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In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Finnley staring at Godfrey in a bemused manner. Dragons? She hated it when characters changed personality mid-story and without warning. It was unsettling. Sidling closer to him she tentatively reached out and poked his arm firmly with her index finger.
“Ouch, dammit Finnley! What are you doing?”
“Testing to see if you are real or if I am hallucinating. Anyway, seems you are real so all good.”
“Oh, there you are, Finnley!” Liz beamed. “I seem to recall I was looking for you but I can’t remember why. Perhaps it was to remind you not to monopolise my thread. You are doing it again, you know.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“You’re not leaving here without taking your dragon! You can’t leave it here!” Elizabeth shouted. “You! You there, handsome gardener man! Stop that woman climbing over the fence!”
Elizabeth glared at Godfrey again. “I’m not sure you can be trusted to saddle up her dragon, frankly. Finnley! Where is that dratted maid? Finnley!”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz was aghast. What had her characters been writing about her now? If there was one thing Elizabeth had learned while unleashing characters into the reality experience, was that there was no such thing as control. You could not expect the expected when it came to characters. It was almost as if they had a mind of their own.
“Not so fast!” she shouted to Felicity who was trying to climb the fence with the help of a sturdy old vine. She glared at Godfrey. “Now look what you’ve started.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“You see,” Godfrey pointed out with the rolled paper “Finnley’s got a point here.”
“And what point pray you say?” Liz’ looked outraged at the lack of encouragements.“Oh, I don’t know, I just said that to grab your attention for a minute.” Godfrey smiled from the corner of his mouth.
Liz’ could not think of something to say, suddenly noticing with amazing details the tense silence, and the small gathered crowd of people looking at her in a mix of face expressions. A scene from her last hospitalisation came back to her, and the horror of trying to seem sane and not utter anything strange to those so-called experts, who were gauging her sanity like hyenas laughing around a tentfull of human snacks.
“You have my full attention.” she heard herself say unexpectedly.
“That’s really the first step in rehabilitation” the doctor opined with a pleased smile.
“Did, did I relapse again?”
“What are you talking about Liz’?” Godfrey was back looking at her with concern in his eyes. She had never noticed his eyes before. Only the furry moustaches above them.
“I think I got lost in the story’s threads again…” Liz’ felt like a little girl being berated by the teacher again, and by her mother for not standing for herself.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a dumpster…” Haki said snarkily, to which Liz quickly replied mentally “go away, you’re just a character, I fired you many threads ago.”“Liz’, you have that vacant expression again, Liz’!” Godfrey was waving at her face.
“Stop DOING that, you old coot! What’s wrong with all of you!”Felicity took a reprieve from her observation post ogling the gardener’s backside, on the guise of bird-watching, and snickered “told you it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”
“Hold on” Godfrey stopped her in a conciliatory tone. “your attitude isn’t really helping Felicity. And Liz sharing her dream recall is a good thing, honestly, we could all do with a bit of getting in touch with our magical self.”
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this loads of bollocks” Felicity said, and she packed and left for good.
“That was a bit abrupt ending, but I like it” opined Godfrey at second reading. “Actually like it better than the version where she jumps through the window, probably pushed by the maid she criticized about the hair in the pea soup.”
“That’s about as magical as I can muster for now, Godfrey, give me time.” Liz smiled relieved that the mummy ordeal was behind her. “Fuck murmality” she smiled impishly, “let’s start a new fantasy thread.”
“With dragons in it?” Godfrey’s eyes were beaming.
“Oh, you and your damned dragons…”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Oh. how ridiculous!” exclaimed Elizabeth, throwing a transcript at Godfrey.
Deftly catching the paper being tossed in the whirlwind of a forceful exhalation of Liz’s cigarette smoke, he raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“She had a dream, you see,” continued Liz. “A dream about a writer and her maid. She mentioned it to me because she had one of those funny feelings it was about me, and when she told me, well the first thing I thought about was, well, you know….”
But Godfrey wasn’t listening, he was winking at Finnley who was reading over his shoulder. The maid stifled a giggle.
“So then I said to her,” Elizabeth explained, “‘I wonder what she’s been up to, left to her own devices?” and then she asked him all about it, and that’s what he said. Thrown me for a loop, I must say.”
E: (chuckling) Left to her own devices, she generates considerable intensity in extremes.
A: is this a character that has become a focus?
E: Reverse.
A: So it’s a focus that has become a character…. is there any information on the focus itself that I could offer her to play with that?
E: The focus is a past focus, but a recent past focus…a past focus in the timeframework of the 1940s…
A: in the Americas?
E: This focus travels, but I would express is based in Britain.
A: That makes sense.
E: And in actuality is involved with early computers…with large cables. LARGE cables…
A: [babble babble ohh ahh blah blah] …and she is female?
E: Yes.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“Why don’t you get on with telling us your dream and then we can all bugger off,” prompted Finnley.
“It was a big rambling house, much more to it than we expected. The kind of house with lots and lots of little rooms and different areas, and two or three people here or there, doing whatever they were doing. Sort of odd people, but not madly strange. A lovely feeling of curiosity and interest, and a marveling at how much more there was than we had anticipated. It was the kind of place,” Liz said, “That I could have moved into and not changed a thing.”
Roberto and Finnley started to fidget noisily while Liz was lost in the remembrance of wandering around the labyrinthine dream house.
“Did you move into it?” asked Godfrey.
“Well that is the funny thing, old bean. I said to Dan, in the dream, when I noticed the place was on the top of some very steep close together craggy mountain peaks with narrow bridges between them, I said “ Dan, I’ll never be able to drive all the way home in the dark after classes” and he said with a chuckle, “That’s what I was thinking.” It seems as if I had been contemplating taking a course at this place. But you know what I think?”
Liz paused to make sure everyone was paying attention.
“I don’t think you need to drive a car to get to that place.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“I recalled a dream last night. One thing led to another, maybe I’ll tell you about that later, but it is connected, so remind me later. Then I was reminded of a story. Then I had a message from someone about a dream about a writer with a maid called Agnes, and she had recalled another story about Brooklyn. And of course, that got me thinking about stories. And story characters! And us!”
At this point in Liz’s monologue she paused and looked meaningfully at Godfrey, Finnley and Roberto. She repressed an urge to slap Roberto, who was gazing out of the window (thinking about mountain tajines no doubt), to get his attention for the meaningful look that she wanted to give him, and cleared her throat loudly instead.
Not a moment later she had to control the urge to slap Finnley, who was just about to make another remark about the length of her sentences.
“I didn’t say a word!” Finnley exclaimed with righteous indignation. “I only thought about it!”
“And I didn’t slap you, did I. I only thought about it too!” retorted Liz.
“Ah, but you’re the one who wrote it down. You’ve gone and done it once you write it down.”
“Don’t be daft,” replied Liz. But she wondered, what if?
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“I’m not falling for that, Finnley. And I was being sarcastic, not humble. As if!” Liz snorted. “You silly goose. Now then, where is Godfrey and that scrumtious gardener, what’s his name? I’m reminded of a story.”
“Roberto? Didn’t you send him to another thread? Or turn him into a dastardly escaped criminal, or psychic double agent or something?” asked Finnley, who had come to her senses and removed the strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face.
“That’s much too long, Liz,” she added. “A “strange grimace masquerading as a smile from her otherwise rather sweet and curious face”? Bit wordy, isn’t it?”
“Finnley, please!” Liz was aghast. “You know you’re not supposed to do that!”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“As a matter of fact, I was dancing,” said Finnley with exaggerated politeness. “It is something I do to get back in the flow of the Universe … and counteract negativity.” She looked pointedly at Liz.
“Anyway,” she continued, “allow me read to read a little from the great Prof E P Lemon’s latest offering:
“It’s also like in taiji, you sometimes get into that flow state but for that you need to go past the learning phase, can’t really go around that.”
Finnley looked sympathetically at Liz.
“Perhaps you are still at the taiji learning phase, Liz.”
“How would I learn taiji?” asked Liz humbly. “I can see you are a master, dearest and wise Finnley.”
Finnley looked thoughtful. “Apparently the Prof used to go regularly up a mountain. The air is more taiji up there … maybe you could do that? Don’t worry I will take care of things here,” she said quickly, envisaging the peace and tranquility of a few days without Liz continually haranguing her.
“Take as long as you need to get some taiji,” she added with what she hoped was a kind smile.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“You do exaggerate so, Finnley,” remarked Liz. “It was much longer than five minutes, and you chose to go when all the rest of the staff were on holidays too. Damned inconsiderate of you all, really! You’re lucky you still have a position here to come back to, my girl.”
Liz shuffled some papers on her desk in a businesslike manner and then blew the ensuing dust off her keyboard with a flourish.
“And don’t make those vile gestures behind my back.”
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
This 1954 stamp from Burma must mean something, thought Liz, pondering the latest clue to appear at her feet.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
“What about a plate of shrimps Liz’?”
“Oh no, not again !” Felicity shrieked at Finnley. “Can’t you get something else on the menu?”
“Oh, you’re still here?” Liz’ looked apathetically at her mother. “Thought you would be gone by now… Finnley” she motioned at the distant plate “hand over the turmeric. I’m in the mood for an Indian dressing.”
In reply to: Coma Cameleon
At first he’d stayed in the same spot. Waiting, for what he didn’t know, but for someone or something to provide a clue, or a reminder. He’d given up checking his pockets, hoping he was mistaken and that of course he had a wallet, some keys, a phone. But there was nothing. Nothing but that suitcase, lighter than it should have been for its size, because there was nothing it in except a few pairs of underpants and a couple of ties. A toiletry bag, unzipped, with nothing in it but a toothbrush.
He closed his eyes. Stay in the same spot if you’re lost. Had his mother said that once, long ago? His head hurt with the effort to try and recall.
He’d found himself sitting in an alley next to a rubbish container, sprawled on the suitcase. Squinting in the shaft of bold sunlight, he automatically reached into his shirt pocket for sunglasses. The pocket was empty. He checked his other pockets, his alarm and confusion growing. Why was he wearing socks but no shoes? He elbowed himself up to a sitting position and noticed the suitcase. A wave of relief washed over him: everything must be inside the suitcase. Relief gave way to horror. It was almost empty. I’ve been robbed! he thought. But what did they take? What did I have in there?
And then the full realization hit. He had no idea where he was. And no idea who he was.
Someone will come looking for me, he thought. But who? He weighed up his options. What could he do? Go to the police? And tell them what?
He shrank back as two women approached, looking down as they glanced at him. They walked past, continuing their conversation. Why were they speaking Spanish? He looked around, noticing a number of signs. Most of them were in Spanish, but some were in English. For a brief moment he was inordinately pleased at the realization that he was English speaking. The first puzzle piece. He was thinking in American English. Therefore, he must be an American. He rubbed his eyes. His headache was getting worse.
In reply to: The Chronicles of the Flying Fish Inn
Clove realized that she wasn’t going to get very far with her investigations if she didn’t gain the family’s trust and an amicable footing in the household.
On impulse while wandering around a discount shop in the high street she decided to buy a couple of packets of gaily coloured plastic clothes pegs to replace the old wooden ones that had been marking her laundry with mossy green stains. Next she put a pack of bright poppy motif table mats in her shopping basket to replace the dowdy stained hunting print mats to brighten up the kitchen table. A tall shiny emerald green pepper mill caught her eye next; that would look nicer on the table than the Titsco powdered white pepper container that the Smith’s made do with. She would pick up some black peppercorns in the health shop when she got the organic oat cakes. They’d like a change from cream crackers all the time, she was sure. The final impulse purchase was a couple of balls of sustainable organic hemp string, which Clove thought would make a nice change for Sue to crochet with.
The house was empty when Clove returned. She unpacked her shopping bags and distributed the new things around the place with a satisfied smile on her face. The old table mats she put in a bag next to the rubbish bin: Sue might want to keep them, although Clove doubted it. But better be on the safe side, she thought. The pegs went straight in the bin, and the hemp string into Sue’s crochet basket.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
Liz smiled with satisfaction at the new growth of the turmeric plants. Such healthy looking shiny green leaves. As always she was amazed at where green leaves came from. Where did they come from? They just appeared out of thin air, miraculous it was. It took her mind off the battle with the latex supplier to ponder the magic of nature.
Pondering the nature of magic in the garden reminded her of the peculiar things she’d recently read about a man who had a desire to appreciate nature, but was waiting until he had the time and the money to do it. One only has to look at the dandelions growing through the cracks of the concrete sidewalk to appreciate nature, she’d archly reminded him.
The inflexibility of the latex supplier had been an exercise in firm but pliant resistance on her part. And it had paid off. At first it had appeared to be another aggravating and futile battle with impermeable insurmountable systems, Systems with a capital S, sacrosanct and rigid, inviolate, the new highest authority that growing hoards of the populus were dutifully grovelling at the feet of. But Liz had stood her ground, whilst simultaneously maintaining a lithe willowy air of good humour and pragmatism.
By the time Liz had found a properly flexible and accommodating new latex supplier, the old inflexible latex supplier became acquiescing and biddable. But it was too late. With a modicum of undisguised glee, Liz informed them of this fact, and smiled with the undeniable pleasure of success.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
After only one day, Felicity had managed to vex everybody, Liz’ was pleased to notice.
That would make her retaliation all the sweeter.Even the rude but usually pliable maid had thrown her apron in disgust of the unequivocally condescending comments of her mother about the quality of her sardines muffins and anchovy cupcakes.
The traitor Godfrey was easy enough to bring back to the fold, with a vague promise of peanuts, and was already working on her first plan. Selloselfing everyone to frighten her mother who panicked at the idea of the zumba avocalisp. She’d seen some reportage from International Geogratis of indigenous populations dancing irresponsibly, and had been living in fear ever since.
As for Roberto, well, Liz’ still believed he was his best and secret weapon. She knew all to well her mother’s appetite for young and firm flesh.
In reply to: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler
I’ve a good mind to write you lot right out of the story, Liz remarked to nobody in particular.
