Gary Bonn's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"
Editorial Input!
If you are unfamiliar with the terms beta reader, structural editor, copy editor and proof reader or you don’t see the need to have your book edited – this is probably a most important blog for you to read.
A BOOK IS A TEAM EFFORT.
I don’t know of a single (current) great writer who doesn’t depend heavily on editorial input. Terry Pratchett allegedly used seven trusted and skilled editors. I'd say that’s about right.
You are blind to your mistakes. Maybe you’ll self-publish and what could have become a priceless gem, cherished by readers, will join the millions of books that sell less than ten copies and sink into obscurity.
Recently I was asked to review a friend’s already published book. I couldn’t get past the first page let alone review it. I was gutted that someone had put so much effort into something only to have produced a work that people would reject as unreadable.
To make matters worse I phoned the writer and offered to edit it for free. The writer was profoundly shocked that I would even suggest that the book wasn’t completely perfect.
As an artist I can paint a picture and not have to pass it round several people for comments and adjustment before I finish it. Books don’t work like that.
In an ideal world you’ll pass early chapters, scenes, even whole manuscripts to friends skilled in editing or critiquing fiction. These people are beta readers and you need about half a dozen of them.
What makes these people valuable is their knowledge of fiction writing and their supportive comments regarding your work. From the very beginning of the editorial process to the end you need people who respect you enough to tear your work apart.
“I don’t understand that sentence.”
“Why did she do that? Am I missing something?”
“I don’t think he’d do this – he’s not that sort of person.”
That’s the polite stuff :) When beta readers are highly skilled you’ll get...
“Those three chapters have to go. Why are they even in there?”
“These characters all sound like the same person.”
“Too convenient. It looks like you ran out of ideas there.”
And my personal favourites...
“Gary, there’s probably a story in there somewhere, and I know you wrote it in a rush but look, this first line isn’t even in English.”
“It’s lovely to see this character back in action; she’s a real favourite of mine but didn’t she die in chapter four?” (Beware cutting and pasting errors.)
“Gary, are you writing for readers, or working through a personal issue here? Consider therapy before writing another book.”
As you can see from the above, profound and lasting friendships can emerge from critiquing. Beta reading doesn’t only strengthen someone’s book; it is a valuable tool to improve your own writing. Offer to beta other writers’ work and you’ll see what I mean.
Think of the first draft of your manuscript as a lump of rock vaguely resembling a human form. Now your betas have helped you turn it into a half-finished sculpture. It’s time to move on.
Structural Edits
Structural/copy edits vary in style, take more effort and are a much bigger ask of someone.
An editor will look at a lot of elements including:
Time line
Story arc
Pace, tension, immersion, humour
Character arcs, consistency, development etc
Is the book correctly written for the intended audience and suitably accessible?
Are the right narrative techniques used?
Ambiguities: where does it need to be made clearer?
Is it the right length?
Sentence structure, attributions
And tons of other stuff
The golden rule is to listen to what editors say. If someone asks for a change (and they all ask for lots of them), they’ll often give a reason.
“You’ll need to explain why the bus took so long to get there. As it is, the reader will be confused: I was.”
If you can’t give a solid reason why a change should not be made – make the change. The editors are your friends. They see your work through other people’s eyes. If they don’t see what you are trying to say, you must change it until they do.
It’s worth pointing out that for every hour a reader reads, the writer has spent over a hundred hours* producing that hour’s worth of reading and went on to add another hundred or more in editing.
*Muffy College, Cambridge can be read in 5 hours. Each hour of reading took me 272 hours to write and edit or 1,360 hours in total – more than half in editing. In addition structural editors put in about 110-140 hours (between them) for a ~50-70,000 word book.
Some changes can be made with quick fixes, “The bus was caught in roadworks. I did mention that but I’ll stress it again so it’s clearer.”. Others mean changing the whole book into a different narrative style or building an entire new thread throughout the story.
You soon learn to give in and make changes – particularly when you see how much better the book is going to be.
Some notes of caution – you are the captain of the book: retain control.
You don’t need to make every change suggested: don’t make any unless you’re sure they are necessary. One editor may suggest things that conflict with others.
If two of them point out the same flaw, it’s probably time to make a change. If they all say different things, sift through and choose what you think are those changes that will work best for the intended audience.
If possible, get the editors together, in person, on the net or whatever and talk every last detail through. Let them argue among themselves – it really helps sort out the suggestions that are objective and those that are subjective. Structural editors are human! and can make mistakes in what is a complicated and taxing activity.
Sometimes they will miss something you thought obvious – maybe they were tired. But your readers will have had long days at the office, or whatever, too. If an editor missed something critical – your readers may: do something about it.
Last ... some editors will just not get your book or cope with your chosen narrative style for it. It happens. It is only an issue if they’re the sort of people you are aiming the book at – then that editor becomes your most precious resource.
Now your book is looking so much better. As a sculpture it is recognisable, not just as a human form, but a particular person, with all their gesture and form clearly visible.
But it’s not finished by a long way.
Copy editing:
Looks at sentence structure, clarity, minor ambiguities, repetition, choice of words etc. This is painstaking hard work and requires training, practice and a deep understanding of grammar and language. Don’t be surprised if your copy editor finds structural errors too.
Your copy editor will require a detailed style sheet clearly stating your choices – and will sometimes challenge them.
Proofreading
Really? after all that?
Yes, this is the final polish. After all the work above there will still be errors in spelling, spacing and punctuation etc. Please note that very few works, even from the best publishing houses, go out without some errors. Since the recession I’ve noticed more and more even in best-selling books. We’ve all seen them. Two spelling errors in one book is pretty good going, just a bit tragic if they’re both on the first page.
More often than not these are errors that a spell check won’t find. “She”, rather than “He”, “To”, rather than “Too”, for instance. Double spaces, wonky indents, “”, rather than “, can be found; there are loads of things that a proof reader will pick up on.
Proof reading requires the concentration. and pedantry of a computer programmer. (Proofread that last line – two errors.) Proofreaders will need your style sheet.
There are no shortcuts and it pays to go through the manuscript several times using your ‘search’ function. For instance, check every ‘it’s’ is correct and check for double spaces. There are many of these little tricks, but they don’t replace the real thing.
Read you manuscript at least once with non-printing characters visible.
People develop the most complicated systems to proofread. One particularly brilliant proofreader (now retired) read each sentence from beginning to end but read the book from back to front – upside down. This way she was never distracted by content.
In self-publishing there is another stage of editing. Preparing a book for electronic and print-on-demand requires formatting. Formatting can produce some ghastly errors. You’ll need to check everything (and get others to check too). That does mean reading the whole thing through again – thoroughly.
Note: style choice: British English, US punctuation, no proofreading, lol...
A BOOK IS A TEAM EFFORT.
I don’t know of a single (current) great writer who doesn’t depend heavily on editorial input. Terry Pratchett allegedly used seven trusted and skilled editors. I'd say that’s about right.
You are blind to your mistakes. Maybe you’ll self-publish and what could have become a priceless gem, cherished by readers, will join the millions of books that sell less than ten copies and sink into obscurity.
Recently I was asked to review a friend’s already published book. I couldn’t get past the first page let alone review it. I was gutted that someone had put so much effort into something only to have produced a work that people would reject as unreadable.
To make matters worse I phoned the writer and offered to edit it for free. The writer was profoundly shocked that I would even suggest that the book wasn’t completely perfect.
As an artist I can paint a picture and not have to pass it round several people for comments and adjustment before I finish it. Books don’t work like that.
In an ideal world you’ll pass early chapters, scenes, even whole manuscripts to friends skilled in editing or critiquing fiction. These people are beta readers and you need about half a dozen of them.
What makes these people valuable is their knowledge of fiction writing and their supportive comments regarding your work. From the very beginning of the editorial process to the end you need people who respect you enough to tear your work apart.
“I don’t understand that sentence.”
“Why did she do that? Am I missing something?”
“I don’t think he’d do this – he’s not that sort of person.”
That’s the polite stuff :) When beta readers are highly skilled you’ll get...
“Those three chapters have to go. Why are they even in there?”
“These characters all sound like the same person.”
“Too convenient. It looks like you ran out of ideas there.”
And my personal favourites...
“Gary, there’s probably a story in there somewhere, and I know you wrote it in a rush but look, this first line isn’t even in English.”
“It’s lovely to see this character back in action; she’s a real favourite of mine but didn’t she die in chapter four?” (Beware cutting and pasting errors.)
“Gary, are you writing for readers, or working through a personal issue here? Consider therapy before writing another book.”
As you can see from the above, profound and lasting friendships can emerge from critiquing. Beta reading doesn’t only strengthen someone’s book; it is a valuable tool to improve your own writing. Offer to beta other writers’ work and you’ll see what I mean.
Think of the first draft of your manuscript as a lump of rock vaguely resembling a human form. Now your betas have helped you turn it into a half-finished sculpture. It’s time to move on.
Structural Edits
Structural/copy edits vary in style, take more effort and are a much bigger ask of someone.
An editor will look at a lot of elements including:
Time line
Story arc
Pace, tension, immersion, humour
Character arcs, consistency, development etc
Is the book correctly written for the intended audience and suitably accessible?
Are the right narrative techniques used?
Ambiguities: where does it need to be made clearer?
Is it the right length?
Sentence structure, attributions
And tons of other stuff
The golden rule is to listen to what editors say. If someone asks for a change (and they all ask for lots of them), they’ll often give a reason.
“You’ll need to explain why the bus took so long to get there. As it is, the reader will be confused: I was.”
If you can’t give a solid reason why a change should not be made – make the change. The editors are your friends. They see your work through other people’s eyes. If they don’t see what you are trying to say, you must change it until they do.
It’s worth pointing out that for every hour a reader reads, the writer has spent over a hundred hours* producing that hour’s worth of reading and went on to add another hundred or more in editing.
*Muffy College, Cambridge can be read in 5 hours. Each hour of reading took me 272 hours to write and edit or 1,360 hours in total – more than half in editing. In addition structural editors put in about 110-140 hours (between them) for a ~50-70,000 word book.
Some changes can be made with quick fixes, “The bus was caught in roadworks. I did mention that but I’ll stress it again so it’s clearer.”. Others mean changing the whole book into a different narrative style or building an entire new thread throughout the story.
You soon learn to give in and make changes – particularly when you see how much better the book is going to be.
Some notes of caution – you are the captain of the book: retain control.
You don’t need to make every change suggested: don’t make any unless you’re sure they are necessary. One editor may suggest things that conflict with others.
If two of them point out the same flaw, it’s probably time to make a change. If they all say different things, sift through and choose what you think are those changes that will work best for the intended audience.
If possible, get the editors together, in person, on the net or whatever and talk every last detail through. Let them argue among themselves – it really helps sort out the suggestions that are objective and those that are subjective. Structural editors are human! and can make mistakes in what is a complicated and taxing activity.
Sometimes they will miss something you thought obvious – maybe they were tired. But your readers will have had long days at the office, or whatever, too. If an editor missed something critical – your readers may: do something about it.
Last ... some editors will just not get your book or cope with your chosen narrative style for it. It happens. It is only an issue if they’re the sort of people you are aiming the book at – then that editor becomes your most precious resource.
Now your book is looking so much better. As a sculpture it is recognisable, not just as a human form, but a particular person, with all their gesture and form clearly visible.
But it’s not finished by a long way.
Copy editing:
Looks at sentence structure, clarity, minor ambiguities, repetition, choice of words etc. This is painstaking hard work and requires training, practice and a deep understanding of grammar and language. Don’t be surprised if your copy editor finds structural errors too.
Your copy editor will require a detailed style sheet clearly stating your choices – and will sometimes challenge them.
Proofreading
Really? after all that?
Yes, this is the final polish. After all the work above there will still be errors in spelling, spacing and punctuation etc. Please note that very few works, even from the best publishing houses, go out without some errors. Since the recession I’ve noticed more and more even in best-selling books. We’ve all seen them. Two spelling errors in one book is pretty good going, just a bit tragic if they’re both on the first page.
More often than not these are errors that a spell check won’t find. “She”, rather than “He”, “To”, rather than “Too”, for instance. Double spaces, wonky indents, “”, rather than “, can be found; there are loads of things that a proof reader will pick up on.
Proof reading requires the concentration. and pedantry of a computer programmer. (Proofread that last line – two errors.) Proofreaders will need your style sheet.
There are no shortcuts and it pays to go through the manuscript several times using your ‘search’ function. For instance, check every ‘it’s’ is correct and check for double spaces. There are many of these little tricks, but they don’t replace the real thing.
Read you manuscript at least once with non-printing characters visible.
People develop the most complicated systems to proofread. One particularly brilliant proofreader (now retired) read each sentence from beginning to end but read the book from back to front – upside down. This way she was never distracted by content.
In self-publishing there is another stage of editing. Preparing a book for electronic and print-on-demand requires formatting. Formatting can produce some ghastly errors. You’ll need to check everything (and get others to check too). That does mean reading the whole thing through again – thoroughly.
Note: style choice: British English, US punctuation, no proofreading, lol...
Hive Mind Interview with Firedance
How did you come to write Hive Mind? Where did the story come from?
It came out of the blue. My son, Christy, was playing a online community game (UFOAI) that was asking for help. Neither of us are programmers, so I offered to write short stories immersed in the game. Christy did a huge amount of research while I developed story lines and characters. The community loved them and a book developed … then two more.
It’s quite a departure from your Y/A novels. Do you think you’ll return to that genre or is your imagination dragging you to new vistas as we speak?
I would probably have stuck to Y/A had I not been a member of Firedance. Some of the other writers there challenged me to try other genres. As a result I have a pile of manuscripts from humorous fantasy to post-apocalyptic speculative fiction.
How much of your own background influences what you write? Is it homage or therapy?
That reminds me of an editor returning a manuscript and telling me to get therapy before writing another book.
All writers draw from their experience and personality, they are part of the medium. My experiences of working with the mentally ill and teenagers in family therapy certainly helped when I wrote “Expect Civilian Casualties” and “The Evil and the Fear” as did my experience of living as a hunter-gatherer.
You can draw on other people’s experience too. I’ve had friends and relatives immerse me in the culture of Cambridge University (from the perspective of a student) – and have drawn on that for another book.
You have distinctly magical or paranormal elements in your books. Would you prefer to live in a world with magic?
That’s very hard to answer without confusing myself and everyone else. I think there’s more than enough magic around as it is. It depends on how you look at things. Some people may find life bleak and mundane; others may never cease to be in awe of the wonders they live among. I swap between the two.
What did you enjoy most about this book?
Grief … which book were we talking about? Ah yes, Hive Mind. That’s easy. Collaboration with my son – we had such fun.
He had an enormous input. We developed the threads, arcs, acts, planned the narrative tools and every last scene together. He also did a fair quantity of the writing. He learned a huge amount about how books are constructed. It was the most enjoyable creative collaboration in my life. A remarkable achievement for us was the development of invisible threads – each book is a complete novel but if you read two in sequence you find another complete story – likewise if you read all three.
Part of his involvement was “reading aloud” (a great way of editing). He read out everything I wrote while I watched his expressions and looked for the frowns and hesitations of misunderstanding etc. He would put on heavy Yorkshire/German/Welsh/Russian and other accents inappropriate to the characters. It was hard to concentrate and I had to throw balls of paper at him until he stopped (not very effective – we were on Skype).
What drew you to your MC? What qualities do they possess that made them fun to write – and even better fun to read?
In Hive Mind there are five main characters. Jeanette dominates. She’s a caring, overstressed fighter-pilot. She’s also a mother caught in a war – with her children on the front line.
That her struggle became the central theme of the story was a surprise. The story was mainly aimed at young men; you’d expect them to want the male characters to be the focus. However, they loved it and loved Jeanette. It’s hard not to fall in love with her – we all need a Jeanette in our lives.
What’s most difficult about being a writer?
Writing – or finding time to do anything else. It either eludes you, or takes over everything and is utterly exhausting.
Due to having five first-person views Hive Mind was unusually complicated. Managing the time line was the least of the problems. By far the greatest was developing each person, how they related to each other, how these relationships changed and making them all feel and sound different. The best-selling writer Stephen Godden was superb in coaching me through the last.
What’s next for you, Gary. What are you working on now?
I have a backlog of books to edit, but I’m really pleased with the series I’ve just completed (Rude Awakening). It’s set (loosely) in Cambridge University and the main character, Juliet is heaven to work with. I love her caring but blood-axe approach to life. I also love her relationships with her best friend and her strange mother. Juliet falls in love with a man she feels is absolutely the opposite to her dream partner – and that’s been hilarious.
A wonderful memory is that of a book-signing in the Paddock at Emmanuel. I was surrounded by students and baby moorhens.
Some of the students had Kindle copies so I signed Muffy College, Cambridge bookmarks – the humour wasn’t lost on them.
I must stop writing. I have more books waiting for publication – and they all need attention. Don’t let me write another!
One last word...
Hive Mind is to be published September 2015 – it will be free as a Kindle download on the 11th and 12th.
Free parallel chapters can be found here: http://garybonn.com/scifi/
It came out of the blue. My son, Christy, was playing a online community game (UFOAI) that was asking for help. Neither of us are programmers, so I offered to write short stories immersed in the game. Christy did a huge amount of research while I developed story lines and characters. The community loved them and a book developed … then two more.
It’s quite a departure from your Y/A novels. Do you think you’ll return to that genre or is your imagination dragging you to new vistas as we speak?
I would probably have stuck to Y/A had I not been a member of Firedance. Some of the other writers there challenged me to try other genres. As a result I have a pile of manuscripts from humorous fantasy to post-apocalyptic speculative fiction.
How much of your own background influences what you write? Is it homage or therapy?
That reminds me of an editor returning a manuscript and telling me to get therapy before writing another book.
All writers draw from their experience and personality, they are part of the medium. My experiences of working with the mentally ill and teenagers in family therapy certainly helped when I wrote “Expect Civilian Casualties” and “The Evil and the Fear” as did my experience of living as a hunter-gatherer.
You can draw on other people’s experience too. I’ve had friends and relatives immerse me in the culture of Cambridge University (from the perspective of a student) – and have drawn on that for another book.
You have distinctly magical or paranormal elements in your books. Would you prefer to live in a world with magic?
That’s very hard to answer without confusing myself and everyone else. I think there’s more than enough magic around as it is. It depends on how you look at things. Some people may find life bleak and mundane; others may never cease to be in awe of the wonders they live among. I swap between the two.
What did you enjoy most about this book?
Grief … which book were we talking about? Ah yes, Hive Mind. That’s easy. Collaboration with my son – we had such fun.
He had an enormous input. We developed the threads, arcs, acts, planned the narrative tools and every last scene together. He also did a fair quantity of the writing. He learned a huge amount about how books are constructed. It was the most enjoyable creative collaboration in my life. A remarkable achievement for us was the development of invisible threads – each book is a complete novel but if you read two in sequence you find another complete story – likewise if you read all three.
Part of his involvement was “reading aloud” (a great way of editing). He read out everything I wrote while I watched his expressions and looked for the frowns and hesitations of misunderstanding etc. He would put on heavy Yorkshire/German/Welsh/Russian and other accents inappropriate to the characters. It was hard to concentrate and I had to throw balls of paper at him until he stopped (not very effective – we were on Skype).
What drew you to your MC? What qualities do they possess that made them fun to write – and even better fun to read?
In Hive Mind there are five main characters. Jeanette dominates. She’s a caring, overstressed fighter-pilot. She’s also a mother caught in a war – with her children on the front line.
That her struggle became the central theme of the story was a surprise. The story was mainly aimed at young men; you’d expect them to want the male characters to be the focus. However, they loved it and loved Jeanette. It’s hard not to fall in love with her – we all need a Jeanette in our lives.
What’s most difficult about being a writer?
Writing – or finding time to do anything else. It either eludes you, or takes over everything and is utterly exhausting.
Due to having five first-person views Hive Mind was unusually complicated. Managing the time line was the least of the problems. By far the greatest was developing each person, how they related to each other, how these relationships changed and making them all feel and sound different. The best-selling writer Stephen Godden was superb in coaching me through the last.
What’s next for you, Gary. What are you working on now?
I have a backlog of books to edit, but I’m really pleased with the series I’ve just completed (Rude Awakening). It’s set (loosely) in Cambridge University and the main character, Juliet is heaven to work with. I love her caring but blood-axe approach to life. I also love her relationships with her best friend and her strange mother. Juliet falls in love with a man she feels is absolutely the opposite to her dream partner – and that’s been hilarious.
A wonderful memory is that of a book-signing in the Paddock at Emmanuel. I was surrounded by students and baby moorhens.
Some of the students had Kindle copies so I signed Muffy College, Cambridge bookmarks – the humour wasn’t lost on them.
I must stop writing. I have more books waiting for publication – and they all need attention. Don’t let me write another!
One last word...
Hive Mind is to be published September 2015 – it will be free as a Kindle download on the 11th and 12th.
Free parallel chapters can be found here: http://garybonn.com/scifi/
Stop Indoctrinating Writers! (Or Die)
I’m really going to scream if I read another set of misleading instructions on how to write well – especially those intended to educate new writers.
As the best selling author Stephen Godden used to say (while beating me over the head) ‘There are no rules in writing – just things you can get horribly wrong!’
There are a lot of doctrines whizzing around at the moment.
‘No head-hopping! People will say you’re a poor writer and you’ll sell nothing.’
Hmm... That makes Mervyn Peake and Sir Terry Pratchett poor writers who sold nothing. Let’s chuck that rule in the bin straight away.
Never use ‘alright’.
Alright – I’ll tell the Oxford English Dictionary they’ve got it alwrong.
Don’t use adverbs.
We all hate to see adverbs used gratuitously, overly liberally and frequently. You still reading? well, you survived that sentence. Bin time again.
Seriously, (lol) I once had to disabuse one writer who thought she couldn’t even use them in dialogue.
Use show not tell
This is probably the very worst of the lot. Young adults are rumoured to like the immersion it encourages – but they’ll happily read a good story with good characters even without much in the way of show.
In ‘Expect Civilian Casualties’ I used lashings of it because Jason is an extreme and unique person and the whole point was to get inside his head and find out what was going on in there.
Ernest Hemingway wrote a whole book in which you only saw the heroine’s arm once, her hair once and that was all. I’m quoting (possibly slightly misquoting) a trusted friend here. I have no idea to which book she referred but we can probably rule out explicit erotica.
Write what you know.
So … who actually knows a pixie? OK, I know … just saying.
Right – that’s the bin full for the moment :) See you soon!
As the best selling author Stephen Godden used to say (while beating me over the head) ‘There are no rules in writing – just things you can get horribly wrong!’
There are a lot of doctrines whizzing around at the moment.
‘No head-hopping! People will say you’re a poor writer and you’ll sell nothing.’
Hmm... That makes Mervyn Peake and Sir Terry Pratchett poor writers who sold nothing. Let’s chuck that rule in the bin straight away.
Never use ‘alright’.
Alright – I’ll tell the Oxford English Dictionary they’ve got it alwrong.
Don’t use adverbs.
We all hate to see adverbs used gratuitously, overly liberally and frequently. You still reading? well, you survived that sentence. Bin time again.
Seriously, (lol) I once had to disabuse one writer who thought she couldn’t even use them in dialogue.
Use show not tell
This is probably the very worst of the lot. Young adults are rumoured to like the immersion it encourages – but they’ll happily read a good story with good characters even without much in the way of show.
In ‘Expect Civilian Casualties’ I used lashings of it because Jason is an extreme and unique person and the whole point was to get inside his head and find out what was going on in there.
Ernest Hemingway wrote a whole book in which you only saw the heroine’s arm once, her hair once and that was all. I’m quoting (possibly slightly misquoting) a trusted friend here. I have no idea to which book she referred but we can probably rule out explicit erotica.
Write what you know.
So … who actually knows a pixie? OK, I know … just saying.
Right – that’s the bin full for the moment :) See you soon!
Letter From The Editor
Dear Client
I love your creativity and enthusiasm and I’d like to point out the following.
The first word ‘Little’ is very ‘tell’. How about ‘Bo looked up at the thimble towering over her. She cowered, hugged herself and failed to evict feelings of pitiful insignificance. A tear rolling down her nose reflected the Pole Star/sun/headlights/candle light/luminous penguins.’ (You need to choose – don’t use all of them.)
The surname ‘Peep’ is exclusively confined to Cambridgeshire, Hertfordshire and Middlesex. Are you wanting this work to appeal to a universal audience? Everyone outside these areas may find it confusing.
http://www.ancestry.co.uk/name-origin...
‘Lost her sheep’ is similarly ‘tell’. I’ll leave the rest to you.
‘And doesn’t know where to find them.’ Is tautological and needlessly repetitive. Saying things more than once is unnecessary. How many times do I have to tell you?
‘Leave them alone’. What? Who is saying this? There’s no attribution! The reader may think you are breaking the fourth wall. Spike Milligan did it and he is dead now. I’m not sure if these two facts are related – but you may wish to reconsider this line.
‘And they’ll come home’. ‘Go’ home would be OK because that all seems perfectly natural. Though it does call into question ‘lost’ as that implies Bo is emotionally distressed but now there is no obvious reason why.
‘Come’ home is fraught with problems. It implies that Bo lives with sheep in her house. This may cause children to think this is natural. I think this could lead to legal/health and safety issues.
“Wagging their tails behind them’. Have you totally lost the plot? Can a sheep wag its tail in front of it?
‘Wagging their tails’ works. No one’s going to be confused . However, by employing the unusual choice of words you imply something else – but neglect to clarify. Have the sheep removed their tails and have a choice of wagging them in front/to the sides/etcetera by some paranormal remote control? Have they unnaturally long prehensile tails? There’s a whole supernatural element needing to be developed.
A quick internet search informs me that ‘docking’ (chopping off) sheep tails saves them from all sorts of nasty things. Is this about Bo neglecting her livestock? There is an obvious link between this and her losing the sheep. This could really be explored and would be a perfect opportunity to develop and explore Bo’s abusive and cruel character.
I’m looking through the rest of your work.
The statement ‘These need to be sung in a low calming voice to a young child when they are tucked in bed’ is one I don’t understand at all.
I know about children. They are going to fall asleep if you do this. What sort of a literary experience is that? If they fall asleep while you read/sing – what’s the point in any of this work?
I look forward to your revisions and many further payments.
I love your creativity and enthusiasm and I’d like to point out the following.
The first word ‘Little’ is very ‘tell’. How about ‘Bo looked up at the thimble towering over her. She cowered, hugged herself and failed to evict feelings of pitiful insignificance. A tear rolling down her nose reflected the Pole Star/sun/headlights/candle light/luminous penguins.’ (You need to choose – don’t use all of them.)
The surname ‘Peep’ is exclusively confined to Cambridgeshire, Hertfordshire and Middlesex. Are you wanting this work to appeal to a universal audience? Everyone outside these areas may find it confusing.
http://www.ancestry.co.uk/name-origin...
‘Lost her sheep’ is similarly ‘tell’. I’ll leave the rest to you.
‘And doesn’t know where to find them.’ Is tautological and needlessly repetitive. Saying things more than once is unnecessary. How many times do I have to tell you?
‘Leave them alone’. What? Who is saying this? There’s no attribution! The reader may think you are breaking the fourth wall. Spike Milligan did it and he is dead now. I’m not sure if these two facts are related – but you may wish to reconsider this line.
‘And they’ll come home’. ‘Go’ home would be OK because that all seems perfectly natural. Though it does call into question ‘lost’ as that implies Bo is emotionally distressed but now there is no obvious reason why.
‘Come’ home is fraught with problems. It implies that Bo lives with sheep in her house. This may cause children to think this is natural. I think this could lead to legal/health and safety issues.
“Wagging their tails behind them’. Have you totally lost the plot? Can a sheep wag its tail in front of it?
‘Wagging their tails’ works. No one’s going to be confused . However, by employing the unusual choice of words you imply something else – but neglect to clarify. Have the sheep removed their tails and have a choice of wagging them in front/to the sides/etcetera by some paranormal remote control? Have they unnaturally long prehensile tails? There’s a whole supernatural element needing to be developed.
A quick internet search informs me that ‘docking’ (chopping off) sheep tails saves them from all sorts of nasty things. Is this about Bo neglecting her livestock? There is an obvious link between this and her losing the sheep. This could really be explored and would be a perfect opportunity to develop and explore Bo’s abusive and cruel character.
I’m looking through the rest of your work.
The statement ‘These need to be sung in a low calming voice to a young child when they are tucked in bed’ is one I don’t understand at all.
I know about children. They are going to fall asleep if you do this. What sort of a literary experience is that? If they fall asleep while you read/sing – what’s the point in any of this work?
I look forward to your revisions and many further payments.
Final Moments
“Hello.”
Juliet stops dead in the pavement and looks around. “Who and where are you … and how would you like to die?”
“I’m me … you … in spirit form. From another world. I want to see what a universe with real gods and magic is like and what it’s like for me to live in it. Mind if I tag along?”
“Uh...”
“I’ll slip behind your eyes, feel you thoughts and senses. You can come to my world instead if there’s not much going on here. We can have fun.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on – my final assessment starts in a mo. Fun it will be. There will probably be screaming and bloodstains. Come on board.”
Mitch, possibly the least intelligent dog the world has ever seen, bursts from the undergrowth by the road. Perpetually drooling, wagging his tail and getting overexcited about nothing in particular he bounds along the pavement and drags clinging foliage with him.
Juliet rolls her eyes. “Mitch, you are a ball of burrs. Look at you. It’ll take hours to get that lot off.”
Mitch comes to a halt, shakes his head until his ears look as if he’s attempting to take off but lacking the necessary coordination. Apparently satisfied with whatever he’s done he bounds up to Juliet and tries to sniff her bottom.
“Mitch, bugger off. For a familiar you’re way too familiar.” She snatches at lengths of goosegrass attached to his tail as he races off to abuse the next telegraph pole.
Her phone vibrates. She pulls it from her knapsack and looks at the screen.
You have reached you destination
“Oh really?” Juliet looks around. A tall white wall extends either side of a metal gate. Branches, heavy with summer foliage hang over the top. She decides the wrought iron gate, black, ornate, a demons-eating-cherubs design is the way to her end of year assessment. The iron letters at the top of the gate read:
Intrantes ego occidam
Juliet pinches her lower lip and groans. “Mitch, I’ve only been sent to the moron that calls herself Lady Madeleine Usher. According to gossip she has that Latin stuff written on her knickers too.”
Mitch scratches his ear and dribbles on the pavement.
“OK, brainless one, why her? She doesn’t assess people usually. She must have requested this. Why me? Given that she’s a malaevolent scheming bitch who loathes undergrads I doubt it’s going to be fun. It’s also rumoured that she’s got hold of two ten-year bottles of aqua vitae. Even the gods can’t afford that stuff these days.”
Mitch sniffs his pool of saliva and licks it up.
Juliet goes on, “I’m also told she keeps a barghest in the grounds of this mansion; we may have to dash for the front door. Can you run without tripping over your ears?”
Mitch lifts his leg to urinate on the gate. Juliet whips out her wand, changes her mind and pulls Mitch away by his tail. “Possibly electrified. Inadvisable to piss on the gate, dear dog, unless you want your genitals tanned tangentially. We need to be very careful here.” She taps her wand against the gate and says, ‛Open or I’ll change your design to baby bunnies dancing with butterflies.”
As the gates swing open she calls, “Mitch, follow me and be prepared to leg it. A barghest is a big hound made of spectral fire and looks like...” she pauses and points, “that bastard there.”
The gates clang closed behind them.
Juliet, twirling her wand in an attempt to look as relaxed as a tigerskin rug, strolls towards Lady Usher’s four metre high front doors set between Corinthian columns. “Mitch, the barghest is out to scare us. That’s what they do. They feed off fear and they’re very talented at causing it. You see that rippling fire that runs from nose to tail? That’s to confuse you, like it’s running at speed when it’s only walking.” Juliet, despite her reputation for cool being commonly associated with liquid nitrogen feels her mouth go dry, heart race and a fine tremor zinging in her fingertips as the monster approaches.
Patterns of sparks flicker on its fur; only the eyes and maw are black, portals to the depths of Hell.
Mitch sniffs its bottom, and yelps. Lying on the ground, eyes closed and paws over his nose, his body jerks with every sneeze and snort.
The barghest could have attacked them both by now and Juliet decides it must be under orders not to. What really bugs her is the way the word “Yet” seems to want to creep into that sentence.
Mitch, still wuffling and shaking blobs and loops of snot from his nose, reaches the doors as Juliet pulls them open. The barghest lies down on the lawn and lays its head on crossed paws. There’s a certain 'Catch you later' aura about the monster hound.
Passing over the threshold means moving through a holding spell so strong it could trap the moon. Juliet’s puzzled until she realises it’s to keep the barghest out of the house.
Juliet thinks, Hmm, now that’s interesting. Lady Elanor must be scared shitless by it if she’s prepared to spend that much energy keeping it out... She closes the doors behind her and Mitch. Doors on the other side of the vestibule open and two figures waltz towards her in silence. A skeleton butler in threadbare rotted livery and a housemaid similarly deceased and dressed stop before her. She gets a bow and a curtsey.
The butler says, “Lady Elanor is ready to see you. Please follow us.” Juliet struggles to hear exactly what he’s saying as his teeth are loose and rattle as he talks flipping back and forth like accordion keys.
The butler takes the maid’s hand, puts his arm round her waist and says, “Foxtrot.” They dance away completely unphased by Mitch’s leaping and barking among their legs.
Juliet runs a quick eye over the flawless full-length mirrors either side of the entrance, puts her head on one side, taps her wand on her eyebrow, nose and lip studs and adds a diamond to each. Ruffling her spiky hair and tearing more holes in her leggings, rendering them more hole than legging, she nods at her reflection and races after the sound of Mitch.
She’s just about caught up with them, after an aerobic sprint along two corridors, a balcony and up a curving stairway, when they dodge into a room. Juliet, still at full throttle, skids past and into a sculpted marble priapus.
“Sorry, I can see you’re up for anything and fascinating in so many ways but I have an assessment.” She turns, dives through the doorway and enters an octagonal gallery. Overhead is a dome of stained glass, featuring pictures of the Seven Hells. The final section is an artist’s portrait of Satan. Juliet appreciates good art, particularly imaginative, magical art. She smirks while she looks at the painting. Satan not only has her face but the piercings are correct too.
On the blood red walls hang more scenes of Hell tastefully framed in carved wood covered with gold leaf. Lady Madeleine Usher, tall and thin, wearing black to go with her skin, hair and nails and teeth, stands looking up at a painting. She says, “Over here, girl.”
Juliet scans, wondering where Mitch is. Of course, there’s a fireplace and he’s already asleep in front of it. She walks to her assessor. “My lady, delightful to meet you.”
“No it’s not, and it’s going to deteriorate from here.” She turns. “For you, anyway.” Looking Juliet up and down she adds, ‛You must know my opinions on dress code. You’ve come like this just to wind me up? think you can take me on? Your assessment starts...”
Juliet interrupts, “Ts and Cs; first things first.”
“There is no need...”
Juliet whips a parchment from her sleeve. “By what sign will I know if I have passed or failed?”
“That is the second time you have interrupted. I do not need to follow petty...”
“And this is the third interruption. You will follow petty like the rest of us.” Juliet snaps the scroll open. “Don’t try to intimidate me. I know the game as well as you. Answer the questions here.” She holds the parchment in front of Lady Elanor’s face.
Elanor intones, ”Pass will be achieved by the student leaving this house and surrounding grounds alive having successfully passing the test I give her. As required by the statute of Cambridge University Science and Magic faculty, 2013, there is no charge for those that pass.” Her answers write themselves by the questions. She goes on, “The cost of failure is the life and youth of one Juliet of Brightwell-cum-Sotwell. The nature of the test is to catch my house brownie.”
Juliet gets in there quickly. If she learned only one thing in her first year at Morgan Le Fey College it’s that grey areas are treacherous in contracts with professors or other sociopaths. “And if he’s not to be found in this room?”
“Then I’ll eat my hat because I’m buggered if I can find the bastard anywhere else.” Elanor frowns though the lines are difficult for Juliet to make out in that matt ebony brow. “Erase that last answer. If the aformentioned student gives up looking she may only attempt to leave by casting a twenty year vitae spell on me.”
Juliet gasps, “Twenty years? That’ll leave me with a magic deficit so big I’ll be catatonic for months and I have to hand this,” she waves the parchment, “in two days or I fail the year.”
“Then you’d better finde the brownie. His one and only talent, other than theiving is to hide in paintings and mirrors. It is well known in the college that you, Juliet, can in theory cast just about any spell. That you have little more magical power than an ordinary human is your problem. People like you shouldn’t be let out of magicians’ clubs.” She points at the paintings of Hades hanging on the walls. “The brownie will be in one of these. Nab him and pull the bell rope when you have him,” she pauses, “or ... you give in and go for the second option.” Skirts and cloak hissing, she glides from the room. “Have a good day.”
“Wanker,” snarls Juliet and scans the six vast paintings of death and damnation, horrors and tortures, all in the most minute detail and each containing thousands of figures, human and demonic. “Bollocks, this could take weeks.” She marches to the fireplace, scoops Mitch up and says, “Sorry but sleepy time is over. Go and find that brownie.” Mitch yelps as he’s tossed into a two dimensional hell.
Juliet collapses in a high-backed velvet easy chair. “Right, there’s no brownie; Elanor wants me to perform the vitae spell.” Looking up at her reflection in the angled mirror over the fireplace, she says, “Time for lateral thinking, missus. Let’s work together.”
Her reflection frowns and sinks further into her chair. “All we need is a way out of here.”
“Past a barghest.”
“Yeeeees ... arg. There’s probably a way.”
“She wants to look twenty years younger and take my youth and life. Hmm, I’m going to have a long think. When my Mitch has finished in that painting, I’ll stick him in another. You go for a different one with your Mitch. Between us, we can work twice as fast.”
Her reflection leaps from the chair, says, “Even then you won’t have enough time,” and starts pacing to and fro across the fireplace. Juliet, still slumped in her seat, looks at the rip in her reflection’s leggings. Her right buttock is slightly exposed. She wonders if she should do the same for her left.
She’s pulled from her thoughts, hours later, by the appearance of the zombie housemaid who grins while pushing a trolley into the room. The grin reveals gaps in her teeth. The housemaid says, “Dinner by the grace of her ladyship.” She lifts covers. “Peacock soup.” More silver clatters. “Penguin souflee, wren niblets. My lady eats only two legged things on Tuesdays.” The housemaid grins again.
Juliet’s appetite, momentarily stimulated by the smells, dies when she realises she can’t be sure the maid left with as many teeth as when she entered.
Mitch leaps out of the painting and hits the mosaic floor. His spinning and scampering, drooling and uncontrolled tongue, slapping his eyes and the floor, give Juliet a strong message that he’s not inclined to worry about other people’s dental problems but wants to get stuck in. She rises and puts the soup bowl on the floor.
Looking up at her reflection she asks, “How’s it going? I’ve hit more dead ends than an octopus with major amputation problems.”
“Bitch, I was going to say that.”
“You did.”
“Let’s bounce ideas off each other in silence, you never know who may be listening.” Juliet’s reflection pulls something that looks like a speech bubble or inflated condom from her head and throws it. Flying down from the mirror Juliet nuts it back. Conclusions and mysteries ping between them.
The reflection throws, “If she has those two vials of aqua vitae, she can take twenty years off her age. Uh ... that would her eighteen.”
“She wants me to cast the same spell.”
“And she wants to take your youth.”
“Anomaly. She’s already killed students and taken their youth. She’s currently running at thirty-one years old.”
“Thirty-one minus twenty, minus twenty ... suicidal maths.”
“So she doesn’t have the aqua vitae.”
“The brownie exists and has nicked it. Elanor said, “His one and only talent other than theiving...”
“I think he may have another talent.”
“No, a quality: intelligence.”
“Exactly. That puts him way above her league. Can you stop throwing ideas so hard? I’m getting a virtual bruise on my forehead.”
“So, he’s not hiding in a painting.”
“Ouch! Nope. Be gentle with me. So why does a house brownie steal something worth squillions and hide in the house he stole it from?”
“The barghest stops him getting out.”
“But he must have know the barghest was there ... right ... he knew I was coming.”
“Nicked the aqua vitae as payment for getting him away from that awful cow.”
“So why’s he still hiding?”
“Because you’re being watched? Because he thinks you can’t pull it off?”
“Because he thinks I’ll distract the barghest while he escapes with the aqua vitae. I doubt if it’s payment for freeing him. Let’s get weaving. You put Mitch at the door and set a web spell. I’m going to walk over here.” Juliet taps her fingernails over a lacquered birdseye maple box on the mantlepiece and says, “If I were a very clever brownie that had stolen some aqua vitae I’d hardly hide in a painting. Everyone would know it’s my skill and look for me in them. No, I’d hide somewhere else. Maybe in a little box like this not expecting anyone in this household to think I was too intelligent to use my power. Except I can hide in mirrors and maybe the relfection of this box.” She stares up at the mirror. The reflected box trembles a little, flies open and the brownie leaps out, dives through the mirror and into the waiting mouth of Mitch.
Juliet says, “Mitch, swallow but don’t chew -- the same way you treat your food.” Looking up at the mirror she says to her eflection, “OK, time to get out. I’m gonna synch this mirror to the one on the left as you face the front door.” Behind her, Mitch chokes. Juliet grins; cloud mirror systems are her favourite now she’s worked out how to use them. She says to her reflection, “Make yourself scarce. I’m taking Mitch and the brownie.” Her reflection disappears as the butler and Lady Elanor enter the gallery.
Juliet scoops up Mitch and shoves the food trolley across the room, leaps on it, jumps to the top of the high backed chair and hurls herself at the mirror.
Landing with a roll on the vestibule floor, in a tangle of knapsack straps and a variety of Mitch’s limbs and other attachments she spits out a furry ear that’s made its way into her mouth and says, “Mitch, they’ll be after us. We’ve only seconds. Cough up the brownie now!”
But Mitch is too busy working out which way up he is, which way up he’d prefer to be and what he’s going to be excited about next.
“Mitch, this is important. You want me to stick my fingers down your throat?”
A saliva-covered brownie, rolled up and whimpering, pops out of Mitch’s mouth and into Juliet’s hand. The brownie clutches two tiny glass vials that glow as if someone’s trapped a little star.
“Brownie, get a grip. You want to get out of here as much as we do. The butler and lady will be here any moment now.” She puts her hand out. “Payment?”
The brownie scowls, a mess of hairy warts and carrot nose. He tosses a bottle to Juliet.
She tucks it in her pocket, rises, taps each corner of the mirror and lifts it from the wall. “Here, brownie, steady this while I open the front door.” She looks at her reflection in the mirror and puts a holding spell on it. “OK, refection, twenty seconds, that’s all the magic I have left.”
The brownie, a mere twenty milimetres tall, struggles to keep the mirror stable. Juliet throws the doors wide and lifts the mirror through the barghest restraining spell. “Here, little barghest, you can kill me now. Here, barghesty-gesty, bargy-wargy ... woof, woof.” She looks back into the room. “Mitch how are you supposed to talk to barghests?”
Over the lawn streaks Hell on legs, smoking turf ripped from the ground by mighty claws and tossed higher than the trees. Juliet squeaks, “Shiiiiit!’ and ducks behind the mirror. “Brownie, tell me when I can open my eyes.” She draws her lip stud out.
The brownie screams in terror, like a piccollo attempting to explode, gasps, and says, “The barghest disappeared into the looking glass!”
Juliet opens her eyes, reaches round to the front of the mirror, and grinds the diamond of her stud into the surface. A screeching moment later, she’s dragged a scratch from bottom to top.
She rises, “If the barghest is foolish enough to jump back out, it’ll cut itself in half. OK, gang, run like fuck!”
Pounding down the gravel drive makes almost enough noise to cover Lady Elanor’s screams from within the house. Juliet reckons the lady is currently too preoccupied to be a problem.
Juliet slams the gates closed behind herself, Mitch and the brownie. “Bloody hell that was a close shave ... more like a waxing.” She pulls the parchment from her sleeve. “Let’s see what the professors think.”
Pass: First class: with style, lol :)
©Gary Bonn: 2013
Juliet stops dead in the pavement and looks around. “Who and where are you … and how would you like to die?”
“I’m me … you … in spirit form. From another world. I want to see what a universe with real gods and magic is like and what it’s like for me to live in it. Mind if I tag along?”
“Uh...”
“I’ll slip behind your eyes, feel you thoughts and senses. You can come to my world instead if there’s not much going on here. We can have fun.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on – my final assessment starts in a mo. Fun it will be. There will probably be screaming and bloodstains. Come on board.”
Mitch, possibly the least intelligent dog the world has ever seen, bursts from the undergrowth by the road. Perpetually drooling, wagging his tail and getting overexcited about nothing in particular he bounds along the pavement and drags clinging foliage with him.
Juliet rolls her eyes. “Mitch, you are a ball of burrs. Look at you. It’ll take hours to get that lot off.”
Mitch comes to a halt, shakes his head until his ears look as if he’s attempting to take off but lacking the necessary coordination. Apparently satisfied with whatever he’s done he bounds up to Juliet and tries to sniff her bottom.
“Mitch, bugger off. For a familiar you’re way too familiar.” She snatches at lengths of goosegrass attached to his tail as he races off to abuse the next telegraph pole.
Her phone vibrates. She pulls it from her knapsack and looks at the screen.
You have reached you destination
“Oh really?” Juliet looks around. A tall white wall extends either side of a metal gate. Branches, heavy with summer foliage hang over the top. She decides the wrought iron gate, black, ornate, a demons-eating-cherubs design is the way to her end of year assessment. The iron letters at the top of the gate read:
Intrantes ego occidam
Juliet pinches her lower lip and groans. “Mitch, I’ve only been sent to the moron that calls herself Lady Madeleine Usher. According to gossip she has that Latin stuff written on her knickers too.”
Mitch scratches his ear and dribbles on the pavement.
“OK, brainless one, why her? She doesn’t assess people usually. She must have requested this. Why me? Given that she’s a malaevolent scheming bitch who loathes undergrads I doubt it’s going to be fun. It’s also rumoured that she’s got hold of two ten-year bottles of aqua vitae. Even the gods can’t afford that stuff these days.”
Mitch sniffs his pool of saliva and licks it up.
Juliet goes on, “I’m also told she keeps a barghest in the grounds of this mansion; we may have to dash for the front door. Can you run without tripping over your ears?”
Mitch lifts his leg to urinate on the gate. Juliet whips out her wand, changes her mind and pulls Mitch away by his tail. “Possibly electrified. Inadvisable to piss on the gate, dear dog, unless you want your genitals tanned tangentially. We need to be very careful here.” She taps her wand against the gate and says, ‛Open or I’ll change your design to baby bunnies dancing with butterflies.”
As the gates swing open she calls, “Mitch, follow me and be prepared to leg it. A barghest is a big hound made of spectral fire and looks like...” she pauses and points, “that bastard there.”
The gates clang closed behind them.
Juliet, twirling her wand in an attempt to look as relaxed as a tigerskin rug, strolls towards Lady Usher’s four metre high front doors set between Corinthian columns. “Mitch, the barghest is out to scare us. That’s what they do. They feed off fear and they’re very talented at causing it. You see that rippling fire that runs from nose to tail? That’s to confuse you, like it’s running at speed when it’s only walking.” Juliet, despite her reputation for cool being commonly associated with liquid nitrogen feels her mouth go dry, heart race and a fine tremor zinging in her fingertips as the monster approaches.
Patterns of sparks flicker on its fur; only the eyes and maw are black, portals to the depths of Hell.
Mitch sniffs its bottom, and yelps. Lying on the ground, eyes closed and paws over his nose, his body jerks with every sneeze and snort.
The barghest could have attacked them both by now and Juliet decides it must be under orders not to. What really bugs her is the way the word “Yet” seems to want to creep into that sentence.
Mitch, still wuffling and shaking blobs and loops of snot from his nose, reaches the doors as Juliet pulls them open. The barghest lies down on the lawn and lays its head on crossed paws. There’s a certain 'Catch you later' aura about the monster hound.
Passing over the threshold means moving through a holding spell so strong it could trap the moon. Juliet’s puzzled until she realises it’s to keep the barghest out of the house.
Juliet thinks, Hmm, now that’s interesting. Lady Elanor must be scared shitless by it if she’s prepared to spend that much energy keeping it out... She closes the doors behind her and Mitch. Doors on the other side of the vestibule open and two figures waltz towards her in silence. A skeleton butler in threadbare rotted livery and a housemaid similarly deceased and dressed stop before her. She gets a bow and a curtsey.
The butler says, “Lady Elanor is ready to see you. Please follow us.” Juliet struggles to hear exactly what he’s saying as his teeth are loose and rattle as he talks flipping back and forth like accordion keys.
The butler takes the maid’s hand, puts his arm round her waist and says, “Foxtrot.” They dance away completely unphased by Mitch’s leaping and barking among their legs.
Juliet runs a quick eye over the flawless full-length mirrors either side of the entrance, puts her head on one side, taps her wand on her eyebrow, nose and lip studs and adds a diamond to each. Ruffling her spiky hair and tearing more holes in her leggings, rendering them more hole than legging, she nods at her reflection and races after the sound of Mitch.
She’s just about caught up with them, after an aerobic sprint along two corridors, a balcony and up a curving stairway, when they dodge into a room. Juliet, still at full throttle, skids past and into a sculpted marble priapus.
“Sorry, I can see you’re up for anything and fascinating in so many ways but I have an assessment.” She turns, dives through the doorway and enters an octagonal gallery. Overhead is a dome of stained glass, featuring pictures of the Seven Hells. The final section is an artist’s portrait of Satan. Juliet appreciates good art, particularly imaginative, magical art. She smirks while she looks at the painting. Satan not only has her face but the piercings are correct too.
On the blood red walls hang more scenes of Hell tastefully framed in carved wood covered with gold leaf. Lady Madeleine Usher, tall and thin, wearing black to go with her skin, hair and nails and teeth, stands looking up at a painting. She says, “Over here, girl.”
Juliet scans, wondering where Mitch is. Of course, there’s a fireplace and he’s already asleep in front of it. She walks to her assessor. “My lady, delightful to meet you.”
“No it’s not, and it’s going to deteriorate from here.” She turns. “For you, anyway.” Looking Juliet up and down she adds, ‛You must know my opinions on dress code. You’ve come like this just to wind me up? think you can take me on? Your assessment starts...”
Juliet interrupts, “Ts and Cs; first things first.”
“There is no need...”
Juliet whips a parchment from her sleeve. “By what sign will I know if I have passed or failed?”
“That is the second time you have interrupted. I do not need to follow petty...”
“And this is the third interruption. You will follow petty like the rest of us.” Juliet snaps the scroll open. “Don’t try to intimidate me. I know the game as well as you. Answer the questions here.” She holds the parchment in front of Lady Elanor’s face.
Elanor intones, ”Pass will be achieved by the student leaving this house and surrounding grounds alive having successfully passing the test I give her. As required by the statute of Cambridge University Science and Magic faculty, 2013, there is no charge for those that pass.” Her answers write themselves by the questions. She goes on, “The cost of failure is the life and youth of one Juliet of Brightwell-cum-Sotwell. The nature of the test is to catch my house brownie.”
Juliet gets in there quickly. If she learned only one thing in her first year at Morgan Le Fey College it’s that grey areas are treacherous in contracts with professors or other sociopaths. “And if he’s not to be found in this room?”
“Then I’ll eat my hat because I’m buggered if I can find the bastard anywhere else.” Elanor frowns though the lines are difficult for Juliet to make out in that matt ebony brow. “Erase that last answer. If the aformentioned student gives up looking she may only attempt to leave by casting a twenty year vitae spell on me.”
Juliet gasps, “Twenty years? That’ll leave me with a magic deficit so big I’ll be catatonic for months and I have to hand this,” she waves the parchment, “in two days or I fail the year.”
“Then you’d better finde the brownie. His one and only talent, other than theiving is to hide in paintings and mirrors. It is well known in the college that you, Juliet, can in theory cast just about any spell. That you have little more magical power than an ordinary human is your problem. People like you shouldn’t be let out of magicians’ clubs.” She points at the paintings of Hades hanging on the walls. “The brownie will be in one of these. Nab him and pull the bell rope when you have him,” she pauses, “or ... you give in and go for the second option.” Skirts and cloak hissing, she glides from the room. “Have a good day.”
“Wanker,” snarls Juliet and scans the six vast paintings of death and damnation, horrors and tortures, all in the most minute detail and each containing thousands of figures, human and demonic. “Bollocks, this could take weeks.” She marches to the fireplace, scoops Mitch up and says, “Sorry but sleepy time is over. Go and find that brownie.” Mitch yelps as he’s tossed into a two dimensional hell.
Juliet collapses in a high-backed velvet easy chair. “Right, there’s no brownie; Elanor wants me to perform the vitae spell.” Looking up at her reflection in the angled mirror over the fireplace, she says, “Time for lateral thinking, missus. Let’s work together.”
Her reflection frowns and sinks further into her chair. “All we need is a way out of here.”
“Past a barghest.”
“Yeeeees ... arg. There’s probably a way.”
“She wants to look twenty years younger and take my youth and life. Hmm, I’m going to have a long think. When my Mitch has finished in that painting, I’ll stick him in another. You go for a different one with your Mitch. Between us, we can work twice as fast.”
Her reflection leaps from the chair, says, “Even then you won’t have enough time,” and starts pacing to and fro across the fireplace. Juliet, still slumped in her seat, looks at the rip in her reflection’s leggings. Her right buttock is slightly exposed. She wonders if she should do the same for her left.
She’s pulled from her thoughts, hours later, by the appearance of the zombie housemaid who grins while pushing a trolley into the room. The grin reveals gaps in her teeth. The housemaid says, “Dinner by the grace of her ladyship.” She lifts covers. “Peacock soup.” More silver clatters. “Penguin souflee, wren niblets. My lady eats only two legged things on Tuesdays.” The housemaid grins again.
Juliet’s appetite, momentarily stimulated by the smells, dies when she realises she can’t be sure the maid left with as many teeth as when she entered.
Mitch leaps out of the painting and hits the mosaic floor. His spinning and scampering, drooling and uncontrolled tongue, slapping his eyes and the floor, give Juliet a strong message that he’s not inclined to worry about other people’s dental problems but wants to get stuck in. She rises and puts the soup bowl on the floor.
Looking up at her reflection she asks, “How’s it going? I’ve hit more dead ends than an octopus with major amputation problems.”
“Bitch, I was going to say that.”
“You did.”
“Let’s bounce ideas off each other in silence, you never know who may be listening.” Juliet’s reflection pulls something that looks like a speech bubble or inflated condom from her head and throws it. Flying down from the mirror Juliet nuts it back. Conclusions and mysteries ping between them.
The reflection throws, “If she has those two vials of aqua vitae, she can take twenty years off her age. Uh ... that would her eighteen.”
“She wants me to cast the same spell.”
“And she wants to take your youth.”
“Anomaly. She’s already killed students and taken their youth. She’s currently running at thirty-one years old.”
“Thirty-one minus twenty, minus twenty ... suicidal maths.”
“So she doesn’t have the aqua vitae.”
“The brownie exists and has nicked it. Elanor said, “His one and only talent other than theiving...”
“I think he may have another talent.”
“No, a quality: intelligence.”
“Exactly. That puts him way above her league. Can you stop throwing ideas so hard? I’m getting a virtual bruise on my forehead.”
“So, he’s not hiding in a painting.”
“Ouch! Nope. Be gentle with me. So why does a house brownie steal something worth squillions and hide in the house he stole it from?”
“The barghest stops him getting out.”
“But he must have know the barghest was there ... right ... he knew I was coming.”
“Nicked the aqua vitae as payment for getting him away from that awful cow.”
“So why’s he still hiding?”
“Because you’re being watched? Because he thinks you can’t pull it off?”
“Because he thinks I’ll distract the barghest while he escapes with the aqua vitae. I doubt if it’s payment for freeing him. Let’s get weaving. You put Mitch at the door and set a web spell. I’m going to walk over here.” Juliet taps her fingernails over a lacquered birdseye maple box on the mantlepiece and says, “If I were a very clever brownie that had stolen some aqua vitae I’d hardly hide in a painting. Everyone would know it’s my skill and look for me in them. No, I’d hide somewhere else. Maybe in a little box like this not expecting anyone in this household to think I was too intelligent to use my power. Except I can hide in mirrors and maybe the relfection of this box.” She stares up at the mirror. The reflected box trembles a little, flies open and the brownie leaps out, dives through the mirror and into the waiting mouth of Mitch.
Juliet says, “Mitch, swallow but don’t chew -- the same way you treat your food.” Looking up at the mirror she says to her eflection, “OK, time to get out. I’m gonna synch this mirror to the one on the left as you face the front door.” Behind her, Mitch chokes. Juliet grins; cloud mirror systems are her favourite now she’s worked out how to use them. She says to her reflection, “Make yourself scarce. I’m taking Mitch and the brownie.” Her reflection disappears as the butler and Lady Elanor enter the gallery.
Juliet scoops up Mitch and shoves the food trolley across the room, leaps on it, jumps to the top of the high backed chair and hurls herself at the mirror.
Landing with a roll on the vestibule floor, in a tangle of knapsack straps and a variety of Mitch’s limbs and other attachments she spits out a furry ear that’s made its way into her mouth and says, “Mitch, they’ll be after us. We’ve only seconds. Cough up the brownie now!”
But Mitch is too busy working out which way up he is, which way up he’d prefer to be and what he’s going to be excited about next.
“Mitch, this is important. You want me to stick my fingers down your throat?”
A saliva-covered brownie, rolled up and whimpering, pops out of Mitch’s mouth and into Juliet’s hand. The brownie clutches two tiny glass vials that glow as if someone’s trapped a little star.
“Brownie, get a grip. You want to get out of here as much as we do. The butler and lady will be here any moment now.” She puts her hand out. “Payment?”
The brownie scowls, a mess of hairy warts and carrot nose. He tosses a bottle to Juliet.
She tucks it in her pocket, rises, taps each corner of the mirror and lifts it from the wall. “Here, brownie, steady this while I open the front door.” She looks at her reflection in the mirror and puts a holding spell on it. “OK, refection, twenty seconds, that’s all the magic I have left.”
The brownie, a mere twenty milimetres tall, struggles to keep the mirror stable. Juliet throws the doors wide and lifts the mirror through the barghest restraining spell. “Here, little barghest, you can kill me now. Here, barghesty-gesty, bargy-wargy ... woof, woof.” She looks back into the room. “Mitch how are you supposed to talk to barghests?”
Over the lawn streaks Hell on legs, smoking turf ripped from the ground by mighty claws and tossed higher than the trees. Juliet squeaks, “Shiiiiit!’ and ducks behind the mirror. “Brownie, tell me when I can open my eyes.” She draws her lip stud out.
The brownie screams in terror, like a piccollo attempting to explode, gasps, and says, “The barghest disappeared into the looking glass!”
Juliet opens her eyes, reaches round to the front of the mirror, and grinds the diamond of her stud into the surface. A screeching moment later, she’s dragged a scratch from bottom to top.
She rises, “If the barghest is foolish enough to jump back out, it’ll cut itself in half. OK, gang, run like fuck!”
Pounding down the gravel drive makes almost enough noise to cover Lady Elanor’s screams from within the house. Juliet reckons the lady is currently too preoccupied to be a problem.
Juliet slams the gates closed behind herself, Mitch and the brownie. “Bloody hell that was a close shave ... more like a waxing.” She pulls the parchment from her sleeve. “Let’s see what the professors think.”
Pass: First class: with style, lol :)
©Gary Bonn: 2013
