Bonjewer mes enfants terribles.

It is one. Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham, novelist, raconteur, social commentator, and world traveller, best famed for my seminal science fiction ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’. My life is a procession of tastes, sounds and smells – of which those as limited as your little selves can never hope to be cognisant. But I think of you – even in the social whirl of my new-found sexual liberty I can still find time for those who hunger for my words of wisdom.

Yes my pale and thirsty ones, you need not fear abandonment, your beloved pedagogue and mentor is still here. Here to tackle your little grammar issues with a light hand and a sharp stick. Attend carefully to my words of wisdom as there will be questions later, and those found wanting will be spending time on the naughty step with sore botties.

One of the questions that seems to plague the minds of innocents such as yourselves is the proper way to refer to more than one of anything. Oh, how I hear you squeak with excitement. Oh, how damp are your palms. How your little hearts do go pitty-pat with excitement. But settle down my little ones whilst one inculcates you into the mysterious world of the group noun.

How to Write Right  – Lesson 2. The Write Collective Noun

Even those with such paucity of education as is provided within our state system must be aware that there is such a thing as a group noun – a.k.a a collective noun. You will even have heard of some, like a gaggle of geese, an exaltation of larks, a murder of crows, and an unkindness of ravens. Looking at this exemplar in quartet firm you will surely notice that the group noun takes into account the popular perception of some facet of the behaviour, sound, or character of the creatures it is describing. Hence a daylight robbery of estate agents.

Herewith a short glossary of helpful collective nouns for you to exploit and export to your own writing.

An alligator of tabloid journalists
A Botox of daytime TV presenters
A disagreement of wedding guests
A dissonance of amateur musicians
An elocution of Radio 4 presenters
A fabrication of politicians
A flop of footballers
An irritation of yummy mummies
A perspiration of gym bunnies
A perversion of 1970s disc jockeys
A raucousness of rugger players
A screech of sopranos
A slapfest of adult bridesmaids
An understatement of British Males
A wrinkle of cheap tailoring

One could continue…. but.

Even to minds as understretched as yours, it should be obvious that there will not always be a convenient group noun for your purposes.

The advice in that case. Make one up. As in yourselves – a credulousness of pupils.

Until next. Try not to make too much of a mess of your notebooks. A nastiness of naughty steps awaits those with blotched pages!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

Built upon an asteroid, these mighty habitation towers are the final stronghold of humanity in a star system ravaged by a long-ago war. Now, centuries after the apocalyptic conflict, the city thrives — a utopia for the rich who live at the top, built on the labours of the poor stuck below. Starway Pathfinders is a science fiction show that entertains the better off and brings hope to the poor…

He called Joah as he travelled, on the excuse of telling her he had done his bit, but a big part of him needing some reassurance.
“You did good, Dog, really good.” Joah’s face smiled at him as he finished his tale. “We are trying hard as we can to tell people there is no curse, but no one seems to be listening.”
For a moment Dog was puzzled, then he got it and felt a spike of adrenaline.
“I did my best,” he said, “but those guys — they really believe in it.”
“I know. It’s everywhere. And I’m getting worried, Dog. People are saying the whole series is cursed and it’s having a knock-on effect. Now no one is donating to the president’s project, and those that have are trying to get their money back.”
Dog let that thought echo around wherever it needed to before he replied.
“And that about Zarshay?” He showed her the tweak. “It’s just the same crap, isn’t it?”
There was a long pause and Joah’s face blinked away. When she reappeared, she looked grim.
“I didn’t know about that one, Dog. I don’t know where Zarshay is, she’s not answering my calls and I can’t get hold of her.”

Joah woke in the dark, heart thudding, and reached out a hand to the empty space where Zarshay should be. It was the worst time to allow her mind free rein in speculation. She had spent a while trying to convince the nice woman the police sent round to interview her that there was nothing wrong. But she knew she had not succeeded.
“If Ms. Sygma was missing, don’t you think I’d be the very first to report it? She’s my wife.”
“So, where is she? These tweaks say she’s been kidnapped and you say you don’t know where she is — and I can see you are worried. Where do you think she might be?”
“I — I don’t know.”
“You can think of somewhere possible, though?”
Joah could not deny it.
“Below,” she said, her voice hoarse with worry. “She has — had — family down there, somewhere.”
The nice police officer looked gently inquiring.
“But wouldn’t she have told you if she was planning a visit there?”
Joah had tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. “No. She wouldn’t. She knows how I feel about her going there; we would only have rowed, and—” She broke off and blew her nose. “She probably thought she could go and come back before I missed her. Something must have happened.”
The nice police officer looked sympathetic.
“Are you sure you don’t know anything about it? I mean, all these odd things being reported about events at your studio and this silly talk of a curse—”
Joah had erupted then. All her fear channelled into anger.
“How dare you?” she spat, standing up as she did so, her whole body shaking with emotion. “How dare you come here and suggest I’m playing some game around the love of my life? You came to question me — I didn’t call you here. I think she’s just fine. She’ll be home tomorrow. Now get the hell out of my house.”

Star Dust by E.M. Swift-Hook, originally appeared in The Last City, a shared-universe anthology. This version is the ‘Author’s Cut’ and differs, very slightly, from that original. Next week – Episode 1011

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

I brought my love a golden ring and on it I did write
Words that spoke of love so true and bonded spirits bright
I gave my love that golden ring and with it gave my heart
And we exchanged our soul-sworn vows that never would we part.
And as the winter turned to spring and summer fell to fall,
We wove our hearts as lovers do and answered Cupid’s call.
And as the spring to summer changed and autumn passed to chill
We held each other in our clasp and love grew stronger still.
When summer faded with the leaves my love he faded too
And as the gold gave way to white my love slept ‘neath the yew.
And when the snowdrops pierced the snow, their cold grief pierced my heart
And when the bluebells ‘gan to grow they tore my soul apart.

E.M. Swift-Hook

This is the story of what happens when a pragmatist gives in to a romantic impulse. Be warned.
I’m that pragmatist and my name is Alysson Kowalski.
Now that we all know who we are, there’s a couple of things you need to be aware of before you start reading: I swear too smegging much; I couldn’t give a flick what you think of me; and I do expect you to pay attention. Listen up, there may be questions later.

Through the skinny end window of my three-metre square office I watched Jackdaw Court grow from a hole in the ground to something one might call an architectural oddity if one was being kind. That having been said, and almost in spite of myself, I got interested and when the ‘for sale’ boards went up I dropped into the estate agent on my way home.
I sat in my tiny ‘apartment’ (ain’t that a joke: read bedsit with pretensions) ate pizza, and studied the blurb with increasing fascination. It was the tower that got me. Ever since I was a little kid I’ve been fascinated by towers, and the idea of living in one really floated my boat.
Not being one to let the grass grow, I was in the estate agent’s prim little office before nine thirty the next morning.
“The tower at Jackdaw Court. When can I see it?”
The over-presented receptionist looked at me as if I was something that had crawled out of the undressed lettuce that undoubtedly formed the mainstay of her meals. I favoured her with my best and most dangerous glare, and she thought better of whatever it was she had intended to say. Instead she made painfully slow progress on her computer. After faffing about for at least ten minutes she made a breakthrough.
“You can see it now” she said brightly. “Mister Brown is free.”
“Well wheel him out then. I don’t have all day.”
She picked up a handset and dialled three digits with a perfectly manicured finger.
“Customer wants to see the tower at Jackdaw Court. Now.” She put the handset down and only just managed not to sneer.
“He will be right with you.”
A middle-aged gent with a bit of a beer belly came out from the back office and smiled at me.
“Paul Brown” he stuck out a hand.
“Alysson Kowalski” I kept my own hands behind my back and his grin actually broadened.
“I’ll just get my car.”
I looked at him sternly. “You could do with the walk.” He winced then grinned.
“As you say.”
It was all of fifteen minutes, even with me needing to slow down for my new friend, but in that time we had sized each other up well enough for no fencing to be necessary.
“I take it” he said genially “that you have all your finances in position and you are in a position to proceed.”
“Yeah. Course I am. But blondie didn’t think so.”
“No. If she had she would have called on one of the thrusting young men who were also sitting in the back office drinking coffee.”
“How’d anything that stupid get a job?”
He grinned and shrugged.
“Yeah. There’s that” I had to admit. “But how does she keep the job?”
“She probably won’t. Especially if I make a sale this morning.”
“Eh? But don’t you make rather a lot of sales? The harmless duffer pose must be worth more than a few bob to the company.”
He grinned toothily. “It is. And I’m probably the most successful salesman in this branch. But you are not my target market. I’m supposed to deal with older people who would be turned off by Ranjit or Ralph – who are both a bit flashy.”
“Well then. I’d probably have wound up breaking someone’s pinky in a handshake. I don’t much care for flashy young men.”
By this time we were rounding the corner to come face to face with Jackdaw Court. Paul Brown visibly recoiled.
“It’s smegging ugly isn’t it” I said conversationally.
“No comment. But if you think that…”
“It’s the tower.”
He must have seen the yearning in my face, as he sprinted to unlock the front door of the tower apartment, which gave access to a flagstoned lobby and a broad stairway that ran up the side of the stone-clad building to the base of the tower proper. We ascended in single file with me in front. When we reached a second locked door Paul passed me a key. I opened up to find myself in a large, light entrance hall.
“Bedroom level. Both are en suite.”
I looked into the first room to find a hardwood floor and white wooden shutters at the window. Nice. The en suite was a wet room with slate walls and floor.
“Master the other side of the hall.” This was bigger and with windows in two walls, but it had the same flooring and shutters. The en suite was a proper bathroom with whirlpool bath, and walk-in shower. Again the floor was slate, but the walls were white composite. I nodded once and preceded Paul up the stairs. This floor was almost entirely taken up with a kitchen cum diner cum family room. The kitchen bit looked fine to me, and the rest was more than fine. Up again we reached the sitting room, which had a big balcony on one side and a tiny roof garden the other. A final bonus was the spiral staircase to a mezzanine level study.
I stood in the middle of the sitting room and considered my options. “Okay” I said. “Take it off the market. I’ll pay the asking price if I can be in inside a month.”

From Jackdaw Court by Jane Jago.

I hate being called ‘dear’

I may be as old as dirt. But that doesn’t make it okay for you to patronise me, or not bother to ascertain my name.

So many times I have ambled up to a plexiglass screen to be faced by a face with a lot of orange make-up and nothing going on behind the eyes, who will then refer to me as ‘dear’ throughout.

I read the other day about an old lady in Utah, who suddenly got out a gun and blew off a bank clerk’s face.

I rather suspect she had been called ‘dear’ once too often 

You can now have a collection of Granny’s inimitable insights of your very own in Granny Knows Best.

Join Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson as they investigate the strange affair of the Dartymuir Dog…

‘Mister Homes. Please come quickly. There’s murder afoot on Dartymuir. Signed Inspector E. E. Yore.’

Bearson had to admit the words meant little to him, but he was satisfied by the change in his best little chum from amoral turpitude to intellectual rigour. 

Homes showed his teeth in a feral grin.

“You’d be more interested if you read the Thunderer instead of your dreadful publication full of bones and innards.”

He passed Bearson a copy of the newspaper which he had folded to display a headline and and a short article about a series of strange happenings in the wilds of Dartymuir. The headline read ‘Dogged by the Dartymuir Dog’. According to the somewhat sensationalised account, one of the oldest families in the shire was being persecuted to the extent that its scions lived in fear of their lives. That, combined with the Inspector’s telegraph message, certainly seemed enough to pique the interest of the formerly torpid pig.

“Are we off to Dartymuir, Homes?”

“Oh yes. I think so. Consult your Bradshaw’s for train times and have Mrs Cangar pack some hunny sandwiches. I don’t think we will be home for tea.”

Bearson ascertained train times. “There is a fast train leaving at three thirty, but we will scarcely make that one. Or a stopper which departs at five.”

Homes nodded, and Bearson went off to negotiate with their formidable housekeeper. When he returned, coated and booted, Homes was busily ferreting in an old steamer trunk beside the bay window.

“Aha,” he exclaimed, “got you you little blackguard.”

He emerged triumphantly with a large brass whistle on a lanyard, which he hung about his neck.

“Are you not ready yet Bearson old chap?”

“Very nearly Homes.”

“Good man. Do not by any means neglect to bring your service revolver with you.”

Bearson tapped the pocket of his Ulster. “It’s right here, old thing.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of their cab.

As they claimed aboard, Homes passed the driver a shilling. “There’s half a crown in it for you if we make the three-thirty train to Dumplingshire.”

The jarvey whipped up his pony and they were off.

Piglock Homes and his sidekick Doctor Bearson will continue their investigation into The Affair of the Dartymuir Dog next week… Jane Jago

χαιρετίζει τους μαθητές μο,

It is I, your beloved pedagogue and guide to the less lucent corners of the labyrinthine literary milieu, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, author of the much spoken of science fantasy classic, ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’. I am here, lissom and tanned, reborn from the ashes of my pre-vacation self like a phoenix and freshly returned from my Mediterranean meanderings around the Greek Islands.

Whilst there, I undertook some language lessons from my travelling companion, Stavros. This had the salutary effect of making me consider the rudiments of grammar, syntax and such basic building blocks from which a writer constructs the complex edifice of a story. It dawned upon me with a flush of guilt and horror that I have not given enough – if indeed any – time to ensuring that you, my beloved students are entirely au fait with the marvels that comprise English grammar.

So, I shall not delay further and will introduce my new project which will, along the way, unveil for you such mysteries as the correct use of the Oxford comma and the importance of not splitting your infinitives!

How to Write Right  – Lesson 1. The Write Apostrophe.

Ah, I hear you say, with a cherubic grin at your own cleverness, this will be one I know! And yes, of course, you will want to then say how an apostrophe stands in for a missing letter or letters, as in:

Balthazar, his book becoming Balthazar’s book. Or when does not becomes ‘doesn’t. But these are the simple uses that every school child will have ingested along with maternal lactic secretions. I shall not spend more than the briefest amount of time on them.

In brief: use an apostrophe to show possession or omission. The only difficult bit is when words have the ill-considered affrontery to end with ‘s’ or to be plural, but there the rule is to omit an extra ‘s’: the boys’ toys or Stavros’ biceps. There may be a few exceptions to this, but we are considering the rule not the breaking of it.

There, now we have that out the way I shall come onto the far more pertinent and valuable part of the lesson: the use of the apostrophe as an essential ingredient in science fiction and fantasy nomenclature. As an author of the genre of speculative fiction that blends both those mighty tributaries into a single majestic torrent – science fantasy – this is an arena in which I can be considered fully expert.

The importance of the apostrophe in naming characters, places and mysterious technological or magical items is immense. With a single tiny stroke, it imbues a name with something not of this world. One apostrophe adds a hint of mystery. Two will make the name ring out visually and three imbues the owner of the name with an aura of unmistakable potency.

This veritable grammatical magic wand, inserted into even the most commonplace of names can elevate your story from the level of dull and mediocre to that of intriguing and innovative. It speaks of mystical matters or loathsome lifeforms, alien abilities or high brow high-tech . But, student mine, be aware of the danger of adding more than three apostrophes to any one name. The effect then is inverted. What was dramatic and original suddenly becomes trite and overplayed. Too many and the bubble is burst. Less is more, my pupil. Less. Is. More!

I will conclude with a powerful demonstration of this marvellous device and you may see for yourself how the humble apostrophe transforms a name, whisking the reader away from the everyday world and into a new and unknown realm, there to hover eager and awaiting, for the story to unfold before them – the story you are writing!

Take my own name: Metheringham

One apostrophe:

Met’Heringham
Metheri’Ngham
Methe’Ringham

Two apostrophes:

Meth’Erin’Gham
Me’Theringh’Am
Metheri’N’Gham

Three apostrophes:

M’Eth’Er’Ingham
Metheri’Ng’H’Am
Me’The’Ring’Ham
These speak most eloquently for themselves and so I rest my case. I shall return next week with another grammatical gem to galvanise you. Until then, I bid you farewell.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

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

Built upon an asteroid, these mighty habitation towers are the final stronghold of humanity in a star system ravaged by a long-ago war. Now, centuries after the apocalyptic conflict, the city thrives — a utopia for the rich who live at the top, built on the labours of the poor stuck below. Starway Pathfinders is a science fiction show that entertains the better off and brings hope to the poor…

“So, you have to tell me, what’s he like? I mean close up? Is he taller than he looks? Shorter? Has he got bad breath and a squint that they filter out? Or is he just like you see him on screen?” Teram was pumping out questions faster than a media interviewer as they hit the glides, and Dog felt as if a heavy weight was pressing on his shoulders.
“Just like he is on screen.” Only colder. But he couldn’t say that out loud. There was so much he had to not say, it made him feel a tight pressure in his head.
He had told Zarshay it made him feel bad, and she had just given him one of those odd smiles of hers.
“You don’t even need to lie, Dog. Just tell the truth of what’s happened. What’s happened, not why.”
She’d made it sound easy. Heila had been even less sympathetic, no surprises there. She had rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh of frustration.
“Oh for— Why all this soul searching? It’s not that hard.You’re an actor — so act.”
But it was Joah’s words which stayed with him. She had gripped his arm and said, “We’re counting on you, and I know you can do it. Don’t worry, you won’t let us down.”
Joah was counting on him. That knowledge made him feel stronger as he followed Teram through the glides; if Joah trusted him, then he could do it. He had to: the thought of letting her down sat like cold vomit in his stomach.

The salvage crew greeted Dog as an old friend, but he knew right away something was different.
“You told them, you bastard,” he hissed into Teram’s ear as the group waved an over-enthusiastic welcome.
Teram gave him an odd look. “Sure, I told them. But only ’cos they were saying how much you looked like Hengast Gethick. These are my bros — people who I trust my life to when we’re out there.” He nodded towards the smudge-covered window.
Dog felt his headache intensifying. This was a new element to the plan, and he’d have to think how to handle it and make adjustments on the wing. The problem was, fast thinking wasn’t Dog’s strong point and never had been.

In the event, it wasn’t as bad as he feared; in fact, it made his task a bit easier. The salvage crew asked all the usual questions he got from fans, but they were less intense. It was almost as if they were seeing him as Dog — himself, the person, and not as Arlan Stude or even as celebrity Hengast Gethick. It was a good feeling and one he hadn’t had for a while.
When it happened, it was so natural Dog found he didn’t even need to act.
“So, what’s with your wrist, Dog?” someone asked.
Two beers down, he was feeling relaxed and lifted his hand to show off the brace he had on his left wrist.
“This?”
“Yeah. I was reading you broke it in another of those accidents keep happening in the studio. “And Heila Camarthy did another floor-kiss over some cable and needed to see a dentist.”
“I heard your floor technician got electrocuted and nearly died.”
“And is it true your production engineer deleted half an episode? That part of the curse too?”
Dog lifted up his other hand and used both to fend off the questions.
“It’s not a curse. Accidents happen.”
“Really? That many in just a few days? People are saying it’s about these aliens. All that stuff about them being able to attack with bad luck. Shit, the next episode even admits it. It’s called ‘Curse of the Kyruku – Part One.’”
Dog barked out a laugh.
“That’s just a story. It’s not real — not a real curse.”
“Really? You could fool me. All of SP social media’s buzzin’ with it — people guessing what’s going to happen next and wondering if we’ll even get to see them aliens. I was all set to put half my savings into building us that real Golden Strand — reckoned I’d be in with a shot at a crew spot and all. But it’s made me think again.”
“You and me both, bro,” Teram said. “I had in mind to buy some sweet shares in that ship’s golden ass, but no way now.”
Shaking his head in disbelief at how easy this was, Dog swilled some more of his drink and let the speculation run riot around him. It was almost as if they wanted there to be a curse.
“What about this latest one? Zarshay Sygma’s gone missing — someone just put out a tweak on Twister.”
Dog thumped his drink down on the table so hard the base cracked.
“What?” His voice was a roar which stunned half the bar into a brief shocked silence. “What’s happened?”
The salvage crew were all gaping at him open-mouthed and he realised that, for them, all this was just some continuation of the storyline. It could be real people being injured, maimed, kidnapped — but to them it was just more Starways Pathfinders. His good mood evaporated, sucked away into the dark vacuum outside the window, and he pushed himself to his feet.
“I gotta go,” he mumbled and, ignoring the protests and expressions of concern, he strode from the bar and hit the glides home.

Star Dust by E.M. Swift-Hook, originally appeared in The Last City, a shared-universe anthology. This version is the ‘Author’s Cut’ and differs, very slightly, from that original. Next week – Episode 1010

Things are not quite how you might remember them in the 100 Acre Wood for Christopher Robin, Pooh Bear and their friends…

***** ***** *****

Jane Jago