If you’d like to be included in this slot, please get in touch: estherchilton@gmail.com. Poems can be up to 60 lines and prose 2000 words. If you’d like to add a short bio and photo, then great. All I ask is that there’s nothing offensive.
My guest this week is one of my brilliant former students. So it’s my pleasure to introduce Janet Stock to you. I’ll hand you over to her:
Janet Stock is a graduate of The Writers Bureau comprehensive writing course, and is just about to complete an MA in Creative Writing with Lancaster University. The work-in-progress for her MA is an adult medieval historical fiction novel, working title The Little Servant, and tells the story of Benedict, a boy who wants to climb up the rigid social hierarchy to become a famous minstrel. This should be completed early next year.
In the meantime, she is self-publishing a fantasy novella called The Rue Stone and this will be launched in September as book 1 of a 3 book series called The Dark Stranger. There is an extract below, and the beautifully mysterious book cover.
A touch of wonder. A flicker of connection. Then, only the Rue stone remained.
The inn was nestled on the edge of a forest. At the top of a clearing and sheltered by trees. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember and there were elders who claimed to know how and when it had appeared. But the fact remained that however it was birthed, the inn was the focal point of the forest and was always busy. Day and night, it held a myriad of locals and travellers. Many strange and mysterious figures had visited the inn; some that had not been seen by man for so many years that they were believed to be extinct.
As was the case with the Rue.
These were the most enigmatic of creatures, and the patrons of the inn spent many a night debating whether these mystical figures still existed. Janna wasn’t sure what to believe. She had worked at the inn for nearly a year, and in that time, she had heard many stories about such creatures and supernatural beings. So many stories in fact, that at times they all seemed to merge into one great myth in her head.
Janna’s small-heeled shoes tap tapped on the stone floor as she went from table to table. Accompanying the loud voices tonight, was a yapping dog. No-one knew what it was protesting about, and it only stopped when the irritated owner fed it bits of meat. As Janna went past, she smiled at the dog and tickled its wiry-haired chin, giving the patrons temporary relief from its barking.
There were now three tables that were empty, their company having left for the night. Resting a large tray on her hip, Janna went over to start collecting the discarded cups. She placed as many as she could onto the tray, then carefully carried them back into the kitchen. After speaking with Vune, she walked out into the bar, and that was when she saw the Rue coming through the door.
The early Wintour fogg wrapped around him as if trying to tempt him back out into the night, and behind him was a low ice-blue moon that gave him an ethereal appearance.
Briefly looking around he stepped into the bar, and the heavy door slammed shut, just as those nearest to it began noticing the fingers of fogg and chilly air.
Janna couldn’t take her eyes from him.
As he walked across the room, men halted their conversations, and even the dog stopped barking, whimpering slightly as it curled up tight under its master’s legs.
He didn’t seem to be aware of, or concerned about, the attention he was attracting and confidently strode past the wide eyes and open mouths to a booth, sliding a battered leather sack onto the bench, he shook his cloak a little to remove some of the damp then sat down. His flowing hair shone in the torchlight. Rubbing his hands together, unaware of the interest he had caused, or not paying any heed to it, he turned his head to attract a server’s attention. Janna exhaled not realising that she had been holding her breath.
The Rue was looking straight at her. His striking hair, which had been black with silver grey segments, slowly transformed into a rich chestnut colour, and as he looked directly at her, his eyes also altered, from a hazel brown to a sparkling blue. The same colour as hers.
Janet lives in Lincoln with her family and when she’s not writing she likes reading cook books, especially regional ones, although she doesn’t get as much time to cook as she would like. She can be found at :
https://www.janetstockwriter.co.uk
www.facebook.com/janetstockwriter
www.tiktok.com/@janetstockwriter
www.instagram.com/janetstockwriter
Esther Chilton 
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