TO NEW BEGINNINGS
As Autumn rolled in, it brought with it a whole heap of change. If you’re visiting for the first time, you’ll no doubt have no idea what I’m talking about, but if you’ve stopped by before, you might have noticed that I’m now writing as Freda & Co!
My lovely Harrison and little Flynn are still ever present, but I’ll now be using this space to share my stories and adventures – whether they be ours or mine alone.
If you’ve happened upon my new ‘About‘, or have been following me on Instagram, then you’ll know that I’ve been teaching creative writing classes. However, what you might not know is that I’ve been turning my hand to my own little tales.
I’ve always kept these small stories very close to heart, and only H (if anyone) has been privy to any of my indulgent narratives. As most of the writing I get up to is by way of practise, I’ve never been sure about sharing. However, as I said, it’s time for change!
The following extract is from an one of the longest tales I’ve ever attempted to tell. It came to me one night and has since been whirling around in my dreams. I’ve begun working on several chapters, here, there and everywhere within the plot and have yet to make heads or tails of how I’ll ever complete such a mammoth task (it’s so much writing! 🙀).
It’s at this point that I should mention that I write for children – so please don’t think this was intended to be the next ‘Ulysses’!
Finally, I’d love to hear your thoughts if any. I’ve set H to work, building me a ‘comments’ system, but that won’t be up and running for a few weeks, so if you have any (preferably kind and or constructive) things to say, I’d love to hear them over on Instagram. So without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give you…
An Extract From ‘The Misters’ (a working title)
‘If you’ve met Ludo Latchmere, then you may already know that every day, he wakes up to the sound of the long, thin bell that hangs over his front door.
The bell, so Ludo tells anyone who’ll listen, is carved from stone – the stone of the Eastward Echoes.
The Echoes is mountain range so vast, it’s said that those who stray between it’s peaks become lost in the calls and cries of travellers who’ve wandered before them. So when the bell rings at quarter to 6:00 each day, it echoes up through the corridors and into the bedroom, waking Ludo from even the deepest of sleeps.
Next, he tumbles out of bed and fumbles around, looking for his slippers. Before long he generally notices an uncomfortable rumble somewhere in-between his ribs (the rumbling tends to get worse as he tightens the knot on his dressing gown cord). And at this point, thankfully, a whistle should begin to blow from the hallway below.
Made from the bark of the Western Woods, once upon a time the hollow, wooden pipe was famous for playing the highest note on Ourania’s Organ.
If you’re not familiar with the organ, it was housed in the tallest dome of the Royal Observatory. It used to be a well know fact that when played, it would summon the elven queen – for it was only her sharp eyes that could help the astronomers see beyond the night sky into the heavens above.
These days however, Ludo has ‘down-cycled’ the pipe to create his own contraption. A clever, but slightly underwhelming device, that lets you know when the kettle has boiled. Although, to be fair on Ludo, all good and proper mornings ought to start with a cup of tea.
When Eysack Newtown spotted the first grey star, most people fail to mention that he was actually in the middle of enjoying his midmorning brew. And when Lady Galilea realised the moon was in fact the sun in disguise, she was half way through a steaming pot of darjeeling.
All the best ideas are mulled over cups of tea!
Ludo usually takes his with a dash of cream and a pinch of cloves before setting a pan over the fire and peeling apart two, clean cuts of bacon: Hitting the scorching heat with a satisfying crackle, they’re often accompanied by bread, made from a smooth batter, which is ladled into the pan in a slick, round glob. In a matter of minutes the batter begins to bubble and rise, before forming stiff, fluffy, chargrilled peaks, good enough to pick off and eat on their own.
Once the bacon, bread and tea are all on the table, Ludo, in his thin, plum slippers, shuffles to the door to retrieve one last thing.
This thing is forever changing, but never different; It has new views every day, but never moves from within the walls of the tall, white, withered house; It looks the same, feels the same, but it is never QUITE the same.
What is it?
A Frepper, of course! One of Ludo’s own inventions – or so he likes to think.
The thick, browning scroll on which he reads his daily news sits firmly in the brass hand beside the front door. Each morning the scroll slips from the clutches of it’s brass bindings and finds it’s way to the breakfast table; where Ludo sits in his plum pyjamas, paper in one hand, bread in the other. The headlines flash across the front page, different to the day before as the scroll unfurls to reveal bitesized bits of the day’s affairs…‘
That’s the end of the extract! I’m so pleased you made it this far, I really do appreciate it and I’d love to hear your thoughts over on Instagram. Until next time, is there anything special you’ve been working on lately? If so, let’s compare notes! 💕