Writelinkers Christmas 2012 by David Robinson

Christmas 2012

In This Issue

Writelinkers talks to Writelink founder, Sue Kendrick An interview with new kid on the publishing block, Crooked Cat All aboard the Santa Express with Ann Williams Diane Rayburn finds a Santa of a different shade And lots more in the annual magazine which you, the members write

ÂŠ Copyright, 2012 Writelink. No part of this ezine may be reproduced without permission.

Meet The Team Maureen Vincent-Northam has written seriously ever since Father Christmas left her a Petite typewriter. She wrote Trace your Roots and is the co-author of The Writer’s ABC Checklist. Her work has appeared in newspapers, magazines, anthologies and online. She‟s an editor with Crooked Cat Publishing and also a freelance copy editor (an absolute joy to work with – reasonable rates). Maureen writes regularly for markets aimed at writers, has tutored workshops, judged online writing contests and her story for 5-8 yearolds even won The Writers‟ Advice Centre for Children‟s Books 2008 competition. She‟s rubbish at cooking, works from her home office when not burning dinner, and can usually be found surrounded by empty chocolate wrappers. http://www.maureen-vincent-northam.co.uk Currently living in the South of England with her Family, Laurie is a former Community Nurse, Complementary Therapist and writer of fiction and poetry. Whilst Encounters is the first collection of her poetry to be published, Laurie is currently working on content for her second collection „Nuggets and Pearls‟. She has also had one short story published in the charity anthology „100 Stories for Queensland‟ under the name of Laurie Clayton. She was poetry editor for the Christmas edition of Writelinkers e-zine 2011 and again in 2012. An avid reader and reviewer of mainstream and indie books, her reviews are live on Amazon, Shelfari, Goodreads and of course her blog, The Accidental Poet David Robinson has been a writer ever since his teens, and is extensively published, mainly in small press magazines and on the Web. A trained hypnotherapist, a former adult-education teacher, after poor health forced early retirement in 2010, he turned to writing full time. An inveterate blogger and prolific novelist, after self-publishing 15 titles in 2011, he signed on with Crooked Cat Books and 2012 has seen him publish six titles, five of them in his popular STAC Mysteries series. Notoriously tight-fisted, often outspoken, his main weapon is a one-megaton sense of humour. He lives in Manchester with his wife of 32 years, and a barmpot Jack Russell named Joe. Find him at http://www.dwrob.com.

A Christmas Message from Sue It must be a sign of age, but Christmas seems to come rolling around a little quicker each year. I can hardly believe twelve months have gone by since the last issue of the Writelinkers Christmas magazine, but the calendar doesn‟t lie! Here we are again with another issue of festive stories, poems, recipes and quizzes all from the Writelink community Writer members and whipped into shape by our band of editors, David Robinson, Maureen Vincent-Northam and Laurie Clayton. It is due entirely to their hard work that the Christmas magazine wings its way into our inbox each year so a great big thank you to them! These are three very busy people so I for one am grateful that they are prepared to give up some of their time to put the magazine together for us. It‟s been a busy year for Writelink too. It took a lot of work, but we now have a new community site which has a completely re-vamped Arena for peer reviewing and is a huge improvement on its predecessors. Gone are rating systems and stringent technological controls. We now operate an honour system of reciprocal commenting which is working really well. As the site is so much easier to run, I now have time to be much more active and am able to take part in the Arena and have received a lot of help and encouragement on my resurrected fictionwriting career! If it is a while since you visited the site, take a look! http://www.writelink.co.uk Our regular writing challenges also have their own site and continue to attract a high standard of entries with the Christmas Chillers competition proving as always, very popular. http:// www.write-link-creative-writing-contests.com We set up a site dedicated to ebook publishing a couple of years back, but lack of time meant this has been languishing. I‟m pleased to say, Easy-Peasy eBooks is now back in business and is steadily building up a database of useful resources for epublishers. Researching and writing the new articles has been hugely informative and led me to publish my first fiction story on Kindle. It‟s an alternative Christmas read set in the Dark Ages, The Inbetween, http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/ was great fun to write and publish, why not use our epublishing tips and have a go yourself? http://www.howtowriteebooktips.com The Resources too have their own site so if you are looking for articles on creative or freelance writing, non-Writelink contests and jobs then Writelinkpro is for you! http:// www.writelinkpro.co.uk As I‟ve yet to write, (or buy) a Christmas card, never mind presents, I think its time to swap my pen for plastic and hit the shops! I hope you enjoy this magazine and let the editors know how much it is appreciated. Have a wonderful Christmas and much success in the New Year. Sue Kendrick

CONTENTS Meet the Team ..................................................................................................... 2 A Christmas Message from Sue .......................................................................... 3 A Christmas Tree Miracle by Jean Knill ............................................................. 5 FOREIGN ENCOUNTERS ANTHOLOGY: Writers Abroad ............................ 6 Christmas Eve: Diane Rayburn ........................................................................... 7 Up Close and Personal with SUE KENDRICK ............................................. 8&9 Unicorn Dreaming by Andy Jenkins ............................................................ … 10 Recipe: Harrods Wartime Christmas Cake from Diane Rayburn ..................... 11 The Traditions of Christmas: Jeanne Lawrence ......................................... 12&13 Acceptance: a poem by Laurie Clayton ............................................................ 13 Santa Express: Ann Williams ..................................................................... 14&15 Christmas Box: 1970 by Anne Stenhouse Graham ........................................... 16 THE ELVIS TEAPOT AND OTHER TALES: Mike Acton ............................. 16 TRACE YOUR ROOTS: Maureen Vincent-Northam ...................................... 17 New Year Quiz: devilishly devised by Mo ................................................. 18&19 An Interview with Crooked Cat Publishing ............................................... 20&21 Sudoku Puzzle: set by Laurie ............................................................................ 22 Sensing Christmas: Helen Meikle ..................................................................... 22 Absence: a poem by Marilyn Sylvester ............................................................. 23 Christmas Customs: Anne Graham ................................................................... 24 ENCOUNTERS: Laurie Clayton ...................................................................... 25 Holly and Old Ivy: a poem by Laurie Clayton .................................................. 25 Home for Christmas by Maureen Vincent-Northam ......................................... 26 Dark Green with Black Trim by Diane Rayburn .................................... 27,28,29 Photos: Paul Bell ............................................................................................... 29 Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend [extract] by David W Robinson ...... 30 MURDER AT THE MURDER MYSTERY WEEKEND: David W Robinson 31 Photo: Paul Bell ................................................................................................. 31 Merry Christmas: a poem by Jeanne Lawrence ................................................ 32 Mr. Snowman: a poem by Mary Mcphedran .................................................... 32 Photo: Paul Bell ................................................................................................. 32 CHRISTMAS MESSAGES FROM THE EDITORS ....................................... 33 The Answers Page – New Year Quiz and Sudoku solutions ............................. 34

A Christmas Tree Miracle By Jean Knill Sienna loved that Christmas tree. Ever since they had bought it for her fourth Christmas and planted it in a large pot that dwarfed it at the time, she had nurtured it in the garden once the festive season was over. She was always talking to it about how pretty it would be when Christmas came and they would take it indoors, dress it up with trinkets and sparkling lights, and pile the presents underneath. As the time drew near, she got more and more excited. But not this year. Karen couldn‟t bring herself to look at the tree, let alone bring it in to decorate it while her beautiful daughter lay in a hospital bed, breathing but unresponsive. Sienna‟s big brother Tony knew his father was going to buy him a new BMX bike, but they wouldn‟t be having the usual happy time without his little sister around. On Christmas morning, David and Tony went off to the hospital, while she quickly tidied the house, got the turkey in the oven and prepared the vegetables, so that she could follow them. She needed to spend her time with Sienna, although it was painful to watch the pale face on the pillow. A face that never changed, no matter what she said or did. She‟d find her mind rerunning the accident, blaming herself for not managing to stop her little girl from chasing that ball across the road. Sienna had been so intent on getting it back to the

little tot who was crying for it on the other side of the park railings. Karen relived the horror of the skid and the thump that lifted her daughter high in the air, and the crunch as the doll-like figure was deposited back on the ground. She saw it in Technicolor and heard it all in surround-sound over and over again. She even saw herself telling the ashen-faced driver it wasn‟t his fault, it was hers, as she cradled the apparently lifeless body of her child, unwilling even to give her up to the medics who arrived in the ambulance. Of course, Sienna didn‟t die, but it was as if she had. At 11 am, she parked her car and ran through the hospital corridors towards Sienna‟s room. Was that children singing Christmas carols? The sound brought the tears to her eyes. Was it coming from Sienna‟s room? At the door she stopped and looked around – at a room all decorated for Christmas, with their own sparkling tree in its pot on a table at the foot of the bed. It was surrounded by children from Sienna‟s class at school singing their little hearts out to the end of „Away in a Manger‟. “It was Tony‟s idea,” David said, coming forward and taking her hand as the children quietly filed out. Then the three of them stood together at the bedside and watched a miracle happen. Sienna opened her eyes and whispered, “Happy Christmas.”

Foreign Encounters: A New Anthology from Writers Abroad Online writing group Writers Abroad are proud to announce the publication of their new anthology, entitled Foreign Encounters. An encounter can be a chance meeting, a planned get-together or even a confrontation. This collection of stories, non-fiction articles and poems features a variety of foreign encounters: with family, friends, lovers, animals, cultures, or just with one‟s own prejudices and preconceptions. Foreign Encounters is the third anthology published by Writers Abroad, an online group of ex-pat writers. All the contributors are, or have been, ex-pats living in places around the globe. Author Julia Gregson, a former ex-pat whose bestselling novel East of the Sun won the Prince Maurice Prize for romantic fiction, has written the foreword. All proceeds from the sale of this book go to Books Abroad, a charity which coordinates the donation of free books for schools throughout the world. The charity celebrates its 30 th anniversary this year and has supplied over 1,600 schools with desperately-needed books. Foreign Encounters is available from Lulu, price €9.99 (approximately £8.00) http:// www.lulu.com/shop/writers-abroad/foreign-encounters/paperback/product-20450826.html. To find out more and for a complete list of contributions and authors, please go to the Writers Abroad website, http://www.writersabroad.com/ Writers Abroad was founded in 2009. It provides an online forum for ex-pat writers to exchange ideas, views and news on writing and to offer support and constructive feedback on each other‟s work. Membership numbers are limited but ex-pat writers may apply to join if they are able to support the group‟s initiatives and aims. http:// www.writersabroad.com/. For more about author Julia Gregson, see http://www.juliagregson.net/ For more about Books Abroad, see http://booksabroad.org.uk/ Contributors live in, and have written about, more than 50 countries across every continent.

Christmas Eve By Diane Rayburn Although it was a very long time ago, every Christmas Eve as I stand in the shower I slip back in time for a few moments and conjure up the combined smells of freshly laundered cotton sheets, coal fires, airing clothes and clouds of White Fire scented steam… Our Christmas always began on Christmas Eve afternoon. Mum would roll up her sleeves, re-lay and light the fire under the brick boiler in the corner of the scullery. She‟d fill it up with buckets of cold water, then bring in a couple of buckets of coal to keep the fires stoked up, and sort out clean towels, undies and nightclothes and drape them over the fireguard in front of the range in the kitchen. Shortly before Dad was due home from work, the boiler would be bubbling gently and she would put the kettle and three big saucepans on the gas stove. Then, with much clanging and swearing, drag in the big galvanized bath from its hook on the wall by the outside lavatory.

Laying newspapers on the floor and with cries of, „keep out of me way, I don‟t want you getting scalded and ending up in hospital for Christmas,‟ Mum would tip the first of the hot water in the bath. Then, adding some cold, would test the water with her elbow, because Elaine, my little sister, was the first to go in. The bath was topped up with more hotters for me, and then, while we were still wrapped in towels, Mum would get in and we‟d help her wash her long, black hair with Eve Shampoo. During the year, she used Vaseline shampoo, but the more expensive Eve had a picture of a woman with long dark hair just

like Mum on the front. The powder inside both brands looked and smelled the same, so it was probably only our imagination, and the glamour of the packaging, that Mum‟s hair, which was also black and long, had an extra sheen when she used it. As a special treat and only at Christmas, Mum would buy a bar of scented soap with matching bath cubes, tin of talcum powder or a minute bottle of perfume. Our favourite was White Fire, which smelled lovely and to our unsophisticated eyes, looked wickedly glamorous. As each of us got in the bath, she would drop in half a bath cube and what with the Eve shampoo and fancy soap, by the time Dad got in he used to say it was a good job he wouldn‟t be leaving the house for a couple of days, because he smelled like a woman of ill repute. Rubbed down with warm towels, sprinkled lavishly with talc, with a dab of White Fire behind each ear and in our clean nightie or pyjamas, we couldn‟t wait to put our stocking and pillowcase on the bottom of the bed, snuggle down with a hot water bottle under the clean sheets and wait for Father Christmas to come.

Up Close and Personal with Sue Kendrick. Sue is the mastermind, editor and driving force behind Writelink. A well-published writer, columnist and poet, Sue also runs workshops, dances, sings and helps run the family farm (though generally not all at the same time). What was the first piece you ever had published? Apart from a poem in the school magazine, which I don‟t remember much about, the first piece I had published to a wide audience was the winning entry to a short story competition. The contest was organised by the W.I. and sponsored by the long defunct Leicester Advertiser. The story was called Porcine Justice and was a rather grim tale involving pigs and a cruel farmer. It was published in the paper and my prize was a hideous trophy that looked like it had once been used to weigh out potatoes! What are your writing strengths and weaknesses? I think one of my strengths is writing to order, especially when I get an unexpected deadline. For some reason, after an initial bout of panic, inspiration usually steps in. One of my weaknesses is taking on more than I can cope with which means I‟m never fully satisfied with most things I write. What gave you the idea to launch Writelink? It just came about from organising my own collection of writing links and the challenge of creating a website. The web was very different in 2000 when it launched. The competition was far less fierce and it was quite easy for a site like Writelink to get quality traffic, which is what happened. Almost from the beginning, I kept getting requests to add updates and let people know when they were made – hence the newsletter. The problem arose when it all began to eat into my time to the extent I couldn‟t keep up with my paying jobs so that was when I made the decision to launch a subscription site. It cuts down the workload and recompenses me a little bit for my time.

How do you see it developing in the future? I like to think the members drive it so it will probably follow their interests. At the moment I‟m developing the Arena into a really useful resource which is already proving to be the best one we‟ve had. I‟m posting regularly myself which has got me writing fiction again and through the comments I‟ve received from other members I‟ve now got a couple of stories up to competition standard. As an editor, what’s the funniest / strangest proposal you’ve had? I can‟t think of any really funny proposals, but a very strange one I had was from someone who is quite well known for all the wrong reasons in the book publishing world who wanted me to give

him the Writelink newsletter list of 8,000 plus in return for links on his website and ebooks. Apart from this being strictly against the Writelink policy of sharing member data, he seemed to have forgotten that he owed us fifty quid in unpaid advertising! Six months later, he then had the cheek to try and book further advertising! Do you ever get writer’s block and how do you overcome it? Yes, but only if I‟m writing for myself. If it is a requested piece, which I‟m being paid for, I will always come up with the goods. I have quite a few unfinished stories due to writer‟s block, but having something to aim for helps, which is why the Arena is so useful as anyone who hasn‟t posted for one month is removed. What inspires you? All kinds of things. Music is particularly useful, especially ballad type songs as you can easily adapt the plot and the characters come almost fully formed. I also find unusual phrases can trigger a good story. Non-fiction articles are everywhere, but I usually make sure I‟ve got the illustrations before writing anything. How do you handle rejections? In the beginning, it used to cut me to the quick as you question your writing ability. The more you get published though you realise rejection is usually because you‟ve expected payment from a non -paying market, covered a subject they‟ve already done or just chose the wrong time of year. It‟s highly unlikely to be the quality of your work. Once you realise this, it really doesn‟t rankle much. Also, the more you write, the more you will get regular commissions or even a column which is what I have. Once this happens you work with the editor to write for specific issues, which means you don‟t get rejections. I only get rejections now if I try to break into a new market and haven‟t researched it properly. Do you have a writing routine or a special place to write? I have an office where I do the admin for our engineering and farming business. I also write here, but I will sometimes write fiction in the house on a laptop, as I can‟t bear interruptions from telephones or people coming in asking questions. As for routine, I generally do all writing and admin work in the mornings, but this will depend on the time of year and has to fit around the farming jobs. What are your personal writing goals? I‟m just about to reach one goal by publishing a collection of my poetry! It‟s been very time consuming, but it suddenly hit me that working on computers and having scattered copies of them around the house put them in danger of being lost forever. Not sure anyone would mind that, but I would so they will shortly be available in book form which will be given to a few friends and my immediate family. I will also put together a collection of short stories for the same reason, but not until after Christmas. Long term, I would like to think I will eventually write a novel as I‟ve lots of ideas, but at the moment not enough time to devote to it. What three character traits best describe you? You probably ought to ask someone else about this as I‟m probably too vain to be honest! (So there‟s one!). Curiosity is another, I suppose as I‟m always diving down interesting alleys, (metaphorical) and I‟m an incurable optimist, which makes me a poor listener when people bang on about their illnesses, awful day, rotten job etc. etc.

Unicorn Dreaming By Andy Jenkins In the middle of a snow-covered forest glade, lit by a silver moon, I sat on a unicorn‟s back. What on earth am I doing here, I asked myself. How can this be? This unicorn can‟t possibly exist and if it did, it would certainly not have suffered the indignity of having someone like me sit on it. Out of politeness, I dismounted and went round to the unicorn‟s face and looked it in the eye. „What am I doing here?‟ I asked. „In fact, what are you doing here?‟ The unicorn did not reply. Perhaps it couldn‟t speak. Or was it thinking? I gave it a while to consider its response. While I waited I ran the palm of my hand down its muzzle, feeling the coarse hair beneath my fingertips and the warmth of its breath on my face. The head turned slightly so that it could better see me from one of its wild eyes. „Listen,‟ I said. „I have a problem with this. You are a myth. I am real. Myths and reality don‟t belong together. At least one of us should not be here.‟ The unicorn swished its tail and continued to keep its own counsel. It appeared not to have the power of speech after all – which when I thought about it didn‟t seem very magical. Magical or not, it was obvious that if myth and reality could not coexist it would be better if I left. I turned my back on the unicorn and began walking towards the edge of the clearing, with the intention of walking right out of the forest and back to wherever it was I had come from. But when the unicorn started to follow, I stopped. It didn‟t un-

derstand. I needed to explain. „Listen, we cannot both be here. One of us is in the wrong place.‟ It was no use. Each time I made to leave, it followed. After the fourth attempt I grabbed the horn on its head and lead it back to the middle of the clearing. It simply was not working. I needed to leave this place and the unicorn behind. Or did I? Was I asking the right question? Did it really matter what on earth either of us was doing there? Wouldn‟t it be better to ask how we got there? If we knew that, we would know how to get back to wherever it was we had come from. But what if I didn‟t want to go back? What if I was enjoying the journey? I looked the unicorn right in the eye once more. „You‟re right,‟ I said. „It doesn‟t matter one jot. I‟m through asking questions.‟ I walked around to the side of the beast and climbed onto its back and we set off together, into the trees. For the first time, free of the need to reason or question, I noticed how sweet the air tasted and how tempting the snow-clad forest looked.

Harrods Wartime Christmas Cake Diane Rayburn Twenty years ago I had my own business buying and selling antiques and collectables. Part of the job involved clearing out the houses of people that had died. The following recipe is one that I found tucked into the back of a drawer. It is written in ink on thick blue writing paper and has somehow survived three house moves. It disappears and then every so often turns up again. It wasn‟t until the other day when it popped up amongst a pile of old bank statements, that I finally copied the recipe and marvelled at the richness of the ingredients, although they‟re more basic than we use today. I suspect rich people did a little better obtaining ingredients. Thanks to rationing, when they wanted a wedding cake for my mother‟s wedding, the best my mum and gran could manage by 1943 was a small sponge cake covered by a pretend iced cake made of cardboard. Notice there is no sugar in the recipe, so I imagine it would be suitable for diabetics... Half a pound of butter or margarine Three quarters of a pound of flour One tablespoon of marmalade One teaspoonful of baking powder One teaspoonful of Bicarbonate of Soda One teaspoonful of mixed spice One teaspoonful of cinnamon One teaspoonful of lemon essence One teaspoonful of almond essence One teaspoonful of vanilla essence Half teaspoonful of salt Two pounds of mixed dried fruit

4 eggs or the equivalent of dried eggs reconstituted with water 4 tablespoons of milk, brandy, or honey METHOD: Cream the butter Beat in the eggs gradually Stir in the flavourings Stir in the flour, baking powder, bicarb, and spices. Add the salt Add the milk, brandy, or honey mixing it in well. Stir in the marmalade Stir in the dried fruit Line a cake tin with greaseproof paper before pouring in the mixture. Set the oven, if you have enough gas pressure, at 350 degrees F (Gas mark 4) and bake for one and a half hours. Then lower the temperature to 300 degrees F (Gas mark 2) and bake for a further one and a half hours. And I don‟t know what you were expected to do if you didn‟t have enough gas pressure!

THE TRADITIONS OF CHRISTMAS By Jeanne Lawrence The word Christmas has its origins in „Cristes Mæsse‟, the mass of Christ. Long before December 25th became the date for the Christian celebration, people rejoiced in the hope that the darkest days were past and new life was beginning. Yule was the Anglo Saxon word for light. The promise of the coming of light, after the dark days of Winter, was celebrated with the lighting of fires and candles. They were left burning throughout the darkest twelve days of the year, December 21st to January 1st, the days we call the twelve days of Christmas. On December 25th the yule log was lit from the remains of the last year‟s log, saved from the previous year to guard the house against fire and lightning. After the log burnt out, the remaining ashes were scattered outside as a symbol of the continuation of life. We continue this tradition with our Christmas candles and a Yule log in some homes. Father Christmas, or Santa Claus, is how we know Saint Nicholas, the Patron Saint of children. He was canonized because of his love for poor children and the help he gave to them. His special day is December 6th, the day he was born in a small town in Greece which is now in Southern Turkey. Many stories surround him, his generosity to

the poor and his love of children. It is said that his companion was an elf named Ruprecht, a close name to Rudolf, and elves figure in many customs. In Russia an elf-maiden, dressed in white, delivered presents to the children if they sang for her. In Denmark and Norway the children believed that elves lived in the hidden cracks of their houses and came out on December 6th to leave presents for everyone. We now associate elves with Santa‟s workshop. The sending of Christmas cards dates back to 1843. Sir Henry Cole, General Superintendant of the Victoria and Albert Museum, commissioned John Calcott Horsley to make him a greetings card because he was too busy to greet all his friends. The card was not popular because it depicted a family saluting Christmas with drinks; this was considered an offensive religious symbol and not suitable for children. The following year Christmas cards became the superior way to greet friends. The words on that first card are still the main ones used today.

Will the tradition of mailed Christmas cards be lost? Set around the home they are a lovely reminder of family

and friends, especially if they live at a distance. But this may well become a thing of the past with the advent of electronic cards. It is possible to print these out, but how many people will bother to do that? Like emails, electronic cards will be gone forever. Holly and ivy represent the evergreen symbol of summer life in the bleakness of mid-winter. Holly is the male and ivy the female and placed together they represent hope and fertility. Holly may also represent the crown of thorns worn by Jesus. Mistletoe was once considered a sacred plant; in fact it is a parasite. In Victorian times, it represented the bestowal of fertility and was the plant of peace. A kiss under the mistletoe is still a symbol of happiness, love, and fun. These are traditions that continue in many families along with their own special ones.

Acceptance By Laurie Clayton

Denounce me not, for lack of faith should I fail to follow yours, for I have faith in all around to steer a steady course. Condemn me not, for differences of opinion, colour, creed; nor slate me for my choices in the things that I believe. Convict me not, for following ways you consider to be sham, nor criticise my honesty when discovering who I am. Accuse me not of floundering amidst a faithless sea, of sheltering 'neath Satan's cloth, should I cite the Wiccan Reade. Deny me not, my destiny within this grand design, for I am of Humanity, and my faith is not a crime. I believe in all creation, love of soul and purity of heart: in Mother Nature's blessings and the bounty she imparts.

Laugh Lines Every calendar's days are numbered. Are Santa's helpers subordinate clauses? Why did the police stop Santaâ&#x20AC;&#x;s sleigh? He had a fairy light out at the back.

My choices are made freely, just as yours are plain to see. Though I accept you as you are... can you say the same of me?

Santa Express Ann Williams Time was when a visit to Santa involved joining a queue snaking through the toy department of the nearest department store or maybe a static display in a shopping centre. Now Santa seems to prefer to keep us on our toes setting up shop on canal boats or steam trains, even in ancient caves or forests.

fering good opportunities for photographs with Santa, too. A few, however, expect people to queue either before or after their train ride to see Santa in a platform grotto. This long wait queuing in the cold or wet with highly excited but frustrated youngsters is to be avoided where possible.

Here it is necessary for every member of the party to have a ticket, not just the younger members and the whole experience can be pretty pricey. Over the past six or seven years we have tried just about every heritage railway Santa experience within reach of family members and have discovered there is much to consider when choosing which to support.

How long is the actual train ride? This is important if the gifts are being dispensed on board as clearly this takes time. One train, with only a quarter mile of track available, shunted up and down several times until all gifts were dispensed.

Where will the gift giving take place? Most organisers have Santa and his elf helpers strolling their way through the train giving out the gifts. One operator took the option of taking the children for a private audience with Santa who was ensconced in the guardâ&#x20AC;&#x;s van, of-

Meanwhile, on a parallel track an engine loosely disguised as a sleigh with reindeer shunted up and down alongside giving the pretence of travelling with Santa. Result? Some very uncomfortable feelings of motion sickness. What refreshments are provided and again, where are they dispensed?

Coping with a hot cup of tea or coffee along with a crumbling mince pie when in charge of over-excited children could be a recipe for disaster yet is a common choice. A few companies have taken to giving out alcoholic miniatures leaving it to the individual to decide when to consume it, ideal if you are a driver. Children seem universally to be provided with orange squash and biscuits. For what ages are gifts provided, both the lower and upper limit? Under 2â&#x20AC;&#x;s are often ignored although a few companies will give out a gift you provide yourself so that Santa doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x;t appear to ignore younger siblings. What time of day to choose? Our choice was always for a trip fairly late in the day, especially with a steam engine as this can look magical against a night sky. Our ideal is for the trip itself in daylight to see the countryside as you pass by and ending at dusk. For our family the train ride made the day memorable. The gifts were generally good value and the enthusiasm of the volunteers staffing the events kept us going back for more.

Laugh Lines Who's the bane of Santa's life? The elf and safety officer. The 3 stages of man: 1) He believes in Santa Claus. 2) He doesn't believe in Santa Claus. 3) He IS Santa Claus!

CHRISTMAS BOX: 1970 By Anne Stenhouse Graham “What are you going to do with the tips then, Jenny?” Terry asked the Saturday girl as he helped her stack towels. The extra money meant a lot in hairdressing. “My dad says it should see him through to New Year,” she whispered and concentrated on squaring corners. Terry knew better than to pursue it. Some men only let daughters stay on at school if they handed over the money from their Saturday job. “But if I had a Fairy Godmother,”Jenny said, and he heard the catch in her voice, “I‟d buy some white boots.” “Attract a special somebody‟s eye, would they?” Determination surged through the girl and straightened her drooping shoulders. “No, Mr Mancini, I‟d like them,” she said, “and I‟ve worked hard for them.” She had, he thought. As he began to close up the shop early that afternoon, Jenny‟s dad arrived and came right in. “Okay, there Terry,” the man blustered. “Heard the Christmas Box

was bulging so I thought I‟d help my girl carry her share home.” “You needn‟t have bothered. The Saturday girl only gets a percentage.” Ignoring the outraged gasps of his staff, he handed Jenny her wages and two crumpled pound notes. Silently the girl passed them to her dad who stared at him, but left without another word. Terry took a crisp fiver out of his pocket and gave it to Jenny. “Make sure you wear the boots on the way home,” he said.

This story was the winning entry in Writelink’s Tinsel Tales competition 2011

The Elvis Teapot and Other Tales A Writelink member, Mike Acton has been writing for more than thirty years and has had several short stories published. He self published a collection of his stories in 2009 as The Elvis Teapot and Other Tales. A film script written from one of his tales reached the latter stages of the prestigious Kaos Fil Competition in 2010. Amazon http://www.amazon.co.uk/Elvis-Teapot-Other-Tales/dp/1849233950/ref=sr_1_1? s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1353083176&sr=1-1

Trace Your Roots By Maureen Vincent-Northam Families are not just for Christmas… But it‟s often at this time of year when we get together, reminisce, and wonder about family members we never met. Maureen Vincent-Northam spent over ten years as a family history researcher helping scores of people worldwide to link up with their ancestors. Her fascination with the past, and a bent for detective work, led to her involvement in genealogy and to writing her book Trace your Roots. Trace your Roots, invaluable to all budding genealogists, is often light-hearted, never dull and boring, and offers the most effective ways to trace your family tree.       

Learn how to gather background information Read between the lines when tackling civil resources Get the most from parish records Know the secrets of digging deeper into your ancestors‟ past Decipher old documents the easy way Discover the most useful websites and addresses Learn pidgin Latin!

Described as „a real gem‟, here‟s what people are saying about Trace your Roots: ‘Very accessible and full of sensible advice.’ (Society of Genealogists)

‘…beautifully laid out with clear and precise instructions; chatty without being patronising, helpful without being bossy…’ (Amazon) ‘Maureen’s humour shines through and makes a serious subject fun to read.’ (Amazon) ‘Ms Vincent-Northam writes in a style that is at once easy to read and entertaining…’ (Amazon) ‘Trace Your Roots is not only helpfully informative, but extremely interesting too.’ (Amazon) ‘The author clearly knows her subject area…’ (Amazon)

Trace your Roots: know your genealogy and explore your family tree. Blogging here http://trace-yourroots.blogspot.co.uk/ Amazon link http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trace-YourRoots-Genealogy-Greatest/ dp/1907906118/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

New Year Quiz Set by Mo Don your party hat, grab a sausage roll and take our New Year‟s Eve Quiz. The party atmosphere doesn‟t come any more spectacularly exciting than this. Well, it does, but this is cheaper. How well will you do? Answers are on page 34. Q 1: What does ‘auld lang syne’ mean? Times gone by Chuck another Mars in the fryer Let old friends sing Q 2: Who were the first to ‘invent’ New Year’s resolutions? The Ancient Egyptians The Babylonians Weightwatchers Q 3: Which place was the last to celebrate the new millennium on 1st January 2000? Antarctica Oldham Hawaii Q 4: What food is traditionally eaten in Holland on New Year’s Day? Doughnuts Cheese Lamb Q 5: To ward off bad luck, what activity should you NOT do during the Chinese New Year? Use knives Wear red Watch a Bruce Lee movie Q 6: What do New Year’s revellers in Spain do when the clocks strike midnight? Pick oranges Eat a load of grapes Light candles

Q 7: Which of these foods does NOT symbolise a financially affluent year ahead? Cabbage Lentils Mince pies Q 8: If you were superstitious, which would you NOT eat at New Year? Lobster Onion A pork pie passed its sell-by date Q 9: Which country celebrates New Year’s by burning effigies of ‘Jack Straw’? Sweden Belgium Hungary Q 10: Which country refers to New Year’s Eve as Hogmanay? Wales Scotland Ireland Q 11: Why should you shout and make lots of noise on New Year’s Eve? To get your own back on the neighbours To scare away the ghoulies It‟s cheaper than fireworks Q 12: What is required of a ‘First Footer’ to ensure good luck in the year ahead? That the person is male That they are dark That they do not use a key

Laugh Lines Bert aged 25: My wife's an angel. Don aged 57: You‟re lucky, mine is still alive. Why does rain drop, but snow fall? (Nobody can answer this conundrum)

An Interview With Crooked Cat Publishing Steph Patterson, a one-time member of the Writelink community, now runs Crooked Cat along with husband, Laurence. What made you decide that now was a good time to start out in publishing? The publishing world is changing fast as new technologies open up unexpected possibilities. Having followed the industry for years, both in a fiction context as well as academic, the time seemed right to start up a venture that provides unpublished authors of quality fiction with an opportunity to get published. Initially intending to publish electronically only, we soon discovered that our authors could reach a wider readership through publishing paperback print on demand books. What’s behind the name: ‘Crooked Cat’? The name is derived from an old British nursery rhyme: There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile, He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile. He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse. And they all lived together in a little crooked house Are decisions jointly made, if not who mostly wins the arguments!? Ooh, a trick question! Yes, we discuss everything formally, but some decisions are made individually. We work closely with our authors when it comes to cover ideas, blurb and, of course, edits. What are yours, and Laurence’s favourite genres? Laurence‟s favourite genres are thriller and detective, but he also enjoyed reading the submissions for our charity collection, the two-part FEAR anthology. And he has an eye for catchy chick lit! My preferred genres are murder mysteries and historical novels, perhaps not surprisingly. If they contain a dash of romance, I‟m happy. My serious side prefers contemporary fiction with a strong social theme. Are there any genres you wouldn’t publish? We are fairly open-minded, however, genres we don‟t plan on publishing anytime soon are erotica, sci-fi and non-fiction. We also decided not to go for children‟s books at the moment, although we have one title in our list. What’s the best thing about running Crooked Cat? The variety of pretty much everything. Our authors stem from all over the world.

You discover different cultures, different experiences. It‟s a wonderful mix. The buzz of selling books is encouraging. And the greatest challenge? Release time. Uploading files following careful layout edits are always challenging. A minor mistake could lead to unexpected delays. We tend to upload our books well in time before the actual release day, so we can ensure everything is as it should be on the author‟s big day. Have you had any really bizarre author submissions? Yes, we certainly had our share of those. We cannot stress enough that authors should always check publishers‟ submission guidelines. Many fall at that first hurdle, and often it is unnecessarily so. Has seeing the publishing industry from the ‘other side’ influenced your own writing? Yes, it definitely has, especially in terms of what modern technology can achieve. Not just uploading files and sharing them almost instantly (well, within 12 hours or so) with the world, but also where your novels are enjoyed. E-readers are on the rise, smartphones are equipped with reading programmes. Readers no longer have to wander to a bookshop to buy a novel – they can enjoy it within minutes of the click of a mouse. That doesn‟t mean I don‟t like bookshops. I love them! (A rarely known fact about me is that I once ran a shop where I sold, amongst other things, second hand books.) What advice would you give to aspiring authors? First of all, write, then edit. And edit again. And again. Have another person read your manuscript critically, so choose a fellow writer, or a student on your course, or a member of your critique group. When you‟re finally ready to submit, ensure you follow the publisher‟s guidelines. Should you receive a rejection, note down any points raised (if any), address your manuscript – and try again. Don‟t give up!

http://www.crookedcatbooks.com/index.php?route=common/home

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Solution page 34

Sensing Christmas Helen Meikle

their weirdly synchronised shriek... and kookaburras greeting the sun at an unkindly early hour.

There are pawpaws on the trees next door, now – although the squabble of fruit bats suggests you‟ll need to be quick to nobble them for your Christmas fruit salad. Plenty of mangos, though. Their rich, ripe smell sneaks out through the door of the fruit shop and hangs in the heavy air. And on the road beside the river, the red of the Christmas bush is deepening to glowing crimson.

Christmas is coming. Yeah yeah, you say. Christmas musak in the shops, toy sales on telly, tinsel festooned like rabid fungus on everything from dog food to diamonds – you’d have to be a hermit to miss it. Well yes, these things do tend to whoosh over hermits‟ heads. But then again, while you‟ve been wrangling the turkeys and dodging the Santas with cottonwool beards, I‟ve been rescuing Christmas beetles from Death by Reading Lamp and listening to crickets

blitzing the warm, lazy dusk... and cicadas shattering the heat of the day with

But best of all, the gardenias are out… which means that summer is has truly arrived, and Christmas will be here in a heartbeat.

So you see, hermits aren‟t totally unworldly. We do get the picture. It‟s just that we see it from a different angle.

Absence By Marilyn Sylvester The white covered landscape looks empty, akin to words left unwritten on a blank page, after page. You can still appreciate the arresting hush, before a thickening snowfall. It heightens the spirit brings close the absence to otherness. It proceeds to blot and distance the familiar tree that stands alone in a field. Your eyes drift to the sky pointing evergreens: heavily endowed with ermine - a majestic embracing. It is still wondrous to see apparitional flecks descend: each one a unique patterned star. A short lived DNA from nowhere, gathering whiteness to whiteness, until they fade, anonymously. This poem was written to celebrate the naming of Tomas Transtrรถmer as the Nobel laureate for literature at the end of 2011.

Christmas Customs Anne Graham Most families have Christmas traditions. They creep into the collective psyche when you aren‟t paying a lot of attention and before you know it – because they happened twice – well, they‟re a tradition. In my extended family, on the husband‟s side, it‟s a card game called Racing Demon. A date is selected during Christmas week: that part of the process is almost worthy of the name tradition in its own right. Some cousins are students and have student type hotel and bar work. One non-student is a barman and earns double-time plus good tips on Hogmanay. One non student is up from London and has a social life to equal any celebrity‟s. One non-student is a TV sports reporter. Guess when his busiest time is? So wearing out the internet, we settle on a date, but two folk will be late-ish and one might have to leave early. Oh, and by the way, Mum, it‟ll need to be a meal and not soup and sandwiches this year because it‟s in the late afternoon. Right then, a meal for sixteen just after doing Christmas Dinner. The table is fully extended. The packs of cards distributed. Racing Demon is a get rid of your pack game and you score by being the quickest person to cover, for example, a Heart Ace with a heart two. So the lighting is crucial. And the lighting is differential throughout the room, so everybody moves after each round.

Is this family a trifle competitive? If you trifle, you‟ll get nowhere. Keeping up? I‟ll just miss this round while I put the pies in the oven. The youngest player is now ten, but he gets a handicap enabling him to compete on a level playing field. The oldest player has just celebrated her ninetieth birthday. She does not move along and her score never varies. “I think I have thirteen,” she says, ignoring the incredulous looks all round and any attempt to count the cards remaining in her hand. They‟ve almost got the date sorted for this season. The niece-in-law who has won twice out of the three times she‟s played, has a new baby. Might not be enough of a handicap to see the trophy go north. Yes, we have a trophy, but we are not competitive. Oh no. Only don‟t trifle and expect to survive. In the summer, it‟s croquet...

Laugh Lines What do you get when you cross a vampire and a snowman? Frostbite. Punishment for children who no longer believe in Father Christmas. They get clothes for Christmas.

Encounters Laurie Clayton Written in response to a perceived need for „reader friendly‟ poetry that omits the oftenused obscure, introspective imagery personal to the poet and replaces it with a clear, open and honest imagery that taps into the Universal language of human emotion. From the unconditional love for a newborn baby through to the darker aspects of abuse, from nights of passion through to the testing of one‟s faith, Encounters shines the spotlight on areas of life experienced by many, to a greater or lesser degree. Encounters is about imagery and more importantly, the emotions evoked when reading the poems, be that love, hope, peace, hate, discomfort or laughter. In addition to the more serious poems, there are those designed to look at the lighter side of life and those that form a „snapshot‟ of an emotion. From the frustrations of computers that don‟t work, to those fleeting moments that cause your heart to skip a beat; that first flirtation or crush. Encounters has something for everyone, not just the poetically minded.

Amazon link http://www.amazon.co.uk/Encounters-L-JClayton/dp/147161591X/ref=sr_1_7? s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1354383357&sr=17

Holly & Old Ivy Laurie Clayton As Holly and Old Ivy sat around the Christmas tree, Old Ivy said to Holly „Goodness gracious! Can you see? The Snowman has no clothes on, look, he‟s positively bare. You‟d think he‟d be embarrassed to have people stand and stare. „I can‟t quite see who‟s making out, beneath the Mistletoe, but one thing is for certain, they‟re giving quite a show. I‟ll wager it‟s that Jenny Wren, such a flighty little miss, prepared to flit and flirt about, with the promise of a kiss.‟ „I don‟t see what the problem is‟ said Holly with despair. „It isn‟t likely you‟ve missed out, I bet you‟ve had your share, of all the fun and frolics that in Yuletide can be found, especially when you‟re cosseted and snow‟s been thick upon the ground. „I‟ve seen the way that you entwine with everyone you meet and when you get a stranglehold, you really can‟t be beat. So before you cast aspersions on those having a good time remember all those parties past, where you didn‟t tow-the-line.‟

Home for Christmas Maureen Vincent-Northam I stood on the dimly lit platform and looked up to where the snow covered the hills beyond. The guard blew his whistle and the train pulled away, the steam lifting to reveal shoppers, their packages spilling contents while their over-excited children danced about them. Hoisting my bag onto my back, I elbowed my way through the throng towards the exit. Walking away from the station and along the village street, I revelled in the clean air, the welcoming glow from the houses I passed and the sound of the chapel organ echoing through the still evening. It had been a long time. The lane that led to the cottage already had a thick covering of white and as I made my way up the incline, my heart beat faster, nervous now at the prospect of seeing Megan again. The place was in darkness apart from the string of coloured lights around the tiny Christmas tree that sat, as it always did, in the parlour window. Standing under the rowan tree, its cherry-red berries capped with snow, I waited. I recalled the laughter of those earlier Christmas Eves with Megan and Janie. I‟d wasted so much time, missed so much by staying away. Suddenly the door opened, throwing muted yellow light along the garden path. An old dog loped towards me wagging its feathered tail. Surely not the puppy we‟d taken in? And then she appeared. For a moment, she looked startled, then took a few steps towards

me. My beautiful Megan; a little older, yes, and with a strand or two of silver running through her dark hair, but still my Meg. We said nothing. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and I wondered then how I could ever have left her. “Mum! What are you doing – for goodness sake, it‟s freezing out there.” Janie? All grown up and just as bossy as ever. “I‟m coming, dear.” Megan turned back to the house. “It‟s just that… well, he said he‟d be home for Christmas and, for a moment, I thought…” “Oh, Mum. That was years ago. The war‟s over now, Dad isn‟t ever coming back.” Megan called to the dog. I looked down at my feet but his were the only footprints in the snow. She looked at me one last time and smiled. “But you did, didn‟t you, cariad,” Megan whispered. “You did come home.”

Laugh Lines What do you call people who are frightened of Santa? Claustraphopic. What do you get if you team Santa with a detective? Santa Clues!

Dark Green with Black Trim By Diane Rayburn „Get off!‟ Moira shouted. He was always creeping up behind her when she had her head in the cupboard. In answer, a second hand joined the first and, tugging her away from the cupboard, began to gently massage her ribs. She felt his warm breath on her cheek and shivered as his lips investigated her ear and his soft, curly beard tickled her neck. „Silly thing,‟ she croaked as his warm tongue began to trace wet patterns in her ear. „Fancy dressing up as Father Christmas. Whose idea was that?‟ She glanced down at the hands curling possessively around her waist… Green? Since when did Father Christmas wear green? And that wasn‟t her husband Gerry‟s hand. Twisting in his arms, she turned around and shrieked, „You‟re not Gerry! What‟s a snowman doing in my kitchen? It‟s not snowing. You were kissing me. Ugh! ‟ Moira desperately grabbed a tea towel and began scrubbing her ear. „Didn„t you like it?‟ smiled the stranger. „Oh very funny!‟ Moira was exasperated. Gerry only had friends who were on their own and down on their luck. He was fond of pronouncing that if you couldn‟t show a bit of kindness to your fellow man then you didn‟t deserve to live. Consequently, at times like Christmas, they always had a houseful of strays, but she had never seen this one before – and what about the rapidly melting snowman?

„I suppose you‟re another of Gerry‟s lost sheep?‟ „Do I look like a lost sheep?‟ „You look ridiculous. Whose idea was the fancy dress?‟ she asked. „Don‟t you like it?‟ „Oh please. A dark green, with black fur trim, Santa suit? With your black hair and beard you look like a negative.‟ „But better looking you have to admit,‟ he smiled. „That is unless you particularly wanted a fat old man smelling of reindeer, with a red nose and cheeks that match his outfit?‟ Negative or not, at six foot, green eyed, slim and with that lovely black hair, Moira grudgingly agreed he was by far the better option; and he smelt nice: a sort of heathery smoky fresh air smell, with a just a hint of lemon and musk. „Don‟t look so desperate,‟ he said. „I‟m here to give you your Christmas presents.‟ With her ear still moist and tingling, Moira wouldn‟t care to call how she was feeling desperate, but managed to pull herself together and said „That is kind but you shouldn‟t have, you‟re probably short of funds… I‟ll pop it under the Christmas tree and open it after lunch.‟ In two lithe strides, he barred her way to the kitchen door. „But you must have it now,‟ he said. Moira clutched her hands to her chest and nervously waited for him to hand her the present, but he didn‟t. Instead, he leant against the kitchen door, held out his arms and said, „Come on

then.‟ Moira‟s blood ran cold. The house was silent and still. It was too quiet. Where was the chatter and laughter that gave her no peace when his friends were here? „What have you done?‟ she whispered. „Just held up time for a wee while so we aren‟t interrupted.‟

Moira sank to her knees. „Oh my God, you‟re going to rape me!‟ she wailed. He moved swiftly away from the door and lifted her to her feet. „Rape? No, no, you‟ve got the wrong end of the stick. I‟m different I‟ll grant you that, but honestly, I‟m as gentle as a kitten. Her thoughts flashed to the ginger farm kitten they had tried to give a home to last year. Untamable, the vet had said. She and Gerry still had the scars to prove it. „Look,‟ he said, „I can‟t hold time forever. Can we get on with it?‟ „On with what?‟ Moira began to cry. „Hush now.‟ He patted her awkwardly on the back. „You‟re supposed to be enjoying this. You did wish for it when you visited Limerick. You‟re a very lucky girl, you know. Very few humans manage to catch, or in your case, sit on, a leprechaun and keep him pinned down until the wish is complete. They‟re slippery little devils normally. Anyway, here I am, your tall, dark, rich Father Christmas.‟ He held out a small leather pouch.

„Here are the riches. It‟s only one coin, but Leprechaun gold never runs out. It re-appears as soon as you‟ve spent it, but I have to apologise for the snowman. I couldn‟t find a snowball‟s chance in hell. They melted too quickly.‟ He glanced over at the snowman which by now was an anonymous blob of grey, runny sludge. „Not that he‟s doing that much better. Now, we don‟t have too much time for the final part of your wish, so dry your eyes and let‟s get on with it.‟ He tugged at his trousers. „It‟s very uncomfortable being this shape. How do humans put up with it?‟ Moira did remember Limerick. There had been an awful row because as they were about to go there for the day an old friend of Gerry‟s had turned up, and her darling husband had insisted on taking him along. The lovingly prepared picnic of brown bread, smoked salmon and lemon cheesecake she‟d sweated buckets making the day before, and the bottle of wine with two crystal glasses had all been wasted. The two friends had chucked the food down their throats and drunk from the bottle whilst they made sly references to long ago girl students. She remembered throwing the empty wine bottle at them. She also recalled showering all sorts of curses on her thankless husband‟s head and calling for all sorts of changes in her life, but a beautiful Father Christmas dressed in green, who was the best ever at sucking ears? Or failing to notice she was sitting on something other than grass; something that probably squirmed? It had to be a joke. She gave a final sob and began to

pull herself together. This… person, whoever he was, was flesh and blood. With her cheek pressed to his chest, she could feel the steady thud of his heart. It was one of Gerry‟s childish pranks. Any minute now, he and his pals would come bursting through the door laughing their silly heads off, although how this stranger had managed to make her feel as if she was cocooned, and the rest of the world a long way away, she couldn‟t guess. Moira looked up and Santa smiled down. She found herself thinking that a girl could drown in those eyes, and then thought why not? After all, it was Christmas; a girl was entitled to a bit of fun and if Gerry was sniggering behind the door then serves him right. Relaxing and sighing contentedly as they tried to avoid the widening puddle, which by now was all that remained of the snowman, she tucked her head under his chin, and snuggled into the curve of his body. „So, I sat on a Leprechaun? I hope I didn‟t flatten the dear little fellow,‟ she said. „Now Santa, show me what you find so uncomfortable about the human shape.‟

Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend A STAC Mystery by David W Robinson In the following extract, it’s the night before New Year’s Eve. Joe and the gang are staying at the Twin Spires Hotel in Lincoln and Joe has just stepped out for a smoke. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained cloudy. Several hundred yards away, the twin towers of the cathedral were lit up, glowing across the dull sky like a beacon. Light traffic passed the front of the hotel, and from further along the street came the sound of revellers from a pub or disco. Joe felt a sudden sense of peace. He spent most of his life in a state of semipermanent irritation, caused mostly by the pressures of long hours and maintaining a viable business. It was an attitude that could have done so much to leave him friendless, but he was not. The members of the Sanford 3rd Age Club were his friends; even the antagonists like Les Tanner, would be there if he needed support, and that gave him the feeling of calm and belonging so often denied others, particularly single men and women over the Christmas and New Year period. The click of heels on the tiles distracted his attention. He turned to find Robbie lighting a cigarette. “All right, son?” Joe asked. Robbie scowled. “If you must know, no, I‟m not all right.” Joe blew a thin cloud of smoke out into the night. “Curious. Listening to your boss, I thought everything in the Grimshaw Kitchens garden was coming up roses.” “For him, yes. And for that bitch

Naomi Barton.” “She‟s the good looking, dark-haired woman who was with him at the bar?” Robbie nodded. “The good looking, dark-haired woman who‟s opening her legs for him.” “Ah. I see.” Robbie drew on his cigarette. “I hear you run your own business. Do you favour your employees for sleeping with you?” Joe laughed. “If Sheila Riley heard you say that, she‟d cut off your wedding tackle. And Brenda Jump… well, never mind. No, son, I don‟t favour employees who sleep with me, for the simple reason that my employees don‟t sleep with me. We‟re very old fashioned about such things in Sanford. Besides, I run a café, not a kitchen company.” Joe turned and stubbed out his cigarette, dropping it in the wallmounted receptacle. Taking in Rob‟s angry features, he guessed the younger man was in a mood to get it off his chest. “So, what‟s the problem? Is Naomi leapfrogging you by offering her favours to Reggie?” “He‟s ready for retiring, old Reggie,” Robbie explained. “Wendy keeps pestering him to pack it in. That means one of us, either me or Naomi, will take over as sales director. I have seniority. Fifteen years I‟ve been with Grimshaws. Started when I was 21 as a sales rep, worked like a dog. Always on target, never took a day off. And when Reggie made me a team manager, I didn‟t complain about the extra work. What‟s Naomi done? Dropped her knickers. That‟s what.”

Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend A STAC Mystery By David W Robinson Available from Amazon (Kindle) Smashwords (all formats) and Crooked Cat Books and available in paperback from Amazon

Local Wood ÂŠ Paul Bell 2012

Merry Christmas By Jeanne Lawrence The drink got me I must admit, But what the heck, I‟m happy. Not so the wife, she says it costs And she‟s going if I don‟t stop it. The A.A. group are all good guys They‟ve pledged to get me through this. We celebrate each wobbling step With coke, or some such rubbish. It‟s Christmas Eve, and meeting day, The wife says, “Man, don‟t fear, I‟ll follow you there with something good, And some alcohol-free sangria!”

Mr. Snowman

By Mary Mcphedran Mr. Snowman what do you see People going on their shopping spree Carrying home the Christmas tree With your coal bright eyes and carrot nose All dressed in brightly coloured clothes Do you follow the bright-lit star That shines bright in a land so far To Bethlehem on Christmas morn Where a little child was born And three wise men came to adorn Do you watch the children playing out With their toys and running about Let your stories all unfold Before the sun's watered rays take hold

We‟re in full swing confessing When Dora, plus goodies, marched in. “Oh heck, love, they‟re rum babas.” But there wasn‟t one left in that tin!

MVN: It‟s always rather sad to come to the end of another bottle. Did I say bottle? I meant another issue of Writelinkers. This must be at least the 79th or perhaps that‟s the number of attempts it takes us to get it right each year; Laurie insists on perfection, I insist on copious amounts of Thornton‟s chocolates and David just insists. In our Christmas messages for 2012, we thought we‟d recreate a little of the past. They say nostalgia isn‟t what it used to be, but here at Writelinkers Towers we recall those days of childhood innocence – when our little faces lit up with joy on receiving a box of fuzzy felts, and perhaps a sugar mouse and a few nuts in our Christmas stockings. May I wish a very happy Christmas to all and say a massive thank you to our wonderful contributors and readers. LC : Seasons greetings to one and all. With another issue of Writelinkers all tucked up and ready for your delectation, it‟s time for the post publication knees up. After being left with the Babycham and a solitary squashed mince pie last time, this year I‟m taking no prisoners. That‟s right... I‟ve donned my hard hat, elbow, knee and shin pads in readiness to beat Mo and David to the bar. On that note, I would like to wish all our contributors, Writelink members and readers a safe and happy festive holiday. Good health, prosperity, and happiness for the festive season and the New Year. DWR: The trouble with this pair is they never leave me enough room to say anything on these pages. But this is a problem familiar to men every where. You can never get a word in edgeways. And they make life hell. Mo wants to recreate days of innocence? According to most women, I was born guilty. Laurie is determined to get to the bar and the goodies first. What chance do I have with my clicky knees? And the less said about nuts in stockings, the better. The rumours are bad enough without me stoking the fires. Once again, your contributions have been of the highest calibre, and it‟s time for me to join my colleagues and wish you all, contributors, Writelink members, and readers the very best for Christmas, and may 2013 bring you everything you desire.

The Answer Page New Year Quiz 1: Auld Lang Syne dates back to the 1700s and means „times gone by‟. 2: The New Year‟s Resolution tradition was set by the Babylonians; mostly they were promising to return the farm implements they‟d borrowed. 3: Hawaii was one of the very last places to celebrate the New Year. Some people in Oldham are still celebrating. 4: Doughnuts are eaten in Holland: they represent a full circle of life from one year to the next. 5: Avoid using knives or scissors at Chinese New Year so that you won‟t cut away your chance of a lucky new year. 6: Traditionally, Spaniards eat 12 grapes - one for each month of the New Year. Supposedly, this began as a means of using up the grape surplus in the Alicante region. But it could just be that they like grapes. 7: Eating cabbage and the like, as well as lentils is supposed to bring good financial luck. Eating mince pies at New Year means you made too many of them at Christmas. 8: Lobsters because they are apt to walk backwards, thereby symbolising regression. Though in fairness, pork pies VERY much passed their best, can do this too. 9: Hungarians burn effigies of Jack Straw, a straw man who symbolises the evils of the past year. 10: Scots welcome the New Year with Hogmanay – a celebration characterised by visiting family and friends after midnight. This also serves as an excuse to avoid another New Year‟s Eve with Jools Holland. 11: Making as much noise as possible at midnight is meant to frighten evil spirits away. 12: All of them. But apparently, women, blondes, redheads and short-arsed men with clicky knees and dodgy hearing are bad news. This may explain the paucity of invites for us at Writelinkers HQ.

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