gabriel checked the list. The next one was engaged already. This was so not going to go well…

E.M. Swift-Hook

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