Marjorie Mallon's Blog Tour for Mr. Sagittarius. Day.

Hi everyone guess who has come to join me today for a cuppa,


and a chat about her latest Blog Tour. Yes it my dear friend Marjorie Mallon.


Marjorie how are you today? Here get comfy, help yourself to some cake and let’s have a nice chat.

Just before we start a little Birdie has told me that your Dad is 91 years young today so let’s wish him a very Happy Birthday!

What gave you the idea for this book? 

I think my lunchtime wanders in the Cambridge Botanical Gardens played a considerable part in creating this book. The beauty of the trees, flowers and the magical creatures of the garden: particularly a visit from a robin, and a dragonfly encouraged me to write Mr. Sagittarius. Moreover, my tendency to ‘people watch’ had a huge impact on the creation of my two main characters: Harold and William. I observed two elderly gents sitting in a coffee shop one day on my way to work. There was something so striking about them. Identical twins, both wearing beanie hats, and glasses.I just had to write about them! Their story sits amongst the poetry, prose and photography in a perfect way as if they were meant to be there. 

Where do you get your ideas from?

All sorts of ways: observing people who ‘catch my eye,’ listening to conversations, (I love to eavesdrop,) appreciating the beauty of the world around us whether it be in its natural form, or expressed by art.  

Do your family have any influence on your writing?

My family are probably sick to the death of my writing! I’m obsessed… 

My dad (especially when he was younger,) was a mad keen golfer and talked endlessly about his love of golf. Now, I write and blog I can relate to that obsessive tendency!

I’d say that there are three main influences: 

  • My father who has always had many fascinating tales to tell (he travelled all over the world.) 
  • Also, my mother’s childhood in Malaysia and her move to Britain at the tender age of eighteen when she married my father. Both my mother and father are such interesting characters.
  • Then, there’s my eldest daughter who reads masses, writes too, and we share an interest in fantasy books. Though, Mr. Sagittarius is a bit different from my usual genre: YA fantasy.

Where do you like best to do your writing?

At home in my office. It is the only place where I have the peace to write. I also like writing at the seaside. I did this one year – went off to Brighton – to write for a long weekend and I loved it. I wrote in cafes, in the library and chatted to lots of interesting people. It was a blast! I’d recommend it. 

Do you write better during the day or night ?

Daytime, early morning preferably. I never write at night, I like to sleep!


I think we have all learned a lot about you and how you approach your writing. Would you like another cuppa? Oh! Before I forget I do have another question for you.

It so kind of you to donate some of the royalties of this book to the Australia fund what let you to this.?

I felt so sad to hear about the staggering loss of the unique wildlife and species of Australia and the local people and fire rescue services caught up in such a monumental catastrophe, people losing their lives and homes destroyed too. 

It is inconceivable to comprehend that: ‘More than 10 million hectares have been burnt, and this number continues to climb. That’s the equivalent of 40% of the entire UK.

Lives, homes, and an estimated 1.25 billion animals have been affected, including 30% of the entire koala population in mid-north coast of New South Wales. These catastrophic megafires are worsening the extinction crisis we’re already facing.’

Quote from: https://support.wwf.org.uk/australia-bushfires

Australia may be far away from my home in the UK but this is a stark warning. We must care for our planet, the effects of global warming are devastating and will only get worse if we choose to turn a blind eye. Time to take action. 

I am delighted to say I have my copy of Mr Sagittarius and I am reading it for the second time, and seeing even more in it this time around.

As I said that is so kind of you Marjorie to help Australia, don’t you think everyone? Now let’s get down to some authorly facts.

Author Bio

Marjorie Mallon

I write YA Fantasy/Paranormal novels, Horror/Ghost short stories and multi-genre flash fiction as well as micro poetry – haiku and Tanka. I share book reviews, poetry, flash fiction, photography and inspirational details of my writing journey at my lovely blog home: https://mjmallon.com/

I’m a member of two professional writing groups: The Society of Children’s Writers and Book Illustrators  and Cambridge Writers 

As well as this I run a supportive group with fellow Administrator D G Kaye on Facebook: Authors/Bloggers Rainbow Support Club

I work as a Receptionist/Event organiser for an international sixth form and live in Cambridge, England. 

Kindle Cover Reveal 

Blurb

Who Is Mr. Sagittarius?

And what is his connection to twin brothers, Harold and William?

When Harold dies, he leaves a simple memorial request

Will his sister Annette honour it?

Or, will the magic of the garden ensure that she does.

A magical story expressed via poetry and prose with photographic images.

Mr. Sagittarius is a collection of poetry, prose and photographic images inspired by the botanical gardens in Cambridge. It features a variety of my photos including: trees, a robin and a dragonfly! As well as this there are several stories, and even some Halloween poems! 

I doubt I would have created Mr. Sagittarius if it wasn’t for these two amazing ladies: Colleen Chesebro (for her weekly poetry challenges and Charli Mills – Carrot Ranch (flash fiction challenges.) Both ladies have been a huge source of inspiration and encouragement. 

Mr. Sagittarius is a magical celebration of the natural world, a story about the circle of life, with an emphasis on the changing seasons of the year and sibling relationships.

Huge thanks to my amazing cover designer and formatter: Rachael Ritchey who has done an amazing job creating the ebook, paperback cover and graphics. 

Contents include:

THE GOLDEN WEEPING WILLOW (story and poem plus photo of a dragonfly)

GOLDEN WILLOW TREE (poem and photo) 

ROBIN: ETHEREE (poem and photo)

LIFE LESSONS FROM BUDDHA (poem)

LIFE LESSONS FROM CATS – poem – (photo image via Samantha Murdoch)

MR. FROWNING TREE (poem and photo) 

RAINBOW CHILD – story – (image of Tourmaline crystal via Samantha Murdoch)

FRIENDS FOR TEA (poem) 

THE CANDY CORN MONSTER (Halloween poem)

CANDYFLOSS CRITTER (Halloween poem)

MR GHOST WITH EASE (Halloween poem)

DREAMING AT HALLOWEEN (Halloween poem)

ODE TO LOVE –ETERNAL (Ghost/love poem)

LOVE TAKEN BY DEATH: DIAMANTE (poem)

GHOST: SEPTOLET (Ghost poem)

A FACE ON BARK: ETHEREE (poem)

LOLLIPOP SUNSHINE TREE (poem and photo)

FOR MR. SNOWMAN (poem)

SERENA’S CHRISTMAS BUBBLE MONSTER (humorous story and photo)

BUBBLY SNOWMAN KISSES (poem)

THAT TWINKLE IN HER EYES IS MAGIC (poem)

THE OLD MAN OF SNOW AND THE SNOW SNAKE (story)

MY HEART IS A CAVE (poem)

MR. SAGITTARIUS (story)

MR. SAGITTARIUS DIED THIS DAY IN THIS SNOW DROP GARDEN (poem/prose/photo of snow drops.)

Love (story)

Other Books by M J Mallon:

YA Fantasy:

The Curse of Time Book 1 Bloodstone 

http://mybook.to/TheCurseofTime

Coming in 2020

YA Fantasy:

The Curse of Time Book 2 Golden Healer.

Short Stories in Anthologies: 

Bestselling horror compilation –

Nightmareland edited by Dan Alatorre –

“Scrabble Boy” (Short Story)

Ghostly Rites Anthology 2019 –

“Dexter’s Creepy Caverns” (Short Story)

Ghostly Writes Anthology 2018 –

“Ghostly Goodbye” (Short Story) 

Marjorie’s author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/M-J-Mallon/e/B074CGNK4L/

Kindle preorder link to the posts: 
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B084DQV3HW
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B084DQV3HW/

Well Marjorie it’s been lovely having you join me for tea and cake

Soon💜😁

Mr. Sagittarius by M J Mallon #NewRelease #Poetry

Well it’s day 6 of Marjorie Mallon’s Blog Tour for Mr Sagittarius. Jacquie Bigger has an excerpt for us to enjoy.

Read At source

Mr. Sagittarius Blog Tour

Marjorie Mallon is over at the Carrot Ranch with Charlie Mills for day 2 of her Blog Tour.

Read at Source

LOOK! “Mr. Sagittarius is Here!”

Marjorie Mallon’s Blog Tour is off to a Perfect start.

READ AT SOURCE

Day 11 Marriage Unarranged Blog Tour.

WANT A TOTALLY FUN READ & ROMP THROUGH AN EXOTIC CULTURE?? Head over to Carol Casscara’s blog and read at source.

Staying in with Ritu Bhathal, Author of Marriage Unarranged

Join Linda and Ritu for an evening in with her new book. Read a source.

Marriage Unarranged #booktour #ritubhathal

Geoff on has some really interesting questions for Ritu today on her Blog Tour.

Head over and read at source.

Jim Wester, Blog Tour. A Poet Is Always A Gentleman.

I am delighted to welcome Jim Webster once again to my blog as part of his latest Blog Tour.

First off let’s have a look at the time table, so you know when and who to visit.

Sue Vincenthttps://scvincent.com/Friday 8th NovCartographically challenged
MT McGuirehttps://mtmcguire.co.uk/Saturday 9th NovSilent justice
Robbie Cheadlehttps://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/Sunday 10th NovKnowing your profiteroles
Writers Co-ophttps://writercoop.wordpress.com/Monday 11th NovComing clean
Stevie Turnerhttps://steviet3.wordpress.com/Tuesday 12th NovBringing the joys of civilisation
Colleen Chesebrohttps://colleenchesebro.com/Wednesday 13th NovTrite tales for little people
Annette Rochelle Abenhttps://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/Thursday 14th NovA licence to perform
Chris Grahamhttps://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/Friday 15th NovWorking the Crowd
Ashlynn  Waterstonehttps://waterstoneway.wordpress.com/Saturday 16th NovAnd home again
Ken Gierkehttps://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/Sunday 17th NovNot particularly well liked
Writers Co-ophttps://writercoop.wordpress.com/Monday 18th NovMore trite tales for little people
Willow Willers https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/Tuesday 19thA poet is always a gentleman
Ritu Bhathalhttps://butismileanyway.com/Wednesday 20th Justice of a sort
Jayehttps://jenanita01.com/Thursday 21stGetting to the bottom of it all

A poet is always a gentleman.

There are times when past events catch up with you in a potentially embarrassing manner, and it takes a certain quickness of wit to deal with them satisfactorily. Whilst looking back on my Slipshade expedition with modest satisfaction, I confess I rather consigned it to the past. It had happened, it was done, and whilst the tale of my exploits would doubtless surface, suitably scrubbed and burnished, at some point when I needed material for some future work; I had every confidence that that part of my life was over.
Not only that but I was no longer being blamed for the politically embarrassing actions of cavorting imps and similar. I could walk the streets of my home city with my head held high. I had no more to fear that any other resident who walks the streets alone and after dark. True I still doubtless had creditors, but until you have those you cannot really call yourself a poet.
Thus when Dobart Strun sent me a message suggesting I met with him at the Flensers to discuss the possibility of working together, I set out to enjoy my evening with a clear conscience. I was also accompanied by Shena who has a lot of time for Dobart. Yes he is an artist, but he’s also a sculptor and Shena has managed to sell him all manner of strangely shaped pieces of stone, bizarre lengths of driftwood, and miscellaneous lumps of non-ferrous metals. Not only that but Lancet was also going to be there so she felt that it could well be an interesting evening.
We met at the bar and proceeded to the buffet. Here there was the usual jostling at the entry table where the termagant collecting the money had her lair. Normally we would be finding excuses to get somebody else to pay, but on this occasion we all seemed to genuinely wish to pay for everybody else. I was in funds thanks to Slipshade and felt that it was perhaps my turn to let others take advantage of me. After all I had eaten and drunk at their expense in the past. Dobart wished to pay because he felt he was in some way the host, trying to inveigle us into joining an enterprise, and Lancet wanted to pay mainly because he grows nervous if the rest of us show too much apparently spontaneous generosity. There are times when I feel he can be remarkably cynical. Perhaps that is part of what demarcates the performance artist from the true poet?
Eventually we let Dobart pay, collected our plates and made an opening reconnaissance of the buffet table. As we sat down to devour the prizes taken in our first sally, Dobart put forward his scheme. As I have said, he is a sculptor. Not only that he’s a big man. Tall, broad, and it’s all muscle. He will casually manoeuvre foundry pouring ladles full of molten bronze across his workshop. But for all that, whatever his appearance, he is a genuine artist, and can produce the most delicate work.
His plan was worthy of him. It had occurred to him that the market for bronze sculpture was limited, if only by the cost. So his plan was to produce something in pewter. But rather than just produce large pewter pieces the same size as his bronzes, he was pondering producing pieces where the human figure was not much larger than a man’s middle finger. We listened to him with interest, as to the best of my knowledge one sees only a trifling amount of work in that size. It was Shena who commented that she thought it was an interesting idea but why was he involving Lancet and me.
“I have been thinking, Shena. Once I’ve made the master, I want to be able to leave it to apprentices to cast scores of them. But I need people to be interested in them. That’s where Tallis and Lancet come in. If there is a story behind the piece, perhaps a poem people have heard, then they are going to be more interested. So ideally the poem with sell the sculpture to those who hear the poem and like it. Then perhaps the sculpture will sell the poem to people who see the sculpture, buy it and want to know more.”
Dobart then turned to Lancet. “Now then, pewter can start looking dull and uninteresting, and I remember you painting something to look as if it were made of bronze, it was a prop for a performance you gave. Could your paint work for my figurines?”
Lancet sat and thought. “Not if they clean them. Start rubbing them with a cloth and the bronze will start to come away.”
As he was obviously thinking, we sat in silence, waiting for his next pronouncement. “What you could do is rather than painting with bronze, ‘dry brush’ it.”
Shena and I obviously looked bemused by this comment so Lancet explained. “You put a very little of the paint on the brush, and just brush rapidly over the surface, so the bronze paint would stick to the raised bits. The result can be very effective, and if you varnish it, then the house-proud owner can wash them or whatever they want.”
“And nobody will accuse you of selling pewter figures as bronze,” Shena added.
It has to be confessed that Lancet and I were both quite interested in the idea. One is always trying to reach out to those who are, sadly, unfamiliar with one’s work. One feels duty bound to allow the light of one’s wit to shine into their benighted lives. We had recharged our plates and were pondering potential figurines when I heard a shout, “There you are, Steelyard, you worm.”
I looked up to see Darstep Balstep, previously lord of Slipshade Keep, striding across the room towards me. What really caught my attention was that he was drawing a long bladed knife. It appeared that he hadn’t forgiven me for my, admittedly inadvertent, part in his downfall. Dobart never turned a hair. When Balstep reached our table, Dobart caught the hand holding the knife and squeezed. There was a clatter as it dropped to the floor. Then Dobart caught the other man by the shoulder and propelled him into the empty chair next to Shena.
Shena glared at the new arrival. It must be confessed she has a low threshold of tolerance for those who threaten me with any form of weapon. She then turned to me and asked, in a reasonable voice, “So who is he and why does he hate you.”
I told everybody the full story of the expedition to Slipshade and how others had used us as cover to overthrow Balstep. Feeling that I ought to say something positive about him, I finished by tale by saying, “And actually he’s quite a good poet, he specialises in the rondel form.”
Immediately Lancet said, “Nobody uses that anymore.”
Somewhat hurt by this Balstep said sharply, “I do.”
“Yes and look where it got you.”
I raised my hand to silence the two of them. “I think I have an idea.”
They stopped and both looked at me. I said to Balstep, “What are you, a poet or a Partannese warlord?”
Before he could answer I continued, “Because you’re a fair poet, but frankly you drank too much to be a successful warlord.”
Balstep came right back. “If you’d had to live with that collection of almost mindless thugs, you’d have drunk as well! I could go for days, weeks, without any decent conversation.”
Dobart, who had been listening to this, said simply. “Balstep, you’re a poet.”
I added, “Look, if you can afford to dine here, you’re not penniless.”
Balstep almost looked embarrassed. “Well I did make an effort to stash some of my ill-gotten gains away in Port Naain whilst I was still Lord of Slipshade Keep.”
I asked him, “And if you try to hire fighting men and retake the keep, how long will it last.”
Glumly he replied, “Weeks.”
“And if you live sensibly and become the poet you could be, then how long?”
Balstep sat in silence for a while. “Depends how much I make as a poet, but quite a while I suppose.”
I smiled at him. “So I repeat my question: what are you, a poet or a Partannese warlord?”
He pulled himself up to his full height. “So now, I am a poet.” Then he slumped a bit, “But while I can write poetry a bit, be damned if I know how to be a poet.”
Shena said quietly, “Aea help you, but these two versifying wastrels can teach you that.”
I decided I better say something before Shena gave him the wrong idea about us. “Dobart, I have an idea for your first figurine. How about Balstep here, standing on the improvised stage, declaiming his poetry. Lancet and I can tell his story, you can do the figurine, and of course our patrons will all want to meet the warlord poet.”
Immediately Dobart was all business. He pulled a pencil and a notepad from his pocket. “Balstep, on your feet. Now then, strike a pose.”
Ten minutes later, the initial sketches done he condescended to allow Balstep to go to the buffet and get himself something to eat.

Actually it went rather well. Balstep still had the battered leather armour he performed in, and of course Dobart cast the figurine with him wearing it. Then when we got him an invitation to perform, he would wear the armour. Indeed he managed to cut an almost romantic figure, the warrior bard who had turned his back on the world of power and influence to follow his muse.
The figure Dobart cast of him worked to his advantage as well. The figurine standing on the stage provided a good solid base, and it was cast with a candle holder set off to one side. If the model was on a table next to a wall, when you lit the candle, the shadow of the figurine, combined with a shadow cast by some of the miscellaneous decoration around the candle base, looked as if the figure was a condemned man standing on a scaffold with a noose descending towards him. It gave him a pathos that intrigued people and Balstep rode the wave of interest well. Within a year he was suggesting to his patrons that they invite me.
Indeed such was his reputation, over the years there was a sporadic stream of Partannese villagers who would knock on the door of the house where he was currently performing and offer him an utterly inadequate sum to gather a small party of stalwart companions and travel south to overthrow the lordling who was currently oppressing them.
The audience would witness the play of emotions across his face as he struggled with his desire to throw himself once more into the maelstrom of Partann. I was there when this happened. He would turn to the emissaries and say, “With half a dozen stalwart comrades of mine from the past, I shall do it. I shall summon Rostarin to my side.”
One of the messengers would say, “But Rostarin is dead, he fell at the Dreg Bridge.”
“Rostarin dead! A paladin nonpareil, slain! What of Naltarm?”
Another of the envoys would say sadly, “He died in an ambush on Porta Beg.”
Balstep would go through six names, and would discover that each was now dead. He would sigh deeply. “Then surely it must be my turn to ride south and perish, to join them once more.”
At this point his patron would throw her arms around him and insist he gave up all mad thoughts of venturing south.
So he’d empty his purse into the hands of the leading messenger and suggest they approached Lord Cartin. Other guests would also feel obliged to contribute, and the sturdy peasantry would touch their forelocks and leave.
Later they’d drop round to his lodgings and give him half of what they’d raised.

And now we’d better hear from Jim Webster.

So here I am again with another blog tour. Not one book but three.The first is another of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection. These stories are a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories. You can read them in any order.

Let’s here some facts about Jim.

Jim Webster is probably fifty something, his tastes in music are eclectic, and his dress sense is rarely discussed in polite society. In spite of this he has a wife and three daughters.
He has managed to make a living from a mixture of agriculture, consultancy, and freelance writing. Previously he has restricted himself to writing about agricultural and rural issues but including enough Ancient Military history to maintain his own sanity. But seemingly he has felt it necessary to branch out into writing SF and fantasy novels.
He lives in South Cumbria.He has even been cozened into writing a blog, available for perusal by the discerning (or indeed by the less than discerning) at http://jandbvwebster.wordpress.com/

On the Mud. The Port Naain Intelligencer

When mages and their suppliers fall out, people tend to die. This becomes a problem when somebody dies before they manage to pass on the important artefact they had stolen. Now a lot of dangerous, violent or merely amoral people are searching, and Benor has got caught up in it all. There are times when you discover that being forced to rely upon a poet for back-up isn’t as reassuring as you might hope.

Then we have a Tallis Steelyard novella.

Tallis Steelyard and the Rustic Idyll

When he is asked to oversee the performance of the celebrated ‘Ten Speeches’, Tallis Steelyard realises that his unique gifts as a poet have finally been recognised. He may now truly call himself the leading poet of his generation.

Then the past comes back to haunt him, and his immediate future involves too much time in the saddle, being asked to die in a blue silk dress, blackmail and the abuse of unregulated intoxicants. All this is set in delightful countryside as he is invited to be poet in residence at a lichen festival.

And finally, for the first time in print we proudly present

Maljie, the episodic memoirs of a lady.

In his own well-chosen words, Tallis Steelyard reveals to us the life of Maljie, a lady of his acquaintance. In no particular order we hear about her bathing with clog dancers, her time as a usurer, pirate, and the difficulties encountered when one tries to sell on a kidnapped orchestra. We enter a world of fish, pet pigs, steam launches, theological disputation, and the use of water under pressure to dispose of foul smelling birds. Oh yes, and we learn how the donkey ended up on the roof.

All a mere 99p each

Jim for the visit it was fun to have you here.

Jim Adams Blog Tour. Tallis Steelyard. A guide for writers, and other stories.Tallis Steelyard. Gentlemen behaving badly and other stories.

Hello everyone. I very honoured to be once again to be able to bring you not only a new story but also news of two new books from our own,our very own Jim Webster.

Here is the timetable for the blog tour .

Chris Graham

https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/

A fine residence.

14thJuly

****

GD Deckard

Writers’ coop

https://writercoop.wordpress.com/

A man who doesn’t pay his bills never lacks for correspondence

15thJuly

****

Ritu Bhathal

https://butismileanyway.com/

Be careful what you pretend to be

16thJuly

****

Willow Willers

https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/

Call yourself a writer

17thJuly

*****

Colleen Chesebro

https://colleenchesebro.com/

Every last penny

18thJuly

*****

Robbie Cheadle

https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

It all comes out in the wash

19thJuly

****

Sue Vincent

https://scvincent.com/

noteworthy

20thJuly

****

Stevie Turner

https://steviet3.wordpress.com/

Oblige

21thJuly

****

Annette Rochelle Aben

https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/

Performance art

22thJuly

****

Lynn Hallbrooks

https://www.authorreadercheerleader.com/arcblog

The alternative career of Dilkerton Thallawell.

23thJuly

****

Jaye

https://jenanita01.com/

The automated caricordia of Darset Dweel.

24thJuly

****

Ashlynn Waterstone

https://waterstoneway.wordpress.com/

The dark machinations of Flontwell Direfountain.

25th July

****

suzanne joshi

https://patriciaruthsusan.wordpress.com/

Thoroughly married

26th July

****

Ken Gierke

https://rivrvlogr.wordpress.com/

Water under the bridge

27thJuly

****

MT McGuire

https://mtmcguire.co.uk/

Who you know, not what you know

28thJuly

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

So now we are back in one of my favourite places Port Naain. Here for our delectation is a great story to kindle our interest.

CALL YOURSELF A WRITER

Call yourself a writer.jpg

Call yourself a writer?
I first met Staffin Plume when he was a student at the University in Port Naain. He attended some of my lectures on poetry and came to my attention largely because he actually did the exercises I set for students to tackle in their own time. Not only that but his answers were thoughtful, well written and in his own handwriting. Even if
he had hired somebody else to do the work for him, he had shown me the consideration of writing it out again in his own hand. Indeed I was so intrigued by this that I engaged him in discussion on his answers over a glass of wine. It was soon
obvious that he had done the work himself and that he had continued to think about
the topic even when the work had been handed in.
Hence when he left the university I rather expected to hear more about him. After all
he had expressed the intention of becoming a writer. Given his general competence and mental acuity I had no doubt that I would soon see his name mentioned in the appropriate places. Indeed I was quite looking forward to reading whatever genre he had decided to grace with his talent.
Thus it was something of a surprise when nothing was forthcoming. So I asked what
had become of him and somebody told me they had seen Staffin labouring down on the wharves. This came as a surprise, because his family, whilst not wealthy, was
adequately well-to-do and they could have got him a well-paid clerk’s job with no trouble.
A fortnight later I saw Staffin in the distance, striding out along Ropewalk, carrying well wrapped bundles like some private courier, and a month after that I was present when he delivered a clay pot bearing dubious markings to Gass Tweel in the Sattir’s Drop. To get out of the bar he had to draw a blade on somebody who tried to block
his path. By blade I’m talking of something which, if it wasn’t a sword, was a passably good approximation of one. It was obvious that he was now acting as a runner for some of Port Naain’s less reputable spice merchants.
Just as there is a wide array of spices, there is an equally wide array of spice enthusiasts. So we now have the spice merchants that will pander to the whims of
well-heeled customers. There are spices which are claimed to be aphrodisiacs, there are spices which sooth digestion, and there are spices which claim to help you sleep.
Indeed there are spices which the vendors claim with help you see the future.
Frankly in some cases the future involves spending most of the next day in a stinking privy. The problem isn’t merely the spice, the problem can be whatever rubbish the vendor has stirred into the spice to increase the profit margin.
I lost track of Staffin for a while and then I saw him slip surreptitiously into a house
where I was performing. The host was not a patron of mine, I was merely hired to give an element of graciousness to an event which otherwise degenerated into farce with a group of third rate musicians brawling with the mime artists. Still I had taken the precaution of taking my honorarium in kind the minute the situation started to degenerate. Thus it was, as I quietly wrapped bottles in sausages (which stops them
clanking together,) before stuffing them into the inside pockets of my jacket; that I
saw Staffin sneak in carrying a crate of spirits. I greeted him in a friendly manner. After all I suspect that in retrospect we would both have preferred not to be there, and asked what was in the bottles. He passed me
one for my inspection and I perused the label. “Stilmoon’s special reserved. Oak aged spirit infused with a dozen subtle herbs and spices. Guaranteed to protect the drinker from distempers caused by contact with diseased parents, night air,sedentary habits, anger, wet feet and abrupt changes of temperature. One small
glass provides protection for the entire day.”
I handed him the bottle back. “Does it work?”
He shrugged. “Given by the amount they’re getting through in this house, one has to assume that the man of the house is a philanthropist providing protection for everybody in the street. And that includes staff living out as well as staff living in.”
With that he quietly departed and I returned to the task of using sausages as a packing material for the bottles. I confess I wasn’t tempted by the Special Reserve, instead restricting myself to the better wines available.
It was perhaps a couple of months later I was walking down Ropewalk and was
stopped by Simony Belltether. She was another student of mine from the University and I remembered that Staffin had been assiduously courting her during that period.
We chatted a little and then, somewhat tentatively, she broached the issue of Staffin.
When their relationship started he was almost endlessly attentive. Marriage seemed
to be an inevitability. Eventually when she took him home to meet her parents, her mother was impressed with him. Indeed she was so vocal singing his praises that Simony almost began to have doubts. After all what young lady wants a gentleman
admirer her mother entirely approves of? Of late Staffin had been far less attentive, and when he was with her had about him a distracted air and seemed nervous.
Simony’s mother had shifted her stance from unmitigated approval to dark suspicion.
Her father on the other hand was no help whatsoever, merely muttering something
about, “Perhaps he’s busy at work?”
Simony was genuinely torn. She wanted me to speak to Staffin and in a roundabout way point out to him that he had one last chance. Either he had to show some commitment or she would break off the engagement. I promised that if I saw him and
got the chance, I’d try speaking to him.
It was three days later that I next saw him. He was walking across Stonecutter’s Wharf and I caught up with him and just fell into conversation. Eventually I started to bring the conversation around to more important topics.
“Whatever happened to your plans to become a writer?”
Staffin just shrugged. “I cannot be a writer until I’ve got some life experience. I’ve got to experience the full gamut of emotions. Then I’ll be able to write.”
I had to bite my tongue at that one. Given my rate of progress I could be in my late fifties before I managed to experience the full gamut of emotions.
“What about Simony?” I asked. “I heard she was thinking of breaking off the engagement because she never sees you.”
His face fell, but then he brightened up a little. “Well I suppose that if she does, the
emotional turmoil I experience will be invaluable. Then I can write about such things.”
That was too much. I pushed him off the wharf into the estuary below. As he foundered through water and mud towards the rope somebody had thrown him I
shouted, “Alternatively you could just make it up like the rest of us do.”

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

And now we’d better hear from Jim Webster.

So here I am again with another blog tour. I’ve released two collections of
short stories from Tallis and if you’ve enjoyed the one you just read,
you’ll almost certainly enjoy these.
So what have Tallis and I got for you?

Tallis Steelyard, A guide for writers, and other stories.jpg

Well first there’s, ‘Tallis Steelyard. A guide for writers, and other stories.’ The book that all writers who want to know how to promote and sell
their books will have to read. Sit at the feet of the master as Tallis
passes on the techniques which he has tried and perfected over the years. As
well as this you’ll have music and decorum, lessons in the importance of
getting home under your own steam, and brass knuckles for a lady. How can
you resist, all this for a mere 99p.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tallis-Steelyard-guide-writers-stories-ebook/dp/B07
TRXJH8C/
Then we have, ‘Tallis Steelyard. Gentlemen behaving badly, and other stories.

Tallis Steelyard, Gentlemen behaving badly, and other stories.jpg

Now is your chance to see Port Naain by starlight and meet ladies of wit and discernment. There are Philosophical societies, amateur
dramatics, the modern woman, revenge, and the advantages of a good education.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tallis-Steelyard-Gentlemen-behaving-stories-ebook/d
p/B07TRYZV6C/
So come on, treat yourself, because you’re worth it.

Before you go here is what Jim says about himself.

“I live in South Cumbria, which is as nice a part of the world as any to be honest. Too old to play computer games and too young to watch daytime television. I’ve got a wife and three daughters, no dress sense and a liking for good cappuccino.

To make a living I sort of farm, sort of write and sort of help out where I’m wanted. I suppose one day I’ll grow up and do something properly.”

Don’t grow up yet Jim.

Announcing another Jim Webster Blog Tour.

Good Sunday morning everyone I am delighted to announce that Jim Webster is Starting another Tallis steelyard Blog Tour today.

I am publishing the route here, starting with Chris Graham.

**********

Chris Graham

https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/

A fine residence.

14thJuly

****

GD Deckard

Writers’ coop

https://writercoop.wordpress.com/

A man who doesn’t pay his bills never lacks for correspondence

15thJuly

****

Ritu Bhathal

https://butismileanyway.com/

Be careful what you pretend to be

16thJuly

****

Willow Willers

https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/

Call yourself a writer

17thJuly

*****

Colleen Chesebro

https://colleenchesebro.com/

Every last penny

18thJuly

*****

Robbie Cheadle

https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/

It all comes out in the wash

19thJuly

****

Sue Vincent

https://scvincent.com/

noteworthy

20thJuly

****

Stevie Turner

https://steviet3.wordpress.com/

Oblige

21thJuly

****

Annette Rochelle Aben

https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/

Performance art

22thJuly

****

Lynn Hallbrooks

https://www.authorreadercheerleader.com/arcblog

The alternative career of Dilkerton Thallawell.

23thJuly

****

Jaye

https://jenanita01.com/

The automated caricordia of Darset Dweel.

24thJuly

****

Ashlynn Waterstone

https://waterstoneway.wordpress.com/

The dark machinations of Flontwell Direfountain.

25th July

****
So jump on and enjoy.

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