The Witches In the Willows

 

A Family of Witches
(Close relations of mine)

The Beginning Before

(A prologue-in-progress)

It was love at first sight when Petulia Picklewhip’s parents, Pablo and Sophia-Paloma spied each other across the lawn. The Priory’s feted Cauldron Casserole Fiesta was boiling at full bubble. The day was brilliantly sunny. But as soon as the couple ogled each other, lightning flashed, tree tips fizzed and a shower of warm rain sprinkled down. A purple rainbow even appeared, in a perfect arch over the experimental topiary garden.

Pablo was a well-known wizard of twenty-five years.

Sophia-Paloma was a well-known witch of twenty-one. 

That afternoon, Motherwitch McMinty won ‘Best Potion’ for the 500^th year in a row, with her Bewitching Belladonna Youthful Forever Formula. Meanwhile, Pablo and Sophia-Paloma were concocting a spell to make the cherry tree they were sitting under in the Bonsai garden, burst into blossom. Pink, papery petals soon unfolded and they discovered their lifelong ambitions were the same! They both wanted to make good witchcraft. The world as they knew it was becoming increasingly filled with untidy, land grabbing witches. Forests were being cut down willy nilly. Crystal lakes were being polluted. Witch-castle prices were through the turrets! False nonsense by the way of misinforwitchmation was being spread across the land.

While the couple chatted, Pablo studied Sophia-Paloma’s features. Her long hair was as shiny and as black as a raven’s. Her eyes were the softest silver-grey. Her skin the softest ivory. Her high-necked, black taffeta gown was extremely flattering. And she smelt fantastic. She was wearing the latest and most hypnotic witch-fragrance on the market – Poisonne by Cauldron Klein.

At the same time, Sophia-Paloma studied Pablo. She admired his dark hair, slicked back into a wizard-bun. His smiling moustache waxed into two, upturned tips. His ruby red lips, which revealed a mouthful of pearly-white, slightly pointy teeth, when he talked. (Pablo had a slight lisp, witch she also thought cute.) His eyes were as green as green glass bottles. Pablo wore a snappy black suit and a white shirt with a very stiff collar. His boots were black lace-ups with sharp pointy toes. In fact, everything about Pablo was sharp! Especially his wit. That was razor-sharp! 

The priory bell rang. It was time for supper – share plates of meaty cauldron-casseroles. 

Pablo fashioned a ring from a piece of gold thread and the skull of a blackbird that he found in his pocket. He slipped it on Sophia-Paloma’s ring finger. ‘Will you be my best-witch-wife?’ 

A smile crept over Sophia-Paloma’s face, and the apples of her cheeks turned a rosy blush. ‘If you will be my best-wizard-husband?’ she replied. 

They held hands and said together, ‘I will!’ While unicorns pooed glitter in a far-off unicornverse.

‘We’ll live a long happy life together casting make-better spells on all the wicked people,’ beamed Sophia. (She’d recently won Kindest-Eco-Witch-of-the-Year.)

‘And we’ll have a happy family with lots of little witches and wizards running about,’ said Pablo. (He was an only wizard-child and had longed for siblings to turn into moths.)

Then they kissed, a very polite but very electric witch-kiss. The sky went dark. Cloud-sized, golden fireworks crackled and fluttered out of the sky. Hand in hand, they ran back to the crowd to share their magical news.

They had set a date for their wedding. It would take place in exactly one year’s time. On exactly the same day. The sixth day of the sixth month, June 1866.

Sophia-Paloma already knew their first child would be a girl, and they would name her Petulia Paloma.

Unfortunately, Motherwitch McMinty knew too …

PLEASE NOTE: This work of fiction (like all writing) is protected by copyright. This simply means do not copy it in any shape or form. If you do your hair will fall out! Or you may turn into a mouse. You have been warned.

Books: The Year of Jane Bloomfield | The Spinoff

Click on the link below for the year of an author, bundled nicely into a lot less than the 5,000 words I started with!

Books: The Year of Jane Bloomfield | The Spinoff

(art by Eloise)

Foxes Nuzzle Each Other To Say Hello &Other Trivia

I’ll always allude that the truth is stranger than fiction on this blog and here are some odd recent events that again prove it.

Some are scary. Some are gross. Some are surprising. And good.

* If you hang white sheets on the washing line on a lovely sunny day in February in Central Otago be prepared for them to be artistically coloured purple. Ripe elderberries, plus birds, equals purple bird scat. This will not come out in the wash but will require soaking in Nappysan. Sometimes it will take at least 48 hours to get clean sheets. Persevere. Or snip off all the ripe elderberries on your property and make indifferent wine with such a low alcohol content it will not even get you pissed. After one entire bottle.

* Rest assured country dwellers that even if you can’t see them you have stoats in underground tunnels somewhere near you. Possibly right beside your house. Stoats were introduced to New Zealand to kill rabbits. It didn’t work too well. They store their prey and makes nest out of their fluffy remains. They are nasty little fuckers (sorry I don’t like to swear). However, when a stoat walks into your living room goes over the carpet to your sleeping elderly dog sniffs its bum (the dogs) then turns round, looking all butter wouldn’t melt on its hind legs with its creamy ermine tummy and brown back, then walks out again. There is only one word for it.

*Stoats also squeal when scared. I know this because I walked in on one in the chicken house when the chooks were following me in for their mash. Suffice to say. I was SCARED too. And that was not the stoat that walked up the steps across the verandah and into our LIVING ROOM the next day.

*Last October, a woman with short brown hair in a high collared purple coat came up to me outside the Miley Cyrus concert at the Vector Arena. Her lipstick was brown and her smile intent. ‘I’m from 62 Models,’ she began. I thought she must scouting one of my 14 year old charges. ‘We’re looking for interesting older women for our books. You have just the look. I spotted you….” I didn’t really hear much more after that. I was being old and getting flummoxed. I was flattered. I said no thank you. Daughter 14 seemed a bit put out. ‘Imagine coming to a concert looking for old people,’ she said. Imagine.

*If you’re in the radiology waiting room in North Shore hospital for an hour with your 81 year old dad, he might get up and say, ‘I think I’ll cash a cheque while I’m here.' That’s Alzheimers for you. It maybe time for me to stop using my chequebook.

*Sometimes nature presents possibilities that don’t involve rodents. The pretty pink roses pictured in Queenstown gardens for example. A perfect Sunday swimming pool complete with diving platform. And a head in a cloud.

* An amazing opportunity was presented to me on the, 15th December 2014 at 9.59 am precisely. It was an early Christmas presents of sorts that threw me into a spin. It involves a lifetime goal of mine and a character I created 8 years ago. I told my three children if I ever get a children’s book published I'll cartwheel nude across the lawn. I’ve gotten close, but never needed to get in the nuddy. That promise is definitely past it’s best before date. 

I’ll say no more because I’ve been superstitious ever since I was five and lay each night in my bedroom in Beresford St, Bayswater, listing the things I'd done that day in my head. My elder sister beside me not privy to the sinister wishes I hoped for myself if the bad things outweighed the good.

So I don’t want to jinx it. However, if my weekly blog posts are erratic (and they have been), it’s because my mind is tied up with characters and make believe. Elsewhere. 

It’s out with the old and in with the new in 2015. I love surprises and challenges as long as they don’t involve stoats and stings. I've got a big job ahead and along the way I hope I can return some of the kindnesses I’ve received in my writing life. I'm feeling so lucky.

I Made This Up

I've been working on a children’s book lately (one of many WIPs bulging out of my bottom drawers). Massaging this story into shape seems to have punched the pulp out of my gobby self-denigrating thought provoking blogger self. What to do? 

I didn’t want to write a half boring post on my go-to must-have all-time-fave sans-luminescent-sphere colour adapting tinted moisturizer - but it's Body Shop, All-In-One BB Cream in shade 02 if you're interested. Or how The H broke the Sky dish by throwing a large piece of carpet on it. True. Or how the cat pooed neatly on a towel in son 11's bedroom, then said towel was hung on the towel rail. NO.

Instead, I’m posting the first chapter of the aforementioned book. Critique it if you will. Nicely though, I have the skin of an old lady but the flesh of a ripe mango.

When I get this word-baby up to scratch I plan to publish it as an e-book and an audio book then sell the combo to my friends. You peeps out there with sons and daughters, nephews and nieces, friends and family members 10 years old and under. You have been warned.

Actually, sorry campers, I have removed the first chapter. Just decided to keep it under wraps. Take it to a higher papery place when it's ready. And it's not. So above is a pic of Spilt Milk softly sleeping - one very cool dog now the ripe old age of seventeen. Perspective.