16th Century Linen Kirtle Project: Complete

Hi everyone!

It has been so long since I last blogged at all and even longer than that since I last blogged about the 16th Century Linen Kirtles that I was making as an SCA project.

In case you're not aware of my project, let me direct you to some of the previous, relevant posts. Firstly, my 16th Century Kirtle Update includes some pictures and ideas about the sort of dresses that I wanted to make. Next, Patterning Success! details the process of me being patterned for the kirtles (guest starring Rosie, who did all the hard work). Then I did updates on my Blue Kirtle and my Cream Kirtle.

That last update came in January this year and since then I've barely done any work on the project. Until just recently, when I had a burst of motivation and finished it all off.

Blue kirtle first!

Here's what it looks like all spread out on my floor, in its finished state.

The hardest part of finishing this dress was the need for lacing holes. I got an awl as a belated Xmas gift. I love my awl. However, I definitely made my lacing holes too small and it has caused no end of problems, which is really disappointing.

Here's a picture of the lacing holes down the side of the dress:

And here's a picture of the two that I put in the shoulder. I did these much later, after I realised that I'd made all the original holes too small, so they're a better size.

Doing the lacing holes on this dress took a really long time because I wanted to sew them in matching thread. In order to do that, I had to find some matching thread. But linen thread is already pretty hard to find and it's even harder to find in the right colours. So what I did, on Rosie's advice (again - she was a total lifesaver during this project) was pull threads out of the leftover linen. It took ages to pull out enough threads, especially because they kept breaking as I was trying to extract them from the fabric. They also kept breaking while I was sewing the lacing holes, which is why quite a lot of them have little fuzzy bits sticking out.

Once I had the lacing holes sewn, I put in a make-shift lacing cord so that I could do the hem of the dress.

Here are pictures of the outside of the hem and the inside of the hem. I sewed most of the hem using my using plain white linen thread but I also did some of it using the blue threads that I had leftover. I probably should have stuck to the nice white thread because the stupid blue threads kept breaking everywhere. It's weird how they can hold together as fabric but not as individual threads.

Last but not least, I needed a proper lacing cord for the dress. I found some really cute aglets on the internet, from an eBay store in NSW. You can find them here: http://www.ebay.com.au/usr/medieval_shoppe. I was really looking forward to having aglets on the end of my lacing cords because it would make the whole lacing process so much easier. But I was very silly and didn't test the aglets on the lacing holes that I had already sewn... More on that tragedy in a moment.

I spent a lot of time contemplating the best way to make lacing cords. Originally, I wanted to do fingerloop braids. However, I decided against them because a) they can be pretty bulky and b) you have to knot them at the end or bind them and I'm so terrible at doing those binding things with thread. In the end, I went for lucet cords, which actually worked out pretty great in the end.

I made three lucet cords. Two blue ones, one for each side of the blue kirtle, and one white one for the cream kirtle. The thread that I using was the linen thread that I got from Ellen for my 21st birthday. I was planning to use it for weaving but I haven't yet.

I sewed my beautiful aglets onto the lacing cords. And then I found out that the stupid lacing holes that I had spent hours sewing were TOO SMALL. And the aglets were TOO BIG and thus could not fit through the holes. The holes that I did on the shoulders are actually the perfect size, but unfortunately I didn't make all the holes that size. So I took the aglets off the lacing cords. Luckily the lucet cords have quite small ends and they fit through my tiny lacing holes just fine. But still, ugh. I feel silly. And I will DEFINITELY make bigger lacing holes next time. That is a lesson well-learned.

Anyway, here's a picture of the blue lacing cord. It's a slightly different colour from the fabric of the dress, but I have unfortunately reached the point of not-caring. Also I don't think it really matters that much.

Onto the cream kirtle, which followed basically the same steps. Here are the lacing holes:

These ones look a lot nicer because the thread that I used was a lot nicer. The thickness of this dress made them a lot harder to sew, though. If there's anything that I learned from this project, making the interlining of the dress as thin as is practically possible is one of the most important steps. Mostly that's a comfort thing, because a heavier bodice is just really hot and uncomfortable. But also it's because I am sad about my aglets. Speaking of aglets and therefore lacing cords, here are some pictures of my lacing cord.

Here's the hem:

And here's a picture of the dress spread out on my floor, so you can see the whole thing:

So that's the end of the dress part of my linen kirtle project. However, the project also involved two more parts. 1. a shirt and 2. sleeves.

I made the shirt as soon as the blue dress was wearable and have been wearing it ever since, but it was only last night that I added the buttons. Which was a slight disaster, but I will tell you about that in a moment. First, here is a picture of the shirt (it needs ironing, I know):

And I thought you might also want a picture of the gussets under the arms. Gussets are kinda tricky but I worked it out and not only did I sew it but I also finished all the seams, so I think it turned out pretty neatly. It would probably look a lot better if it hadn't been worn and washed and badly ironed, but here it is:

I had some nice buttons from the button shop in NSW but unfortunately they have gone AWOL, so instead I used some of my stash of tiny wooden buttons that I have. When I made the shirt, I made a vital mistake at the collar and cuffs which was that I didn't leave any overhang for fastenings. So I put a button on the collar of the dress to make it look nice even though the collar can't actually meet around my neck... lol? I also put buttons on the cuffs. And I sewed buttonholes but they are TERRIBLE. And hardly even big enough. And I just don't even care that much to be honest, but maybe I'll fix them up later. Anyway, if I push hard then the buttons fit through the holes and I think they might be able to fasten around my wrists. But maybe not. I've been wearing it without buttons for so long anyway, it doesn't really matter. Here are some pictures:

Finally, I made sleeves. They're in a colour called Ginger; it's the same type & weight of linen as the dresses. I think the shirt is a little lighter, I think it's 3.5 and the others are 5.3 or something? Anyway, I whipped up the sleeves in about two days. I used the pattern straight out of the Tudor Tailor, which made it really easy. I pre-washed my fabric (very important step) and spread it out on my floor. I've been catching up on Season 4 of Warehouse 13 which means I've been working in my loungeroom. Carpet is so inconvenient, ugh. But luckily I have a big plastic board thing which I can work on and it makes the cutting out process easier.

I drew the pattern on using tailor's chalk. I have 4 colours so I always try to use one that will show up  but not show up too much. Anyways, I drew it on and added my seam allowance (this is the worst thing ever to forget; I'm so paranoid about it) and then cut it out. Then I turned it over and traced around it, because the sleeves need to be opposite to each other. Then I had to measure in the seam allowance. I like to draw in my lines because it helps me to sew straight, otherwise I end up all wobbly and by seam allowance is uneven and it's just a mess. I prefer to be precise, when I can. This is something that I started to learn about myself over the course of this project.

After I cut out both sleeves and had all my sewing lines marked, I sewed up the sides so that the flat piece of fabric became more sleeve-like. Then I flat-felled the seams. This involved finding out which sleeve was which, because I like to have the seams finished towards the back. You can't really see it on the outside unless you look super duper close for the tiny white flecks that show where it has been sewn. But it's the principle that counts, I guess, and I feel better for knowing that I've been consistent-ish.

Anyway then I just did a little rolled hem around the cuff and around the top of the sleeve, which I think turned out pretty well, although it's a little wiggly around the top, but I don't think it will be too noticeable when I'm actually wearing them.

Then I made four little lucet braids. I tried to pull enough brown/ginger threads out to make same-colour lucet braids to use for sleeve-tying. But they just kept breaking and it was really frustrating, so I ended up doing them in white, which I think is just fine. I sewed them on to the top of the sleeve so that they are permanently attached. That's something that I learned when I did my cotton kirtles for practice: it is very annoying having unattached strings for tying.

Here are some pictures of the sleeves:

And that is the end of my 16th Century Linen Kirtle project.

It's not perfect. There are a lot of things that I wish I had done differently, a lot of things that I will do differently in the future and plenty of things that I have learnt about sewing and about myself during the process.

It took a really long time, but that is mostly because of the time that I spent not doing the project rather than the time that I spent actually working on the project.

I'm just really glad to be finished with it, to be honest.

So where does that leave me?

Well, Aimee gave me some beautiful metal belt fastenings as a present after she went to Festival, so I will definitely be turning them into a belt as soon as I have the time/materials.

Also I'm going to Canterbury Faire early next year and I think I will need some extra garb, so I'm going to whip up another cotton kirtle. I would prefer to sew in linen but cotton is cheaper and easier to access, so that's what I'm going with. I think it will go quite quickly and turn out quite well because of all the things that I learned while working on my linen kirtles. I'm going to use just one layer of the grey horse-hair stuff as my interlining, I think that will be fine. Well, I'll find out, anyway!

After that finishing my hat project will be a priority, but I'll need a bunch of white linen for that so I will definitely need to save up a lot of money and do an order.

And then I will move onto bigger and better things, most notably a crazy foray into the 14th century because I want a cotehardie, maybe in like a Ginger or a Mustard colour and I have some lovely light blue linen to do an over-the-top cotehardie, with gold buttons and tippets and it will just look lovely I think.

Anyway now I'm just rambling so I'll sign off now.

I probably won't blog again this year, sorry!

MERRY XMAS! :D

♥Nancy♬

Loving History

Hi all,

So today in our seminar we did poetry. Which, when we first started, was something that I was actually quite scared/uncomfortable about.

But we did some great activities and at the end we had a chance to write our own sonnets (using some phrases/images etc. that we had earlier devised).

I was not feeling confident about it but I came up with this poem and I don't completely hate it.

So, with little revision, here is a poem (dedicated to Adamo).

♥Nancy♬

Loving History

You wear a suit of shiny bruised protection:

Metal covers your head, elbows and knees.

As sounds of violence echo through the trees,

I remove your helm, with great affection.

With lemonade, we drink some ginger wine.

I kiss your neck with gentle, loving slurps.

We drink until the bubbles make you burp!

(These kisses let me show you that you’re mine.)

With every sip of warming ginger spice

We head a little closer to our tent.

To removal of your armour you consent;

Drunk, you let me pay you my bride-price.

The outcome of the battle is a mystery

To we who are in love and living history.

Delicious Erotica

Hello from EDINBURGH!!! :D

Yes, I'm in Scotland. Holy carp! I'm here for a creative writing course and it is truly brilliant. There is a mountain right next door to me, I'm not even kidding. I climbed it! :D

Anyways, this course is very educational and the city is very inspirational so, naturally, I've been doing some writing.

This piece is one that I don't want to share in class (although I did share with my spec fic editorial group, even though it's off-topic).

Contrary to convention, the title is at the end (it's in bold so you can tell!)

Hope you enjoy it and, as always, leave me some feedback if you get a chance :D

♥Nancy♬

I thrust my tongue between soft folds and my eyes roll back in pleasure, eyelids fluttering just a little. The taste is sweet and fruity and reminds me of summer - not summer here, this chilly attempt at a warm season where you still want to hide under the covers to make love, but summer at home, that suffocating heat that sends you strolling into the pool first thing in the morning, legs and tongues entwining in the wet because bed is too hot. Liquid pours over my fingers, into my mouth, over my face. I look up and lick my lips, suck my fingers, wipe my face dry before diving down again. I am reminded of Christmas dessert, pavlova topped with tart kiwi and passionfruit and I think about Christmas dessert here, probably heavy pudding, the haggis of sweets. But this taste, these sweet juices pouring down my throat with every lick, suck, nibble, this is summer and love and home all in a tastebud-tantalising package. A flick of my tongue up over a ridge and I am intoxicated by the slip-and-slide texture and reminded of brandy and nutmeg. Sugar, spice, everything nice, that’s what this is made of. I find myself moaning in pleasure. When I realise that I am vocalising, I stop, blush, look up. My banana nutella crepe makes my hands sticky as I walk down the windy Edinburgh road.

Crepes

Verdigris

Hi everyone!

Today I had an idea for a scene and I had one of those moments where I just had to write it down. I felt crazy, like my head would explode if I didn't type/write/recite this idea that I was having.

Luckily I was out at an SCA Collegia and I had Aimee's notebook and pen nearby! So I wrote down this scene and it turned out okay-ish.

Then, on the drive home, I got to thinking about it and decided that it would be pretty easy to turn it into a Short Story. Like, an actual Short Story with a beginning and a middle and an end. A 100% complete project all in one day. Crazy, I know.

Anyway, two and a bit hours work later and I have a 100% complete all-in-one-instalment Short Story for you to read. It's called Verdigris. It's meant to be a bit creepy (I sure hope I achieved that otherwise it's just gonna seem a bit stupid probably).

So give it a read (please) and then I'd love to know what you think so drop me a comment or message or something if you have some constructive criticism or even if you just want to tell me that the story rocks/sucks.

Enjoy!

♥Nancy♬

Reese McCallum, or Mack, as he was known, wiped down the bar and pulled out a tray of polished pint-glasses, ready for the night ahead. It was Thursday and he expected a quiet night with no more than just the regular patrons. The regulars - big men wearing dusty boots - rocked up at half-past five o’clock and settled down at the table nearest the bar.

 “Mack,” said Joey, who’d been coming to Mack’s Pub ever since it had opened.

 “Joey,” said Mack, with a nod, and grabbed a glass to pull the first beer of the night.

The men relaxed with their post-work beers but Mack kept his place behind the bar. He loved his pub more than anything, except maybe his wife and their baby daughter, and he was proud to stand behind the bar and help entertain the miners after their hard day at work.

 “New tunnel,” one of the men said. He was speaking in low tones and Mack could only pick up a few words. “... collapsed...”

Joey, speaking louder than his work-mates, said, “and they found a creepy chest in there, a huge fuckin’ trunk with patterns and shit carved into it, all made outta copper.”

 “Full of coins,” said another of the men, and Mack had to fight the urge to go closer to listen to the conversation.

 “Ancient artefact,” said one guy.

 “Prob’ly just some stupid kids pulling a prank,” said Joey, and that was that conversation done for the moment.

At seven o’clock, a girl slunk into the pub and sat down in the darkest corner.

 “Evenin’, love,” called Mack to the newcomer.

She didn’t reply.

At eight o’clock a few of the men went home, leaving Joey and one other man as the sole patrons - except for the girl, who still hadn’t said a word.

Joey reached over the bar and grabbed the TV remote. He pushed the “on” button and the TV flickered into life; it was an old set and it made a whining noise the whole time it was awake.

The eight o’clock news came on with its unmistakeable music leading the way and a trained female reporter, Suzie, reading the headlines.

 “There was a minor collapse at Chepali Copper Mine today,” she said.

 “Shut up,” said Joey to his work-mate. Mack polished glasses while they all watched the news report.

 “Authorities say it was unexpected but, fortunately, there were no injuries. In fact, the collapse revealed an old tunnel where something very odd was found. Taylor Newnan was at the scene.”

The scene on screen changed from the sterile newsroom to the dirty entrance to the copper mine. An attractive man in a tailored suit stood next to a gentleman in work duds; they were both wearing hardhats.

 “Taylor Newnan here, for channel twenty-nine news. I’m at Chepali Copper Mine today where something very strange was found after a minor collapse. I’ve got Basil Plik with me, overseer of the mine. Basil, what was found when the collapse was cleared?”

 “A chest,” said Basil, who clearly was not comfortable being on camera.

 “A chest? Can you tell us a little about that chest, Basil?”

 “It was made of copper and it had decorations in copper we don’t know where it’s from or who put it there,” said Basil, in unpausing monotone.

 “And what was in that decorated, copper, mystery chest, Basil?”

 “Copper coins,” said Basil.

 “Thanks Basil,” said Taylor Newnan. He turned to face the camera. “A mysterious copper chest full of mysterious copper coins. Could this be a sign of the Chepali curse come to life? Some say it’s just an urban legend, but others says that mining in the Chepali region was always bound to awaken some dark evil. The truth is yet to be determined. Back to you, Suzie.”

 “Turn that shit off, Joey,” said Mack.

Dark evil? Mysterious copper coins? Who believed in that nonsense?

Joey turned off the TV and took a long drink.

 “You might wanna keep a look out, Mack,” he said, “gotta watch out for the fuckin’ copper monster.” He laughed, a deep belly laugh.

Joey’s friend, a young bloke, spoke up. “My girlfriend believes in the curse.”

 “What?” Joey said, “is she empty up top?” He made a swirling gesture with his finger around his ear.

 “Nah, just superstitious,” said the work-mate, “but she really thinks we shouldn’t be mining up at Chepali. No joke, she told me the creepiest story about cursed copper coins. She’s been researching the mine’s history for a class.”

 “Class? She one of those gone-wild college girls?”

 “She’s just smart,” mumbled the young guy into his pint glass. He didn’t say another word, even when Joey laughed and gave him a friendly clap on the back.

At half-past nine o’clock, Mack served Joey and his young friend their last drinks. He looked over into the darkest corner of the pub where the young girl was still sitting, staring down at the table.

 “Last drinks, love, if you want anything,” he called out.

She didn’t respond. Mack shrugged and wiped down the bar again.

At ten o’clock, Joey and his friend made their way out of the pub. The young guy’s last beer had been one too many and he’d left the bar supported by Joey’s big weight.

 “Night, Mack,” called Joey.

 “Later, Joey,” Mack replied.

The pub was empty now, all except for Mack himself and the girl in the corner. Usually he would have let her stay. There were a lot of reasons why a girl would be alone in the corner of the pub: she could be waiting for someone, she might have had a fight with her parents or her boyfriend and needed some space, maybe it was just warmer inside the pub than out. But tonight Mack just wanted to go home to his sweet, beautiful wife and their little daughter with her tiny fingers and soft skin that smelled like baby powder.

 “I’m closing up now, lass,” he called, “it’s time to go.”

The girl didn’t respond; she didn’t even turn to look at him.

Mack slung his tea-towel over his shoulder and made his way out from behind the bar, heading towards the dark corner of the room. The girl had been in the pub for, what, three hours now? She hadn’t ordered a single bite to eat or a drink or anything. Which was a shame, because as Mack got closer to her he could see that she was very thin and looked almost starved to death. She must be one of those anorexics, he thought, and then thought of his baby daughter and hoped that she’d never think that starving herself was a good option.

 “Hey, miss, it’s time to head home now. Can I call you a cab?”

The girl didn’t move a muscle in response to his words. She just sat there, staring down at her hands on the table.

Mack went closer.

She was holding something in her hands, fiddling with it.

He took a few steps closer, hesitant now in case she had a weapon or was on drugs or something. He realised she was speaking.

 “What’s that, love?” he asked.

But she still didn’t acknowledge his presence, let alone reply.

Mack went closer until he was standing right next to the table. He looked down at her hands. She was holding something large, round and flat. It was a coin, a copper coin, and she was turning it over and over in her hands, never once pausing.

 “Not right,” she was saying, barely loud enough to be audible, “not right, not right...”

Over and over she said it, her voice and hands a matching rhythm. She was young, too, fifteen maybe? She’d looked older from a distance.

Mack knelt down, crouching beside the table.

 “What’s not right, love?”

This time, she heard him.

 “Not right, not right,” she said, the words never stopping, her hands never pausing as they turned the coin over and over, and her head turned slowly towards him.

She looked at Mack, an empty gaze, with eyes the colour of verdigris. Eyes with no white and no pupil. Eyes the exact blue-green of copper patina.

Mack fell over backwards and scrambled away.

The girl didn’t take her eyes off Mack for a second. She continued chanting and turning. Chanting and turning.

The next night was Friday and Mack’s Pub drew a bigger crowd. Or at least, it would have, if it had been open. When the men from the copper mine got to the door of the pub they found the door unlocked but closed off by police tape.

Joey pushed his way to the front of the crowd and snatched up a piece of paper that had been stuck to the front window of the pub.

 “Mack’s Pub,” he read, out loud, “closed until further notice. Reese McCallum, owner and proprietor is missing. Anyone with information please contact the police.”

 “Mack can’t be missing,” someone said.

 “Fuck this,” said Joey, and pushed through the yellow police tape into the pub, leaving his work-mates outside. At first, everything seemed to be ship-shape inside the pub. The bar was spotless, as always; the tables were all organised.

In the darkest corner of the pub, however, Joey noticed something out of place. He went over to the table there.

 “What the fuck?” he said.

There was a copper coin sitting on the table.

In the darkest corner of Mack’s Pub, Joey picked up a copper coin. It was large, round and flat. He turned it over in his hand.

 “There’s something not right about this,” he said, out loud.

He turned the coin over in his hand again.

 “Something not right.”

He turned the coin over in his hand again.

 “Not right.”

And again.

 “Not right.”

And again.

Hotel Frankenorman

Hey everyone,

So, I’m sick at the moment. Just a cold I think but it’s hit me pretty hard. I even resorted to eating raw garlic to try to cure myself. Hasn’t worked so far.

Anyway, it meant that I missed out on some work last week :( and it also means that my motivation to work on any of my stories is really low. Which is problematic because I really really need to get on with rewriting my dissertation stories. Hopefully I’ll be better soon and then I can do just that.

In the meantime, with my motivation for actual work so low, I have found that my motivation for watching movies of dubious quality has risen significantly. And so I present to you a movie review of three movies released at approximately the same time last year: Hotel Transylvania, Frankenweenie and Paranorman.

Let’s start with my preconceptions: I thought that all three of these movies would suck really hard. I wasn’t entirely wrong. However, I did find some of them surprisingly not-bad-ish, so now I’ll go through them in the order I watched them and let you know my thoughts, in case you want to subject yourself to animated Halloween flicks too.

Interestingly, they all have 7/10 stars on IMDB. I disagree with these ratings.

I watched Hotel Transylvania with mum and Adamo, because Adamo picked it as the one that looked the least-worst out of the three. I think he was right about that. We sat down to watch the film expecting the worst and maybe it was those low expectations that lead me to the positive review that you’re about to read.

Hotel Transylvania certainly doesn’t fall into the realm of “good” films - it’s no Casablanca, no Back to the Future, no Wall-E. What it is, however, is hilarious.

It stars Adam Sandler as Dracula. I can’t stand Adam Sandler (except in Click, which I thought was a fantastic film) but he wasn’t too obnoxious in the role of Dracula. The film also featured Andy Samberg, of Lonely Island fame, as Jonathon, who is the human who stumbles across the titular hotel.

Watching the movie, I had guessed Miley Cyrus as the voice of Mavis, Dracula’s daughter. I was wrong: she was voiced by Selena Gomez. I’m not sure the difference is significant.

I think we were all surprised when the first joke of the film came within the first few minutes and actually managed to tickle our funnybones! What could have been a painfully bad viewing experience was, in the end, a laugh a minute.

I’m not saying that the film is sensible, logical, mature or anything that you’d expect from, for example, one of Pixar’s gems. But this is a predictable flick for kids and, taken as such, you could actually end up enjoying Hotel Transylvania, which I certainly did.

I give it 7.5 stars for lulziness.

Next up comes Frankenweenie. I expected good things from Frankenweenie because I quite like Tim Burton, who directed it. But... look I like him, but I’ve seen it all before, you know? And Frankenweenie is no exception.

It’s your everyday Frankenstein story, just in a kids-and-pets sort of context. I guess the story’s cute?

The only big-name actor in this one is Winona Ryder, but she plays a tiny role. I guess I’m surprised that it doesn’t have Helena Bonham Carter or Johnny Depp in the main roles, but then again I guess it’s nice to have some different actors getting some work.

I don’t really have much to say about Frankenweenie to be honest. It looked like a Tim Burton film, it sounded like a Tim Burton film, but it just wasn’t as good as some of the Tim Burton films that came before it.

There were a few mildly amusing moments, such as the homages to Gremlins and Godzilla. But it wasn’t a laugh-a-minute like Hotel Transylvania.

The story had a cute-but-predictable ending.

There was nothing wrong with this film. There just wasn’t anything particularly great about it. Sorry, but it’s only getting 5 stars from me.

Finally, we come to Paranorman, which I watched really late at night and so maybe didn’t have the best reception of the film that I could have. It wasn’t as hilarious as Hotel Transylvania so I’ll be giving it a lower rating, but I think it was a lot better than Frankenweenie.

Paranorman is mostly small-time actors too, except for Anna Kendrick whose voice I did not recognise at all. Maybe I really do need to re-watch this one!

The story is really lovely. It’s about a boy who can see and talk to dead people, so he’s pretty alienated from society. And then there’s a witch’s curse and the dead rise from their graves... and then things get interesting. I’m not going to spoil any more for you because I actually found the plot surprising and I’d like you to experience it for yourself should you choose to watch this film.

It was a really different style of animation, too. Whereas Hotel Transylvania looked like the normal sort of animation we usually see and Frankenweenie was in black-and-white with a distinctly Tim Burton-ish style, Paranorman is something a bit unique which made it really intriguing to watch.

I guess the word I want to use to describe Paranorman is “charming.” It wasn’t hilarious, although it had its moments. But it was pretty cute and it kept me captivated even though I was super tired when watching it, so that’s a good sign.

I think I’ll give it 6.5 stars.

To summarise: I’m not saying any of these movies are good. In fact, if you have any sort of good taste in movies, you might want to adjust my star ratings down by like 2 points or so. I guess it depends how harsh you are at rating things.

For me, these movies were cute Halloween flicks and I enjoyed them, but I won’t be rushing back to watch them again.

I hope this was an interesting read, at least. And now, back to my actual work... maybe.

♥Nancy♬

Writing from Work

Hi all,

Sorry, still no updates to those epic sagas I was writing. I'll get back to them, I promise.

This year I have only one student, a boy in year 10. I see him once a week for an hour and tutor him in English and he's actually starting to get a lot better. Over the course of this year I've had opportunities in and out of my tutoring sessions to do some creative writing. So today, here is all the creative writing I've done at or for work this year.

In case you want to pick and choose: the first story is a bit dull, the second is really short but a bit lame, the third is a set of 3 letters and the fourth is a play which, in my opinion, is pretty fun and you should definitely read it.

Anyways, enjoy!

♥Nancy♬

"Confusing Funeral"

Jake raised his right hand and adjusted his uncomfortable black tie. He was bored and he felt weird about being here, but mum was grasping his other hand pretty tightly so he wasn’t about to complain and upset her. Next to mum stood dad with his arm around her shoulders, leaving her other hand free to wipe her eyes. On dad’s other side was Sally, who was busy adjusting the hemline on her black dress. Usually dad would have complained about the length of her hem but this morning he hadn’t mentioned it. There weren’t a lot of people around. There were a few old people wearing black, frumpy clothes. Jake looked at the old men in high-waisted pants and thought that they couldn’t be comfortable. He looked at the old ladies with their silly little black hats and floppy flower brooches and was glad that the girls at school didn’t dress that way. Off to one side stood six men in dark military uniform. They all had stern, angry faces. Jake couldn’t tell if they were sad or not.

Two nights ago, mum had received a phone call from her Aunt Sylvie, Jake and Sally’s great aunt.

 “Hi Sylvie,” she’d said, and then, “what’s wrong?”

The rest of the family had been sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner, but dad stopped eating when he heard mum’s tone change.

 “He’s dead?” she’d said, and her free hand had flown to her mouth in shock. “Oh my god.”

Jake had stopped eating then, too, and so had Sally. Who could have died? Dad’s parents were happy and well and holidaying in Vietnam at the moment so it wasn’t them. Mum’s mum had died a long time ago.

 “Saturday?” mum had said on the phone, “that’s two days away.” And then, “I’m not so sure Sylvie...”

The rest of the family had waited patiently while mum finished the call.

 “We’ll be there,” she said, “thanks for calling, Sylvie.”

Jake tried to adjust his tie again. They were horrible things, ties, and he hated how uncomfortable this formal wear was. Why did you have to dress in all-black formal clothes for these things? The person in question couldn’t tell so Jake figured it didn’t matter. Dad had insisted though so here they were at the cemetery all in black. Sally bent down to retie her shoelace; or at least, that’s what she was pretending to do. Jake saw her texting on her phone and thought she was lucky that dad couldn’t see her. He thought it was pretty disrespectful of Sally to be doing that but she was only fourteen so he didn’t expect much more of her. He thought about all the study he had to do and sighed. He knew it was sad when someone died but he’d never met this guy and his upcoming Chemistry test seemed way more important.

Mum hadn’t explained the phone call that night. She just sat back down at the table and started eating again.

 Dad questioned her: “Beth?”

 “I’ll talk to you later,” she replied, and that was that.

The next night, after dinner, dad sat down with Jake and Sally to talk to them.

 “Mum’s dad died last night,” he said.

 “What?” said Jake.

 “Mum doesn’t have a dad,” said Sally.

 Jake said, “everyone has a dad, idiot.”

 Dad said, “Jake, not cool,” his tone was sharp and warning.

 “Sorry,” he said in reply.

Dad explained that they were going to his funeral tomorrow so they should cancel whatever plans they had for Saturday.

 “Are you serious?” asked Sally, angrily.

 “Yes,” said dad.

 “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Sally got up and walked away to do her own thing but Jake wasn’t ready to end the conversation.

 “Mum doesn’t seem that upset, if her dad died,” he said to dad.

It wasn’t a question but he hoped that dad would provide an answer. He didn’t know anything about his grandfather on mum’s side and the way mum was reacting made him think that maybe he didn’t want to know anything.

 “Her dad was... he was an interesting character, Jake. They had a mixed relationship and it wasn’t always great for your mum. Hold on a sec.”

Dad left the table where they’d been sitting and returned a few minutes later with an old photo album. He explained that it was mum’s from before they’d gotten married. He showed Jake the old pictures in it.

 “That’s your grandmother,” he said, pointing to a pretty young lady in one picture, “she died when your mum was just seventeen. And that,” he pointed to a handsome young man, “is your grandfather, the year before mum was born.”

 “He looks like a nice guy,” Jake said.

 And dad said, “he was, at first.”

Aunt Sylvie came up to them. She was a very elegant lady. Her black clothes were neatly ironed and perfectly straight. She wore lots of black and silver jewellery and a little black hat on top of her silver hair. Jake didn’t like her very much, he never had. It had something to do with the fact that mum didn’t like her much either and also something to do with how posh and stuck-up she seemed.

 “Hello Beth,” said Aunt Sylvie.

 “Sylvie,” said mum, nodding at her in greeting.

 “Have you changed your mind about the eulogy?”

 “No, I haven’t.”

 “People will talk, Beth.”

 “I’m not doing it, Sylvie.”

Aunt Sylvie looked down at mum along her long pointed nose. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed together into thin lines.

 “Fine,” she said, and stalked off without another word.

Sally, who had actually paid attention through the whole thing, said, “wow!”

Her eyes were very wide and her eyebrows were raised in surprise.

 “Aunt Sylvie’s a total bitch!”

 “Sally!” scolded dad.

But Jake was watching mum and saw that she smiled a little, which made him think that she agreed with Sally, no matter how rude it was of her to say that.

Over near the group of military men, Aunt Sylvie was talking very animatedly and loudly.

 “His own daughter won’t even speak, despicable!” she said, loud enough that the whole family heard every word.

 “Told you,” muttered Sally.

Mum looked over at Sally and said, “yeah, she is, Sally.”

“Ted,” said mum, gently, from behind Jake.

He jumped in surprise; he hadn’t realised that mum had snuck up behind him while dad had been talking and showing him the pictures.

 “Come on Beth,” said dad, “Jake’s curious, you should talk to him.”

Mum seemed reluctant but at dad’s urging she sat down at the table with them.

 “Tell him about your dad,” said dad to mum.

She gave a huge sigh.

 “When I was little,” she said, “my dad was a really great dad. But when I was twelve, he went off to fight in a war. I missed him a lot and so did my mum, but we managed by ourselves for a while. And then he got back from the war and he was different.”

 Dad chimed in, saying, “today he would have been diagnosed with PTSD, do you know what that is?”

Jake nodded; he’d learned about post traumatic stress disorder in his psychology class. He’d done really well on the test about that stuff so he remembered it pretty well too.

 “Back then people didn’t know as much about PTSD, so he just went back home and had to get back on with life.”

 “He’d changed a lot,” said mum, sounding sad, “I know now that he was abusive, emotionally and physically. At the time it just seemed to me like he was a mean dad.”

Jake had nothing to say. He would never have guessed that mum’s life had included something like that.

 “I wasn’t his little girl anymore,” mum continued, “and I think that was hard for him. When I started dating your dad...”

Mum’s voice trailed off. Dad put his hand on her arm and they both gave a great big sigh.

 “Mum and I moved in together as soon as she turned eighteen,” dad said.

 “I haven’t seen my dad since then,” finished mum.

And that was the story.

The men in military uniform were all quite old, but between the six of them they had the strength to lift the coffin and carry it to the grave. Jake and his family stood well back as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Jake noticed that mum was crying, but he didn’t say anything.

 “Should we throw some flowers or something?” asked Sally, eyeing off the pretty white roses that the old people were starting to throw into the grave.

 “No,” said dad, “let’s just stand here.”

A priest came up and said some words, waving a smoking incense burner and sprinkling some holy water over the top of the coffin.

Aunt Sylvie came up next to say her words - the eulogy, they called it.

 “Jack was a great man,” she said, “a great brother to me, a great husband to Martha and a great father to Beth.”

Jake thought to himself, no he wasn’t. He wished that he didn’t know what his grandfather had really been like. He wondered if Sally would say nice things about him when he got old and died. He hoped that they’d be true things, not lies like Sylvie was saying. At least, he thought they must be lies. Because he’d listened to mum’s story and he couldn’t believe that a man like that was “great,” not in any way.

Was it possible to hate someone you’d never met? He’d missed his chance to meet his grandfather and find out what he was truly like. It seemed kind of unfair, like his grandfather should have had the chance to prove himself. All he had was the knowledge of what had happened to mum. He figured it wasn’t fair to mum, either, that her dad had changed so much after the war. Sometimes life didn’t seem very fair at all.

Jake adjusted his tie again and shuffled his feet. He felt uncomfortable being here, at the funeral of a man who had hurt his mum so much. And yet... he came from there, and so did mum. How was he meant to feel about all this?

The funeral service finished and everyone started to leave. There was to be a wake at Aunt Sylvie’s house but Jake and his family weren’t going. Before they left the cemetery, mum and dad walked up to the grave, holding hands. Jake and Sally stood back, watching them.

 “Mum’s acting really weird,” said Sally, quietly.

 “I don’t think she really knows how to feel,” Jake replied.

 “How are we meant to feel?”

Jake was silent for a while and then he said, “I don’t know. Sad, I guess?”

 “But we didn’t really know him.”

 “No,” said Jake, “we didn’t know him at all.”

Mum and dad spent a few minutes staring into the grave, talking quietly to each other. Then they turned and started to head back towards their kids.

Just before they reached Jake and Sally, Jake overheard mum say something quietly, under her breath.

 “Good riddance,” she said.

Jake didn’t think he was meant to hear that. He stayed very quiet on the way back to the car.

"Craig and the Bird"

Craig was walking through the park on his way to school when he heard a surprised chirping sound and then a crash. He stopped and looked around. Ah! There it was; a nest had fallen from a tree.

 "Oh my gosh!" said Craig, "there's a baby bird!"

The little brown bird was too small to fly. Craig picked up the nest but he couldn't reach high enough to put it in the tree again.

 "I'll be back," he said to the bird, and left it there while he ran to the shops.

In the cleaning aisle at Coles, Craig looked at the brooms. He was sure they'd be long enough to help put the bird back in the tree.

 "Damn," he said, when he read the price, because he couldn't afford a broom.

 "What's up, stupid?" asked Stella, a girl from school who was as tall as a giraffe.

 "Hey Stella," said Craig, "can you help me put a baby bird's nest back in a tree? You're tall enough!"

Stella burst out laughing.

 "No!" she said, and walked off.

 "What a bitch," thought Craig. Sadly, he headed off to school. Halfway there he met his friend John who had a nose like a pig.

 "Hey," said Craig.

 "You all right?" asked John.

Craig explained the situation.

 "I'll help," said John.

The boys ran back to the park. John gave Craig a boost and finally the nest was safely back in the tree! They ran back to school but they were still a bit late. Craig didn't mind because they'd helped save a little bird.

The End.

"Three Letters"

Pierre de Marseilles

The Palace

Marseilles

Dearest Pierre,

I write to you now as swift as a squirrel and more secretly than the mouse that hides its cheese. I can only hope and pray that this letter reaches you, and finds you well.

I fear discovery here and these English are not kind to the French. Perhaps it is the case that I will never see you again. Nevertheless, I travel for France as quickly as I can whilst still avoiding detection.

The English, Pierre, are planning a terrible ambush. But now you know and perhaps it will not be so terrible. Be cautious, mon cher, for they disguise themselves as Frenchmen. But their accents are atrocious and their mastery of French grammar little more than an abomination. Please be wary of all who dare to enter The Palace, lest you become the victim of a Trojan Horse.

As far as I am aware, they believe that the king is still in Paris. Send your army there, Pierre, if you still trust the intelligence of your most loyal servant.

And the girl, Pierre, I send her to you. She speaks English, Italian, Latin but no French, despite her pure French blood. Educate her, mon cher, and soon I hope to return to be a family with you and also her once again, if only I avoid discovery.

Be safe, my lord Pierre.

Faithfully,

Marguerite, Spy for the French

Francis Smith

23 Exwyzed Street

Fremantle, WA

Dear Franny,

I sure had a neat time with you last weekend! Not many other girls like to ride bikes anymore, they all want to roller-skate but I prefer riding so thanks for coming with me. My mum says you can come round anytime and she'll cook a nice casserole for dinner.

It was so chill of your mum to let us eat some of her mulberries. I heard she cried when Danny stole some and that your dad got real mad and chased him off. I felt sorry for your mum.

Do you want to come to the shops with me next week? I know you want to buy some jeans with flares like Cassie from down your street has. I don't like shopping but I wouldn't mind so much if we went together.

Anyway, Franny, I really want to hang out with you again. Peace out.

Love From, Alfie Johnson

The West Australian

Head Office

Osborne Park, WA

To whom it may concern,

I am writing to complain of the young hooligans who keep stealing my mulberries. Every year for the past 60 years my mulberry tree has produced beautiful fruit and for the past 59 years I've been able to eat it.

But not this year! Those nuisance youths have been stealing my mulberries and the police won't do a darn thing about it.

The world is falling apart, make no mistake. What sort of world is this where an 87 year-old can't eat her mulberries in peace?! All I wanted to do was cook a nice pie for my grandchildren - if they'll get off their blasted oPhones or xPhones or what have you to eat it!

Something must be done.

Regards,

Francis Johnson (Fremantle)

"A Dramatic Xmas Eve Party"

Setting: a suburban home dining room, the adult characters sit around the dining table, eating.

BEN: A glass, Maggie?

MAGGIE: Oh, just a drop, why not? It's Christmas, after all!

JESSICA: Everyone set? Cheers!

ROBERT: Here's to a Merry Christmas!

EVERYONE: Cheers!

A phone rings.

JUAN: That's me, excuse me. Hello?

SAMANTHA: So what are your plans for tomorrow, Maggie?

MAGGIE: Oh we're going to see my parents. And Joseph wants to drop by to see the baby so I told him he could come over in the evening.

JESSICA: Maggie, you've got to stop letting him back in your life!

BEN: Jess, honey, it's not your place.

MAGGIE: I can't stop him from seeing the baby at Christmas, that would be too cruel.

SAMANTHA: It's your grave, Maggie.

ROBERT: Ladies, leave Maggie alone.

JUAN: Amigos... I have to go.

JESSICA: Oh Juan, what's wrong?

JUAN: They need me at the hospital, it's a serious spine injury. It's time for me to do surgery! I am so sorry.

SAMANTHA: Well, you can't be blamed for saving lives.

BEN: Merry Christmas, Juan.

JESSICA: Let's eat!

They eat the Xmas Eve dinner.

ROBERT: Oh!

SAMANTHA: What is it, love?

ROBERT: I... ah... ahem. Were there nuts in this?

JESSICA: Yes, peanuts. Oh no! I forgot you were allergic!

ROBERT: Ahem. No trouble, will you fetch my epi-pen, Samantha?

SAMANTHA: I'll be right back.

BEN: Anything I can do, mate?

ROBERT: Cough! Water!

JESSICA: Oh Robert, I'm so sorry! I didn't even think. I love you!

SAMANTHA: I couldn't find the... you bitch!

JESSICA: It's not what it looks like!

SAMANTHA: You kissed him!

ROBERT: Cough! Epi-pen! Splutter!

BEN: Who kissed whom? Here Robert, drink this.

MAGGIE: I saw it too!

JESSICA: Shut up Maggie!

SAMANTHA: Where's the damn dpi-pen?

BEN: You kissed Robert? Jessica, how could you?

JESSICA: Find that epi-pen!

MAGGIE: Oh, if only Juan were still here!

A phone rings.

MAGGIE: Juan? Oh no! Joseph's in the hospital?!

JESSICA: Oh please, you don't even like him, that's why he divorced you!

The baby begins to cry.

BEN: I found the epi-pen!

ROBERT: Thank God! That's better.