Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A Giveaway!

A selection of stories Winter Warmers: Festivals and Festivities Reimagined from Jane Jago.

From ‘What Happened at Moose Crossing‘

Moose Crossing was the kind of a place that aspires to be a one-horse town without much hope of success. It had a packed-dirt street lined with chinked log buildings, a livery stable with smallish corral for visiting livestock, and a tented settlement of prospectors whose population was as fluid as the freezing stream off the mountains that provided the town with drinking water.
It was September, and there was enough bite in the wind to keep the mosquitoes at home, although the sky was still a faded denim blue and the trails were hard and relatively easy to travel. 
A big Conestoga wagon breasted the rise just at the edge of town and drew to a halt to give the team a breather. The eight horses steamed in the bright cool air, and the female driver jumped down with a leather water bucket – giving each animal a drink and a word of thanks. 
This being the obvious place to shake-down newcomers, there were already covetous glances being cast on the wagon and its team of big, strongly-built horses. 
The owner of one pair of greedy eyes decided that now would be a good time to stake his claim to the wagon, its contents, the woman and the horses.
He swaggered over, with a hand hovering above the fancy pearl-handled Colt that hung low on his right leg.
“Well, little lady,” he sneered, “there’s a toll to be paid if’n you wants to get this hyar wagon into town unmolested.”
The woman hawked and spat, and gobbet of something landed on the ground between the would-be hard man’s feet. He was fool enough to lose his temper. Grabbing for the gun on his hip he snarled a vile insult. Even as his hand closed on the Colt he realised he wasn’t fast enough – as he found himself looking down the wide barrels of a shotgun which were pointing somewhere around his midriff.
“Put ‘em up, mister less’n you wants a square of turf on Boot Hill.”
He raised his hands, managing to keep a poker face as two of his confederates crept towards the wagon. The first would-be robber slipped into the back of the wagon, while the second made for the horses. 
Both men started screaming at about the same time. The one by the horses was down on the ground with a set of long yellow teeth snapping at his throat, while the other was forcibly ejected from the wagon by the boot of a man who looked like he wrestled grizzlies for a hobby.

Get your FREE copy today or tomorrow and enjoy a warm festive and reimagined Christmas!

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – Listen in and snag a Giveaway!

The opening of Trust A Few, read by Justin Thomas James.

“You have no idea what you are letting yourself in for. How can you?”
Commodore Vane shook his head as he spoke, it was beyond understatement and beyond belief. The soldier’s green eyes were fixed on a point some distance behind the Commodore’s left shoulder. Their colour, so brilliant, Vane suspected genetic enhancement and their focus had been unwavering since he entered the room.
“I think I do, sir.”
He stood in a formal parade-ground stance, as ordered by the scowling Legionary Sergeant who had escorted him in and now lurked by the door. Vane had made a conscious choice not to relax him from the rigid posture. He never did with the conscripts. Vane glanced back at the remote screen he had called up, its contents invisible to anyone else. “Amnesia,” he read the word aloud and looked back at the soldier. “Total amnesia?”
“Total retrograde amnesia, sir,”
The Sergeant, a big, broad-shouldered man called Hynas, stood almost a head taller than his charge who was not much more than average height, and the ever-present scowl changed to a sneer at the words. Vane ignored him.
“And do you know why?”
“Due to an unknown trauma immediately prior to my arrest, sir.”
“Prior to, not during?” The way most of his men were brought in to begin their military career in his Legion it would not have surprised him in the slightest to find the injury had been inflicted at that point.
“Yes, sir.”
“I see.” Vane wondered if he truly did, the implications here were so disturbing. “You have no knowledge or memory of anything before your arrest?”
“None, sir.”
“And that means you have no direct knowledge or experience of what life is like outside the Legion?”
“No, sir. I do not.”
“Then how can you know you want to leave us, soldier?”
He noticed a slight hesitation then.
“I have no direct personal knowledge, sir, but I have researched a great deal about it.”
Which, he supposed, explained the hesitation. But the idea of researching the complexities of everyday life with zero experience of it, stretched his credulity. Vane tried to keep that disbelief from his voice. “Researched it?”
“Yes, sir. I have talked to other people in my unit and accessed information through the Lattice.”
Everyday life as filtered through the minds of violent criminals and a military tactical data provider. The Commodore shook his head but let the naivety pass. His job was to confirm that this man met the criteria required and was fit to be released. In fact, it had been made very clear to Vane he should do whatever was needed to speed the process and allow as little questioning as possible.
But this man was no ordinary ex-criminal. Once – and for many years – his name topped ‘most wanted’ lists throughout the Central worlds and the broader Coalition: the Protectorates and Independent worlds. In Vane’s circle, this man’s name used to be a household word for mindless destruction – the bogeyman of ultimate evil.
Avilon Revid.
Vane found it a curious experience to meet the man behind the myth, but it made the responsibility he now held a heavy one, weighing up all the factors to consider if Revid should be discharged. Revid might have a legal right to be considered for release, but that was not the same as having the right to be released. That decision ultimately lay with Vane and it was one he was not finding at all straight forward…

Trust A Few by E.M. Swift-Hook is free to download today and tomorrow.

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A poem!

The frost was so crisp this morning beneath my booted feet
The logs we’d cut were by the barn and stacked up kind of neat
It’s Christmas in a week or so and weather’s getting cold
I used to not mind quite so much but now I’m getting old.

The warm familiar baking smells flow through the room anew
A fire crackles in the hearth as sunset bids adieu
I always love this time of year, the cosy feel within
And watching through the window for the snowfall to begin.

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A classic song for the festive season, cheerfully and irreverently reimagined for you by the Working Title Blog!

(To be sung with gladness and rejoicing to the tune of ‘The Sussex Carol‘)

On Christmas night all children sing
We want the gifts that Santa brings
On Christmas night all children sing
We want the gifts that Santa brings
Gifts of great joy, gifts of great worth
Gifts that have cost their parents the earth.

So why do dad and mum look so sad?
That is the best Christmas we ever had
So why do dad and mum look so sad?
This is the best Christmas we ever had.
I got a VR Oculus Rift
Sis got a new iPad as her gift.

When mum she brought the turkey in
She tripped on the cat and it fell in the bin
When mum she brought the turkey in
She tripped on the cat and it fell in the bin
I laughed so hard that I nearly did cry
Cos I still had my vegan Quorn pie.

When dad he set the pudding alight
He burned down the house, what a hell of a night
When dad he set the pudding alight
He burned down the house, what a hell of a night
So now we’re staying with gran for New Year
So I will get to stay up and cheer!

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – An ode!

An Ode to Christmas

I dream this night
Of snowflakes white
And frost that bites
I smell the smell
Of pine as well
Whereat I dwell
In my mind’s eye
The Christmas pie
Goes dancing by
I dream today
Of games to play
And words to say
Oh Christmas Muse
Whose shiny shoes
Give one the blues
I dream of thee
Incessantly
Along with Street of Quality.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A Flash Fiction

The Christmas Letter

It had been six months since Bea went to live with Papa’s sister. Now it was Christmas time and her cousins were writing their letters to Santa. 
In her mind’s ear Bea heard Papa’s laugh and felt his hand on her brown curls.
“Be careful who you write to, my love. Santa is no more than a fairytale, but Satan is alive and real.”
She thought it worth a try and wrote carefully, kissing the screw of paper before throwing it into the hottest part of the fire. 
Her aunt sighed, but said nothing, knowing how hard this must be for one lonely little girl.
Christmas morning, while it was still dark, Bea felt icy fingers at her brow. She opened her eyes to see a narrow, cold sort of a gentleman sitting on the side of her bed.
“You wrote to me.”
“I did, sir. Can you make my wish come true?”
“Do you know what you are asking for?”
Bea nodded and reached for Papa’s hand across the divide.
Later that same morning, her aunt found her quite cold in her bed but with a smile that lit her plain little face and made her beautiful in death.

Jane Jago

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A Classic song for the festive season, cheerfully and irreverently reimagined for you by the Working Title Blog!

The Choir’s Lament

(To be droned loudly and nasally to the tune of ‘Gaudete‘)

Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day
Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day

Tiddly tiddly, tiddly pom, tiddly tiddly tiddle
I have lost half of my brain and I need a widdle

Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day
Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day

Stand we all inside the choir, masters come to school us
Tempers fuggit, Dominus, smacks us with a ruler

Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day
Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day

Deus, homo sapiens, strange sounds with no glory
We don’t understand a word, cannot see the story

Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day
Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is Latin
And we have to learn it by Christmas Day

Puer nobis nascitur, rector angelorum
What the hell does this all mean? We could die of boredom

Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is boring
But we have to sing it, on Christmas Day
Bloody hell, bloody hell, this stuff is boring
But it’s now an earworm. Won’t go away.

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – Listen in… and a bonus Giveaway!

The Night Librarian by Jane Jago, read by Tall Tale TV

It was very quiet in this area of the stacks, so quiet that if you listened carefully enough you could hear the books breathing. This portentous silence was broken by a rhythmic squeak as a trolley loaded with grimoires and magical texts was pushed firmly towards the dark corner wherein such resided.
“It’s no good you being like that,” a determined voice said. “It doesn’t hurt being shelved. It’s not as if any of you are chained. Although if some of you keep misbehaving…”
The rhythmic squeal stopped and the trolley rounded a corner, being pushed by a dumpy girl with a determined looking chin. As it neared the shelves where arcane and magical volumes were shelved the squeal started up again.
“Does somebody want to be shelved on 99b?”
Silence.
The dumpy girl began shelving volumes with practiced efficiency. She handled the books with care and respect, but would brook no resistance nor any other tricks. One of the grimoires snapped its covers at her and she slapped it firmly.
“Start that with me and I’ll chain you.”
If it was possible for a book to look abashed it did so, coming quietly to hand to be slipped into its accustomed place.
Once the grimoires were tidily placed in their proper positions, the Night Librarian closed the steel doors around their stack and locked them with a hugely ornate key.
On her way back to the centre desk, she paused briefly at travel and pointed an imperious finger. There was a bit of scrabbling as the books reshelved themselves in their proper order, followed by an embarrassed silence.
“Papua New Guinea, since when have you lived between Jersey and Guernsey?”
A dog eared volume leapt from a shelf and scuttled off. The girl regarded the now tidy stack for a moment before permitting herself a small smile.
“Better.”
She turned on her heel pushing the now empty trolley to the store room where it would be filled by the day staff who were far too busy to ever shelve books.
As they saw it, that was her job and the business of shelving had already taken a goodly part of the night, but at least there was just one full trolley left. She looked at it with some disfavour before grasping the handles firmly. Immediately they turned warm, and furry and she could feel tiny tentacles caressing the thin skin inside her wrists.
“Stop that at once,” she frowned awfully and the trolley behaved as she pushed it past Young Adult, Alternative History, and Romance to its designated area: Erotica.
“Here we are,” she said brightly, “your stop”.
These stacks were somehow claustrophobic, and the air was thick and heavy with what could be felt as either threat or promise. The young librarian appeared to feel neither as she simply proceeded with her work…

And the bonus giveaway for today and tomorrow is Twelve Tales of Christmas by Jane Jago!

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – 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…

It is that time of year again when tinsel and fake snow are seen liberally strewn over windows and every house in the neighbourhood is illuminated by thousands of watts worth of multicoloured flashing bulbs. Giant inflatable Santas bend at the waist as they slowly prolapse onto the lawn and herds of plastic reindeer can be found grazing on every municipal greensward.

Ah yes, Christmas!

The time every writer remembers the magic as a child of seeing the Christmas tree lit up after hearing swearing coming from the front room for an hour. Or the apparently endless amounts of food on a groaning board, whilst relatives are sitting, groaning, bored and picking fights for the sake of it. Or the sound of carols through the shopping-mall loudspeakers being interrupted by non-sequitur advertisements and announcements. Or the excitement of unwrapping presents so quickly replaced by the despair as another Christmas jumper hand knitted by Great Aunt Tracey is revealed beneath the gaudy paper or a pair of thermal, odour-reducing socks in vibrant tartan from Mumsie.

This, dear Reader Who Writes, is the very magic you need to ensure you capture on the tip of your quill and then spread in decorative loops and swirls of language to fill the pages of that essential for every aspiring author – the Seasonal Short.

To be honest, a wise beginner will start with the lesser festivals of the writing calendar. Maybe a little romantic flash fiction for Valentine’s, working through to a Halloween Horror so that by the time you reach the height of over-played, sentimentalism that is Christmas literature, you will have the technique somewhat practised.

But fear not, mes petites, even if you have not been preparing, even if you have never set pen to paper or finger to keyboard in a literary endeavour afore this moment, follow my three golden rules and you will be in with as much of a chance as the most famous author.

Rule One: Make it Maudlin.

Do not stop at soppy and sentimental, instead toboggan through the more flaccid emotions and pitch straight into the point where Merry marries Melancholy and keeps up an affair on the side with Nostalgia.

Rule Two: Make it Short.

This is Christmas. Your reader will be well sozzled, exhausted from family rows and trying to avoid the Queen’s speech. Their attention span will not be long. A novella is too long.

Rule Three: Make it Shiny.

Use lots of words like ‘sparkle’, ‘glitter’, ‘glow,’ ‘luminescence’, ‘coruscation’, ‘shimmer’, ‘gleam’ and ‘twinkle’.

So there, in a Nutcracker Suite, dear Reader Who Writes, is my Christmas gift to you. Use it wisely and every future festive season will bring you joyous prosperity from your literary endeavours.

Happy Christmas.

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.

Yule love this!

It is the festive season,
The time December sees in
And that’s our very reason,
To grant each day for you
Something that’s old or new
Perhaps a gift or two!

TODAY’S DELIGHT – A Giveaway!

Dying for a Poppy

In a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

September MDCCLXXVII
Britannia is sweltering under an unseasonable sun.

I
The column of slow and ugly army supply lorries, left Londinium early in the morning, heading north-west on the main road to Viriconium. It was carrying a recently appointed Submagistratus of Demetae and Cornovii, his brand-new force of vigiles, their families and possessions and a vexillation of grim-faced praetorians.
Julia Lucia Maxilla wondered idly why they didn’t use hover vehicles. She mentioned this to her husband of just seven days – who happened to be the Submagistratus – and he laughed.
“Range my lovely, they would need to recharge and there aren’t any charging stations where we are going.”
“Right. Fine. It’s just that I haven’t seen a wheeled vehicle, leave alone been in one, since my brief time as a border guard on the eastern fringes of the Empire.”
Dai looked down into her face.
“By the sound of your voice that wasn’t the most pleasant of secondments.”
“It had its moments. But I met Edbert and found Canis and Lupo so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
She could see he was dying to ask more and felt a surge of affection towards him for the care he always took with her. In the end, though, it seemed he couldn’t resist just one question.
“What was an Inquisitor in the service of the Praetor doing on the Eastern Border?”
She turned in his arms and squinted up at his face. “I wasn’t an Inquisitor. I was a customs officer. Undercover. But those days are gone now. I’m a very proper Roman wife now.”
He laughed and put his hands around her waist. “Not too proper I hope…”
She made a rude noise and crossed her eyes at him. Bending his handsome head, he kissed her into submission.
She giggled, pointing to the man-mountain that was Edbert, her personal bodyguard, who was pretending to be asleep in the opposite corner of the passenger cabin. Dai smiled, then glanced down and his face creased with laughter.
“Will you look at them?”
Julia followed his gaze and saw identical expressions of aristocratic disgust on the faces of Canis and Lupo, her shaggy grey wolfhounds.
When she stopped laughing, she prodded Dai’s chest with a determined forefinger. “Instead of behaving in that extremely un-Roman fashion, why don’t you explain your family to me? Since we are going to be living just outside Viriconium and less than a spit from where they are, I’d like to know a bit more about them.”
“I wondered when you would ask.”
She was instantly contrite.
“I’m sorry love. Should I have asked before?”
“No. I’m sort of glad you haven’t. Let’s me know you married me for myself not my prospects.”
“Oh. Do you have prospects?”
“Actually, no. But most people seem to think I have.”
“Me neither, so we’re quits there.”

You can keep reading Dying for a Poppy by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago for free if you download it today or tomorrow.