Mom’s Favorite Reads eMagazine September 2021 by Mom’s Favorite Reads

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Tim Walker Interviewed by Hannah Howe ................................................................................ 8

The Walk of Shame by Maressa Mortimer ......................................................... 16

The Witch’s Pantry by Joy Margetts ..................................................................... 31 Persephone by Chantal Bellehumeur .................................................................. 48

Fowl Attitude by Melanie P. Smith ..................................................................... 19 Dramatic Skies by Sylva Fae ................................................................................. 64

My Path by Stan Phillips ........................................................................................ 24 Sound of Silence by Stan Phillips ........................................................................ 71

Mom’s Favorite Authors ......................................................................................... 30

Mom’s Favorite Reads Author — Christine Larsen .......................................... 72

Soul Songs by Lesley Hayes .................................................................................. 58

Return to Hades by John Greeves ........................................................................ 20 It Can’t Happen by Keith Guernsey .................................................................... 25 The Primordial Pouch by Ceri Bladen ................................................................ 26 Meet My Ancestors by Hannah Howe ................................................................ 28 A Burden Shared by Father Ian Maher ............................................................... 36 Wise, Kind, and Wearing Black by TE Hodden ................................................ 42

Five Publishing Secrets for Indie Authors by Val Tobin ................................ 44 Book Collaborations—Should We Do Them? by Wendy H. Jones ............... 52 Europe by Book by Hannah Howe ...................................................................... 56 Frames in Flash Fiction by Allison Symes ......................................................... 66 World Maritime Day by Melanie P. Smith ........................................................ 70

A Right Scottish View by Sheena Macleod ........................................................ 38 In Pursuit of a Personal Odyssey by John Greeves .......................................... 60

Hot Rod Todd Coloring Pages .............................................................................. 22 White to Move—Supplied by Chess.com ........................................................... 47 Puzzles by Paul Godding ....................................................................................... 55

Word Search by Mom’s Favorite Reads .............................................................. 74

20% OFF First Book Promotion with the Fussy Librarian ............................... 70 Connections eMagazine ......................................................................................... 75

Tim Walker Interviewed by Hannah Howe One night - and I write about this in Star Turns - I felt pretty seriously depressed after we’d had some daft management shake-up at the Telegraph - it was the day I knew it was all over for that newspaper - and then I realised I had to head off and review a play called Handbagged at the Kiln. I was laughing like a howler monkey within an hour of leaving that bloody office. Theatre helps me cope with how awful life can be sometimes. Obviously I missed it during the lockdowns and realised more than ever how important it is for my morale. Theatre is not a luxury for me, it is a necessity. It's like that for a lot of people. Journalist, author and playwright Tim Walker has entertained and informed his followers for decades. With a new play, Bloody Difficult Women, a psychological human drama about idealism, obsession and delusion, and a new book, Star Turns, on the horizon, Tim talked about the theatre, journalism and interviewing the world’s leading superstars with Hannah Howe of Mom’s Favorite Reads.

Your love of the theatre shines through in your reviews. What makes the theatre and live performance so special?

Dominic Lawson originally appointed me theatre critic of the Sunday Telegraph I think on the basis I’d cause a bit of trouble and shake up what I suspect he saw as a rather left-wing enclave. In the event, I came to love theatre more than ever. I got into a proper relationship with Shakespeare - who I’d principally known from the pages of old books at school - and I think it made me a more rounded human being. -8-

As we speak, COVID shows no sign of abating. The health crisis has affected everyone, including the theatre. Do you think this will create a lasting, detrimental effect, or will the theatre recover and become even more popular? I’m thinking here about the post World War Two years and the mass attendances at sporting and cultural events. We have a government that couldn’t care less about theatre and the arts generally and that is precisely why we should care more than ever. Theatre has to come back. We need it as theatre gives us great emotional literacy, it puts into words and scenes what we are thinking, it expands our horizons and it maybe even helps to clarify us as human beings. I've heard theatres described as secular temples and I think that's what they really are. We need to go to them especially when things are bleak. To feel a part of something bigger than ourselves, to know that we are not alone.

When I think of the theatre I automatically think of Shakespeare. His plays are, of course, outstanding. However, even though his use of language is integral to the performance, some people find it offputting. Is there a way, or have you witnessed any attempts, to introduce Shakespeare to a wider modern audience?

Can you recall the theatrical moment or production that captured your imagination and established your love of theatre? I think it was a play at Chichester called On the Rocks: A Political Comedy, which was by George Bernard Shaw. I saw it in the early eighties perhaps. There was an actor named Aubrey Woods in it and he gave a very good chilling monologue about how our society works and maybe that was the moment. It was co-directed by Patrick Garland who later became a good friend. I’ve written a play of my own and I can tell you that at the reading tears ran down my face. Tears of joy, I might add. Obviously the pandemic has delayed it, but we hope to do it at the Riverside Studios in London early next year. We'd originally planned to do it in June last year. It feels like waiting for a bus.

I like the fun the octogenarian Ian McKellen is now having playing Hamlet, traditionally a role for a young man. I think of the all-female Julius Caesar at the Donmar. We have to keep reinterpreting Shakespeare and I think that's what he would have wanted - he sought only to be a commercial and successful playwright of his time. I learn from these daring new productions. They allow me to see Shakespeare from different angles. Nobody can say if

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momentum. Certainly the old way actors started slogging it out in repertory companies in the regions and then making it to London - doesn't seem to happen so much now. Also I am hearing of actors being asked by casting directors how many social media followers they have. I can't imagine we'd have got Olivier, Gielgud and Richardson if they'd have had to do all that stuff. I'd like to see acting, like journalism, becoming more of a meritocracy.

they've seen, say, Hamlet once that they understand it. You need to see it a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, to even begin to understand it.

In our high-pressure world where time is at a premium and the tried and trusted are safe bets, do you think it’s possible for the theatre to nurture new talent? Theatre is a bit like journalism in that there isn't much money in it when you are starting out and that's why you see so many middle class actors from well-off families who are subsidising them. I think that needs to be addressed. The whole Black Lives Matter movement was about getting more black actors on stage - and in journalism, by the way - and sadly it seems to me that has lost maybe some

During your career, you have worked for a number of newspapers including The Observer, The Telegraph, The Mirror and The New European, publications that range across the political spectrum. Is this simply an example of career development or personal development? I think latterly the move from the Telegraph to the Mirror and later The New European was about - 10 -

what was possible for a journalist who had taken the view I had about Brexit, as much as what was desirable. Things are a lot more polarised now than they were. Clearly the Express or one of the Murdoch rags wouldn't have me. I should own up, too, to a short stint on the Mail on Sunday in my postTelegraph years, when it was edited by Geordie Greig, who had ensured the paper was pro-EU in the referendum campaign. That paper has since gone a bit insane under a new editor. During my time at the Mail on Sunday, I was nominated for a press award for bringing in the so-called ‘Tatler Tory’ story and broke the news that Murdoch was going to marry Jerry Hall.

Journalists I worked with at the outset of my career were pretty stylish people, too. They made me laugh and I felt I learnt from all of them. Now, on most of the mainstream titles, they all seem to be unutterable bores and weak, weak weak characters. I don't see any great writers. Often when you talk to them you find they haven’t even worked on newspapers for long, but got a job on, say the Telegraph direct from the Taxpayers’ Alliance.

From a reader’s perspective, journalism appears to be a ‘cool’ profession. Is it all bright lights and glamour, or is the reality more prosaic?

I had last worked in the Mail building more than a decade before - when Sir David English, the creator of the modern Daily Mail, was still alive and who was, incidentally, a massive pro-European - and in the intervening years everything at that group had become smaller - the offices, the library, the circulation, the minds of a lot of people, everything and it was a lot less fun.

On a good newspaper, what you are doing is by necessity interesting. There's no use going out and interviewing boring people or whatever. I never sought to be an executive - one of those people who hang around the office all the time designing pages, writing headlines, and of course politicking with each other - I wanted to be out on the road meeting people, so, speaking for myself, I had a lot of fun and it could be very glamorous. I mean even on local papers I felt it was a privilege to be a journalist . My first paper, the Bournemouth Echo, was based in a beautiful Art Deco building in the centre of town and it made you feel you were a part of something important just when you walked through its doors. I’m not sure it feels like that now for a lot of journalists. There isn't also the respect. Sometimes at dinner parties, I realise people would treat me more reverentially if I were to say I was a child sex offender than to admit I once worked for, say, the Telegraph. Honestly, though, it wasn’t such an awful paper when I worked there.

I would say prior to 2016 there was still some innocence about almost all newspapers and tolerance of opposing views. On the Observer, journalists I admired, such as Paul Routledge, felt a period on the Daily Mail - seen then to be a highly professional news organisation - would do me good. It was possible in those days to hold quite liberal-left wing views on right wing newspapers and vice versa. I also wasn’t in any case all that interested in politics then, if honest. Broadly, our system seemed to be working pretty well through Labour and Tory administrations. Anyway, I just loved newspapers. I was being paid handsomely to have lunch with people like Lauren Bacall and Roger Moore and all the other characters I write about in my book Star Turns.

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give people a break on the diary - often the way people get started in journalism - we got a lot of people working for us from these backgrounds. A lot of them remain friends. I'd add that if it was a guy asking for advice and he was white and male and middle class and the son of someone famous or the brother or whatever - I’d say 'please don’t go into journalism. We have quite enough of a cronyism problem in the industry, as it is, thank you very much.' In terms of advice, I think it’s simple. Be honest, always. Remain true to what you believe in. It rather depresses me sometimes to think we'd often take on someone who professed to be so liberal and progressive - and would actually have a go at me for being so square - and then they'd go on and write for the Spectator or whatever. I just don't understand people like that at all. They have no substance.

What essential qualities should a journalist possess?

I think you need a sense, as I say, that it’s a privilege to be a journalist and it comes with responsibilities. I recall when I was still wet behind the ears telling Ray Horsfield, my news editor on the Bournemouth Echo, that I had a local garage owner on the phone who said he’d withdraw all his advertising if we ran a report about him being up before the local magistrates for some misdemeanour or other. Ray calmly took the phone from me, shrieked down the receiver, ‘well you can go and f*ck yourself, for a start,’ and then returned the phone to me with a wink. It set a good example for me. I got to understand in those days what was tolerable and what wasn’t, that we had to be apart from the commercial world, that we had to be bigger and better. I genuinely don't believe anyone ever went into journalism seeking to make the world a worse place than it was before. By and large, they go into it actively wanting to make it a better place, but, of course, a lot of them lose their way, they forget why they got into it in the first place, maybe the money starts to matter to them too much. I made this point over a lunch I had a few years ago with Tony Gallagher, who had been my editor at the Telegraph, after he had gone on to be editor of the Sun and was at its helm when it campaigned for Brexit.

‘Fake news’ has blighted our age. How can we as a society combat fake news? How can we ensure that the truth prevails? The internet is hard to regulate, that’s the problem, but regulate it we must. On newspapers, the risk of a libel action or a complaint to the press regulator still weighs heavily upon all journalists. Nobody seems to care what they say online and it’s hard to get redress if they libel you. Worse, some journalists - Boris Johnson is a prime example - were quick to understand that the more extreme the things you say in this internet age, the more traction, hits, notoriety and ultimately money and power you get. Such journalists have, of course, little regard for the truth, but they go a long way by being these sort of shock jocks. The journalist who says ‘on the one hand and on the other hand’ gets nowhere in this grim new world. It’s a pity because most issues we face in this world are actually nuanced. They need

Do you have any advice for young journalists or people contemplating a journalistic career? If they are BAME - especially young Muslim - journalists, I go out of my way to be encouraging. A lot of the racial and religious hatred we see in our papers is because too many newsrooms are white, male and, in my view, pretty stale. I am proud of the fact that even at the Telegraph, when I was able to - 12 -

of the fact he happened to be gay when we met, but I knew if I got into that issue at all in my article this was in the Eighties when the Sun was at its homophobic worst - I would make his life and his boyfriend's absolutely miserable, so I chose not to. Now, of course, the awkward moments tend to be about things like Brexit, which is why I fell out with Sarah Miles, but became a bit of a mate of Hugh Grant and Frances Barber, who I used to write awful things about. It's a funny old world.

to be explained, but newspapers haven't by and large the space and readers often no longer have the time. All in all, I wish the internet had never been invented. It's made my trade, politics and the world in general a significantly worse place than it was before.

Your new book, ‘Star Turns: Secrets of Stage and Screen Legends’ features 71 of the world’s most celebrated people. Is there a common thread that binds these people together?

To my mind there is a world of difference between a celebrity and a creative artist, yet both have succeeded in the cinema, particularly in Hollywood. What, in your opinion, are the qualities that make a movie star?

Yes, they’re all human. It’s funny the way you can forget about stardom, it’s such a transient thing anyway. You remember kindness. For that reason, I remember, say, Roger Moore and Ronnie Corbett vividly. You remember, too, by the way, the real shits - which is why I vividly remember Michael Winner, too. The interviews took place over a period of more than 30 years and I suppose what also struck me was how the things we fret about change over the years. Harry Andrews decided to make no secret

Your eyes are drawn to a star. Often they’re not especially beautiful, may not even be great at acting, but they have something. You can’t really define it or explain it. It’s bestowed quite randomly. John Mills, in my book, accepted that and so did Roger Moore. Moore couldn't be doing with his friend Michael Caine thinking he was so special. As Moore said, stick any good-looking guy in front of the right camera at the right moment, and they are made, but that's more about luck than anything.

Fame is a double-edged sword and can have a detrimental effect on a person’s mental health. In general, did the people you interviewed come across as well-balanced individuals or people walking close to the edge? Rod Steiger is a good example of someone who suffered from terrible depression as a result of the vagaries of life, including his profession and a career that peaked and troughed. A lot of the women

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seemed quick to see the dangers that came with stardom - Geraldine James and Greta Scacchi, among them - and recognised there are more important things in life. I think Richard Chamberlain when I interviewed him in the eighties - when he was so worried someone would out him as homosexual - was a very anxious individual. Jose Ferrer felt very hurt that his industry had essentially given up on him and people like Christopher Lee and Charlton Heston were preposterous figures really in that stardom was all that really mattered to them and they felt the need to wear their wigs until the very end.

rather smart alec piece about her. I now understand that she never really got over the death of Humphrey Bogart. That was what made her a bit of a handful at times, including with me. I think she never got over Bogart's death. I think I would be kinder and gentler if I interviewed her again. The problem is when you are in your twenties - and I was in my twenties when I interviewed her - how could I possibly be able to understand someone who was then in her mid-sixties? Eartha Kitt when I met her actually made this point to me. Someone in their twenties can never really understand someone in, say, their mid-sixties.

Of the 71 people featured in your book, is there anyone you would like to interview again with a fresh set of questions, either because it would be fun to talk with them again or because their lives and careers have changed since the original interview?

If you had a time machine and could interview anyone from the past - from film, television, literature or the theatre, who would it be?

You'd imagine I would say Laurence Olivier, but everyone I knew who met him off-stage and off-camera said how dull he was. I'd say Alan Badel. He had an astonishingly beautiful voice. A very under-rated and unappreciated actor. I would have liked to have interviewed him not least because so far as I can see he never really gave any major interviews and yet he knew everyone, was a huge influence on so many people in the theatre and did so much great work. I think he would have been fascinating and I'd have been breaking new ground. It wouldn't have been another tired old interview with someone who's already been interviewed a thousand times before.

I'd like to say sorry to Lauren Bacall for writing a

You are holding a dinner party and can invite four guests; who would they be? I'm assuming they need to be living. I am not into necrophiliac dinner parties, anyway. So I'd say Marcus Rashford, Maggie Smith, Gina Miller and Matt - 14 -

Kelly, the founder of The New European. I think they'd all get along. God help them, though, with my cooking.

along with, for balance, Fay Weldon saying in the Mail on Sunday: "Tim Walker writes such a good, readable book."

I’m sure your book contains many remarkable stories. We encourage our readers to discover your book and read those stories; meanwhile, can you offer them a taster?

We ask our interviewees if they would like to mention a charity or good cause. Would you like to highlight a favourite charity or good cause?

Stephen Fry calling me "a creep from the inner ring of Satan's anus." That was perhaps one of the more dramatic inter-actions I had with a star. I explain it all in the book. I was adamant, incidentally, that Fry's assessment of me should be on the cover,

The Royal National Lifeboat Institution https://rnli.org Thank you for answering our questions. We wish you every success with ‘Star Turns: Secrets of Stage and Screen Legends.’ We invite our readers to learn more about Star Turns here https://www.sunpub.info/star-turns And you can follow Tim Walker on Twitter @ThatTimWalker

Hannah Howe is the author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series, the Ann's War Mystery Series and the #1 international bestseller Saving Grace. Hannah's books are published by Goylake Publishing and distributed through Gardners Books to over 300 outlets worldwide. Her books are available in print, as eBooks and audiobooks, and are being translated into ten languages. Discover more on Mom's Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/hannah-howe - 15 -

The Walk of Shame by Maressa Mortimer Madge takes a deep breath then regrets it. Head teachers’ offices smell the same way they did thirty years ago. She tries to sit up straighter, but the hard -backed chairs aren’t made to instil confidence in whoever has been summoned. School has only just started, but here she is, having been made to endure the Walk of Shame. The headteacher walks in, wearing high heels designed to make her look incredibly busy but not stressed. No time wasters allowed in her presence. Madge ignores the message and smiles at the headteacher. “Hello Mrs Finch,” she says, cringing inwardly as she realises she is mirroring the woman’s voice. Not a great way to start a difficult conversation the headteacher insisted on having with her. Mrs Finch sits down in her oversized office chair, rearranges specks of dust around her impressive desk, then smiles at Madge. Madge coughs down a giggle. Her daughter Ruby smiles like that when there is trouble. “Mrs Tanner,” the headteacher starts and the smile slips little by little, “I know you are very busy, but as the school year has only just started, I thought it better to talk to you straight away.”

Madge nods, pulling her most professional face. “Ruby has settled in nicely, but there has been some trouble with Reuben.” Madge catches the head’s look at the names, and she clamps her jaws together. She will not explain that she had no say in her children’s names. Anyway, she loves their names, now. Mrs Finch looks at Madge, “I would appreciate it if you could have a word with Reuben. We had that plan set up before the summer, he agreed to

the plan, he was able to tell the teacher about the plan, but each break time has seen Reuben lashing out at other children. We haven’t made a big thing of it with him, as we agreed, but he has lost some of his Fun time Friday, I’m afraid. The other children would expect there to be some sort of consequence.” Madge frowns, her knee starts to wobble up and down, and she digs her nails into her hands. “That was discussed before the summer,” she says, gives a little cough, and continues in a lower voice, “I had explained all this before the summer holidays. The teacher said she would read up on the notes I had given her. As a school, you were aware of Reuben’s difficulties, so I don’t understand why you need me here.” Madge resents the Walk of Shame, being called in like this just before the end of the school day is shaming. Mrs Finch frowns back, fingering her pearl necklace. “It’s more preventative,” she says, trying to dismiss it, but Madge shakes her head, pointing out that the school is now punishing Reuben by taking Fun time Friday away. “Not all of it,” argues the Head and Madge rolls her eyes, causing the headteacher to blush. - 16 -

You all knew the score,” Madge says firmly, ignoring the Head’s red cheeks, “I had explained about his background, about his coping strategies. You mentioned break times. Why was Reuben anywhere near other children by himself?” Mrs Finch points out that at four years old, he should be able to get his coat. Madge sighs, “Did you actually read the article? Did you listen when I explained about his emotional age, did you...”

had been distracted, so Madge had herded the two little ones out of the school gates as fast as she could without making it too obvious. That evening, when R&R are finally in bed, Madge sits down at the kitchen table. “I will do another letter,” she says to Tom who shrugs. “I know, it’s probably a waste of time,” she agrees. “I don’t fancy another call,” she says, arranging the paper, “it’s humiliating, especially when the other parents are there.”

Mrs Finch stands up with the same toothpaste advert smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs Tanner, of course, we have taken note of everything. This meeting was just to fill you in that Reuben is struggling to settle in, and might benefit from you reminding him of the plan we had agreed on.” She opens the door for Madge, who remembers just in time to grab her handbag and walk out of the door, stunned.

“Dear Ms Young, Thank you for letting me know Ruby is settling in well.” Madge stops. How to explain that Ruby isn’t smiling, not a happy smile anyway? That Ruby has no idea what the other children in her class look like, let alone be friends with them? Should she explain again that Ruby isn’t likely to hear many of the instructions, so could Ms Young check on her more often to see that she isn’t struggling?

Ruby chatters away after school. Madge just nods and smiles, keeping an eye on Reuben. He stomps along and Madge groans. Things will break, there will be shouting, door slamming, someone will get hurt. And it’s only Wednesday. The school had looked so promising, the teachers calm and sweet, listening carefully when Madge explained trauma and childhood PTSD. Ruby’s teacher had been delighted this afternoon. “Ruby is doing so well, she is smiling all the time, making lots of friends.” Her eyes had challenged Madge. Madge was too tired to argue with another teacher in one day, so she had simply smiled and shrugged. Reuben’s teacher

Madge puts her pen down, rubbing her sore shoulder. Tom had managed to deflect the rest of Reuben’s anger but that one had landed too quickly. “I don’t know what to say to Ruby’s teacher,” she complains, and Tom shrugs again. “Ruby might be alright, as long as she’s enjoying herself,” he says and Madge sighs. That’s the thing, will Ruby enjoy herself? And what kind of expectation is that for a school? She pulls another sheet - 17 -

out and starts the next letter. “Dear Ms Blanding, I understand from Mrs Finch that there has been some difficulty with Reuben. I’m sorry to hear that. As we discussed before the summer holidays, Reuben will take some time to settle in.” She stares at the kitchen cupboards, understanding the teacher’s optimism before the holidays. Had they not been the same, three years ago? Funny how that optimism gets chipped at day after hard day. Aren’t all two-year-olds frustrated and wild? It would pass. Love, care and plenty of attention would sort it all out. It hadn’t. After several playgroups, this school had felt like a lifesaver. Three days in, Madge was starting to get that same heavy feeling. Knowing there would be a phone call soon, an uncomfortable office conversation, followed by another frantic search of suitable schools. She can’t blame the school, as it’s hard enough teaching thirty little fouryear-olds without having one rock the boat. But they had promised.

Madge swallows back tears. She isn’t at the disaster point yet, they simply need to get their heads around it all. Madge will speak to the teacher tomorrow; encourage her again to read the article about attachment issues. Will it be enough? What could she say to the teacher that would make her listen? She sighs as she pushes the paper away, rolling her eyes. She’ll end up hyperventilating at this rate, or sound like an old woman, always sighing and moaning. Where has her joy gone, the excitement of the first while when the kids arrived? Getting to sleep is hard. There are so many uncertainties. Three days in, and the school is grumbling. Will they last till R&R are eleven? Life for her little ones seems so unfair, surely they deserve better from the adults around them? How will another rejection affect them? Madge tries to think of positives, the reasons they liked this school so much, until she finally drifts to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.

Maressa Mortimer is Dutch but lives in the beautiful Cotswolds, England with her husband and four (adopted) children. Maressa is a homeschool mum as well as a pastor’s wife, so her writing has to be done in the evening when peace and quiet descend on the house once more. She loves writing Christian fiction, as it’s a great way to explore faith in daily life. All of Maressa’s books are available from her website, www.vicarioushome.com, Amazon or local bookshops. - 18 -

Fowl Attitude by Melanie P. Smith

https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/melanie-p-smith/ - 19 -

Return to Hades by John Greeves A Skyrian Experience It’s the third week of September and already many of the Athenians have boarded up their summer homes and headed back to the city. On this island you sense summer is shifting to another place. Time has elapsed and pomegranates are to be harvested, along with the quinces, fennel leaves and root, the peppers and radishes and the beans. The sky has lost its concentrated blueness and there’s capriciousness about the light. People still sunbathe on the beach, but outside the tavernas, sun umbrellas and loungers are being stowed away. A feeling of unease hangs precariously from the day, as if nature is reclaiming itself and everything must be tidied away to allow the land to slumber once again.

Tonight the air is heavy and charged and no end of twisting and turning in bed can arrest my feeling of unease. Rain clouds have gathered and the storm has suddenly broken. The ground shakes, as the dark room is momentarily lit and the hills fill with the rumble of thunder. Intense rain beats on the outside metal table like a resounding gong. The bedside light flickers and then cuts out, as the storm continues, to the early morning greyness.

Rain hasn’t fallen up to now for three months and the Skyrian houses still enclose the narrow dusty paths that step their way up the mountain side. Over the years the houses have become sleeker, the coarse walls rendered and coated in white with blue lines de-marking a no man’s land between the rising walls and the paths. Even the Athenian holiday makers have departed. Their summer homes are now hung with wooden shutters and the balconies decked in silent metal furniture.

Breakfast has moved inside when I meet the others. Now the large terrace, looking down to the sea is awash. Not even the Elanor falcons venture out for our departure. A small truck, we are told, will pick up the suitcases after it has zigzagged through a maze of twisting streets. There’s no room for us. We will have to make our own way down to catch the bus on the other side of town to take us to the ferry.

Normally, the walk to the square takes about ten minutes, The rain hasn’t stopped. Within seconds I feel my clothes clinging to me. Is it possible to feel so wet, so that water becomes another layer between clothes and skin? But this is nothing to the mountain torrent that has replaced the path. It

Inside these houses, wide unlit convex fireplaces occupy a corner of the room, above carved mezzanines projects themselves across still rooms. Here, everywhere is miniaturised, like a ‘Sylvanian’ toy house with crockery and wares around the walls, left at the end of the season to gather dust. - 20 -

tears over ridges in a white frothed rage and threatens to drag us all down. Now we understand why there is no street drainage. The town is built along a natural watercourses, which sweep down from the rocky hillsides. I have seen these dried up rivers on the other side of the island, but no one warned us about this!

‘We can’t go on,’ I hear a voice behind me. But, there’s no alternative, so one by one we wade through the water. The foaming torrent is more spectacular than forceful, and by inching ourselves closer to the side of the buildings it’s possible to make progress slowly through the rapid waters. We’re all bedraggled when we climb aboard the

bus on the other side of the town. The bus driver seems unconcerned, hardly looking up; he’s seen it all before, what do you expect from crazy tourists?

My watch face has steamed up, blurring time and the warm embrace of sunshine. Everything seems far removed from our last evening and the lingering goodbyes that happened only hours ago. ‘We must stay in touch,’ seems now like a washed out hope, when there are ferries and planes to catch. I’m sure that after our eventual return, they’re will be the usual flurry of e-mails, and holiday photographs for a while, then memories will start to fade as people return to normality and hopefully to the warmth of dry clothes once again.

John Greeves is a creative writing tutor. He originally hails from Lincolnshire. He gained a Masters degree at Cardiff University and previously worked at Sussex University. When he’s not teaching for Continuing and Professional Education, he writes poetry, short stories and features, and runs the occasional workshop.

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Coloring Page By Adrian Czarnecki Though I love dreaming up and putting together my Siberian Husky themed children’s illustrated picture story books, Adventures of Hot Rod Todd, I don’t think of myself as an ‘author’ or as a ‘writer’. ‘Story teller’ sounds better. My books are so dependent upon the illustrations. That’s where illustrator Cameo Anderson http:// www.cameoanderson.com/ comes in. Cameo really can see into my mind’s eye interpreting my often rambling page descriptions into works of art; there’s a saying, “A picture is worth a thousand words” and with a children’s book that is so important and Cameo nails it every time and then some. So, for your enjoyment, here is a page from the Coloring Book featuring some of the characters and scenes from the books.

Coloring Book FREE PDF download available via website www.adventuresofhotrodtodd.com

Adrian S. Czarnecki is a semi-retired writer of Siberian Husky oriented children’s books based on an actual litter of 6 puppies born to his Dam Empress Maya and Sire Damien Czar on March 14th 2019. Born in Huddersfield, England, Adrian has travelled the world extensively pursuing careers in journalism, photography, PR / Marketing as well as print and sales. Adrian now lives in Idaho, USA with his wife Meta and their Siberian Huskies who keep them on their toes. - 22 -

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My Path by Stan Phillips All the years. And no regrets. Well maybe just one or two, But will not speak of them, for the morning broke with raindrops hung like a veil across the gleaming leaves. And the evocative fragrance of damp morning for which there are no words - just a feeling of astonished childhood - suspended on the new day. And all the years that have been and gone All the deeds All the sights

That whatever comes to pass it is to be celebrated for what it is.

All the sensations Like small steps along the road that have taken me from there to here.

Life!

Reminding me, as each and every unique moment passes,

Which will not be replicated

Life!

Or repeated

That my race is being run

Will never happen again.

That my path is mine And mine alone.

Stan Phillips is a poet, musical podcast maker, part-time wannabe male model, and occasional stand up comedian. “I used to be a psychotherapist/counsellor when I had an honest job. I was born into prewar London, and attended 17 schools (my father believed they couldn’t hit a moving target) and I eventually finished up here in Ireland. Still wondering what I will be when I grow up — but enjoying writing my quirky poetry as I do so.” Discover more about Stan on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips - 24 -

It Can’t Happen to Me by Keith Guernsey The word "cancer" has always sent a cold chill down my spine. But I took comfort in knowing it could never happen to me...until it did. Susan and I had just sat down to lunch on Friday afternoon and the topic du jour was our upcoming vacation to the beach. But then the phone interrupted our nice quiet afternoon and when I saw it was my doctor's office calling, I had a sense of impending doom. When I heard the words, "you have prostate cancer", I was shocked. The look on my face said it all and Susan already knew what the diagnosis was. I managed to regain my composure long enough to hear him say, "It's not a death sentence" but little else.

My previously stated goal of dancing with my lovely wife on the occasion of our 50th wedding anniversary remains unchanged. When I bring this up Susan always says, "Do you still think we will be able to dance at 95"? So ok dancing is optional! But we will still be side-by-side, hand-in -hand and every bit as in love then as we are today!

My initial reaction was that I have beaten lifethreatening brain surgery twice and I will beat this! The next step is to meet with my doctor to determine a course of treatment. But first a two week vacation on the beach with Harley and Susan. Hey after all a guy’s gotta have his priorities...right? But seriously, I see this as just a bump in the road and I will beat it just like I did the acoustic neuromas. I have doubled my resolve to be the best father, brother, husband, and grandfather that I can!

For more, please visit us on the web at; http://tinyurl.com/y6ut57ms

Keith D. Guernsey is retired and living on Lake Lanier with his lovely wife Susan and Zoey, his four-footed daughter thegurns2005@yahoo.com Twitter=@thegurns https://www.amazon.com/Mr-Keith-D-Guernsey/e/B00PR51Q7Y

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The Primordial Pouch by Ceri Bladen The primordial pouch is a saggy layer of skin (typically covered in fur) found on cats' bellies. It is located along the length of the stomach but tends to be most noticeable closer to the back legs.

before killing it. This extra of skin bit can also help when they run from predators. It allows the cat to stretch farther while taking long strides.

All felines have this abdominal flap, although it is more prominent in some breeds of cat. It can be more pronounced in older cats or formerly overweight ones. Big cats, such as lions and tigers, also have a primordial pouch. It is more common for male cats to have one.

Some experts think it could be because cats' wild ancestors needed a stretchy stomach to gorge themselves to store food because they did not know when their next meal would be. *How do you tell the difference between a cat with a large primordial pouch and a cat that is simply overweight?

*Why have they got primordial pouches? Experts think that the main purpose is to protect the sensitive lower belly and vital organs from sharp tearing claws during fights. It also protects them from that adorable, yet ferocious, secret weapon, the 'kangaroo' or 'bunny' kick. In the wild, cats use the bunny kick to capture their prey just

The primordial pouch is looser, lower, and swings easily as cats walk. Obese cats have a rounder tummy that does not sway when it walks, and the belly will feel like a hard bean bag.

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People sometimes mistakenly believe that only cats that have been neutered or spayed develop a primordial pouch. This is simply not true; it is part of their cat genes, passed down from the first breeds of wild cats. Nowadays, it does not have a key function, but it can help cats (especially feral ones) to store fat if they have a long period between eating. Certain cat breeds have more predominate pouches, such as the Egyptian Mau, Japanese Bobtail, Pixie Bob, and the Bengal cat.

*I have lived with my family in a small village in Turkey for over fifteen years. Since arriving, I have fed, trapped, neutered, and looked after hundreds of ownerless animals. These feral or street cats and dogs do not live indoors. They live outside, roaming around.

(*This is for information only. Please see your vet if you have any concerns about your dog or cat.)

Ceri Bladen originates from the lovely Welsh village, Caerleon, before she moved to Swansea to obtain her teaching degree. After having twins and another child, seventeen months later, her family moved to Turkey for a slower place of life. Here, in between looking after numerous street dogs and a kindle of street cats, she enjoys researching history and writing. Ceri loves romance, so most of her books contain elements of it, whether in the form of historical, contemporary, or fantasy.

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Meet My Ancestors by Hannah Howe Sarah Wildsmith My 7 x great grandmother Sarah Wildsmith was born in London in 1698 to affluent parents. On 23 October 1719 she married Philip Spooner, a ‘gentleman’. However, an air of mystery surrounds the marriage for it was a Clandestine Marriage, a Fleet Marriage, pictured. A Fleet Marriage was an example of an irregular or Clandestine Marriage that took place in England before the Marriage Act of 1753. Specifically, it was a marriage that took place in London’s Fleet Prison or its environs during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. By the 1740s up to 6,000 marriages a year were taking place in the Fleet area, compared with 47,000 marriages in England as a whole. One estimate suggests that there were between 70 and 100 clergymen working in the Fleet area between 1700 and 1753. The social status of the couples varied. Some were criminals, others were poor. Some were wealthy while many simply sought a quick or secret marriage for numerous personal reasons. Sarah and Philip’s marriage was recorded in the ‘Registers of Clandestine Marriages and of Baptisms in the Fleet Prison, King’s Bench Prison, the Mint and the Mayfair Chapel.’ I assume the couple were married in Mayfair Chapel. However, maybe not because in 1729 Philip found himself in a debtors’ prison. Debtors’ prisons were a common way to deal with unpaid debts. Destitute people who could not pay a court-ordered judgment were incarcerated in these prisons until they had worked off their debt or secured outside funds to pay the balance. In England, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, 10,000 people were imprisoned for debt each year. However, a prison term did not alleviate a person’s debt; an inmate was typically required to repay the creditor

in full before their release. In England and Wales debtors’ prisons varied in the amount of freedom they allowed the debtor. Through his family’s financial support a debtor could pay for certain freedoms; some prisons allowed inmates to conduct business and to receive visitors while others even allowed inmates to live a short distance outside the prison, a practice known as the ‘Liberty of the Rules.’ Along with the embarrassment for the family, life in these prisons was unpleasant. Often, single cells were occupied by a mixture of gentlemen, violent criminals and labourers down on their luck. Conditions were unsanitary and disease was rife. Many notable people found themselves in a debtors’ prison including Charles Dickens’ father, John. Later, Dickens became an advocate for debt prison reform, and his novel Little Dorrit dealt directly with this issue. More tragedy befell Sarah in 1729 when Philip died, possibly from gaol fever contracted at the prison. Gaol fever was common in English prisons. These days, we believe it was a form of typhus. The disease spread in dark, dirty rooms where prisoners were crowded together allowing lice to spread easily. Alone, and in financial difficulties, Sarah had to regroup and rebuild her life, which she did. - 28 -

For Sarah and Gregory a child followed in 1739, my 6 x great grandfather William Wright, born in St Dunstan in the West, London. At last, Sarah had found contentment within a stable family environment.

Sarah’s fortunes changed in 1731 when she married Gregory Wright, my direct ancestor. Gregory was also a ‘gentleman’ running a successful stable and coach business. Once again, the marriage was registered in the ‘Registers of Clandestine Marriages and of Baptisms in the Fleet Prison, King’s Bench Prison, the Mint and the Mayfair Chapel.’ Sarah’s Fleet Marriages raise the question: were her husbands in debt when she married them? With Philip Spooner this is a possibility because he did end his days in a debtors’ prison. However, the records suggest that Gregory Wright ran a successful coaching business and that debt was not an aspect of his life. Wealthy people participated in Fleet Marriages, especially if they sought secrecy or a quick marriage. It would appear that Sarah’s marriage to Gregory Wright fell into that category.

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September Books by Mom’s Favorite Authors

Eight and a half months pregnant. My detective agency was in good hands, Faye and Tamara’s hands, so time to put my feet up and await the Big Day. However, Gabe, my private eye friend from Boston, had other ideas. Hired by Alexander Carmichael III the current head of a powerful Boston dynasty, Gabe was on the trail of Chelsea, Carmichael’s runway daughter. That trail led to Wales - hence my involvement then on to the South of France. Amongst the glitz and glamour of the South of France events took a murderous turn - someone was making and detonating bombs, and that someone had developed a close association with Chelsea. We found ourselves in a race against time, to prevent an explosion and the loss of many innocent lives, and to return home to deliver my baby.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B09D57QXYN

Balancing the Scales by Force — A ruthless killer, a survivor, and a dysfunctional family running out of options. A shocking act of violence sends a young widow into hiding. Now, a killer with rules of his own has set his sights on those fighting for justice. Frustrated by the system they dedicated their lives to, doing their best to fly under the radar, a small group of unlikely heroes set out to stop a madman. To succeed, they must put personal beliefs before professional ethics.

Time is running out; a ruthless killer continues his reign of violence; rules must be broken. Can this secret group of vigilantes unearth the truth before it’s too late? They didn’t start this war, but they are the only ones that can finish it.

https://books2read.com/Trigger1 - 30 -

Have you always thought about writing a book but don't know where to start? Are you an experienced author and want to spread your wings? Are you looking for inspiration for every step in your writing journey? This is a book for everyone who wants to write, whether history or contemporary, science fiction or humour, local fiction or set in a made-up world, fiction, nonfiction, memoir, there’s something here for you. Join thirteen authors as they share their passion for why you should write in their genre and find your own passion as you read. It's time for you to spread your wings, follow your dreams and find your passion for writing.

https://books2read.com/ CreativityMatters

The Witch’s Pantry by Joy Margetts

The gate creaked but it was a reassuring remembrance. The path wound, as it always had done, towards the gable roofed porch with it’s painted red door. Either side of the path the garden stretched away in swathes of colour and abundance, as well kept as it always had been. That struck me as strange, as the cottage had been empty for at least two months, but I shook the thought away. My sad heart was heavy as I unlocked the door and stepped into the cosy room beyond. Swirls of dust motes floated around in the early evening sunlight, but the chintz covered cushions and crocheted comforters looked as if they had been recently plumped and tidied into place. Soots the cat still sat in his glass dome, immortalised by the taxidermist. Aunt Emmy had found it too hard to say a final goodbye to her friend. I wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea, especially as I could feel his fixed gaze following me around the room. He might have to find another home upstairs, if I chose to stay.

But it wasn’t really a happy homecoming. There were no thin arms to welcome me, no cackle of laughter, no smell of fresh bread baking, no clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen beyond. I wandered through and took in the familiar well scrubbed table top, the sparkling steel sink with its wonky taps, the odd assortment of cupboards that lined the kitchen walls. It was as if she had just been here. Odd. She had passed away more than six weeks ago, in an unfamiliar hospital bed, and yet the place was clean, lived in, loved as if she had never left. I ran my hands along the edge of the table, remembering flour dusted adventures with dough. I stood at the sink and remembered counting the sparrows together as they dipped to feed on the wooden bird table, and our laughter as the frustrated cat also counted them from his position behind the window glass. I turned my attention to a door in the far wall and was drawn to it. It opened with a sigh and I stepped into the cool space beyond, walls lined with shelves, one small high window giving light enough to see. I had called this the Witch’s pantry, and we had laughed together.

My city- loving friends had thought me mad to come here alone, but as I dragged the last piece of my luggage into the little room, I felt the warmth of the welcome. The memories of happy times, of the relaxed uncomplicated days of childhood came flooding back, and I sighed with relief to be here. - 31 -

tomato plants flourishing in the greenhouse but I could see little fruit on them. The same with the cucumber plants. Checking the raspberry canes, I found those picked bare also. I was angry now. Her neighbours had made no effort to be kind to her while she lived, but obviously felt no compunction about stealing the harvest from her garden now that she was gone.

Sad really, as she knew some of the local children branded her a witch. She was just different, a loner, happy with her own company and that of her black cat. She chose to live alone in this remote cottage and didn’t need the kind of friends who appeared kind to her face, and then laughed at her behind her back. Her crooked back and long pointy nose didn’t help. My hand went involuntarily to my own face and I grimaced slightly. I had the nose too, but I was tall and slim and the nose sat better in my much younger face. ‘Stately’ one ex had called it.

I lay in bed that night, listening to the distant hoot of a barn owl. It was a warm and sticky night, and although the sheets beneath me were cool, sleep escaped me. My stomach grumbled as I gazed out at the high full moon. I would have to go into town to the supermarket first thing in the morning. I hadn’t come prepared to find nothing to eat here. It had always been a place of bounteous provision in my memory. Daft really. My mixed up emotions had obviously affected my logic. Why would there be any food left in an empty house? I turned to the wall to try and get some sleep, but as I drifted off I heard a strange noise that definitely sounded like it came from downstairs. My heart stopped ever so briefly. It sounded like a sigh, a gentle moan of anguish maybe? I lay, holding my breath, telling myself I had imagined it. Then it came again, the same sigh, and I sat bolt upright in bed. I didn’t believe in ghosts but it felt eerily like a presence was there in the house with me. Standing up quietly as I could, I crept towards the bedroom door, and down the stairs, the flashlight on my phone showing me the way. Suddenly, out of the darkness, I saw two bright eyes staring back at me and I shrieked in terror. I staggered back towards the wall and thumped my

I had loved Aunty Immy’s pantry more than any other place in the world. I loved the jars filled with colourful and tasty delights that lined the shelves looking like potions and spells, the huge preserving pan (or ‘witch’s cauldron’) that hung on the hook on the wall, the little edible treats hidden for me to find. To see those shelves empty brought a lump to my throat. Here there was no longer any sign of the woman I had loved so dearly; even the preserving pan was gone. She must have left it somewhere else. Although she had always been very particular to put everything back in its place. I made a note to look for the pan and return it to its empty hook. I needed to check the rest of the house anyway. But first the garden, while it was still light enough to see. The glasshouses were to the rear of the cottage, flanked on one side by an extensive vegetable patch and on the other by fruit canes and bushes. Memories of picking fruit, of warm tomatoes fresh from the bush, of the smell of freshly harvested herbs propelled me. There were the expected - 32 -

fist on the light switch. The sudden flood of light revealed the dead cat frozen in his glass dome. He hadn’t come to life to haunt me – the light from my phone had just picked out the reflection from his hideous glass eyes. Once my heart rate had normalised, I mentally chastised myself and quickly checked around the downstairs rooms. Nothing was out of place. No-one had been there. The doors and windows were all locked. I went back to my bed reminding myself to be careful what I read before turning the lights off at night. Oh and to remove that blasted cat from his perch on the sideboard to somewhere less threatening in the morning.

the tomato whole into my mouth. It was sweet, chewy and deeply delicious. I tore off a hunk of bread and hungrily dipped it and my finger back into the jar to retrieve another, and another, savouring each bite, until my stomach sighed in satisfaction. Only then did I stop to wonder how they got there. Surely I had just missed the jars the day before - but I definitely hadn’t missed the bread, had I? I checked the doors downstairs again, and they were definitely locked, front and back. And that window in the pantry was definitely too high, and too small for anyone to get in, especially carrying more than ten jars of preserved tomatoes and a loaf of bread!

I slept peacefully enough but woke early still hungry. In my half- awake state I headed straight for the pantry, even though I had seen it’s empty shelves the day before. Long learnt habit I guess. The door was slightly ajar, and as I opened it wide I registered that its hinges still needed oiling. But that wasn’t the thing that brought me to full wakefulness. No, it was the loaf of crusty bread that sat on the shelf and the neat row of jars standing beside it. They were filled with bright red, sun ripened tomatoes, the oil they swum in glinting in the early morning sunlight from the window. I took down a jar and felt the pop as the lid released its suction. The smell was amazing – just as I remembered it. Without thinking about where they had come from I stuck my fingers into that jar and took out a morsel, dripping in herb scented oil, and put

It was a mystery. But then not everything about this house, or the woman who had occupied it had been entirely comprehendible. Was it possible that Aunt Emily haunted the place – but in a good way – making sure I was fed? It wasn’t completely unbelievable, surely? All I did know was that I didn’t feel frightened to be in the house, not now in the daylight, and not with that cat turned to face the wall. And I was thankful for the food. I’d pick up cheese and a bottle of red from the garage shop later and have a feast. The next night I slept deeply and soundly. Wandering into the pantry the following morning to retrieve the crust I had saved for breakfast, I found next to it another freshly baked loaf, and a neat row of jars of bright green cucumber pickles. And so it continued. The following morning they were joined by ten jars of deep pink raspberry jam, and the day following that by jars of sunshine yellow, mustard- pickled cauliflower. As the week went on, they were joined by bright orange apricot preserves, and deep purple blackberry cordial. ‘Thanks Aunt Emmy’ I muttered as I dug into a veritable feast. Reality had definitely been suspended. How could I ever explain this to anyone, especially my lawyer friends? All I knew was that the shelves of the pantry were filling up beautifully. And I loved it. Not just the flavours and smells but the beauty of the kaleidoscope colours of the jars as they stood lined up on the shelves. The witch’s pantry just as I - 33 -

against the woman’s legs. Her face was a miniature mirror of her mother’s. ‘Who are you?’ I was curious more than angry. They felt no threat to me. I just needed an explanation as to what they were doing in my aunt’s pantry, and with her cauldron. ‘Sahra’, the woman pointed to her chest. ‘Uba’ she indicated her child, who looked no older than 5 years old.

remembered it. If this was all a dream, the comfort of being able to re-imagine a time past when I was so happy, so free of stress, so unconditionally loved – I definitely wanted to stay in that dream for as long as it lasted.

‘And why are you here, in this house?’ ‘We brought the pan back. It fell. The hook was too high for Uba to reach.’ Her accent was thick but the English impeccable. ‘We have done what we could. Miss Emelda would have not wanted the vegetables to spoil. We picked, and we filled the jars…’ she indicated the shelves lined with their bounty.

My ringing phone woke me. I had taken to switching it off. I wanted to be left alone with my memories, left alone to decide what I did with this cottage; the legacy my aunt had left me. Work would need me back soon enough. Clients that demanded me to be in the moment, on the ball, at the top of my game. I grabbed the offending device and glanced at the screen before refusing the call – the office number – and burying the phone deep beneath my pillow. It was light, but too early to get out of bed yet, so I snuggled back down. A clanging sound woke me from my dose and I felt under the pillow to silence my phone again. Only it wasn’t my phone that had made the noise, nor was it my phone that made the very human sounding ‘oh’.

‘Thank you’. I was trying to make sense of it. The realisation of my stupidity in believing a ghost had filled the pantry suddenly struck me. ‘How did you get in?’ ‘I have a key.’ Of course. Simple as that. ‘Aunt Immy gave you a key?’

That definitely came from downstairs. I hurried down the stairs, nothing in my hand to confront the intruder with but my phone. The back door was swinging open, and so was the door to the pantry. On the floor in a heap was a small figure swathed in brightly coloured fabric and holding their foot in their hands. A taller figure stood over them, similarly dressed in flowing bright fabric, and holding Aunt Emmy’s preserving pan in slim, dark skinned hands. The face that lifted to look at mine was beautiful, wide black eyes framed with dark lashes, a perfectly shaped nose and high cheek bones. The bright blue hijab covered her forehead and wrapped around her neck. A hesitant smile played on her face. The child with her jumped to her feet and leant shyly

‘She was very kind. We did not always have a place to go. She said we could come here anytime. I would help her cook, make things. We were friends.’ She ducked her head and swiped her fingertips across her eyes. ‘Where are you from?’ I had pulled a seat out at the table to sit on and gestured for her to join me. ‘Somalia was our homeland. We have been here for three years now, but have nowhere here to call home. No-one wants us around for long.’ ‘You must sleep somewhere?’ ‘A hostel for the homeless, in town. My husband - 34 -

had family in the city, but he was sent back to Somalia. I may have to go back also. His family rejected us, blaming me for his deportation. I had nowhere else to go. No family. No friends. Miss Imelda, only, was kind to us here.’

All in order to do something good, for the sake of a friend now lost. ‘You are welcome here.’ I reached across to gently touch her hand with mine. ‘You have a gift with preserving fruit and vegetables’. I smiled over at her and she smiled in return.

‘Then how have you managed to do all this cooking?’

‘Thank you. I had a good teacher’.

‘The hostel manager let me use the kitchen in return for some of the food,’ she sat perched awkwardly on the edge of a dining chair. Uba stood by her, still half -hiding her face in her mother’s shoulder

‘Then you must stay and teach me.’ I held her gaze in mine until her surprised eyes widened with acknowledgement. I had a sudden clarity as to what I would be doing with this cottage, and indeed who my next client would be.

‘I have to ask, Sahra, why did you come secretly, in the night?’

‘I mean, stay here… not just for a few hours. Make your home here, both of you. It is what Aunt Immy would have wanted. I can help you. And I can visit you here from time to time?’

‘I was frightened.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘Miss Imelda told me that you would come after she had gone, and that you were a lawyer from the city. I have not had good experience of lawyers. I wanted you to have the food, for her sake, but I was not sure…’

The smile was broad in response. ‘I will look after the house. I have tried to keep it as she had it. The garden also. I will do that for you, and for her memory, gladly.’

‘…that I would be as kind as she was?’ I finished the sentence for her. I understood her wariness. I just wished somehow it had been different, that she would have felt safe enough to knock on the door, introduce herself, like any other normal person would have felt confident to do. I wondered how many doors had been slammed in their faces, how many cruel words spoken, how many untrustworthy people had crossed their paths, to make her have to creep about at night and make herself into a ghost.

‘I have no doubt. I have only one other request of you, if you stay?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Keep the shelves of the witch’s pantry full!’ She glanced over to the pantry, and then back to me, and laughed. And I laughed, and Uba giggled, and I could swear I could hear the echo of a cackle laughing with us.

Joy Margetts has loved writing for as long as she can remember. A retired nurse, mother of two, and a new grandparent, she also has a lifelong interest in history, and loves nothing better than visiting ancient monuments or burying herself in archive material. She was brought up in the South of England but for the last twenty five years has made her home on the beautiful North Wales coast.

More information on Joy and her writing, and her personal blog, can be found here www.joymargetts.com - 35 -

A Burden Shared by Father Ian Maher Matthew 11.28-30 Our world can seem a frightening and depressing place right now. The accumulative effect of the bad things we hear about and encounter can make us feel weary, exhausted, and sometimes overwhelmed. Ever present in the media and, no doubt, in the back of our minds is the continuing impact of coronavirus on our life. Even with the lifting of legal restrictions in England, we are not out of the woods by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, there will be many people even more anxious knowing the emphasis now placed on personal responsibility. The behaviour of irresponsible crowds during the Euros hardly inspires confidence.

Alongside this, almost every news bulletin carries a report of extreme heat, forest fires, and other unprecedented weather events in various parts of the world as the planet continues to heat up. Awareness is increasing about the fragile nature of our planet, with the negative impact of human failure to be wise stewards of the earth’s resources exceeding even the gloomiest of forecasts. The icecaps are melting faster than anticipated, and increasing numbers of animal and plant species are threatened with extinction. Such are the worries that each of us carry on our shoulders on a daily basis. It’s not that we are necessarily thinking about such things all of the

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of me and what’s going on in the world feels too hard to bear. They might help you also. Jesus said: ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ The image Jesus is using is of the yoke which holds together a pair of oxen. Together, the oxen are stronger and when one is weaker the other compensates. What Jesus is saying to us is simply this: ‘Lean on me’. All that the world throws at us is too much to bear alone, whether that be the dreadful events we learn of through the incessant media that encroaches upon us, or the struggles that come our way through our lives and relationships. Suffering and sorrow, fear and anxiety, touches us all.

time, but they are there as constant background noise even as we go about our daily lives, and that can take its toll on us, wearing us down and eroding our resilience. There are, of course, numerous other worries and concerns that can weigh us down. It could become all too easy for us to end up feeling helpless and overwhelmed, weighed down or even crushed by life.

Yet through it all, the risen Jesus is present with us, longing to help us carry whatever load we have to bear. Whatever it is, the Lord’s shoulders are broad enough. If we are able to trust him, to bring our needs to him in prayer, to meet with him in the blessed sacrament of his body on blood, then our weary souls will find rest and the courage to go on. For his yoke is easy, and his burden is light. For all of us, he longs to bear the weight. If only we can trust him to do so.

The three verses from Matthew which comprise this gospel reading are ones that I find particularly helpful to reflect upon when things begin to get on top

I am a priest and minor canon at Sheffield Cathedral. My last post prior to retirement from stipendiary ministry was as the Multifaith Chaplaincy Coordinator and Anglican Chaplain at Sheffield Hallam University, where I worked for 12 years. https://imaherblog.wordpress.com/ Twitter @IanMaher7 - 37 -

A Right Scottish View by Sheena Macleod With its miles of undisturbed countryside and rolling hills, the Scottish Borders with its rich history is not short on its share of scenic views. One of the most stunning is Scott’s view; Sir Walter Scott’s favoured place for quiet reflection during his adult life as Scotland’s most prolific and successful writer of the 19th century. Many of his works remain literary classics today. Travelling south on the A68 main Edinburgh to Newcastle road, this historic site is accessed before reaching St Boswells by taking a minor road to Bemersyde, the B6404, and then turning off for Dryburgh Abbey. Before reaching the abbey, your climb up many steep hills will take you to a spot that leaves me in awe at the panoramic view afforded and which seems to stretch out uninterrupted for miles by anything but nature itself. The view takes in the River Tweed as it meanders its way through the open countryside past the original now empty site of Melrose Abbey, tucked into a loop beside a group of trees which contains the ancestors of the oaks used to make coffins many hundreds of years before and, in the distance, the triumphant Eildon Hill which affords its own spectacular views.

Sir Walter Scott was passionate about the natural beauty in which he resided and liked to explore the countryside around him. It is unsurprising that he considered this site one of his favourite places to stop and reflect during his travels. He lived just a few miles from there, at Abbotsford House; situated on the other side of Melrose just before you reach Galashiels. After Walter Scott died in September of 1832, at the age of 61, it is said that his horses would stop at this viewpoint unbidden, just as they had so many times before with their master. If you also stop at this site, set at the top of a steep hill, you will be able to stand behind a stone plinth and take in this panoramic view. Few scenic sites in the Scottish Borders can equal the magnificence of the view afforded. It is a remarkable sight. On the plinth, arrows point you to distant locations. The first thing you may notice as you look straight ahead is the Eildon Hill. With its distinctive appearance rising majestically up behind the town of Melrose, home to Melrose Abbey, this hill is more commonly referred to as the Eildon ‘Hills’; its triple - 38 -

peaks make it look as if it is three separate hills. The site around the hill was first excavated between 1905 and 1910 by a local man, James Curle. When the area was again excavated, this time in 1986, remains were found of an old Roman fort. There is evidence that the hill was occupied from as far back as 1000 BC. Around 300 level platforms had been cut into the rock to provide the base for turf or timber-walled houses. The hut floors housed around 200 people who lived there; making this one of the largest known forts in Scotland from pre-Roman times and housing a prehistoric people.

tower. The Fort was named Trimontium, after the three peaks of the Eildon Hill. The many artefacts found there can be viewed at the Trimontium Museum in Melrose. Almost nothing remains of the fort above ground, but the outlines of the buildings can still be seen. The surrounding area is known for its Roman names and the remains of old Roman roads. And, the Eildon Hill serves as a constant reminder of the volcanic activity that once took place in the area. The hill was once regarded as a holy place and many myths and legends grew up around it. The most famous is that of Thomas the Rhymer, or True Thomas, a Scottish laird and 13th century prophet who lived in the nearby village of Erceldoune (now Earlston) at the time of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Legend has it that while reclining at the base of the Eildon Hill at Huntleybank, Thomas met

Roman coins which were found during one of the many excavations of the site suggest that the house platforms were again in use throughout the second to fourth century. In the first century, the Roman Army built a large fort at the foot of the hill on the banks of the River Tweed which included a signal - 39 -

viaduct is the entry to the Old Roman Fort of Trimontium, which can be accessed by following a path under one of the spans. There are 19 brick arches each spanning 43feet. This gives some idea of the length of the viaduct. The spans, piers and walls are finished off with rustic-faced red sandstone, making this a majestic addition to the sweeping view of the Tweed Valley afforded from Scott’s view. At one time, you would have seen Red Kites flying freely in the valley and surrounding areas but these are now almost extinct.

The flat piece of land that you see lying within a loop in the River Tweed was once the site of the first Abbey of Melrose. Although nothing remains of the original building, the nearby town of Melrose is home to Melrose Abbey which was founded in the 12th century by Cistercian Monks who were drawn to the fertile and peaceful spots beside the River Tweed. Like Sir Walter Scott, they likely settled there for the quiet reflection afforded by the area.

the Fairy Queen. He spent seven years living with her in Elfland before returning home unable to tell a lie and with the gift of prophecy. Walter Scott expanded the original ballad into three parts, adding a sequel incorporating the prophecies ascribed to Thomas, and an epilogue where Thomas is summoned back to Elfland after a sign appeared to him in the form of a milk-white female deer. Returning to the vantage point of the stone plinth at Scott’s View, your eye may be drawn next to the Leaderfoot Viaduct in the far distance; a railway bridge running with great glory 126 feet above the river valley. Opened in 1863, to carry the Berwickshire railway, the viaduct forms a later addition to the scenic view. It closed to trains in 1965 and in 1996 became a Category A listed bridge under Historic Scotland. Situated to the south-west of the

Regardless of whether you take in the beauty of the view from Scott’s monument in summer or winter, clear weather or on a ‘dreech’ day, at falling light to catch the sunset or early in the morning to watch the sun rise, this panoramic view will not disappoint. The Scottish Borders is renowned for its rich farmlands and sprawling country estates. As you look out from Scott’s view, in addition to the historic landmarks already mentioned which add drama and wildness to the view, you can’t help but also notice the vibrant green grass and the large expanse of open space that appears to be largely untouched by any hand apart from Mother Nature. Amongst the contrasting flat and hilly areas and the flowing river you will see large stretches of luscious green grass, wild flowers growing with abandon and a rich profusion of trees behind which in the far distance are many working farmsteads and the large estates

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which once belonged to the gentry – the large country houses are largely hidden from view along with the smaller worker’s cottages. Leaving Scott’s view behind and continuing along the road, you will come to Dryburgh Abbey. Set on the banks of the River Tweed, the abbey which was founded on 1150, is Sir Walter Scott’s final resting place. He was buried in the grounds there beside other notable figures. His tomb and headstone,

along with other respective memorials are designated as category A listed buildings. All the areas mentioned are protected by the National Scenic Area (NSA), including the town of Melrose and Scott’s view. So, it is unsurprising that the area remains largely unchanged and the scenic views have continued uninterrupted for so long by modern living.

Sheena Macleod lectured at the University of Dundee, where she gained her PhD. She now lives in a seaside town in Scotland. Reign of the Marionettes is her first novel. She is currently working on two additional books: Tears of Strathnaver and Women of Courage—A Forgotten Figure—Frances Connolly. You can learn more about Sheena on her website: https://www.sheenas-books.co.uk/

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Wise, Kind, And Wearing Black by T.E. Hodden Sir Terry And LGBT Rights

through the lenses of fantasy and satire, in the Discworld books.

I have read Terry Pratchett books since primary school, when my brother was kind enough to introduce me to Truckers, and encourage me to read the trilogy that followed it. Anybody who believe that ‘wokeness’ is something that others have applied to Sir Terry’s work have entirely missed the point: Sir Terry was very much one of the influences that instilled my ‘wokeness’ in me.

There was a pre-amble of sorts, to the debate, when the BBC Series The Watch was being made, and people bemoaned how close characters such as Vimes, Carrot, and Cheery Longbottom were to their counterparts in the long running Discworld books. For the uninitiated, the novels featuring Watch (the city guards in the fantasy metropolis of AnkhMorpork) tend to riff off detective dramas, buddy cop movies, and… well… whatever had been in the headlines, or the zeitgeist, that caught Pratchett’s attention, that he deemed worth scrutinising.

The question, “Would Sir Terry Pratchett be Gender Critical?” appeared, from almost nowhere, to haunt social media feeds, and hung around for a surprisingly long time. For myself, like many of his fans and readers, the answer appeared to be immediately and blatantly obvious: No.

Over many years of stories, the Watch had adventures that laid bare issues of poverty (you may wish to Google Sam Vime’s Boots Theory of Economics, for perhaps the best explanation of just how very expensive it is to be poor, that you will ever read), racism with werewolves and trolls, jingoism, religion, extremism, among countless other issues and themes.

The response was immediate, as Sir Terry’s own daughter, Rhiannon, made her father’s views on the subject known, supported notably by his friend and collaborator, Neil Gaiman, confirming that Pratchett would be anything but Gender Critical, and fully supportive of recognising trans-rights. A legion of loyal fans, many of whom who were themselves Trans, or gender queer, sharing stories of meeting the author at conventions or events, while in the process of transitioning, most of them utterly delightful tales of how he offered a few words of kindness or support, how the online community in his chatrooms were a haven in times when acceptance and understanding seemed to be in limited supply.

Starting with Feet of Clay (a book that fools you into thinking it is only a fun take on golems by way of Robocop), through the character of Cheery Littlebottom, and Dwarf culture, readers were treated to a clever, witty, and heartfelt study of gender politics, in all its spectra Playing off an old cliché of fantasy literature and roleplaying games, gender isn’t an issue for dwarves, regardless of sex. Dwarves are dwarves, with beards and axes, living in mines, and rigidly confined by customs, traditions, and codes of honour. Foreplay for dwarves is described as

And of course, the question of Sir Terry’s gender politics has been answered, in his own words, albeit

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a discreet deduction of what your partner is equipped with under the beard and chainmail. Except Cheery isn’t. Cheery is certain she is a she, and over a considerable journey, she learns to accept herself, express herself, and endure experiences that parallel the troubles and issues that resonate not only with members of the LGBTQ community, but with feminists and just about anybody who has ever felt that they are part of a generation their parents or grandparents, don’t quite ‘get’, or object to out of instinct.

hatred, railing a constantly growing list of ‘abominations’, that mirror and mock all too familiar bigotry in our own world.

Elsewhere in Ankh-Morpork, in the novels Going Postal and Making Money, we meet a golem called Gladys. Being a golem she was made without sex or gender, and called “he” by default, before being classified as a “she” to step around some red tape. However, over the course of the novels, Gladys assumes the identity herself, learning the difference between the expectations of gender in books and magazines, and the stark realities of womanhood as a lived experiences.

The story confronts the issue of gender directly, with a character choosing whether to return home and meet his estranged son as their mother or father, and choosing the latter, because it is quite simply who they are, or in other words: choosing gender over sex.

You may argue, that had Sir Terry written it today, perhaps he would be armed with a few different terms or phrases, that have since been adopted into our everyday language, but it is clear that Pratchett’s politics were kind, accepting, and understanding of the broad spectrum of humanity.

Trans and gender issues were in the fore again, in the novel Monstrous Regiment, a relatively standalone novel in the series, which, at first glance, is a skewering of war movies, through the eyes of a young woman who runs away, disguises herself as a boy, and joins the army.

Long may we all follow his example, showing more understanding, as we live, and learn.

The main character, Polly, lives in a nation where the church of Nuggan claims a message of love and tolerance but is constantly driven by fear and

(The author wishes to extend his thanks to Tony Whitt and Rachel R, for their invaluable advice in the writing of this article).

T.E. Hodden trained in engineering and works in a specialized role in the transport industry. He is a life long fan of comic books, science fiction, myths, legends, and history. In the past he has contributed to podcasts, blogs, and anthologies. Discover more on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/t-e-hodden/

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Five Publishing Secrets for Indie Authors by Val Tobin I’m one lucky indie author. When I wrote my first novel, I spoke to alreadypublished authors, and the advice they gave me saved me time, money, and embarrassment. I’m always happy to save time and money and relieved when I’m spared embarrassment. The following five tips will help you release your novel to the world with less pain.

A Professional Cover that Looks Great Teeny Tiny

Some authors can create spectacular covers for their magnum opus and no one would know they did it themselves. If you’re not a graphics guru (I’m not), then hire a good cover designer. It’s worth the investment. Before I finished my novel, I thought about a cover. That readers judge books by their covers isn’t a secret—it’s an accepted fact. The secret you might not know when you’re starting out is that your cover will also have to look great as a thumbnail. Amazon and the other retailers will take that great big gorgeous cover of yours and shrink it down to the size of a postage stamp in results lists and ads. It still must look fabulous, with your name and the book’s title legible. Does it?

Expert Beta Readers

I’d heard of beta readers before, but their importance in the writing process didn’t register until I’d completed the first draft of my first novel and needed feedback for it. I asked friends and family to read my manuscript and tell me where I went astray. In the process, I discovered a secret: sometimes you want feedback from experts and nothing says they have to read the whole story. In The Experiencers, which is my first novel, I have a scene in which two characters undergo hypnosis. I wanted to make sure the hypnotherapist in the scene came across as credible. I contacted an expert hypnotherapist, and, rather than asking him to read the entire book, I asked him to read that one scene. He agreed, I sent him the excerpt, and he provided valuable feedback. I’ve since asked other experts to read snippets and received valuable feedback on my stories that I otherwise wouldn’t have gotten if I’d only interviewed them. Some of the most surprising and minuscule details catch an expert’s attention and they can provide inside information you’d never get from a book or website on the subject. - 44 -

This is one of those tips that will save you embarrassment.

make sure you enter all the information exactly as they want to see it.

Don’t Publish Prematurely

Enter Tax Information Relevant to Your Country for Income Tax and the IRS

You’re eager to hit publish. You’ve reviewed the manuscript countless times. Beta readers enthused about the story. What’s left? Editing and proofreading.

If you live in the US, you have to abide by one set of tax rules; if you’re outside the US you have to abide by another while understanding how the IRS expects you to accomplish this. I’m in Canada, a country that has a treaty with the US. As of this writing, I provide my Canadian tax number, and Amazon and other US retailers don’t take income tax from my earnings. You need to provide the correct tax information to any distributor you work with, such as Amazon or Smashwords, so you get all the revenues to which you’re entitled.

The secret here is to know what type of editing you need and when to get it. I’ve read repeatedly that the biggest mistake most indies make and the one they regret the most is hitting “Publish” too soon. One way to ensure you’ve created the best product readers will love is to hire a professional editor at the correct point in the process.

The secret here is to make sure you read all the information current at the time you open your account with your distributor. I distribute through Amazon and Smashwords, while some authors use Draft2Digital or distribute directly through other retailers.

If you need high-level developmental editing, you’d bring the editor in earlier so he/she can evaluate the story at the macro level before any line editing or proofreading is done. Line editing comes next, which will examine style, sentence structure, word use, etc. Proofreading would be done last because it’s done at the micro level. It catches typos, spelling and punctuation errors, and grammatical errors.

Don’t let the government take more of your earnings than it’s entitled to. If you’re outside the US, provide the correct information, or you’ll have a headache dealing with the IRS to get the funds released to you. The best strategy is to read the information on the distributor’s site and talk to other authors in your country to see how they did it.

Can software such as ProWritingAid and Grammarly substitute for a professional editor? In my opinion, no. They can help you clean up your manuscript before you send it to your proofreader, but such software isn’t enough to put a professional polish on your manuscript. Even those who edit for a living hire editors for their books.

When I opened my Smashwords and Amazon accounts, it was more complicated. I had to request a tax number from the IRS. Thankfully, a website I found had step-by-step instructions on how to do this with the least amount of hair-tearing. It took weeks from the time I submitted my form to the IRS for me to get the documentation. Also you had to be anal about the way you entered the information or they’d reject your application and you’d have to redo it. It’s much simpler now, but you still have to

You can’t edit your own work because you don’t know what you don’t know. Most of the time, your brain skims right over mistakes you’ve made because you believe it’s correct or your brain sees it the way you intended to write it. A savvy editor will catch embarrassing oopsies. My editor has saved me from such mistakes more than once. Does this mean you have to spend thousands of - 45 -

dollars on editing? No. When you’re on a starvingartist budget, you can find ways to cut costs or establish a payment plan for editing. I found my editors through word-of-mouth referrals from other authors or from contacts I made online and in the industry.

printer. The secret is that sourcing a local printer will help you sell your books to friends and family, at events and books signings, and at public speaking engagements. It’s taken me years to find a printer that costs me less than I’d pay by ordering from Amazon, but I’ve finally done it. I’m excited about this. The exchange rate on the Canadian dollar sucks right now, making buying author copies from Amazon expensive. That forces me to charge higher prices on my paperbacks just to make a dollar or two.

Since I’ve been writing nonfiction for various online magazines since 2004, I’ve made industry contacts over the years. Other authors will often happily recommend a decent editor. Or, if you read a book that’s edited well, check the acknowledgements. Authors always thank their editor for work done, and will sometimes include contact information for that editor. I provide links to my editors’ websites because I want my editors to thrive even if it means adjusting my release dates to accommodate their increasingly busy schedules.

Some authors I know use Ingram and are happy with it while others aren’t. Search for a printer in your area. You might find you can get paperback copies of your books at a much lower price than you’d get by ordering from Amazon or Ingram. Not all printers demand you buy hundreds of copies to get the unit cost down to a reasonable level. Save shipping costs and pick up the order yourself if you live close enough to the printing facility.

Find a Local Printer

These secrets will help you get your work out there with less stress and with a better product. I hope you have a smooth and happy publishing experience.

Amazon KDP Print is a great first option for printing your paperback books. However, if you don’t live in the US, you’ll want to find a local

Val Tobin writes speculative fiction and searches the world over for the perfect butter tart. Her home is in Newmarket, Ontario, where she enjoys writing, reading, and talking about writing and reading. Discover more about Val on Mom’s Favorite Reads website: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/val-tobin - 46 -

Chess Supplied by Chess.Com White to move. Checkmate in three.

Supplied by https://chess.com the #1 chess website. Used with permission. For more chess puzzles please visit https://chess.com You can find answers for this activity on the Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/magazines/activities/ - 47 -

Persephone by Chantal Bellehumeur On June 6th, I had the pleasure of meeting the runt as well as her two healthy siblings.

A true story (In memory of my beloved pet cat)

As I was holding the tiny blue-eyed kitten in the palm of my hands, I instantly fell in love with it. I thought she was the cutest thing I had ever seen, and found her faint little meowl absolutely adorable.

Back in 1999, my boyfriend Liam owned a male tabby cat named Exar. His roommate Simon had a black female cat named Vorwen. Neither pets were neutered, so it was only a matter of time before they mated.

Liam told me I could adopt the kitten if I wanted her, and his proposal made me feel both happy and sad.

While Liam and I were out of town apartment hunting in the late spring of 2000, Vorwen ended up giving birth to three kittens. One of them was black like its mother with patches of white fur, and the other two had a mixture of black, grey, and white fur like their father.

That same day, I took a pregnancy test which turned out to be positive. I needed to announce the news to Liam. I felt emotionally fragile, so holding the newborn kitten who had nearly died made me tear up.

I wasn't sure how my twenty-one-year-old boyfriend would react to the unplanned pregnancy. I had no clue if he would be open to us keeping the baby or want to consider our other options.

Simon called Liam to give him the good news, and he excitedly passed the information on to me. On a sadder note, I was informed the runt of the litter, one of the tabbies, stopped breathing shortly after she was born. Fortunately, Simon miraculously managed to resuscitate her. Hearing about this melted my heart.

Personally, I felt confused and a bit scared. I was only eighteen and about to go to university.

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Already feeling maternal, I agreed to make the sweet kitten I was holding mine. From that point on, I ended up treating her like she was my baby and showered her with love. down, I knew I would regret it. I felt the same about potentially giving up my child for adoption.

I named her Persephone because that's what I would have liked to call my daughter if I had one; I was deeply into Greek mythology back then, and loved Persephone’s bittersweet story. She became the queen of the underworld after being taken away from her mother by Hades, god of the dead and king of the underworld. Persephone was also the goddess of spring. She was allowed to return to her mother during that season.

Persephone moved her tiny head, meowing every so often. She looked in my direction but I knew I was just a blur to her. Kittens are born with their eyes closed which don’t open until about seven to ten days, and their sight only fully develops after ten weeks. Persephone seemed to react well to the sound of my soft voice though, just like babies do when they hear their mothers speak or sing.

Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have given my kitten a different name even though it turned out to be quite fitting. But, I loved the sound of the old name Persephone; similar to Stephanie. I liked original names.

I had always wanted a cat, but my parents never allowed me to own one. Liam told me I could keep Persephone at his place until we moved in together. The fragile kitten still needed her real mother anyways. I soon realized my baby needed its mother too, even if it wasn't born yet. I had to be strong and not let the upcoming gossip and whispers about my state get to me.

As I continued holding and gently petting the precious animal who had been given a second chance at life, I had a serious conversation with Liam. I always wanted children, but not at a young age so felt unhinged and unsure of what to do. I didn't think I could go through with an abortion even though I admit it had been my first thought. Deep

Persephone became my baby girl before Liam and I officially decided we were keeping our baby. - 49 -

Just like a human, my kitten seemed to grow every day. I visited her whenever I could, then when Liam and I moved in together during the month of July I made sure to take good care of Persephone. I wasn't allowed to change the litter box because I was told it was bad for the pregnancy, but I fed Persephone and our other cats every day as well as gave them fresh water. Simon had moved in with Liam and I, so we had the two adult cats and three kittens to take care of. We eventually found new homes for Persephone's brother and sister because having five mischievous felines in the apartment became too much to handle. Aside from scratching our furniture and accidentally breaking things, we sometimes found the felines lying in our dish rack when it was empty. Liam and Simon continued being good pet owners and I spoiled Persephone. I often held her in my arms, carrying her like a baby, gave her mini kisses, and even took naps with her sometimes. She was almost always around me when I was home. In the rare occasion when she was hiding somewhere, I would call out to her in a sing-song tone; "Per-se-pho-ne!" She seemed to recognize her

name and come running to me. Persephone always remained small and skinny, almost sickly looking, but I had become attached to her and didn’t care how she looked as long as she remained healthy. I don’t know what I would have done had she become seriously ill because I wouldn’t have been able to cover the vet bills; not with a baby on the way and having little money saved up to begin with. I continued giving my beloved cat attention and affection as my baby grew inside me. When my son Aidan was born on January 4 2001, he became my number one priority. Although I still took good care of Persephone and gave her attention, my main focus was on my human baby. My cat didn't like having competition. Persephone never harmed Aidan by biting or clawing him, but she started peeing in his crib as well as his stroller. When we first smelled the stench, Liam and I didn't know which cat to blame. It soon became obvious who the guilty feline was. We both desperately wanted to believe the incidences were merely accidents. We hoped Persephone simply had a urinary infection. - 50 -

jealous acts. I tried to discipline my cat by spraying water on her when she was bad, because I had read an article about it, but it didn't help.

However, she never peed on our bed, couch, or carpet. Once Liam and I came to terms with the fact that Persephone was doing on purpose to regularly urinate specifically on Aidan's things, we knew she could no longer stay with us.

Eventually, I had to give her up again; for good this time. Of course, I wasn't about to completely abandon my cat and put her out on the streets. I tried finding somebody who would take care of her, but nobody I knew was interested in owning a cat.

I didn't want to give away my "baby girl", but it was either the cat or Aidan and I obviously wasn't going to get rid of my child. Simon had moved out by this point so he accepted to take Persephone. Even though I knew my cat was going to a good home, I cried after she was gone. I missed her.

Finally, Liam and I decided to bring her to the local SPCA, a non-profit animal welfare organization.

I visited Persephone once in a while and received regular updates on her. Simon said Persephone was behaving at his place, and she always used her litter box. She never peed anywhere she wasn’t supposed to.

Watching Liam leave our apartment with the pet carrier and Persephone innocently meowing inside it completely tore me apart. It was worse than emotionally watching the moving truck drive away with my son when he left the nest this August. Although I was sad to see my grown baby go, I knew I would see Aidan again. Persephone on the other hand…

Call me a coward, but I didn't have the heart to take her there myself.

A few months later, Simon informed us he could no longer keep Persephone. I can't remember why, but I know it wasn't because she was being problematic.

I cried a river (on both occasions), but knew giving Persephone up was for the best. The SPCA could potentially find her a good home.

Liam and I happily took Persephone back, hoping she would behave with us. I was thrilled to have her home, and she seemed to remember my little singsong call out to her.

I often wondered how Persephone was doing, and like to believe she lived a long happy life with a family who loved her as much as I did.

Unfortunately, Persephone also remembered all the attention I gave my son, and she resumed her

Chantal Bellehumeur is a Canadian author born in 1981. She has several published novels of various genres as well as numerous short stories, poems and articles featured in compilation books, magazine, plus a local newspaper. For a complete list of publications, including free reads, visit the following website: https://author-chantal-bellehumeur.webnode.com/products-/

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Book Collaborations by Wendy H. Jones

Should We Do Them? This topic has been on my mind lately, mainly because Creativity Matters: Find Your Passion for Writing – the third book in my Writing Matters series releases on 1st September 2021. The first two books in the series were written by me but in Creativity Matters I wanted to invite chapter contributions from a variety of different authors. This was a real step into the unknown for me as a publisher and I was keen to see how the experiment went. I have published anthologies previously, but these were on behalf of other publishers; this one is the first under my own publishing house – Scott and Lawson. To give you an idea of what the book is about and why I wanted to publish it, here is the blurb from the back cover. Have you always thought about writing a book but don't know where to start? Are you an experienced author and want to spread your wings? Are you looking for inspiration for every step in your writing journey? This is a book for everyone who wants to write, whether history or contemporary, science fiction or humour, local fiction or set in a made-up world, fiction, non-fiction, memoir, there’s something here for you. Join thirteen authors as they share their passion for why you should write in their genre and find your own passion as you read. It's time for you to spread your wings, follow your dreams and find your passion for writing. Now that the book is published it’s time to take stock and examine how it went. I thought I would share my journey with you here today. In my previous anthologies a call went out for

participants and authors were invited to submit a chapter. These submissions were either accepted or rejected based on criteria that fit with the theme of the book. I knew from the outset this anthology would be different and that I would be asking specific authors to contribute based on the genre in which they write. I wanted contributors who were passionate about that genre and who would be able to communicate that passion with regards to their journey. The subtitle of the book is Find Your Passion for Writing, and this book is all about passion, inspiration, and exploration. It’s about pushing the boundaries of your writing to see what you can do and where it can take you. I had an idea of who I would ask and most said yes. I wrote four of the chapters as well as the introduction and end chapter. Communication was key to make sure all the authors were clear on deadlines and what was required to ensure an overall vibe and feel for the book. It also had to fit in with the previous books in the chapter. I’ll be honest here and say I was nervous about this as twelve authors would have a difficult challenge. They had to keep an overall feel whilst giving it their own unique spin. I thought there might be a hard slog to get the balance right, but my fears were groundless. All the authors followed the brief and yet all the chapters are beautifully different. I was blown away by their talent and the passion that came across in every word they wrote. - 52 -

Behind the scenes I was busy editing. commissioning book covers, formatting the book, and generally getting it ready for publication. There was a tight deadline as I allocated three months to the project, and this worked; everyone involved honoured the deadlines and did everything requested of them. This meant I also had to ensure that I kept to the deadlines I promised, particularly in regard to editing. I was pleased to see that the edits were not extensive and those that were required were returned promptly. Talking of editing – as the publisher I did the first round of edits, but I also made sure it was also sent to another editor. We are all too close to our own projects to edit effectively. This was to ensure that the book read well and that there were no grammar or spelling mistakes.

The book is one of the most encouraging books I have read and to be a contributor is truly humbling.

Maressa Mortimer – Why Write in Another World? Why Write faith Books? I really enjoyed being a part of this anthology. Perhaps one of the biggest reasons for that was I got to interact with twelve other writers who all write in very different genres. How awesome is that! Learning much more about other genres was great for my development as an author and opened my eyes to other possibilities. And, of course, learning from Wendy H. Jones, who guided us to create a cohesive piece of work, is always a pleasure. I feel privileged to be involved in this project as the book is a wonderful reference for anyone considering writing or changing the genre in which they write. Overall, one of my best writing projects ever.

It was an absolute pleasure to have worked together with such highly professional authors. Some are extremely experienced. Others are new to the writing journey. All are passionate about writing and about the possibilities for those who follow their dreams. I asked some of the newer ones about their experience of being in the book and this is what they said:

Kirsten Bett – Why Write Poetry? Why Write Cat Tales?

Nanette Fairley – Why Write in the Third Age

It was a thrill to take part in Wendy's anthology and I consider it a golden opportunity. I am publishing my first book shortly and my cat Wilma tells it. So, I loved talking about why I think people should write cat tales; there are so many reasons. And it is fun to connect with your pet as a storyteller. As for why people should write

As a new writer, I was thrilled when Wendy invited me take part in this anthology as I had never done so before. The opportunity to have two chapters included with such an exalted group of writers was incredible and exciting. - 53 -

poetry, I hesitated a bit because I love reading and writing poetry, but I am not an established poet - I have only had a few poems published. Getting published is not the fuel of my passion for poetry though. The point of writing poetry for me is processing things, playing with language, and learning to understand other poems even better. All the more reason to write that chapter with conviction as I think the world would be a better place if everyone wrote poetry.

other authors, many more experienced than I. It’s going to be a superb book! In summary, bringing this book to fruition was an honour and a privilege. Being an author and a publisher is one of the best jobs in the world and I love every part of it. Do I think we should be doing these types of collaborations? Categorically yes. They are worth every minute of the time and effort poured into them and the feeling when they are published is indescribable. Working with other authors to bring their words to the world is a feeling every author should experience at some point in their life.

Joy Margetts – Why Write Historical FactBased Fiction? I was still reeling from the surprise of being a newly published author when Wendy approached me about contributing a chapter to her anthology. I felt so honoured to be asked, to know she had so much faith in my writing, and in my passion. The anthology is about passion, so it was not difficult for me to write about historical factbased fiction. It has always been my favourite genre to read and has now become my creative outlet in terms of my writing. The anthology is about encouraging people to write, creatively, about the things they are passionate about, and I am so thrilled to be a part of that. So excited to think my words might encourage someone else to start on the journey I have been privileged to take. Wendy has been a superb guide and kept us informed, and on point, at every stage of the process. It has been made so easy because of her leadership and knowhow. And it has been so humbling to be grouped together with so many

The book is now available if you want to catch some of the excitement of the writing and publishing journey.

It is available as an ebook and a paperback from all bookshops and online stores. https://books2read.com/CreativityMatters

Wendy H. Jones is the award winning, international best-selling author of the DI Shona McKenzie Mysteries, Cass Claymore Investigates Mysteries, Fergus and Flora Mysteries, Bertie the Buffalo children’s books and the Writing Matters books for writers. She is also a writing and marketing coach and the President of the Scottish Association of Writers. As copy editor for Mom’s, she works hard to ensure content is appropriate and free of grammatical and spelling errors. You can learn more about Wendy on her website: https://www.wendyhjones.com/ - 54 -

Paul’s Puzzles By Paul Godding The Main Challenge Group the following numbers into three lots of three so the products of each of the triples are the same. What is this product? 3

The Lagrange Challenge Lagrange’s Four-Square Theorem states that every positive integer can be made by adding up to four square numbers. For example, 7 can be made by 2²+1²+1²+1² (or 4+1+1+1). There are NINE different ways to make 221 when using Lagrange’s Theorem. How many can you find?

The Target Challenge Can you arrive at 221 by inserting 5, 6, 7 and 10 into the gaps on each line? •

(◯+◯)²–◯×◯ = 221

•

(◯+◯+1)×(◯+◯+1) = 221

The 7puzzle Challenge The playing board of the 7puzzle game is a 7-by-7 grid containing 49 different numbers, ranging from 2 up to 84. The 5th & 6th rows of the playing board contain the following fourteen numbers: 5 6 7 12 16 18 20 21 33 49 50 56 81 84

The Mathematically Possible Challenge Using 4, 6 and 9 once each, with + – × ÷ available, which are the only THREE numbers it is possible to make from the list below?

From the list, which pair of numbers have a sum of 77?

2 3 5 7 11 13 17 19 23 29

#PrimeNumbers

*** Solutions: http://7puzzleblog.com/answers/

Hello, my name is Paul Godding. I am a full-time professional private maths tutor based in the south-east of Wales who delivers face-to-face tuition locally as well as online tuition to students globally. It would be lovely to hear from you, so feel free to click paul@7puzzle.com if you wish to secure maths tuition for you or your child. Alternatively, you can ring/message/WhatsApp me from anywhere in the world:

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Europe by Book by Hannah Howe

The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) by Patricia Sands

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The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker

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Title Songs — Fragments of a Life Soul by Lesley Stan Phillips Hayes At thirteen the sudden impact of poetry overwhelmed me, in the powerful voices of those doomed young poets of the First World War like Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon, who survived the trenches long enough to evoke their hellish experience. When, much later, I read Sylvia Plath’s poems I realised that women too could write about life with such heartbreaking eloquence. My own earliest poems arose from the pain of being fourteen, with feelings too vast and improbable for ordinary language to express. Although I was already writing fiction, I found that I had a different voice when I wrote poetry. It was at times lyrical and melodic, beating out in its heartfelt rhythm the stanzas of my inner elegy. At other times it was rough-edged, raw and brutal with its honesty. Above all, it was intensely personal. I look back on now with affection for that girl I used to be. I abandoned the poetic form at seventeen and focused on writing short stories and novels for publication - a prolific outpouring that brought success that lasted throughout my twenties and thirties. The vast and improbable feelings hit me again in my thirties, during the agonising death throes of my marriage, and a sequence of poems evolved as I came to terms with unexpected life changes. I never sought to publish these poems, both at the time and in the years since, until now. I realised then that the poems came from a different voice in me. My stories are sometimes darkly humorous, smiling wryly at the predicament of being human. When I fell in love with a

photographer, I saw that my poems were like black and white shots of empty rooms, desolate beaches, a story that could only be hinted at in the expression on a face, or the curved drop of a defeated hand. Years later, when I fell in love with an artist, I saw that my poems were like pictures, imagery beyond time of a captured poignant moment, resonant with significance. They still speak in that voice the soul recognises as its memory of love and loss – as well as the remembrance of joy, passion and realisation. In later years I added to the original collection, having by then lived through very different events from those that stirred me when I was younger. The more mature poet’s voice reflects some of the wisdom and self-acceptance acquired along the way. Some of my later poems came directly from a place of suffering and uncertainty, while undergoing a prolonged period of illness. Others were forged in the crucible of intimate relationship, or were inspired by other people’s journeys, and by art. A core belief in the transcendent nature of the soul has continually underpinned my life, and this has been reflected in my work as a therapist as well as a writer. If some my poems speak to you, I am honoured. More than ever these days, I know we are all - 58 -

connected in this beautiful and sometimes bewildering and painful experience of life. As you are leaving By Lesley Hayes © I wanted to give you a stone to put in your pocket, something to keep you safe: a magic pebble that would open doors, protect you, enable you to grow tall or small enough, to fly like an eagle or an angel, breathe freely in the deepest oceans, dream the shaman’s dream. Then I realised you already know how to do those things. We’ve passed that pebble between us a thousand times. You hold it in your hand even as you read this. It was clasped in your fist that day you arrived: you opened your palm and offered it to me, and we exchanged the magic. You know who I am, Moonfish, my fellow traveller, You know where I am. You know where to find me. Look for me in strangers and you will never be lost. Look for me in your inmost heart, and you will never be alone. Soul Song (The Blurb) Lesley Hayes is best known as an awardwinning author of novels and short stories. Her poems speak in a different voice, one the soul recognises as its memory of love and loss – as well as the remembrance of joy, passion, and revelation. Written over many years, the more mature poet’s voice reflects some of the wisdom and self-acceptance acquired along the way. Some of her poems come directly from a place of suffering and uncertainty, during a prolonged period of illness. Others were forged in the crucible of intimate relationships or were

prolonged period of illness. Others were forged in the crucible of intimate relationships or were inspired by other people’s journeys. A core belief in the transcendent nature of the soul has continually underpinned her life, reflected in her work as a psychotherapist and a writer. Five Star Praise for Soul Songs ‘This collection shares a raw honesty that is enthralling to the reader. It truly is a baring of the author's soul, yet it magically reflects aspects of my own. The poems are beautiful and delicate, deep and thoughtful, weaving together complex emotions, that are simple to relate to. This is a book that I will return to many times, most probably gleaming new meaning with each reading.’ - Sylva Fae

Having read all of the author’s novels and short story anthologies, I was keen to immerse myself in this book of verse. When I write poetry, I strive for rhyme and meter, labouring over a word or a line, but here we have a different type of poetry. The works contained in ‘Soul Songs’ are sometimes intimate, often poignant, and knowing the author has kept them privately for so long, no doubt, a belated catharsis. This is an autobiography unlike any other, in that it is composed in verse. The author has not spared herself, opening up regarding teenage angst, love won and lost, relationships, and at one stage, contemplation of life fading away. There are clues to a sense of fun and dark humour, but from beginning to end, the core of the person shines through—a caring, sensitive human being who has known the joy of love, and the sadness of loss. Ms Hayes does not bridle with fury when things go awry, but is instead, philosophical. You can almost hear her calmly say, ‘It was meant to be ….’ I highly recommend this book, and as with her other writing, it is guaranteed to make you look inwards. - Tom Benson - 59 -

In Pursuit of a Personal Odyssey by John Greeves

From the stone terrace I see the ancient donkey path as it drops down skirting the edge of white walled houses on its way to the valley plain below and to the Homeric wine-dark sea. An Eleonora falcon hangs in the evening breeze; I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with a fusion of night stock, jasmine and charged feeling of well-being, knowing I’ve returned home. The Greeks call it nostos -meaning a homecoming or return, a theme used in Ancient Greek literature which comes alive in Homer’s Odyssey with Odysseus returning to Ithaca after twenty years; having spent ten years fighting in the Trojan Wars and another ten years in a prolonged journey to his rocky homeland of Ithaca.

believed in the Genius loci a pervading and protective spirit of place. This spirit was often depicted in religious iconography as a figure holding attributes

In other parts of the ‘Classical World,’ the Romans

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such as cornucopia, patera (libation bowl) or snake. This idea of home deities has persisted through many religions giving both protection and safety for those residing there. But is homecoming alone all that binds us to a place? Every place has it’s own unique qualities, (may I even add soul) not only in its specific physical make up but the way we perceive it as individuals. This longing for place has many expressions. The Fastnest rock earned the nickname ‘Ireland’s Teardrop‘ (also known in Irish as Carraig Aonair – “lonely rock”) as it was the last part of Ireland that many 19th-century Irish emigrants ever saw as they sailed away across to North America. The Welsh use the term hiraeth which translate simply as a longing or nostalgia (so much so, that it can sometimes physically hurt) but the word embodies far more with its indefinable mixture of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness and even the earnest desire for the Wales of the past.

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Homelands aside, it seems to me that many places we cherish have a special draw or even ‘captivation,’ in the true sense of the word and we are drawn to them by an inner forces. Probably these places come with strong personal ties, often interlaced by important associations and memories which satisfies a longing in many of us. Being emotionally too, certain places can provide identity and this can be coupled with experiences that are both positive and negative. What is difficult to explain is why we often choose some places over others. Like Odysseus's sirens we can sometimes become enslaved to these voices, as strong internal desires continues to exert and draw us in unknowingly. We become bewitched and bound to a particular place something as powerful as Cathy’s ghost from Wuthering Heights, but with a magnetism we know we can’t repel. Obviously places change. Perceptions alter too. As a child I was captivated by the Ancient Wonders of the world. Even in antiquity certain places had a special enchantment for ancient world, the Great Pyramid of Giza, The Colossus of Rhodes, the Lighthouse of Alexandria, the Mausoleum at Helicarnassus, the Temple of Artemis, the statue of Zeus and the Hanging gardens. In its stead today, we have UNESCO World Heritage sites which seen so diverse and wide in their designation which leaves little room for the raw human responses I’m hoping to uncover. After all it’s not UNESCO’s job to define anything as nebulous as the emotional and psychological relationship of people to disparate places. Instead, World Heritage Sites are designated by UNESCO in utility terms such as: cultural, historical, scientific or ‘other’ forms of significance and can include monuments, buildings, cities, forests, deserts,

lakes mountains and even islands. In the thirty-two sites in Britain (Liverpool apparently can soon be struck off) sites in Britain incorporate a diverse range encompassing: Jodral Bank, Cornwall and West Devon Mining landscape, Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, Key Gardens, the Lake District, Hadrian's Wall, Blaenavon’s Industrial Landscape and the City of Bath for example. A very mixed bag, without talking about Geo-parks and appearing quite laudable in their noble listings but with nothing to inform us about the natural and inherent beauty, allurement, fascination or seduction that certain places can awaken in us. Perhaps this is where the poet needs to step in? For me special places abound in natural landscapes. I want to be blown away by them. For others it may be architecture, a coastline, the sun breaking through the trilithons of Stonehenge on midsummers dawn- whatever. We all have our moments of engagement, that galvanises us, overawes us, leaves us speechless momentarily in this nonstop busy world. Perhaps this is what these encounters are all about-we need to stop and reflect on the true essence of our relationship with what’s really around us. High up in the Parnassus mountains near Delphi in Greece I look down to the Gulf of Corinth and knowing that the passing of times has done little

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to alter this view when Greek triremes sailed these waters. Sights like this remain with me I’m drawn back time after time inherently without truly knowing why. It’s a very subjective, but I know it fills me with a completeness I don’t experience elsewhere. The most difficult question always remains. Can we return to that special place later in life? Or was the encounter with those Lotus eaters only transient? Perhaps the physical journey is still possible, but mentally are we prepared for what we might confront? What we thought we remembered, may have become a fiction of our own making. Memory can be misleading and associations delusive and poorly preserved in the shifting fluidity of time. People move on, we age, places change, yet that distinct Odyssey to that mythical place can exist, providing we have the guts to pursue it.

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Dramatic Skies by Sylva Fae

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https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/sylva-fae/ - 65 -

Frames in Fiction by Allison Symes I often use frames for my tales. By that I mean I set boundaries. Some frames I use include:relatively short period. The dates are natural scene breaks and don’t use up much of my precious word count.

1. Using a diary format. Instant framework there. I must start with a date. The final part of the story must end with another. There must be at least two dates for a diary to work.

Thinking inside the box set up for my story makes me dig deeper into what drives my character. Better plot ideas can come from that. So setting boundaries can be great for encouraging creative thinking.

2. I use a question which must be resolved. 3. I start my tale with a promising closing line and then work out options to take me to the beginning. Having the ending first means my frame has the bottom bit filled in and I just need to add the rest.

For flash where you have one immediate boundary, the word count, it pays to find ways to make the most of what you have to “play with”.

4. I’ve come up with a promising opening line. I work out different options for a satisfactory conclusion. This is classic linear writing. A to B and all that but I like to mix things up and writing B to A can be an interesting challenge.

Talking of frames…

5. I sometimes use an object as a frame and the story has to show why this object matters.

This month’s theme is Frame. What could you do with that? One tip is to write down as many ideas as you can. The first few will be “obvious” but those that follow will be where you dig deeper.

6. Writing to a specific word count. I’ve recently returned to my first love in flash writing - the drabble aka the 100-worder. The word count is my frame here.

Let’s give an example but I won’t use this month’s theme and make things too easy (though I recommend listing ideas. What follows can be a useful template).

Putting any limit or frame around my writing seems a strange thing to do. Doesn’t it stifle creativity?

Example Subject: Stealing Example Ideas

I’ve found the opposite is the case. Having limits has fuelled my story writing. Why? Because I’ve learned to think laterally to resolve the issues thrown up by the frame I’ve chosen.

1. Someone steals a precious object - would be interesting to look at why and not go for obvious answers such as greed. If they are desperate, that would make for a more intriguing take on this.

For example, the diary format, for me, works best with a reasonable number of entries over a - 66 -

What you saw was what you got. Always keen to help a pal. Salt of the earth type but… When the con was on, when there was serious money to be made, that is when he changed into Charles. No hint of a Cockney accent. Instead of the pub, he’d go to the wine bars. Here, he was a relaxed fun guy to be with. Could always advise the posh types of good places to stash their investments.

2. Someone steals an object that is precious to someone else but not valuable to anyone else. So why does it matter and what are the consequences of the theft?

He never went to the same place twice of course once his plan had worked. He was coining it in nicely.

3. Someone steals away - from whom or what and why?

And he much preferred being Chas, the guy at the pub.

4. Someone who is supposed to be honourable is caught stealing. Again look at whom and why and consequences.

Ends

5. Someone makes a living out of stealing to order. How did they get into this and what happens when they come up against something or someone they don’t want to steal?

Allison Symes - 2021 (story first appeared on CafeLit). The frame is the character of Chas. You see what he is at the beginning and at the end we find that is what he really likes being. Plus he is framing his “investors”.

My take on Frame is below. Preferences He was usually known as Chas. The regular guy down the boozer as often as his missus would let him go. Jovial guy.

So who or what will be in your frame?

Allison Symes, who loves reading and writing quirky fiction, is published by Chapeltown Books, CafeLit, and Bridge House Publishing. Her flash fiction collections, Tripping The Flash Fantastic and From Light to Dark and Back Again are out in Kindle and paperback. She has been a winner of the Waterloo Arts Festival writing competition three years in a row where the brief was to write to a set theme to a 1000 words maximum. Website: https://allisonsymescollectedworks.com/ - 67 -

Framed

I smiled and lowered the hag stone, following the sinking sun so it remained framed in the centre. The sunset painted the clouds with shades of amber and flame against the darkening sky. I watched as the scarlet sun settled onto distant waves and another memory floated to the surface. A hag stone was supposed to allow its owner a glimpse into the faerie realms.

Framed By Sylva Fae Legend says, you don’t find a hag stone, it finds you. And this one certainly found me. As I settled down on the cool sand to watch the sun setting over the ocean, the smooth pebble nestled into my palm. It fit perfectly. I gently blew the sand away to reveal a round hole, just big enough to fit my little finger. I dredged through my memory as I held the pebble up to peer through it. Waves crashed upon the shore beneath my feet, the foam glowing golden under the sinking sun. The magic had something to do with water… I squinted through the hole trying to remember the folklore as I tracked the sun’s descent. That was it, the flow of water creating the hag stone’s hole, also created a magical passage that only allowed goodness to flow through, and kept out evil. A lucky stone then.

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I peered purposely through the hole but saw only the beauty of the sun disappearing beyond the horizon - no faerie folk flitting across the sky, no enchanted lands rising out of the ocean. Disappointed, I lowered the hag stone to take in the last fiery glows. Maybe I’ve grown too old to see into faerie realms. I dropped the stone into my pocket and marvelled as a blanket of indigo settled over the sea. Maybe the magic always exists for those who take the time to see it.

Framed By Lesley Hayes I was sifting through the stuff rescued from the attic when I found it, right at the bottom of a battered cardboard box that had travelled through four house moves and two marriages with me. The box was something of an unexpected treasure trove, and as I examined the contents, I kept wondering why I’d never bothered to open it before in all these years. I suppose there’s a right time for everything, and here, working my ruthless decluttering advance from base camp to the lofty peak of my house, I had struck gold. It would have been easy to miss, but it fell from between the pages of one of the spiral bound notebooks that contained my earliest journals. It was almost as though it wanted to be found. I had been so young and hopeful then, so full of all the glorious things I was going to do when I grew up. And there I was, sixteen-year-old me, arm in arm with my best friend, madly in love with her and life, smiling as though nothing bad would ever happen and the feeling in this moment would last forever. I sat for a while, holding the photograph in a hand that shook with emotion as the tears rolled down my face. Where had she disappeared to, that teenage girl that I had been? After a while I put everything back in the box, knowing one day I would read the journals, and they would make me laugh, and cry, and remember everything. But the photograph was a reminder I needed to cherish daily, and so I went out that same afternoon and had it framed.

“Smile.” by Ceri Bladen Each holiday, each occasion, each family reunion, I dreaded that word. “Smile and keep still for the camera. Can you all stand nearer so I can get you in the frame? Don’t mess around. Stand still. Hold on to the dog.” I hated stopping what I was doing to pose for photos. Although I was happy on the inside, the smile was forced; false. I waited for the torment of posing to be over. I was a child. I did not understand my mother’s desire to capture the moment. Time moved on. Places changed. Loved ones are no longer with me. Those memories are all I have left. Now, I am a mother: “Smile for the camera, please.” - 69 -

World Maritime Day by Melanie P. Smith

September 30th

Nations to raise awareness and celebrate the contribution this industry makes towards the world’s overall economy. This year the theme is: 100 years after the Titanic.

Cover design created to honor World Maritime Day

Many of us never think of the two million seafarer professionals who serve on the world’s fleet, shipping medical supplies, food, and other basic goods. But, maritime transport is the backbone of world trade. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, ships carry cargo to all corners of the earth.

Did you know...

This industry is the most convenient, cheap and safe means of transporting goods around the world. While these professionals are rarely given a second thought, the COVID pandemic has suddenly increased their visibility. For over a year now, seafarers have become some of our most essential workers. They have served tirelessly to ensure the global supply chain continued to function during this time of crisis.

•

Shipping accounts for more than 80% of world trade

•

The three biggest shipping fleets are owned by Greece, Japan and Germany with the US coming in fifth.

•

In its lifetime, one large container ship will travel the distance of the moon and back almost ten times.

What can you do to celebrate this event?

World Maritime Day is a great opportunity to support these hard-working professionals. This annual event was organized by the IMO and the United

•

Teachers can use the day to teach their students about this vital industry or take them to visit a maritime museum in their area

•

Communities can organize a Coffee Morning or plan a fundraiser to raise money for The Mission to Seafarers

•

Gather to share interesting stories of the sea

We are excited to announce that Goylake Publishing has teamed-up with the Fussy Librarian and in partnership we are offering you 20% off your first book promotion with the Fussy Librarian. To qualify for this promotion, your book must be either permafree or listed free during a special offer. In our experience, the Fussy Librarian is the best book promoter in the business. When we promote with him, our free books always reach the top five of Amazon’s genre charts, most often they reach the top three. We promote with the Fussy Librarian every month and will continue to do so into the foreseeable future. Prices start from as low as $15, minus our special discount of 20%. Click here: https://authors.thefussylibrarian.com/?ref=goylake for full details. And, at the checkout, be sure to enter this code: goylake20 to claim your 20% discount. Thank you for your interest. And good luck with your promotion! - 70 -

The Sound of Silence by Stan Phillips

My external world is filled with an explosive cacophony of noise.

But yet--Deep down inside there is a silence that remains still.

Voices Machinery

Remains untouched by the turbulence that rages externally.

Engines

And, like the surface of a still pool that sits silver in the moonlight of my meditations, brings me peace in this turbulent world.

Muzak Airplanes All joined together to create that constant sound that echoes endlessly around my days.

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Mom’s Favorite Reads Author Christine Larsen Next came the adult farming memoirs, with shortshort stories of a farming career spanning 40+ years. The first book in her 'Old McLarsen had some Farms' series is called 'Brave Beginnings', tales of the 'farming apprenticeship', adjustments and challenges two 'city slickers' faced. The second, 'The Milky Way' is on Wattpad and is free to read for now. Other memoirs are developing - 'Flourishing in the Fifties' (Christine's childhood) and 'Just Moodling About - My Favourite Things'

Christine Larsen is a wife, mother, grandmother and farmer, now living with her husband on a retirement farm in South Australia. Reading has been her passion all of her life, to herself and to two generations of her offspring. Christine believes you can learn anything in this world if you first have a love of reading and a questioning mind. With this as her credo, her 'bornagain' writing career began with a series of children's stories.

The Books...

CONTACT INFO FACEBOOK — https://www.facebook.com/ ChristineLarsenAuthor/ TWITTER — https://twitter.com/cdcraftee GOODREADS — https://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/7231484.Christine_Larsen WATTPAD — https://www.wattpad.com/user/ cdcraftee WEBSITE — http://www.cdcraftee.com

An original and quirky collection of poems and short stories for wee small folk – to capture and enhance their own wondrously fertile imaginations.

Small readers of my books receive a great deal of pleasure from my rhymes and cute stories about animals and creatures that share our world.

Is there a loving 'out loud' reader somewhere for each of those smalls who have not yet begun their path to becoming a book lover, able to read to themselves?

Part 2 to the Small Folk Rhymes eBook, focused on fun and activities to stimulate and provide joy

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00AVZ01ZS - 72 -

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00GOFB1NA

The first thing to know about the Knitty Gritty Kids is that most of them are 'Special Needs' children, rescued from the scrap heap of Life. I did not let them down as other soulless, so-called 'parents' had.

Here is my best old mate, Ted Bear Esq. (lovingly known as Ted to me all the 65 years we have shared, so far!) It all began modestly enough with some photos of him for his story on Squidoo

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00B90P0VE

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00BQPJT8M

Small Folk Tales — 4 Well-ll-ll, he's b-a-c-k… my best old mate, Ted Bear Esq. (the Esq. bit was his idea – he thinks he's quite grand when that is added to his official title).

Small Folk Tales — 5 Grand-parenting is a special joy - a wonderful time to share and care without the heavy burden of total responsibility that parenthood entails.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00C4ZBPRG

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00CXABOG4

Small Folk Tales — 6 YOU RECOGNISE THE SMALL FOLK CLAN, SURELY? After all, you were one of them once upon a time… remember?

The Gross Gang is a collection of rhymes about a group of disorderly and often obnoxious characters, who have been drawn together to play with some extremely old words that have mostly 'seen better days'.

Can Delilah capture the heart of the partner of her dreams and teach Sampson how to trust again? She does her duckish best - although Sampson’s life experiences so far have proven the opposite.

"STOP! STOP… IN GOD'S NAME! YOU'RE KILLING HER!" the stranger shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd of shrieking children.

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00DSW08SQ

https://bookgoodies.com/a/ B00F80E59E

https://bookgoodies.com/ a/B07D8NV274

https://bookgoodies.com/ a/B00R6Y81BS

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Word Search By Mom’s Favorite Reads

You can find the answers for this activity on the Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/magazines/activities/ - 74 -

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The August issue of Connections eMagazine is dedicated to the winners of our annual Reader’s Choice Awards. We had some amazing books from some talented authors. I hope you will take a minute to check them out.

Marketing seems to be one of those areas that every author struggles with. It’s the same struggle companies world-wide have been dealing with for decades. How do I get my product in front of my target audience? Connections eMagazine can help. The publication is free to readers, bloggers and to authors looking for a little extra exposure. Visit our website for details. https://melaniepsmith.com/

https://melaniepsmith.com/emagazine/

Connections eMagazine is a FREE quarterly publication founded by authors Melanie P. Smith and Rhoda D’Ettore. It is currently produced entirely by Editor, Melanie P. Smith. Over the years, the magazine has evolved and it now features promos, freebies, blog articles, and short stories in every issue.

Discover more about Connections eMagazine on their website here: https://melaniepsmith.com/emagazine-landing/ - 75 -

Editor In Chief—Hannah Howe The Editor-in-Chief is the key figure in every publication. Hannah Howe works closely with the editorial staff to ensure the success of each publication. She is the author of the Sam Smith Mystery Series, the Ann’s War Mystery Series and Saving Grace. Get to know more about Hannah, her projects and her work on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/hannah-howe/

Executive Editor | Graphic Designer—Melanie P. Smith The Executive Editor / Graphic Designer is responsible for developing the layout and design of MFR eMagazine. She also works hard to create new covers each month that captures the essence of each publication. In addition to the editorial staff of Mom’s Favorite Reads, Melanie P. Smith also produces Connections eMagazine. She is a multi-genre author of Criminal Suspense, Police Procedural, Paranormal and Romance novels. Get to know more about Melanie, her projects, and her work on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/melanie-p-smith/

Managing Editor, Art Director & Proofreader —Sylva Fae Our Managing Editor oversees the physical content of the magazine and coordinates the production schedule. She administers the day-to-day operations of the publication, manages submissions, sets realistic schedules and organizes each edition of the magazine. Sylva is is responsible for the amazing graphics that appear throughout the publication each month. She works hard to ensure the images capture the spirit and message our author's convey in their articles and stories. In addition, As Copy Editor, Sylva works hard behind the scenes to correct any grammatical, typos and spelling errors throughout the magazine. Sylva Fae—Mum of three, fairy woodland owner, and author of children’s books. https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/sylva-fae/

Copy Editors / Proofreaders — Wendy H. Jones and Sheena MacLead Our Copy Editors for Mom’s work hard to ensure content is appropriate and free of grammatical and spelling errors. Wendy H. Jones is the award winning, international best-selling author of the DI Shona McKenzie Mysteries, Cass Claymore Investigates Mysteries, Fergus and Flora Mysteries, Bertie the Buffalo children’s books and the Writing Matters books for writers. She is also a writing and marketing coach and the President of the Scottish Association of Writers. You can learn more about Wendy on her website: https://www.wendyhjones.com/

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Feature Editor—T.E, Hodden As Feature Editor T.E. Hodden works diligently to provide content that is interesting, informative and professional. He is a trained engineer and a life-long fan of comic books, Sci-Fi, myths, legends and history. Get to know more about TE Hodden on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/t-e-hodden/

Marketing Director—Grant Leishman Our Marketing Director, Grant Leishman, oversees marketing campaigns and social media engagement for our magazine. After an exciting career in accounting and journalism, he now focuses on his true calling—writing. Get to know more about Grant on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/grant-leishman/

Young Writer Content Editor—Poppy Flynn Poppy Flynn works hard each month to generate ideas, proofread submitted content, and provide stories, articles, poems and other pieces that are creative and relevant from young writers around the world. Get to know more about our Young Writer Content Editor on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/poppy-flynn/

General Content Writers Our Content Writers are freelance authors who contribute articles, short stories, etc. to the eMagazine on a regular basis. They work hard to make our magazine interesting and professional. Get to know our Content Writers on Mom’s Favorite Reads website here: Val Tobin — https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/val-tobin/ Stan Phillips — https://moms-favorite-reads.com/moms-authors/stan-phillips/ Father Ian Maher — https://imaherblog.wordpress.com/ John Greeves —