IWSG Nov:

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Sadira Stone, Patricia Josephine, Lisa Buie-Collard, Erika Beebe, and C. Lee McKenzie!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

This month’s question is: What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever googled in researching a story?

My reply is probably not the strangest (and I should imagine there are going to be some corkers this month!) but it’s the one that instantly springs to mind.

It’s because I managed to download a virus when I was searching how to figure out how faster than light space travel differs from real time travel. Ie if it takes you 2 weeks to get there by ftl, how long would it take the slow way.

I was trying to be accurate for a short story, but in the end I got so confused by the science that I concluded that if I’d never thought to question any of the many sci-fi novels I’d read, I could probably get away with it too. (And I did).

It’s just as well I came to that conclusion as my laptop suddenly started blaring alerts and I shut it down in a panic.

I’m looking forward to discovering everyone else’s replies. Meanwhile please wish me luck for Friday… I offered to do a talk on ‘what to do with your short stories’ for my local literary festival, and they’ve sold tickets..! eek!

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IWSG Oct: Should writers read?

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Ronel Janse van Vuuren, Mary Aalgaard, Madeline Mora-Summonte, and Ellen @ The Cynical Sailor!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

This month’s optional question is:

It’s been said that the benefits of becoming a writer who does not read is that all your ideas are new and original. Everything you do is an extension of yourself, instead of a mixture of you and another author. On the other hand, how can you expect other people to want your writing, if you don’t enjoy reading? What are your thoughts?

My first comment would be that by becoming a writer who does read, is where you discover that all those ideas aren’t so original after all! That’s when you start to dig deeper with your imagination.

The more I tried to answer this question, the more irate I found myself at the arrogance of someone who thinks they can write without bothering to read.

How do you empathise with your reader if you don’t read, yourself?

How do you learn?

How do you learn to get better?

It’s like trying to sit an exam without revising! (And I should know, because in my teens I had this stupid idea that I should be able to pass my exams through natural ability, otherwise wasn’t it a form of deceit that I ‘knew’ all this stuff? – Little did I realise then that you retain the bits that are useful, forget the rest and look it up if you need to.)

Natural ability is great, but if you extend that reasoning, then every book would be a first draft, without benefit of editors or feedback.

How can you know if anything is any good if you don’t have anything to compare it to?

If your reply to that last one is that you rely on other people to do those things, then you either have buckets of cash, or you’re living in a dream world. Because unless you can afford to pay someone to edit everything you write (in which case, how does it differ to being a mix of you and someone else?) then you rely on the goodwill of the writing community, where you help each other out by reading and critiquing each other’s work, which again, takes you out of your pristine reading-free vaccuum.

In short, good luck if you don’t think you need to read in order to write. You’re either a genius or an idiot, and both are outside of the circles I run in.

(Gosh! Didn’t realise I felt so strongly about that! Bring on the comments!)

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#IWSG September: Upping my game?

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Gwen Gardner, Doreen McGettigan, Tyrean Martinson, Chemist Ken, and Cathrina Constantiner!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

Today feels like a bit of a crazy day. And where I should be doing something sensible, instead I’m grabbing five minutes to tell you about it.

This morning started with the kid’s first day back to school after the summer holidays. I have the 2 extremes. My daughter was up dressed and ready to go by 7am (2 hours early). My son had to be woken, carried downstairs (to be fully woken by the dog licking his face) and coaxed through the whole routine, including walking him his new classroom.

The rest of the day is about me. In half an hour I’m off to catch the train to London (I’m in Devon, so it’s about a 3 hour journey), for a 2 hour workshop, after which I get the train back. I should be home about 2am tomorrow morning. (If your maths for hours in the day doesn’t add up, that’s because I’ve saved you from hearing about my morning faffing around doing ‘stuff’).

The workshop is on pitching your novel. Why am I so keen? because later this month I’ll be returning to London to attend an ‘Agents Party’ where I (and god knows how many other writers) get to meet and pitch to agents. So I’m taking all the help I can get!

I’d tell you more but I need to go and faff a bit more before I leave!

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#IWSG August: Does your writing take you by surprise?

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Renee Scattergood, Sadira Stone, Jacqui Murray, Tamara Narayan, and LG Keltner!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

I’m just back from holiday in Spain, and am facing a mountainous to-do list. I’ve already tackled the laundry foothills; braved the heights of the weekly shop; and am now surveying the towering cliffs of keeping-the-kids-occupied; avoiding-guilt-as-my-husband-DOES-STUFF-around-the-house, and trying-to-fit-in-writing-time.

But I’m probably not alone in all that, so I won’t whinge.

This month’s question is: Has your writing ever taken you by surprise? And my answer is ALL THE TIME!!

I only need to think back to the first creative writing course I ever took. The homework was to write about a character who was packing a bag, and I ended up with an antiques dealer who had a special interest in smuggling antique erotica on the side. I was sooo nervous about reading it back to the class the following week! But I was glad I did as it reinforced the lesson to go ahead with writing whatever the muse throws at you, rather than what you think you ‘ought’ to write.

Speaking of things the muse flings around, my story, ‘Herne’s Rest’ is in the second Grumpy Old Gods anthology, which comes out this Friday (9th August). If anyone is interested in receiving an ARC and would consider leaving an Amazon review, then please let me know.

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#IWSG July: Do you share your (ahem) superpowers with your characters?

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Erika Beebe, Natalie Aguirre, Jennifer Lane, MJ Fifield, Lisa Buie-Collard, and Ellen @ The Cynical Sailor!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

I’ve been rubbish at posting recently, so it’s time to dust the cobwebs from my blog, clear out the spam and answer this months’ IWSG question, which is…

What personal traits have you written into your character(s)?

Well, it’s funny I mentioned dusting and clearing out just now as my character, Elinor (also known as Granny), has similar tidiness traits to me. She doesn’t put things away, but she knows where she last saw them. If someone tidies after her, it’s fatal, because suddenly things are out of place and can no longer be found.

I know that my husband’s left slipper is under the sofa, that the dvd the dog chewed is on top of the cabinet and my son’s minecraft toy is where he left it on the stairs three weeks ago. If they ask, I can tell. If someone moves them, then my superpower is gone!

Leave the washing up to drain long enough it’ll dry itself. Dust just comes back!

Ok, I’m not a complete slob – people do actually come back after visiting my house.

Here’s a snippet so you can get the feel of what Elinor is like (the narrator is Skye, her tidy-minded granddaughter):

‘Granny,’ I said in my most reasonable tone. ‘If we don’t clean, we get nasty bugs and things in the supplies. I’m sure you wouldn’t want weevils in the flapjack, and goodness only knows what effect silverfish might have on the bog-mandrake.’
‘I don’t mean basic household chores,’ she snapped. ‘I’m talking about disturbing the natural order of things.’
‘But these are basic chores.’
‘Skye.’ The look she turned on me had too many years of experience in it. ‘Don’t forget who raised your mother. I had the devil’s own job keeping her under control, and I can recognise her touch a mile off.’
‘But we’ll have all sorts of creatures coming in.’
‘Where d’you think I get most of my spell ingredients?’
‘Things will go off.’ I wasn’t prepared to back down on cleanliness.
‘It’s just the natural transition to the next stage of their existence.’
That sounded like so much guff. ‘It’s unhygienic,’ I muttered.

I’d ask what your views on tidiness are, but I think I might be afraid to know the answers…

 

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#IWSG May: What have I learned this month?

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Lee Lowery, Juneta Key, Yvonne Ventresca, and T. Powell Coltrin!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

So, what have I learned this month?

Feedback.

Feedback, feedback, feedback. Really, it is SO necessary.

Situation no 1: I asked my writing group to look at my agent submission package. I only included the first scene of the novel (didn’t want to bore them 😉 ), and the overwhelming feedback was that the voice was Middle Grade, not Young Adult.

I only need to be hit on the head so many times for something to sink in. And as MG was the age range when I really fell in love with books, I’m delighted to write for that age group. It makes it even more exciting, imagine being be that author for someone!

Situation no 2: After that I went through my novel again, taking out the odd cuss words and making sure that it all reads as MG.

Three days in I realised I’d been editing version 5, not version 6 (which was the post beta-reader version).

Yep. Annoying to say the least. But I was determined to find some silver to line my cloud with, and this is it:

You’d think I’d have noticed.

Part of me did. But that part just kept saying ‘Oops – can’t believe I missed that!’ and ‘Oh man – did nobody else see that either?’

What I did not do was re-write it to the extent that it needed following my beta-reader’s comments. Because I’ve read it so many times, I’m blind to my / its faults. Even after having them pointed out to me!

So I’m doubly grateful to my beta-readers, because this has reminded me of just how much I need them, and how brilliant they are.

For the record, going back and updating version 6 wasn’t too painful or time consuming, and reading over the updated version was reassuring.

Mistakes are often the best things you can make.

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Storytime bloghop: The Sprite in the Well

It’s April and time for another story-time blog hop.

So grab that cuppa, any left-over bits of easter egg and settle down to read some fab stories from around the world.

If you subscribe to the Indie Authors Advent Calendar, then you may have come across this story before, but I’m fond of it as it features my characters, Skye and Poggitt from The Merewoods Witches, so I’m recycling it to spread the love 🙂

 

The Sprite in the Well by Angela Wooldridge.

We need some treacle,” Granny said, one midwinter morning.

But the well is frozen.” Everything had been since the severe frost, two days earlier. Poggitt, our big Hunterback frog, had been missing for the same length of time. Sulking probably, over the absence of the key ingredient to his favourite food – flapjack.

Well, take an ice-pick and try to dig some out.”

But how am I supposed to get down there?”

You’re a witch, Skye. I’m sure you can work it out.” Granny left, muttering about treacle tart recipes and feeding the bats.

Apprentice witch,” I grumbled. But with Poggitt missing I didn’t even have anyone to commiserate with.

The novelty of a treacle well had worn off fast. We now had to get our water from the stream, which meant that you ran the risk of frostbite whilst washing the breakfast things. I lit a lantern and warmed my fingers before lowering it down the well-shaft to figure out the best way down.

Eventually I put together a sort of rope harness. I know Granny likes to use the magic option as often as possible, but I didn’t fancy a slow death by drowning in semi-solid treacle if anything went wrong.

As it turned out, I’d have been more likely to break a bone.

The lantern did little to dispel the gloom, so I flicked a couple of witch-lights into being above me.

So that’s where you’ve been!”

Poggitt croaked sheepishly.

I should have known,” I continued. “The temptation of all this solid treacle was too much for you wasn’t it? Never mind that anyone might have been worried about you!”

From his webby-handed waving, I understood that he’d not given any thought about how to get back up again.

I don’t believe you,” I said. “But, considering the times you’ve backed me up with Granny, I’ll let it pass.”

He croaked again.

Don’t be so smug. Now, where to start?” I stepped back.

Hey, watch where you’re putting your great big feet!” someone shouted behind me.

I jumped at least a yard in the air and the treacle underfoot dipped alarmingly. “What in the seven hells are you?”

Well, that’s just charming.” He, she, it(?) was a twig-like creature, just under two feet tall. The trailing ends of its wings and its feet were trapped in the frozen treacle. I squatted down to get a closer look and it reared back. “Don’t touch me!”

I wouldn’t dream of it.” I tucked my skirts around my legs to ward off the chill. “You must be freezing.”

It snickered, “You could say that.” It stretched out its twiggy little finger and tapped my nose.

I yelped and scooted backwards. The little beast had encased the tip of my nose in ice. “What have you done? Get it off, you little horror!”

Can’t,” it said. “I’m a frost sprite. I don’t do warmth.”

Keep your fingers to yourself then.” I summoned another ball of witch-fire and held it to my nose. Once it started melting, I was able to pry the ice off. “Come on Poggitt, let’s go.”

But Poggitt refused to budge, nodding insistently toward the sprite.

So?” I said. “He got himself into that fix, he can get himself out.”

She, thank you. You could at least get the gender right.”

Really, you couldn’t tell. “Free you up to freeze other people’s noses, or worse? No, waiting until spring might teach you some manners.” I turned to go, but Poggitt tugged insistently at my skirt. “I’m sure the treacle will be fine,” I told him.

What our friend from the Hunterbacks is trying to tell you, is that until I get free of this, there’ll be no thaw.”

I swung back. “What do you mean?”

The sprite rolled her eyes at Poggitt. “I thought you said she was clever? I mean, witch-girl, the reason I’m stuck is because I freeze things. That’s all I can do. I got caught in this muck two days ago and everything I do just makes it worse.”

So this unexpected freeze is your fault?”

She looked quite put out by that. “I was expecting water down here. Trust witches to have something unnatural in their well.”

Are you trying to say that you need my help?”

She looked like she’d bitten into something sour, and mumbled under her breath.

Excuse me?”

I said, yes please.”

I smirked, pleased to have put one over on the little pest. “It shouldn’t be that difficult, I just need to introduce a little warming charm.” I drew a couple of sigils in the air, clicked my fingers twice and pointed to the treacle at my feet. “Mellespina.”

No, stop! Wait!”

One of these days I’ll learn to think things through first. All too soon I was up to my waist in warm, runny treacle, and the more I struggled, the more it threatened to suck me down further.

Do something!” shrieked the sprite. She’d dragged her wings free, but only their constant fluttering kept her from disappearing beneath the surface.

Poggitt’s webbed feet allowed him to float, but only just. Ironic, I thought, that his dream come true had just become a nightmare. All he needed were a few oats—

That’s it!” I closed my eyes, visualised the store cupboard and began a summoning charm, trying not to stumble over the words in my haste as I felt the treacle soaking into my bodice.

Is that snow?” The sprite looked up nervously as whitish blobs began to fall toward us.

No, oats.” As more fell, I used my arms to stir them into the treacle and as the mixture thickened, I was gradually able to work my way to the surface. “There you go, Poggitt. Enough flapjack even for you!”

You people are weird.” The sprite flicked some last sticky oats from her wings. “I’ll guarantee you a mild winter though. I’m not coming back here in a hurry.”

*********

I hope you enjoyed that. Now don’t forget to check out all these other great stories too!

Unnamed Story by Karen Lynn
0 – The Fool by Raven O’Fiernan
Big Enough by Elizabeth McCleary
Grumpy Old Demeter by Vanessa Wells
Say Please by J. Q. Rose
Provoking the Muse by Moira K. Brennan
It all Started… by Bill Bush
Zombies by Barbara Lund
Before The Dreams by Katharina Gerlach
To Wake A God by Juneta Key

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A-Z of fictional characters: N is for Norah

Bride of the Rat God by Barbara Hambly has a similar vibe to Blood Heritage (A-Z of fictional characters: M is for Mahlia); with ancient demons and a trio of oriental demon-hunting dogs, as well as the ambience the writing provides.

But Norah is a different character to Mahlia. She’s someone who has hit rock bottom, stared all that bleakness in the face and been given a second chance by an unlikely fairy-godmother in the shape of her sister-in-law, a glamorous Hollywood actress of the silver screen era who just happens to have been targeted by an ancient oriental demon.

Norah is a quiet, unassuming character with hidden depths and her calm practicality in the face of danger is one of the things I admire about her. Hambly draws great characters (probably why she tends to feature in so many of my recommendations). They’re far from perfect, make human (rather than irritating) mistakes, and are memorable.

It’s also a fascinating tour through the Hollywood of the silent movie era; of life on the film sets and behind the scenes after the clapperboard has snapped down. From the mansions of Beverley Hills to the tenements of Chinatown, Barbara Hambly takes you on a journey that stays in your mind for a long time afterwards.

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#IWSG April: Stop looking that gift horse in the mouth

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; J.H. Moncrieff,Natalie Aguirre,Patsy Collins, and Chemist Ken!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

So, what have I been up to this month?

Every now and then, SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) have competitions called Slushpile Challenges.

This weekend, the opening lines from my novel were in the top five selected by the judging agent. Yay!

Yet there’s still a voice in the back of my head that keeps whispering, ‘What if there were only five entries?’

When I mentioned this to my husband he gave me the verbal equivalent of a slap upside the head. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘Look at the feedback; ‘Striking voice and strong opening.’ Don’t start second guessing and poking holes in things. Learn to take praise.’

Why is it so much easier to doubt yourself? Anyway, I’m going to poke that doubting voice in its metaphorical tonsils and ignore it.

‘Striking voice’? I’ll take that, thanks 🙂

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#IWSG March: The importance of names!

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are; Fundy Blue, Beverly Stowe McClure, Erika Beebe, and Lisa Buie-Collard!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

This month I’m going to talk about names.

How do you name your characters? Do you spend hours flicking through baby name books, or do you, like me, pluck one from the ether, examine it from all (or at least a few) angles and decide, ‘yes, we’ll use that one.’

Recently I discovered that I might need to rename a character. I was (and still am) very attached to the name. Being fantasy, it’s not a real name but a word I came up with and liked the sound of. It originally belonged to a different character, but I liked it so much I swapped and gave it to my male lead. He’s had it for at least two years and it fits him.

But last week I came across this word (that I thought I’d made up) in a book. ‘Oh my god, it’s a real word!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’d better check what it means.’

Hmm…

Yeah…

The word? Ambergris.

The meaning? Whale vomit.

Can it get much worse? ‘Oh hey, this is my hero. He’s called… whale vomit…’

“Ambergris, or ‘grey amber’ is a waxy substance that originates as a secretion in the intestines of the sperm whale, and is used in perfume manufacture.”

‘Grey amber’ sounds ok, and apparently it’s meant to be pretty valuable. I’m not quite as down in the dumps as I was a couple of days ago about it (look, people can get attached to names, ok?), because I discussed it with my writing group and they’ve mostly convinced me that I can still go with it. He – my character – comes from a merchant family, so I guess I could work it into backstory… maybe his brothers and sisters could have similarly odd names… or the result of some unfortunate family tradition..?

Anyhow, I shall continue to mull this over, and perhaps in future I’ll google the random words I come up with, just to be on the safe side.

Do you have any naming incidents to share (and make me feel better 😉 ) or experience with whale vomit..?

 

 

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#IWSG Feb 2019: From slush pile to reject pile

It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s time to share our hopes, dreams and fears with the Insecure Writers Support Group, the brainchild of Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh, and this month’s hosts are;Raimey Gallant, Natalie Aguirre, CV Grehan, and Michelle Wallace!

Do stop by and say hello to them!

Each month the IWSG provides a suggested question to answer, but I don’t feel like answering that one this month. Instead I thought I’d write about my first official rejection email from an agent, which I received a couple of weeks ago. It was a fast turn-around too, under 2 weeks, so I obviously wasn’t what they’re looking for.

I still have other submissions that have been ‘out there’ for much longer. Mind you, that could mean anything – that it’s still on the pile, that they’ve looked at it but are undecided, or that they’ve read it but haven’t bothered to send a rejection.

Some agencies say to give them a nudge if you haven’t heard from them within a certain period of time.

Some say that ‘you should hear from us within x weeks’.

So if you pass the time limit on that second one, does it mean ‘no’? or that they’re running behind?

Do I chase them?

Leave it for a bit?

Assume it’s a ‘no’ and send out some more subs?

I’ve got too much else going on at the moment to worry about it. I’ll leave be and let my subconscious sort it out. In a week or two I’ll have worked out my next step.

And that first rejection? I’m ok about it. We all ought to have rejection notches on our pencils, it’s part of the process…

Just as long as they aren’t all rejections…

Before I go, I just wanted to remind you all that the Exeter Writers Short Story Competition closes for entries at the end of this month – this year we’ve boosted the first prize to a whacking £700!! So, come on guys – I’d love to see a name I recognise from here as the winner!

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Jan 2019: Storytime Bloghop!

It’s a chilly morning here in Devon, so it’s a good time to grab a biscuit and a cuppa, and snuggle down to read the stories in the latest blog hop.

My story features a couple of characters you may have met before in Never Kid a Kidder, Tish (whose name has never actually cropped up yet), and Jake, a regency ghost of slightly dubious character who haunts her apartment.

Lost and Found.

Ghosts hang around because they have unfinished business. Or so the stories say. I’d never tested the theory, but then they’d never bothered me personally before.
By the time I discovered Jake in my apartment, I was tied into a three year lease agreement so I was stuck with him.
‘Do you know why you’re still here?’ I asked one Saturday afternoon. I’d cleared the kitchen table and we’d put his poltergeist skills to use in a game of table tennis. He was too good at it, so I asked more to distract him than for any other reason.
‘Because I’m winning?’
‘I mean here.’ I pointed to the floor. ‘This building. Why haven’t you moved on or whatever it is you’re supposed to do when you die.’
He winced, ‘Must you put it so bluntly? It’s incredibly bad manners.’
I looked around the empty room, ‘I don’t think anyone here will mind.’
‘Just play.’ He hit the ping pong ball back at me, but it shot over my shoulder and out the open window.
Muffled swearing from outside prompted me to peer out cautiously. ‘Oh no! I can’t believe you hit Mr Norrell, he hates me!’ I watched my upstairs neighbour slide the ball into his pocket, and turned back to Jake. ‘That’s my only ball. You’ll have to get it back.’
‘Me? I can’t go out there.’
‘Nobody will see you. Besides, it’s your fault.’
He stuck his nose in the air and twitched the folds of his cravat, ‘A gentleman doesn’t assign blame.’
‘I’m not a gentleman,’ I pointed out. I wasn’t convinced that he was either. ‘Off you go.’
‘You misunderstand me,’ he said. ‘I can’t go out there because I’m confined to this building; the er… premises of my demise,’ he added helpfully.
I threw my bat down in frustration as my ill-tempered neighbour continued his self-important stroll out the front gate.

That evening I was tucking into my Saturday night treat of chow mein from Mr Fibonachi’s, (I was as sure that wasn’t his real name as I was that he wasn’t of Chinese origin, but he made the best chow mein I’d ever tasted), when Jake appeared, setting a collection of objects on the table.
‘Where did they come from?’ He’d brought back the ping pong ball, but for some reason included my favourite tee-shirt, an old pair of shoes and a chicken ornament.
‘As requested,’ he bowed with a flourish of the tatty lace at his wrists. ‘I retrieved your belongings from the gentleman upstairs.’
‘But he only had my ping pong ball.’
‘I thought that too. However, when I traced it to his apartment—’
‘You traced it? I thought you couldn’t leave my place?’
This building, I said. And yes, I am able to trace the aura of something belonging to you. May I continue?’
Despite the many questions teeming through my brain, I nodded for him to carry on.
‘I traced it to a box which was marked with your apartment number. Inside were all of these.’
‘That’s creepy.’ I shivered.
‘If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t being singled out. There are boxes for all the apartments.’
‘I can’t decide if that’s creepier or not.’ I picked up the chicken ornament. ‘Where the hell did he get this? And my tee-shirt! I guess I should be grateful it’s not my underwear.’
‘Why would he have your underwear?’ Jake looked puzzled.
‘Are you telling me nobody got thrills watching people in their undies in regency England, or whenever you’re from?’
‘Oh, I see.’ He shook his head. ‘Undergarments were considerably less attractive in my day. Getting someone out of it was the challenge. Yours, however—’
‘No!’ I slammed my hands over my ears. ‘I thought we’d agreed on some boundaries!’
Now, yes. But…’ he shrugged and assumed a pious expression. ‘Sometimes you forget, and I don’t like to embarrass you.’
‘Ugh!’ I threw the chicken ornament at him, which was completely pointless as if he hadn’t caught it, it would have gone right through him anyway.
‘At least you’ve got your things back, now,’ he said.
That made me stop and think. ‘I have,’ I agreed. ‘But what about everybody else? No. This has to stop.’ I charged out of my apartment and up the stairs to Mr Norrell’s, propelled by righteous indignation and deaf to Jake’s pleas to be reasonable.

Mr Norrell answered my frenzied hammering at his door with a polite, ‘How may I help you?’
‘How dare you!’ I charged past him into his entrance hall and brandished my belongings under his nose. ‘How dare you steal my things!’
‘Where did you get those?’ he demanded.
‘Never mind where I got ‘em. Where did you get them?’
He looked at me as if I were an idiot. ‘They’re lost property, of course.’
‘No, they’re not. They’re mine.’
‘But they were lost,’ he insisted.
‘Why didn’t you give them back?’ I could feel my moral high ground starting to crumble underfoot.
‘That’s not how it works,’ he told me. ‘Caretakers don’t have time to run around after everyone, you know. So I put them in a box ready for when someone comes to collect them.’
‘But you’re not the caretaker.’ I was confused.
‘No,’ He replied sadly. ‘I retired. But I guess old habits die hard.’
He showed me his hallway cupboard, which was stacked with boxes labelled by apartment number.
‘Nobody knows to ask you if they’ve lost something,’ I pointed out.
Understanding dawned on his face. ‘I guess old habits do die hard.’ He shook his head. ‘Now I’m retired, I suppose I have time to return them. Here, I’ll start with you.’ He reached into his pocket, frowning when it turned out empty, then he spotted the ping pong ball in my hand. ‘Oh, I guess I did that already.’

‘Jake,’ I said when we were back downstairs. ‘He hadn’t put the ball with the other things, had he?’
Jake fiddled with his sleeve. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ Then he winked, ‘Sometimes people just need a little nudge, don’t you think?’

***

I hope you enjoyed the story. Don’t forget to check out the other stories too…

Bia Trevi’s Worldly Eats, by Barbara Lund
Hunting Bob, Vanessa Wells
Don’t Drink The Water, by Juneta Key
Duty, Elizabeth McCleary
The Footnote, Karen Lynn
The Monster Under The Bed, by Nic Steven
Field Trip to the UFO Museum, by Bill Bush

Scary Monsters and Other Friends, by Lisa Stapp
Morning Has Broken, by Katharina Gerlach
Good Honest Work, by Chris Wight
Bad For Business, by Gina Fabio
The Last Friday, by Raven O’Fiernan

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