bibliophilia 2 - holidays

Trenz Pruca 24 September 2014

How to be a creative at Christmas

Spending the holidays away from home - with a letter to Santa

Plus short fiction, poetry, book reviews and more

Issue two Holidays

BibliophiliaISSUE TWO

DECEMBER 2014

ISSUE TWO - DECEMBER 2014

Welcome back, ladies and gentleman, to this our second issue. We hope you enjoyed issue one and find something here to

enjoy just as much. We have a huge variety of content for you to peruse on your joyous Christmas holibobs. Remember to enjoy them while they last!

This month we begin our latest feature in which we showcase one artist who illustrates our magazine. We have the lovely Tiffany Imogen’s drawings this month but we’re still looking for future artists to include, so get in touch if you want to be involved. More details are on our website.

In the mean time, happy holidays one and all.

Mac

PAGE ONE

A NOTE FROM THE

EDITOR

Regular Features THOUGHTS ON THE

FIRST CHRISTMAS AWAY FROM HOME

PAGE 22

HOW TO STAY CREATIVE DURING

THE FESTIVE SEASON PAGE 14

TWO MORE WRITING PROGRAMS USED

AND REVIEWED PAGE 4

Our Contributors

Our Featured Artist Page 4

Our guide to the best writing programs Page 6

Poetry Corner Page 8

’The Miracle’ short story Page 9

Poetry Corner Page 12

Prompts page Page 14

How to stay creative at Christmas Page 16

Book of the Month Page 18

What We’re Buying Page 20

‘The Toymaker’ short story Page 22

First Christmas away from home - and a letter to Santa Page 22

Tearable Puns Page 28

Submission guidelines and next month’s theme Page 29

Follow us on Twitter: @bibliphiliamag

biliphiliamag.wordpress.com

Contents

http://wordpress.com

http://wordpress.com


Our Regulars Natasha McGregor - Editor

Having written various genres since she was a teenager Natasha is looking forward to a new challenge in editing Bibliophilia. She is also working on her first full length novel and writing a collection of poetry.

Twitter: @Natasha2Mc

http://natasha2mcgregor.wordpress.com

Richard Southworth - Literary Reviewer

Following prolific but not terribly original writing as a child, Richard got back into proper writing in 2009 by competing in National Novel Writing Month. He currently has seven NaNoWriMo victories under his belt, in addition to writing book reviews and the occasional short story.

Twitter: @PneRichard

http://velociraptor256.wordpress.com/

Josie Alford - Features Writer

Josie is 21 and lives in Bristol after finishing a degree in English Literature. She writes poetry and is saving money for a masters in creative writing. Her blog is full of all of her poetry and she aims to get into more performance poetry – follow her on twitter for updates!

Twitter: @AlfordJmo

http://thefaultymanufacturing.blogspot.co.uk

E"eMay - Features Writer

Elle May lives in Lancashire but her heart is travelling around the world. She lives with her parents, sister, and any visitors who extend their stay. She spends her days quietly thinking or loudly voicing her profound thoughts hoping someone will understand what she is saying.

http://masiejane.wordpress.com/

PAGE TWO

Editor

Literary Reviewer

Features Writer

Features Writer

CONTRIBUTORS A LITTLE BIT ABOUT THE PEOPLE BEHIND THE WORDS

https://twitter.com/Natasha2Mc

http://natasha2mcgregor.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/PneRichard

http://velociraptor256.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/AlfordJmo

http://thefaultymanufacturing.blogspot.co.uk

http://masiejane.wordpress.com/


Guest Writers

Edward McDermott - Short Fiction

Edward McDermott, born in Toronto, has a professional day job but has chosen to spend his spare time pursuing a writing career. Aside from taking writing courses and participating in writers' groups, Edward spends his time sailing and fencing, and working as a movie extra. These hobbies, as well as his expansive knowledge of history and quick wit, influence and add context to his work.

http://www.edwardmcdermott.net/index.htm

Jacquera Black - Short Fiction

Jacquera Black is a Co-Municipal Liaison for the NaNoWriMo region of Lancashire and Cumbria, and has been writing since 2008. She is currently editing her first novel, Deluge, as well as preparing to write its sequel, Centrifuge, for NaNoWriMo 2014.

http://jacquera.webs.com/

Tiffany Imogen - I"ustration

Tiffany is a blogger, aspiring nature writer and wildlife illustrator, currently studying for her Masters in English at UCL. Her favourite authors are Philip Pullman, H. G. Wells and J. R. R. Tolkien, but she also loves the Romantic poets. She is passionate about the environment, cider and cake.

Twitter: @tiffins11

http://www.tiffanyimogen.com/

Esther Moses - Poetry

Esther is a poet and short story writer who loves using words and tales to inspire,uplift and entertain. She has won several competitions throughout her career including two by the Mouthy Poets and one by the Roundhouse with Jean Jinta Breeze MBE this year. In the past she has co-authored a report for the Supreme Court youth project and an article for the Brent Headteacchers' Magazine.

Twitter: @Esther7Hadassah

PAGE THREE

Image ©Tiffany Imogen 2014

http://www.edwardmcdermott.net/index.htm

http://jacquera.webs.com/

http://bethmiddleton1991.wordpress.com

http://www.tiffanyimogen.com/


Tiffany Imogen This month’s featured artist

Tell us a bit about your work Having grown up in the rolling hills of Hampshire, I have always loved wildlife and being outdoors! I studied Fine Art at college but abandoned my paintbrush for three years while studying for my English degree in Bristol. After graduating, I started doodling again and reignited my love for capturing the complex characters of wild animals. A year ago I was accepted onto my current Masters course in English at UCL, and I started having my drawings printed onto greetings cards to raise money for my fees. I have since moved to London and started the course, whilst running my little business alongside! Once I’ve finished paying my extortionate tuition fees, I plan to start giving a portion of my profits to some of my favourite wildlife charities.

PAGE FOUR



Where do your pictures come

from? My main inspiration comes from British wildlife, particularly persecuted species like badgers, foxes and birds of prey. I started working primarily in pencil, but I have now grown fond of soft pastels and watercolour. I try to bring a touch of quirkiness to my animals, giving them silly props like battenberg cakes and party hats. In the new year I am hoping to branch out into more exotic species, but my aim is always to celebrate the wonderful animals we share our world with!

Tiffany’s work can be seen on her website at www.tiffanyimogen.co.uk. She is available for commissions and has a range of greetings cards available to purchase online.

PAGE FIVE



http://www.tiffanyimogen.co.uk


WRITE NOW WITH… Writers have plenty of problems to deal with, everything from writers block to a disgruntled

spouse asking what’s for dinner. Misbehaving characters, lost sentences and orphan

chapters merely add to the chaos surrounding our daily lives. A reliable writing program may

not get the dinner cooked but it will help put order back into our masterpieces.

In the second instalment of her battle with writing programs, Elle May reviews Celtx and Final Draft.

This month I intended to review Novlr and LitLift. Unfortunately Novlr is still in trial mode and unavailable. LitLift, on the other hand, is live and available however, before I even started the download a warning flashed across my screen about potential malware. A quick internet search for other user reviews revealed mixed results. I decided not to risk my computer, Harvey, and his precarious cyber-health with the download. I’ve already killed the main household computer and I can’t afford to replace another one. Instead I have turned my attention to Celtx and Final Draft which, unlike Novlr and LitLift, are more suited for scriptwriters.

Celtx provides an all-in-one production studio. It’s Canadian, it has a free subscription plan and all the features can be accessed online so there’s no need to download anything. Hurrah, Harvey’s internal processor will not get scrambled with another download. There’s also a free app for iPhone and android phones. I spent

the next hour having so much fun exploring all the features (part of a free 15 day trial) that I forgot to make any notes. My only stumbling block was Harvey’s outdated browser which meant I couldn’t access some of the features. I reluctantly upgraded Harvey to Google Chrome even though it makes him giddy because I really wanted to tryout everything Celtx had to offer. I wasn’t disappointed.

I am a writer of novels and short stories but after using Celtx I felt inspired to write a stage play. The title will be ‘Any Old Thing’. I have no idea about the characters or plot but I know it’s going to be a big West End hit. I may even adapt it for the screen and who knows maybe a spin off mini-series. If I did Celtx would certainly be the software I use. There are pre-formatted programs for screenplays, stage plays and audio plays, the layouts are simple and straightforward and I loved the standard font which reminded me of my

PAGE SIX


dad’s old typewriter. There’s also a format for novels as well as for comic books, sketches and AV scripts (that’s an audio video script; I had to look it up). I don’t know how good Celtx is for a professional script writer but as a beginner with no experience in writing plays, it certainly ticks the boxes. The free subscription gives you access to all the templates for you to write your script but for $9.99 (approx. £6.50) a month you get all those little extra production tools like storyboards, budgeting and schedules. The downside to Celtx is you have to be connected to the internet to use it. There is a download but the features are limited.

[Celtx exit stage left.

Enter Final Draft]

The other main software for scriptwriters is Final Draft. Based in Los Angeles it’s just next door to Hollywood. It’s been around for 24 years and claims to be the choice of thousands of scriptwriters and filmmakers in the United Kingdom. It probably is and it has the price tag to go with it. As well as having an Emmy Award it is also recommended by James Cameron, JJ Abrams, and Aaron Sorkin. Some pretty good references. It also hosts the Big Break Screenwriting contest every year.

The download was a bit complicated, but thanks to those clever little wizards and

some simple directions from the Final Draft tech team, I got it loaded into Harvey’s mad mechanical brain. The layout looks a lot like Microsoft word and the templates automatically format your script to industry standards but I feel a little bit lost. I get the feeling it knows I’m an amateur script writer and I have no idea what I’m doing. One false move and my fledging stage play will be an off cut. There are also ‘parentheses’ to deal with. I’m not sure what they are and after reading the Oxford dictionary definition I am still none the wiser. There are plenty of tutorials and support, and since signing up for the free trial Final Draft has been sending me helpful emails.

Final Draft is costly, but it’s well worth it if you are planning to write professionally for the screen and stage. It will format your scripts for every industry from BBC to Warner Bros, Broadway to the Dramatists Guild. Fortunately there is a free 30 consecutive day trial before you commit to paying $249.99 (approx. £160) for Final Draft 9. There is also an Educational package at $129.99 (approx. £83). Unfortunately if you want to print your script or save it in pdf you will have to pay for the privilege. Final Draft is available for Mac OS X v10.7or later and Windows XP or later. There is also a mobile app, the downside is it’s only for iPad and iPhone.

PAGE SEVEN


Whether you are writing a blockbuster movie or the school play it’s important your script is clear, concise and straightforward for your reader. And by reader I mean the producer, director, actors and the guy who gets everybody’s coffee. Both Celtx and Final Draft have pre-formatted templates which go a long way to helping you to your finished draft. Final

Draft 9 is brilliant for serious script writers, mainly because it has been recommended by leading professionals as their choice of software. For the rest of us who are writing this years’ school nativity or The Amateur Players adaption of ‘The Game of Thrones’, Celtx is a great free alternative that everyone who is taking part can access, so long as they have internet connection.

Celtx Final Draft

Ease of use 5 - Really easy and straightforward

3 - Very similar to Microsoft Word but would probably benefit form watching a few tutorials

Visual 5 - Nice simple layout, uncluttered format

3 - It looks like Microsoft Word

Download speed

5 - Online software, it can be downloaded but to get the best form the features it’s better to use Celtx online

4 - It wasn’t long to download but I had to keep prompting it to do things

Features 4 - Limited features with free plan but can upgrade to full plan or add separate features

5 - Lots of features and templates

Technobabble 5 - All in nice, plain Canadian English

4 - Didn’t notice any but I suspect there may be some hiding among the American English tutorials

Instruction manual

5 - No instruction manual, it’s all online. If you get stuck you ask of the tech guys

5 - Don’t really need one as it performs like Microsoft Word

Overall 4 - Even though it is easy to use and free you have to be online to use it.

4 - Perfect for the professional scriptwriter but costly for beginners finding their feet.

PAGE EIGHT


The Miracleby Edward McDermott

“Tell me about your miracle again, Granddad,” little Jennifer demanded as she threw herself into his open arms for a good night hug.

“What miracle might that be you little rascal?” Matthew asked as he caught the precious bundle that was his favourite granddaughter.

“Why, the miracle of the talking animals.”

“Well,” Matthew began as he settled into his easy chair. “You understand that every Christmas Eve the animals are allowed to speak in human tongue for a moment. That was the Christ child's present to the animals who shared the space in the barn, and the hay in the manger. When that moment comes, you have to listen very closely because it only lasts for a second. It's late at night so a little doll like you should be asleep, and only the pure of heart can hear the animals talking. At least that's the way my mother always told the story to me.”

“Go on,” Jennifer said, as she snuggled her head into his shoulder to find the perfect comfortable spot where she could watch his eyes.

“Well, I think I heard the animals talk, once. I'm not certain, but I do know that it was an extraordinary time. I remember it as well as I remember every freckle on your nose.”

“I don't have freckles.”“You do too.”“I don't, and that's final.”“Do you want to hear the story? Then

be quiet and let me tell it.”Jennifer settled back again. Her

annoyance at that deadly freckle insult died

away in anticipation of the story she heard each Christmas.

“It was 1933. There was a depression on. Do you know what a depression is Jennifer?”

“Yes, Granddad. It's when everyone is depressed because no one has a job, and everyone has to wear old clothes and eat turnips.”

“Close enough, my child. It was during the Great Depression. My dad had lost his job, and travelled back East looking for some work. That left me and my mother alone, well almost alone. We had to move into a room at my grandparents' house. Did you know that I once had grandparents too?”

“Oh Granddad. Everyone has grandparents, well almost everyone. Bessy at school says that hers are in another country so she's never seen them. If I bring Bessy here will you show her how a grandparent acts?”

“Yes, I will. My grandparents were a little crotchety. At least I thought so. They complained about all the noise I made. When the Christmas holidays began, I was home all day so Grandma kept finding chores for me.

“That December winter had a bitter bite, so I used to escape by slipping out to the library where I'd read about other places and sail away on fantastic voyages. At other times I tried to earn a little money so I could buy my mother a Christmas present. Sometimes I would hear her crying at night when she thought that I was asleep.

“I would search for soda pop bottles. You could return them for the two cent deposit. That was enough to buy a

PAGE NINE


newspaper, or a small candy bar in those days. I'd run errands, or I'd wait outside the food store with my wagon. Sometimes an old lady would hire me to help her take her groceries home. Other times I'd run errands for the butcher when his own boys were busy. He didn't pay with money, but he'd give me a soup bone to take home.”

“Did you make a lot of money Granddad?” asked Jennifer.

“Not then,” he replied, “But that's another story. Anyway I'd saved up a whole two dollars, and let me tell you that was a lot of money in those days. I wanted to buy my mother something pretty, a scarf. I was going to buy my Grandpa a tobacco pouch, and my Grandma an apron. After all those presents I still would have fifty cents left to spend on myself.

“What I wanted more than anything in the world was a dog. My best friend George, had some pups, and I knew he'd sell me one for that much if I asked politely. Those puppies were the funniest little creatures you ever saw. They were always jumping up and licking your face and tearing around and play fighting and then running back to their mother whenever they got hurt.

“The problem was that Grandma didn't like dogs. The puppy had started more than one argument between her and my mother. All the arguments ended with my mother going upstairs to the bathroom. When she came out her eyes were red.”

Granddad always got quiet for a while at this point in the story, although Jennifer wasn't really sure why. It might be because mothers shouldn't have to cry, or maybe Granddad still wanted for that puppy. Idly Jennifer wondered why Granddad would have wanted a puppy. They were so rough.

“Anyway, it was Christmas Eve,” continued Granddad after a second. “I still didn't have my puppy, but I wasn't going to mention it right now. We were all dressed in our finest outfits. Mine was a little too tight everywhere, but my mother told me not to complain. She said that I should think about the starving in India.

“As we walked to the church through the light flurries I held onto my mother’s hand. Since everyone attended church on Christmas Eve we had to arrive early to get a seat. You never saw so many people jammed together. While it was crowded, it was warm

in church, and everyone was in a good mood. Even Grandma was happier than usual. I enjoyed being up so late, although I did a lot of yawning.”

With that Granddad yawned a cavern and that

made Jennifer do the same. She was feeling the tiniest bit sleepy, but wouldn't have admitted it.

“Outside the church the CWL set up a wonderful nativity scene, with plaster statues that were as big as real people. After midnight mass, I went over to it. There was a plaster donkey, on one side, and a cow on the other. Mary and Joseph knelt on either side of an empty manger. The CWL didn’t put

PAGE TEN


the baby Jesus in the scene until Christmas day. Then I rubbed my eyes. The manger wasn't empty.

“I clambered over the fence to get closer, and my mother made a quick dash to see what trouble I was getting into. When I showed her what I'd found she beamed. She was pretty when she smiled.”

Granddad paused again. Jennifer, still awake, gave him a moment. She could tell from his eyes that he was lost in long ago. Finally, youthful impatience made her squirm and that brought the story teller back to life.

“I had found the finest calico kitten that you ever saw with fur that had every colour you could imagine, black, white, brown, even orange. He was only a little ball of fur, all cold and shivering, and he snuggled up to me the instant I picked him up.

“When Grandma and Grandpa came over, I knew that I was in big trouble. Grandma said something about another homeless stray, but mother told her that they weren't going to leave a kitten out in the cold on Christmas Eve. She shamed them into

letting me bring that little bundle of fur home.”

“Tell me about the miracle,” Jennifer said, impatiently.

“Hold your horses, young lady. I'm getting there. Now after we got home, we all went the kitchen and got out a saucer of milk for the kitten. He was a little uncertain at first, but after a couple of licks his tongue became a blur. He cleaned that plate better than I did when I washed them.

“Grandma wondered where the kitten had come from and if it had an owner, or if it had a name. At that it marched up to her, bold as could be, and said 'Berrrrt'. Now that made Grandma laugh, and it was a rare thing that made her laugh. You see, Bert was my Grandpa's name.

“Now, I don't know for certain that little kitten spoke, but he certainly said the right thing. From that day on he was named after my Grandpa, 'Bert'. Now, young lady, I've seen those yawns. Off to bed for you.”

PAGE ELEVEN


ISSUE ONE - NOVEMBER 2014

The Nativityby Esther Moses

A shining starA silent nightA saviour childThe promised childHere for the wise and humble to seeThe prophesy in Genesis threeOf the Virgin’s child crushing the ancient serpent’s headUnfolding before the observer’s eyesBut for now the King lays his head on the manger bedA miracle, a child born to die

Christmasby Josie Alford

I’ll always remember that Christmas.Innocent, naive, trusting, believing

In Santa and a baby’s holiness,And family the most important thing.

Such lovely presents so beautifully preppedIn return for a small hand-painted card:A deal which each of us faithfully kept,

After all, it was all I could afford.I’ll always remember running upstairs,

To their room my stocking in hand, readyTo see what Santa had brought me and to share

In that glorious moment.We sat there unwrapping present together,

And they promised me it would be forever.

PAGE TWELVE

Poetry Corner


ISSUE ONE - NOVEMBER 2014

Mulberriesby Tiffany Imogen

The mulberry treestands alone in the clearing;it is abandoned.

A starched gardenerplaced it there a hundred years before,when the world came to Londonfor the great parade.An elephant stood here, andover there the Koh-i-Noorwas laid before the gilded eyesof the rich.

People came and went,bored by old treasures;

the crystal palace burnt down.

The garden was forgotten,and the tree grew alonewithin woodland shades.The forest is alive now;crumbling folly and rusted tracksall that remain of the Empire,buried beneath soft earth.

The tree is half black;dying mulberries eatenby the nuthatch thief.

PAGE THIRTEEN

A Christmas Wishby Natasha McGregor

This year my Christmas wish will beTo be in a house beside the sea.

To hear the waves from dawn ’til nightAnd let the sound begin to write

Upon my heart a song or twoAbout the colours, green and blue,

That dance upon the waves and surf.The water is more home than earth.

For I am happy in the deepAs insomniacs are when they sleep,

Or spotters when they see a train,Or actors when they entertain.

So this year I won’t ask for presentsTo appear beneath my tree,

But just instead some peace and quiet. The perfect gift for me.


PAGE FOURTEEN

Have you hit a dead end? Or just need some new ideas?

Look no further - just choose an image, quote or exercise from the page and start writing. Try experimenting with a form you

don’t usually write in.

Prompts Page

First line:

The smell of sulphur was in her hair…

Write a first person account of a cat stuck on

a trampoline. How does it feel?


PAGE FIFTEEN

Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship,

and it is by far the best ending for one.

Oscar Wilde

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. William Shakespeare, from the prologue to ‘Romeo and Juliet’ (1597)


BEING A CREATIVE AT CHRISTMAS

BY NATASHA MCGREGOR The holidays are almost upon us - a time of friends, of feasting, or festivities, and of a great number of other things beginning with f. But you're still a writer, and you want to be so despite the work party, the family dinners and the other social obligations. The question is, how?

While our friends are looking forward to their two weeks off, we creatives are hard at work in what is, for many of us, one of the busiest times of the year. Actors and dancers are in one of the many pantomimes you see advertised, either professional or amateur, giving up their Christmas Eves and Boxing Days for our enjoyment. Photographers are making the most of the family being together and doing seasonal shoots to celebrate the holidays. I’m not complaining - we do these jobs out of love and are used to sacrificing

our time. We’d be pretty disappointed otherwise. But it can be really hard watching your friends and family relax when you’re still working 8 hours a day.

Personally I have always been very lucky and have a great network of friends and family who only want to support me in these times. I know when I turn down the second glass of wine on boxing day or leave the new years party early they will know it’s because I have to get up the next day. My schedule doesn’t stop just because the rest of the world does. My hours are set by me, and if I don’t work when I’m offered jobs then I don’t earn. They also know about the other non-paying work I'm involved in, and do all they can to make sure I do what I need to do before I go out and party.

PAGE SIXTEEN


This hasn't come easily though. There have been arguments and falling outs when I haven't been somewhere when I said I would be. It has taken time for them to realise that my work doesn't stop when the sun goes down - or when the holidays begin. I have had to be firm and explain the amount of extra work I am putting myself through in order to have a portfolio of a good standard.

As I said before, I’m not meaning to complain. I love my work and I wouldn’t do another job if you paid me - most of what I do is voluntary at the moment anyway. I guess what I’m really doing now is singing the praises of my wonderful friends and family and bragging a little. It’s hard enough being a creative, with the hours of unpaid portfolio work you have to do along with the competitiveness of the industry in general.

My suggestion to you, should you find yourself in a similar situation this holiday season, is to communicate. Tell your friends, your family, whoever it is, exactly what you're doing, and compromise. Let them know you have to finish this chapter then you'll be out; promise to go out but you can only stay for one glass of wine because you have an article due. The worse thing you can do - to yourself and to your relationships - is lock yourself away and miss out on all the fun. As important as your work is, taking some time out is key to staying healthy and sane.

I’d like to end this article with gratitude and a plea. Firstly, thank you to those friends and family of mine and every other performer, writer and artist who supports their loved ones. Thank you for giving us the time and space we need to do our work, even in these holiday times when we should be chilling out with you. Secondly to those of you whose friends are less understanding - be patient with

them. Take the time to explain what you're working on and how it will help you progress your career. They'll soon go out of their way to get out of yours.

PAGE SEVENTEEN


Communicate with your friends and

family, and compromise. Don't lock yourself away.


The Red House by Mark Haddon

Published by Vintage, RRP £7.99

ISBN 9780099570165

Mark Haddon is best known for writing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, a unique and highly praised book. At first glance The Red House, Haddon’s third novel, is totally different. Thinking about it, however, the two books do have one thing in common: they demonstrate Haddon’s brilliance at getting right into characters’ heads and rooting around inside.

Taking place over a period of one week, The Red House sees siblings Angela and Richard, who haven’t properly spoken in years, going on holiday in Herefordshire together with their respective families: Angela is accompanied by husband Dominic and their children Alex, Daisy and Benjy; Richard by second wife Louisa and step-daughter Melissa. All eight

characters are troubled and discontented in their own ways, and being stuck in a relatively isolated holiday home together for a week gives them plenty of time to ruminate and conflict with each other.

Upon starting this book, I was greeted by a paragraph of concentrated, stream-of-consciousness description that made me think I was in for a difficult one.

Throughout, it’s a bit hard to figure out what the story is; it could be argued that there isn’t much of a story at all. It’s not obviously building towards anything; it’s really just things that happen. And most of those things are fairly ordinary – aside from recurring themes like Daisy’s religious beliefs, Alex’s sexual urges, and Angela’s

memories of her stillborn daughter, there’s a lot of simple domestic and holiday activities, with a few more dramatic situations here and there. On paper, The Red House should be boring. But it isn’t.

Granted, it’s not the easiest book to read. For one thing, the point of view shifts constantly, often within the same section of narrative. Because of this, it can be difficult to grasp and recall the finer

PAGE EIGHTEEN

Book Of The Month

This month reviewer Richard Southworth chooses a book

about family and secrets

On paper, The Red House should be

boring. But it isn’t.


internal aspects of the characters, as each only gets a little piece dedicated to them at a time. When something definitively cohesive turns up, like a character showing a new attitude towards another, you cling to it. Also, there’s a lot of description, much of which is written in the same rapidly streaming fashion as the first paragraph and is hard to get through.

As a whole, however, the prose is very good at drawing you in. Once you get used to the description, it has all the details needed to imagine that you’re there. In particular, there’s a lot of authentic detail that sets this firmly in present-day Britain and makes it a recognisable world for the British reader. When the narrative is in somebody’s head, it certainly sounds like real human thoughts, hence why it gets a bit random and non-linear sometimes. You get to recognise certain people’s thought processes, like Angela and Daisy’s oft-confused streams of consciousness. Benjy’s perspective, meanwhile, is

obviously the thoughts of an eight year old despite being written in a more advanced vocabulary, and yet surprisingly but believably complex. Sometimes, admittedly, the prose gets a bit too random, like Haddon suddenly veering away to spend a paragraph describing the world around the characters all the way to Barnard’s Star. Something like that is pretty, but it doesn’t really do anything.

The characters are very much real people with multiple layers; while they are all troubled, and some have done

pretty bad things, it would be hard to define any of them as truly bad people. Even Melissa, who is often hostile and established as a bully, has a lot more to

her than that. They are all isolated in their own way, something the switching narrative emphasises very well. When we’re with each character, we feel very deeply submerged in their lonely thoughts; we are interested in what they’re thinking and the revelations they come to. The necessary details on these people aren’t all laid out early

on like they are in some stories; rather, you start out with a vague sense of things and more details are added as time passes. To borrow Stephen King’s analogy for writing stories, it’s like uncovering a fossil. By the end, it doesn’t feel like everything is resolved, but the week’s journey was an appreciable one anyway.

The Red House is not perfect, but I really got into it, far more than I expected to when I started out; it’s more compelling than a story about going on holiday in Herefordshire has any right to be.

PAGE NINETEEN

When we’re with each character, we

feel very deeply submerged in their

lonely thoughts


With Christmas just around the corner we’ve all been out shopping in our attempts to beat the crowds. Our contributors share their literary gift

ideas.

Edward

I'm not certain that my reading tastes are particularly

Literary. I read almost anything in print. Usually for

Christmas I ask for the latest novel by Stephen King.

The result is about a thousand pages of interesting story.

I admit to a taste for his novels since first reading Carrie

over the shoulder of another rider on the public transit.

I haven't liked them all, but enough to continue to read

what he writes.

PAGE TWENTY

Mac

My family always get socks,

as a gag gift, but as well as

this I’ve bought a whole

stack of Grufflalo goodies

for my niece. Her third

birthday is two weeks

before Christmas so she

gets a real haul of gifts all in

one go to plough her way

through. My boyfriend has

already had an early

Christmas present - I got

him the complete

Wainwright Guides to the

Lakeland Fells so we can go

hiking in the new year.

Tiffany

I'm eyeing up the new

Stephen King novel

Revival. I don't tend to read

horrors or thrillers, but

after reading Carrie and IT

I am craving a little more.

My boyfriend has been

reading The Shining and

loved it, so maybe I'll buy

him Revival for Christmas

and steal it back!

WHAT WE'RE BUYING


Jacquera

I’m hoping to get Holly Lisle's How To Revise Your Novel

for Christmas, a course which will help me to edit my

novels and make them publishable

PAGE TWENTY-ONE

Josie

Recently, I went to the Harry

Potter studios. The gift shop

was a spectacle in itself.

Whilst I found the excessive

merchandising of the story

that shaped my childhood

rather disturbing, it was the

experience of the tour itself

that was a greater gift than

any I could have found in the

shop.

Richard

We all know about those little

stocking fillers that just get

put in a cupboard and never

used – but few literary gifts

are more likely to see regular

usage than magnetic

bookmark clips! A side

present, obviously, but very

much appreciated; sometimes

it really is the simple things

that matter.


Samuel stared at the small piece of wood and nearly empty palette of paint on his work table and sighed. “I do not know what we shall do,” he said, looking up as Rose bustled into the room carrying a tray. “There are no more materials after these have been used. What shall become of us? We shall be destitute.”

Rose put the tray in front of him. “You worry too much. You are a clever man, and you are my husband. I trust you above all else. Now eat your supper, for the hour is late.”

“Are you not eating?” he asked.“I had my supper earlier.”He nodded and picked up the slice

of thick bread, spread with dripping, and bit into it. “I shall leave those materials here for tomorrow. Maybe in the night, I will dream about a toy which will sell well enough to keep us from the Church’s door.” He stood up, crumbs falling from his chest and lap onto the table and the straw covered floor, and yawned.

***

“Samuel, come quickly.”Samuel opened one eye. “What ails

you wife?”Rose came into the room, a smile

on her face illuminated by the oil lamp she carried. ‘“I got up early to light you a fire and I found a miracle.”

“Have the mice been busy again?” he asked, climbing out of bed and hurrying after her.

“If so, they are clever mice,” she said, starting to laugh as they entered his

work room and the light from her lamp revealed the object on his table.

Samuel walked toward it. The old scarred piece of wood was gone and the paint palette empty. And in their place was a toy ship which had little holes along each side with oars poking through them and a mermaid carved at the bow. Two wooden sails were decorated with dragons, and on the deck was a captain at his wheel, a cabin boy near him and a sailor just about to climb up a carved guide rope to the crow’s nest at the top. It had been painted in shapes of yellow.

Samuel ran his finger along the side of the boat. “It is outstanding.”

“But who made it?” Rose asked. “For I do not think that it could have been the mice.”

“I do not know,” Samuel replied. “But I am grateful to them. This should sell well and give me enough coin to buy materials for two toys.”

***

Samuel smiled as Rose walked into his work room that night.

Carrying a tray, she put it on the table and passed him a bowl. “This is a feast,” she said as she spooned stew into

PAGE TWENTY-TWO

The Toymakerby Jacquera Black


her mouth. “I do not remember the last time we ate like this.” She picked up a slice of bread, spread with dripping and dipped it into her bowl.

“And I do not remember the last time I actually saw you eat supper, instead of saying you have already eaten, wife,” Samuel said. “It makes me glad to see you so contented.”

Rose nodded toward the two pieces of wood of his work table, and the palette of paint. “Do you think?”

“I dare not hope,” he replied. “Whoever made that little ship was a skilled toymaker, far better than I. If tomorrow, the wood and paint remain, then I shall try to emulate them and make toys which might sell well.”

Rose reached out and touched his hand. “You are a good toymaker,” she said, “for you think about the joy a toy will give to a child as you carve it.” She put her bowl on the tray and took Samuel’s empty one from him. “I should wash these, but I am so tired.”

“Leave them until the morrow,” Samuel said. He stood up and walked over to her. “Come now, it is time to sleep.”

***

Samuel was the first awake the next morning, but did not bother to be quiet as he climbed out of bed because he knew that Rose would want to come with him when he went to look at his work table and whatever there was on it. “Rose,” he said, nudging her. “Wake up.”

“What time is it?” she asked, yawning as she sat up.

Samuel bent down and straightened her nightcap, which had been dangling over one ear. “It is time to see if the mice have been busy,” he said. “Are you coming?” He picked up the oil lamp and lit it and then turned to see Rose already opening their bedroom door, a smile of excitement on her face.

They walked along the corridor and into the work room.

Samuel put the lamp by the door and stared at what was laying on the table.

Before them lay a small doll with eyes which opened and closed and looked like a tiny baby. It was wearing a pink carved dress, and tiny white shoes with buttons on them and its skin was pale pink with flushed cheeks. It had blue eyes, pink lips and a curl of yellow hair on its head. There was also a white horse with a curling mane and tail pulling a carriage filled with people with a man sitting at the front wearing a green jacket and trousers.

“These are beautiful,” Rose said, touching the lock of yellow hair on the doll’s head. “Who is making these beautiful toys?”

“I do not know,” Samuel said. “But whoever it is, I think they must be hungry.” He nodded at the now empty and clean bowls on the tray.

***

“Is everything ready?” Samuel asked as he looked at the six lumps of wood on his work table next to an extra palette of paint. “I have put your table next to mine.”

Rose put a platter on the table containing a whole cooked turkey, surrounded by roast potatoes and vegetables. She hurried away again but a moment later returned with a tray of mince pies, sugar cookies and a fruit pudding. A moment after that she put down a tray of fruits and pitchers of creamy milk.

“Do you think they will be pleased?” she asked.

Samuel nodded his head and yawned.

***

PAGE TWENTY-THREE


“Can you hear that?” Samuel said, as he sat up in bed. “Can you hear the laughter?’”He nudged his wife.

“I am already awake,” she said, climbing out of bed.

They crept along the corridor and peered into Samuel’s work room.

“What are they?” Samuel whispered. “Are they Fairies?”

“No, husband. I believe that they are Elves. Look at their ears.”

Before them were three small men and two small women. All dressed in bright shades of red and green, little red caps on their heads with bells dangling near their eyes and shoes which curled at the toes. Samuel and Rose watched them as they devoured the food, singing and dancing as they did. And then, after they had carefully cleaned their hands, the Elves started to make the toys.

***

“Rose,” Samuel whispered, “are you all right? I think we must have fainted as we watched the Elves last night. They probably had to step over us to leave.”

Rose glanced blearily around. “The last I remember is one of them had picked up one of the blocks of wood and was staring at it. And then I woke up.” She rubbed her eyes. “What happened?”

“I do not know,” he said, pushing the door to his work room open. He gasped. “I left enough materials to make just six toys. How can there be so many?”

The table before them, and the table which had been cleared of the Elves’ feast, was piled high with toys. There were more toys on the chairs the couple

usually sat on, and even more on the floor. And each was as delicately carved and beautiful as the ones they had already sold.

“These toys will bring us more coins than I could have ever hoped to earn in my whole life,” Samuel said. “We shall be rich.”

Rose sighed.“What ails you? Do you not like

that we will be rich?”“It is just that,” she sighed again.

“Those Elves have given us so much. I just wish we could give something back to them.”

“We did,” he said. “We gave them a feast.”

“What is one meal compared to all this? We owe them so much more.”

Samuel nodded his head and then patted Rose on the hand. “Leave it with me.”

“What are you planning?” Rose asked.

“You will see,” was his only reply.

***

“Samuel, where have you been all of this week?” Rose scolded him as he finally came home.

“People have been out on the streets looking for you. I have been so worried. I thought you had been murdered for the coins you must have earned from the toys.”

“As you can see, I am hale and hearty. I have just been busy,” Samuel said, holding his arms out wide.

“Doing God’s knows what.” She smacked him on his arm. “What have you been up to?”

PAGE TWENTY-FOUR


“Well I sold all the toys,” he said as he walked through to his work room and sat down. “But as well as buying supplies, hiring some toymakers to work here, and some other things, I have brought a factory.”

“You did what? Surely you did not earn enough coins to buy a factory?”

“It did not cost much. I have known about the factory for months. I knew that the owners were struggling as even though they were master toymakers, they knew nothing of the business world. So with our new found wealth, I thought I would buy the place.”

“You cheated them out of it?”“No woman, have you no belief in

me? I brought it, and offered them jobs.” He smiled. “It is some way north from here.”

“North? The only thing north of here is the Pole. Do not tell me you have brought a factory in the North Pole?”

“I have. And we are going to move there.” Samuel frowned. “I thought you would be happy.”

“Happy? Why would I be happy?”“Because you wanted to help

them.”“Help who?”“The Elves. I thought you wanted

to help the Elves. I did tell you that the old owners are Elves didn’t I?”

Rose sat down on her chair. “You left that out.”

“Well I am telling you now, the workers are Elves, and they have been giving the toys they make away for free.”

“So now they are going to work for you, and make you toys to sell.”

“No.”“No?”“The toymakers I hired in town

are going to make toys and sell them for me, and we are all going to live off the proceeds and give the toys the Elves make away to children for free.”

“For free?”“The Elves were adamant that they

had to be given away for free. Oh wife,” he leant forward and kissed her on her lips. “Life is about to change so much. It is a magical place up around the factory. Please be happy about this.”

Rose looked into her husband’s eyes. “I am happy if you are happy,” she said. “But tell me, what are we going to

call this factory? Samuel Tanner’s Factory?”

Samuel shook his head. “The Elves could not say my name so they renamed me.”

“They renamed you?

So what am I to call you now?”“My darling wife, you can call me

any name you want, but the Elves call me Sam Ta or Santa for short.” He started to laugh. “And you, my wife, will make feasts for the Elves of Santa’s Workshop.”

PAGE TWENTY-FIVE


My First Christmas Our columnist Josie muses on what makes a real Christmas,

and how she feels being away from her family for the first time during the holidays

I don’t know if you have heard, but the Coca Cola advert has been spotted and that means Christmas is coming. For those of you who haven’t heard of Christmas, over 2000 years ago a baby was born, it lived and died and people are still talking about it. Christmas is the celebration of this child’s birthday. Even though scholars cannot agree what time of year Jesus was born, the powers that be decided that midwinter was as good a time as any, with the pagan winter solstice and the Roman festival of Saturnalia ripe for hijacking. Nowadays, however, Christmas has grown beyond celebrating Jesus’ birthday and is all about spending money we don’t have on things we don’t need. It is the conspicuous consumerism of food, drink and possessions to the excess.

One thing that people do seem to agree on is that Christmas is about spending time with family and for the first time in my life I won’t be spending it with mine. Nor will my significant other and I be turning our flat into a romantic Christmas love nest as he is going back to his parents. Instead I will be spending it with my friends: the people I love and the family I choose. Because of various work commitments a small group of us are staying in Bristol and have decided to try and do a proper Christmas together. The plan so far includes coming to my flat, cooking dinner together, watching the Queen’s speech and the Doctor Who Christmas special and getting riotously drunk.

I’m excited because I think we will bring our own different family traditions into the day so we all have a bit of home with us and will end up with a mash up of new traditions. Not to mention the group of us attempting to cook dinner will be hilarious albeit not necessarily successful. My biggest worry however is Father Christmas (or Santa Claus if you are wrong) and how he is going to know where we are. Of course I am going to leave our stockings out for Father Christmas with some brandy and a mince pie as a thank you, but I am also drafting my letter to him to explain the situation. Here is what I have so far:

Dear Father Christmas,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I feel bad that every time I write to you I’m always asking for

stuff, just because everyone else always asks you for stuff does not mean I should. So first of a", how is your

year going? Do you reckon you’" be ready in time for Christmas? Do you have to pay the living wage up in the

North Pole? Do you even make money to pay the elves or is it more of a slavery kind of thing? No judgement

#om me I love what you do.

Anyway I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be in Devon this Christmas, instead I’" be at my

flat in Bristol with my #iends Jordan, Hannah and Hannah. So please could you deliver our presents here?

I understand you’" be a very busy man that night and far be it #om me to meddle with your already

tight schedule, but you might want to come to our place last as I think we wi" be up rea"y late drinking and

PAGE TWENTY-SIX


watching Christmas movies. Though I suppose you’" know when we fa" asleep. Also, my chimney

has been closed up, I know this shouldn’t be a problem for you because lots of houses don’t have chimneys

anymore and people sti" get presents. Anyway I wi" leave the kitchen window ajar for you, if you can fit

down a chimney you shouldn’t have a problem with that. We’" leave our stockings out for you – I look

forward to my yearly orange and chocolates!

I’m sorry to be so awkward, I don’t want you to be confused on the night. Too make up for it I’" leave

an extra-large brandy with the mince pies. People might criticise me for promoting irresponsible drinking,

especia"y when you have to drive the sleigh so far; but I’m a stickler for tradition and if you can’t drink too

much at Christmas when can you eh?

Fina"y, could I ask you for some advice? This is my first time away #om home and I just wanted to

know how you spend Christmas day. What do you recommend doing on the day? Also, I haven’t cooked too

many roasts so do you and Mrs Claus have any recipes or advice on cooking for my #iends?

Good luck this year, send my love to the elves.

Kind Regards,

Josie

I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to get the letter to Father Christmas as my Mum always took care of that for us. I’ve heard from friends that you’re supposed to send it up the chimney, but I have my misgivings on that theory – surely they just get burnt in the process and Santa would never be able to read it? Not to mention I don’t actually have a functioning chimney so that would never work. My boyfriend suggested putting it in the post but what would be the address? Would Father Christmas, The North Pole do or do I need to find out the postcode? Not to mention since the privatisation of Royal Mail and their fall in share prices I’m not sure they could manage getting it to the North Pole. Email is all very well and good but I don’t have his email address. Then it came to me: Twitter! If the queen has twitter surely Father Christmas does? I know there will be a number of fake accounts but one of them will be have to be the real guy and then he will know where to come and Christmas will be saved.

So dear reader, this is where I turn to you. No matter what your beliefs surrounding Christmas, I think we can all agree on the importance of family and the existence of Father Christmas. I am going to be missing my family but does that mean I should miss out on Father Christmas too? You must help me: share, like, favourite and retweet this magazine as much as possible to we can get it popular enough for Father Christmas to read, please help me!

Whatever you are all doing this Christmas, I hope you have a fantastic time full of yummy foods and great company.

PAGE TWENTY-SEVEN


PAGE TWENTY-EIGHT

TEARABLE PUNSIf you have a bad pun you think should be shared with the world, send it to us! Email

us at [email protected] with ‘Tearable Puns’ as the title.

How

does Moses m

ake his tea? H

ebrews it.

I tried to catch some fog

I mist

Velcro W

hat a rip off

A cartoonist was found dead last night

Details are sketchy

I used to work in a blanket factory

But it folded

Four fonts walk into a bar

The barman says ‘w

e don’t want your type in here’

“Dad, it’s cold in here”

“Go stand in the corner - it’s 90 degrees”

My TV repair m

an got married last w

eek The reception w

as excellent

I didn’t like my beard at first

But it grew on m

e


PAGE TWENTY-NINE

NEXT ISSUE!!

The new year is a time for new starts, new resolutions, and new beginnings. Considering this we have decided our theme for January’s issue will be

PROMISES

Whether these are broken, unfulfilled or anything in between - be creative! As always please follow our submission guidelines and make sure your contribution is with us in

plenty of time to be included.

Submission Guidelines

Our guidelines are few and simple. We want to make it as easy for you to submit to us as possible and want to make our rules (such as they are) easy to follow. So here’s all you need to know:

‣ All submissions must be sent to [email protected] by the 20th of the month to appear in the next month’s issue.

‣ All submissions must be sent as a pdf or word attachment, with your name, your pen name (if different), a short author bio (no more than 50 words) and your twitter name/blog address in the email body.

‣ Short fiction can be no longer than 2,000 words, with the words ‘fiction submission’ as the subject of the email. Longer submissions will be considered on a case by case basis.

‣ Poetry can be no longer than 40 lines, with the words ‘poetry submission’ as the subject of the email. Up to three poems can be sent together. Longer submissions will be considered on a case by case basis.

‣ Features can be no longer than 1,500 words; proposals must be sent in the first instance with the words ‘features proposal’ as the subject of the email. Longer submissions will be considered on a case by case basis.

‣ All submissions must be sent via email - we do not accept snail mail submissions at this time.

Copyright ©2014 by Bibliophilia MagazineAll prose and poetry rights are reserved by the contributing authors. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior

written permission of the individual author.

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