The sword that stands within the stone
Sings inside the soul
Cries come to me and grasp my hilt
If you would once be whole
And all the knights who come to look
With hard ambitious eyes
Who kingship see in glory clad
As life’s most precious prize
Ambition eats their steel-clad souls
And whispers in their brains
The lake blows mists into their ears
They ride away insane
And all the time I sit and wait
For him who stands above
For only whom the waters break
The bear lord, and my love

©️JJ 2019

It was a wet weekend so I was poking through the crumbling and dusty ancient tomes in Mumsie’s personal library, some of which even date back in history to before the early 1990s, in search of something worthy of my attention. As I pulled out a slender volume of poetry, a rather wide and heavy paperback was dislodged and fell from the shelf to impact my naked toes.

After I had finished hopping around and cursing my maternal parent for the disorganised teetering piles of books she has adorning her shelves, I picked up the book and examined it. In the absence of anything else appealing, I decided to read it.

Review of Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

The first thing I noticed is that all the major characters in the book are dead. Which one would think might mean they were thus safer than those who were alive. Indeed, the few who first appear alive usually do wind up dead, but those who are dead also end up deader. Confusing? I think it is meant to be.

For example, there is a little girl who starts being alive, then is dead but still a character active in the book – and then is dead and no longer a character active in the book. Except in the past tense where she remains very active.

The hero of the book is truly Byronesque, bemoaning the nature of the human condition – for those humans who are dead as he is. His nobility is the only saving grace of this book. That and the erotic elements. And Lestat.

Read it if you have a wet weekend that needs filling and have no boxed sets left to binge on.

Two stars – one for each day of that wet weekend it filled and a bonus star for the attractiveness of the real hero, Lestat.

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.

“We’re in space. There cannot be water dripping.”

“No. What’s that smegging noise then?”

“There is no noise.”

But Zammo knew there was noise. He also knew nobody was gonna do smeg. So he suited up. Getting one of the more reliable drones to man the airlock he went out. He turned his face to the direction from which the noise had come, and his jaw dropped so fast it cracked against the plexiglass of his helmet. His feet were on solid ground, and there was vegetation around him. He took off his helmet and walked away from the ship.

©jane jago

I was:
Fifteen when I first set eyes on him.
Seventeen when he fed me red wine, popped my cherry and walked away.
Thirty-one when he walked into a very boring cocktail party. I recognised him immediately; he was even dressed very much the same in faded blue jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up his brawny forearms. He scanned the room with his denim-blue eyes and I was immediately transported back fourteen years to another party in another world.
He had materialised at my elbow with a glass of red wine in each hand.
“I can’t bear to see a pretty girl not drinking.”
It was so vivid that I could even smell the crushed grass underfoot in the marquee.
I snapped back to the twenty-first century in time to see those eyes skip over me, then back, narrowing in recognition.
I put down my glass, walked quietly out of the party and hailed a cab.
Three days later I received a text.
Three days after that I was in his bed.
I rolled over and gave him my best slumbrous look.
“You wanna play a game?”
He was intrigued enough to fall in with my plan.
Three hours later he was tied naked to the bed and I was writing uncomplimentary things about his sexual prowess on his torso with a sharpie.
The photographs were an internet sensation.
Oh yes, revenge is a dish best eaten cold…..

© jane jago

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

I am old and I really don’t care
If I’m wrinkled and grey in the hair
I don’t care if you slight me
But don’t try to fight me
I’ll still whop your ass if you dare

© jane jago

…. or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago

agnoy (noun) – pain caused to head by the repeated losing of one’s shit

becaise (noun) – handbag in which to carry insects

bretsa (adjective) – of politicians, unintelligent and noisy, often venial and basically dishonest 

differnet – (noun) a branch of the Internet wholly concerned with  arcane magics

flase (adjective) – of adolescent boys having a great deal of testosterone and no outlet except exploding zits

geak (noun) – the nose of a computer savvy teenager

hopw (noun) – native American tribe with Welsh connections 

menatlly (adverb) – of looking at women as if they are food

mucyh (adjective) – of cookery getting the whole kitchen covered with a fine film of flour

secude (verb) – to exude a weird kind of sexuality with a particular emphasis on slippers and cardigans

srop (noun) –  very heavy cough medicine with much sugar

tantarula (noun) – dance performed by woman who sees a spider in her bathroom

unsuirable (adjective) – beyond belief, as in ‘I’ve never had any surgeries‘

werble (verb) – to sing off key with a finger in one ear, most often heard on open mike nights at folk clubs 

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

The bright lights promise welcome warmth. The stomach remembers satisfying food while other parts recall the innkeeper’s buxom daughter.

Two cloaked men slide into the smoky taproom. Unasked, the girl brings them ale while her father places wooden bowls of aromatic dumpling-rich stew on their table.

It takes a while, but when their stomachs are sated they beckon the plump girl. She comes, seeming willing enough, and perches on the big man’s iron thighs.

His fatuous smile falters as his head drops on the table.

“In your dreams,” the girl laughs and returns to her station behind the bar.

©jane jago

From Haruspex:A Walking Shadow a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The big man, with his little dog trotting at his heels, walked out of the Tavern quietly and without waking anyone. Which was probably just as well, Archanbor decided, as Ritter wasn’t in a good mood. He didn’t like being locked up. Outside the streets of Keran were mostly deserted and Archanbor moved with silent speed avoiding those few who were up and around.
“No point startling folks is there Ritter?” Archanbor observed as he opened up the low shed beside the workshops attached to the space port. The small dog seemed to agree and watched as his master rolled the heavy felt cloth back over the body of a PTV.
“Well, if he’d not locked us up I’d have offered him a fair hire price – but he doesn’t bloody deserve it now – that was so not a nice thing to do.”
“What isn’t nice, Drum?”
Archanbor spun on his heel and would have fired if Ritter hadn’t barked a sharp warning and run over to sniff at the figure standing in the door, his tail wagging happily.
“Pan? You look as beautiful as ever,” Archanbor opened his arms to offer her a hug. She didn’t move from the doorway, just stood there arms crossed all disapproving.
“You borrowing Gernie’s PTV then Drum?”
Archanbor lowered his arms sheepishly and tucked the energy snub away out of sight. He nodded.
“Oh aye. I was planning on it. Me and Ritts we need to get to Tabruth and it’s a bloody parlous long walk and swim if not.”
Pan nodded agreement.
“It would be. Not at all safe,” she agreed. “So what business do you and Ritter have in Tabruth? I hear that’s where the Overlord has his capital – you got trade with him, Drum?”
Archanbor rubbed his nose a few times and glanced down at Ritter for inspiration.
“Of a sort,” he said eventually.
Pan looked almost stern.
“You mean – your old trade? The one you promised Ritter you’d give up?”
That was so not fair. Even Ritter growled.
“What’s it bloody matter to you?” Archanbor demanded.
“To me? Not much. But to you it could matter. I know for a fact the Overlord has visitors right now and they are a bit out of your league for nowadays, Drum. I just wouldn’t want to see – see Ritter get hurt.”
Which showed what little she knew.
“If I don’t go Ritter will get hurt. And it’s not like I’m going to drop anyone. Just borrow – like I’m borrowing Tavi’s PTV. It’ll all be fine in the end.”
Pan was shaking her head.
“You go borrowing people you could wind up breaking them, Drum. You don’t want that. We’re all getting too old for it. Why don’t you come have a cup of tea with me before you go, at the least? I got a biscuit for Ritter too.”
He looked at the little dog who was standing head on one side.
“He’s not been eating biscuits recently. I think he’s off them,” Archanbor shot a worried look at Pan. “You think he might be not so well?”
She looked anywhere but at the dog, her face considering.
“He might be. If he is, taking him off out to Tabruth won’t help him get any better. Why not come have that tea and let him curl up by my fire for a few, Drum? Maybe that’ll help him some.”
Ritter barked and showed what he thought of that idea. Archanbor laughed. He wouldn’t be sorry to have some tea, it might help settle out his hangover.
“Alright, lass – and thank you.”

E.M. Swift-Hook

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

You are old and you ought to shed tears
As you look back through your many years
But you say that nostalgia 
Just gives you neuralgia 
Which you combat with numberless beers

© jane jago

‘Worldview’ is being prepared for publication sometime in the next year.

Q1: What is the concept behind the book? 

Worldview isn’t just an art book. It’s a depiction of the worldviews and belief-systems of the future, or at least what I envision them to be in my fictional world. Worldview is intended to be an encyclopedia of a twisted and corrupt futuristic Earth, where nations have been openly replaced by corporations, leaving little freedom to the populations who serve under them. The book will be packed with 200 pages of images and descriptions. Once Worldview is published, I intend to create a series of books to follow, all based on the worldview environment. These books will be in the same picture/text format, but will be more character-based, and will incorporate stories, plots, and adventures.

Q2: Where did you find the inspiration for the pictures?

I’m not entirely sure where my inspiration for the images comes from, as I seriously avoid ‘googling’ other imagery in case I regurgitate it. I watch all genres of film, listen to a lot of soundtrack music, and I look at a lot of structures in the city where I live. I also speak with lots of new people every day, mostly strangers, who tell me about their lives and struggles. Maybe all this adds up to what I produce..? I try hard to avoid generic stuff, as there’s way too much of it about, and it’s all been perfected many times over by numerous other artists.

Q3: What techniques did you use to create the pictures?

I paint everything from scratch in Photoshop, using a Wacom tablet and a 27″ iMac. I don’t know how to use any 3D software, and I’m too lazy to learn. I don’t plan anything, or sketch initial ideas as such, I just have a rough idea in my mind and start blocking in shapes to see where it all goes. For those who are familiar with Photoshop, I make heavy use of the lasso tools to create hard edges. Lately, I seem to have become keen on using lots of saturated colours.

James in his own words:

I was born on the Isle of Wight, and started to move around the UK from age 22, playing electric guitar, and working in Radio. Currently I live in Bristol, where I’ve lived for the last 14 years. I’m a self-taught artist, who exploited YouTube and ‘how to draw’ books, beginning about 10 years ago. I’ve been a professional concept artist for about 9 of those years, as I was lucky to get sporadic paid work early in my learning phase. I seriously miss the coast, and I’m convinced I’ll end up moving to Cornwall in the near future, where I’ll continue my art books and working for clients.

You can find James and admire his work on Facebook, Instagram, Deviantart and Artstation.