#99. IT IS TIME… For a WIP Update and Oodles of Cozy Fantasy Fiction

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Transcription follows below:

Notes: 
The list of categories for the second round of brainstorms is: 1) A book or magazine 2) A job or role, taken on reluctantly, 3) A pub or café, 4) A portal or means of travel, 5) A piece of treasure or magical, sought-after object, 6) A monster or creature, 7) An invention and 8) A weapon.
Link to my story reading and interview on the BFS event: https://youtu.be/VnUuryCDKn0

​Hello imaginative people. I’m Anna Tizard. This is episode 99 of Brainstoryum, and it is time. It is time for me to tell you more about my work in progress, because I know I’ve held back a bit on this. From experience, I’ve found it is possible to tell others about a project too early on, and this can somehow burst the bubble of that idea. It’s nothing to do with the person listening, it’s no-one’s fault, it’s just—sometimes it can be too soon, and I’m not even sure if it’s a case of intimidating yourself out of the idea, that’s not quite it. But ideas are delicate things in their early stages: and a novel has a much longer ‘early stage’ than a short story, which you might write in twenty minutes, or less.
 
I say ‘novel’ because what began as a simple collection of short stories has now become a kind of blend, or half-way house between novel and story collection.
 
Listeners who have been with me for a while will know that I got hooked on the theme of ‘weird creatures’ last spring, and it was from episode 74 that I began pursuing this in earnest, interpreting more creature-based stories from the prompts on the show and also reflecting a lot on some of the tropes and philosophical or psychological facets of monster fiction, though not necessarily within horror. If you’re interested in that, there’s a lot of material around this in the shows of 2025, in fact, my show “On Writing Short Stories for the Zeitgeist: Monsters Emerge” (episode 75) was my most popular episode of the year, maybe because of its topical nature.
 
Anyway, in autumn, I went to World Fantasy Con hosted by the British Fantasy Society, and I met an editor who then gave me feedback on a flash fiction story I’d originally drafted for episode 87, called A Storm Brews. It’s about an old lady who owns a tea shop, who blends teas that invoke emotions, magically. The feedback was very broad: one, that she would like to spend more time in this weird and slightly creepy tea shop, and two, that she wasn’t sure whether the tea seller was good or evil. And I thought to myself, well, I’m not sure either, and that’s sort of why I liked writing her; and maybe why the old lady had so much to say. She’s also a shape-shifter; a monster, though you don’t realise that straight away.
 
As a result of the feedback, I found myself exploring this character a bit more, and then the idea struck: what if my tea seller is in fact a storyteller, who tells the stories in my collection, Weird Creatures? She’s a weird creature herself…
 
And so the idea blossomed: quite quickly, because this came to me in mid-November last year. But aside from having new material to explore, in the interjections between the stories she tells, this meant I had to reassess my selection of the stories I originally wanted to include; because, if she is to be the one telling those stories, she must have her own specific, personal reasons for doing so. If she is to have her own, overarching story as well, that pulls all the tales together somehow, these must fit into that bigger arc. She must use the stories to try and get her own way. So I had a lot to think about and to develop, based on what Eswilda wants and why.
 
Broadly speaking, she is making a case for the preservation or at least tolerance of monsters, and trying to prove a point about that. But she will get into arguments with the other characters on this very point, and the cracks will start to show: then you realise she’s trying to gather an audience that will help her find something vital, to redeem herself. And at this stage, I daren’t say more than that.
 
Some stories have had to be dropped; others rewritten or adapted with this new protagonist’s goals and story arc in mind. But I’m very excited about it. There’s something about this that appeals to me, of drawing all the stories together—it’s very satisfying.
 
If you’d like to hear and see me reading out A Storm Brews in its current form, before it gets adapted, there is of course the recent British Fantasy Society event which I talked about in the last show, where I read this out and answered some Q&A afterwards. As mentioned, the entire 1-day event, because it was like a conference with all sorts of panel talks and other interviews included, is available to purchase for a measly £2.50 on the BFS website, but, as promised, they also very kindly gave me a cut of just my part, about 20 minutes or so, which I’m free to share. I put it up on Youtube, because that was just easiest in the end. The link is in today’s show notes, or you can also just go to the Youtube channel for Brainstoryum and you’ll find the video there (it’s the only actual video—the rest of the content is just this show, in audio, available on Youtube for those who prefer to listen on that platform).
 
In the interview part after I read the story, I do talk a bit about this show, my inspiration, and some of what I’ve mentioned here about how this editor’s comments inspired me to transform Weird Creatures into more than a straight story collection.
 
It just goes to show, you never really know where your imagination might lead you; and feedback from the right sources can be truly transformative.
 
(And I mean transformative. This book would not be what it is going to be, without that bit of feedback.)
 
**
Right, so before we get into the new story brainstorms, I have some incredible stories from my talented listeners to share with you, all based on an unusual word combination that cropped up in the last show: “the expansive lantern”.
 
Nick Vracar wrote:
 
‘Barb said, “Here it is, just like you wanted: an ornate lantern, made for a King that ruled sometime in the 15th century. Cost a pretty penny.”
 
Tina asked, “Why didn’t you get any old lantern?”
 
“You said you wanted an expensive one.”
 
“An EXPANSIVE lantern, Barb! EXPANSIVE!”’
 
Great stuff, thank you Nick. And a clever approach here, actually: you’ve thought about, not what the word combination is, but what it isn’t. Interesting.
 
Nick Vracar writes short stories and articles which you can find at nvracar.wordpress.com.
 
Paul Mc Millan wrote:
 
“There are lanterns that brighten a path, and then there are lanterns that widen it. Tomas carried the Expansive Lantern along the forest edge where the lands of Faery touched the mortal world in soft, uncertain ways. With each step, the light unfurled the world like a petal opening. Trees he had known all his life grew taller, kinder. Their leaves shimmered with quiet gold, and even the moss seemed to hum a small, brave song.

The Lantern widened more than space, it widened his heart. He felt the old ache of longing, the one he used to ignore as he grew older. He felt awe, and the strange, sweet pull of places he had never seen but somehow remembered. Ahead, Faery glowed with its own breathless wildness. Tomas felt no fear, only invitation. Of course he didn’t enter, because some thresholds are honored best by standing beside them.

The Lantern dimmed, satisfied.”
 
Ah, this is just gorgeous. I feel like I’m there, I’ve stepped into this magical land. And the lantern is a sort of character as well, that reacts and seems to have intention, which… adds a kind of heart to this story. Thank you, Paul.
 
Paul McMillan writes fantasy fiction and you can find him on social media at bookmarksloveandlore.
 
Alessandro Bozzo who usually writes children’s books, wrote a poem entitled:
 
The Expansive Lantern

A ship sets sail through the nighttime fog
Its crew sings a shanty while sipping on grog
Darkness itself has swallowed the day
But the expansive lantern lights the way.

A raging storm, torrential downpour
A crewmember shrieks, "She can't take anymore!"
As the Captain herself cries out in dismay
The expansive lantern still lights the way.

The seas have calmed to the delight of all
The vessel's main mast still standing tall
Moonbeams glisten upon bow and stern
The expansive lantern beams back in return.

And return they have, this weary crew
To the creaking docks in the morning dew
Each sailor pays homage in their own little way
To the expansive lantern that lit their way.”
 
I love this, it has a kind of music to it. In fact, that swinging rhythm makes me think of the bobbing sea that moves the ship, it’s very much a part of this world that the pirates are in.
 
Thank you for sharing this, Alessandro Bozzo.
 
Eric Montgomery wrote a short story entitled:

This is wonderful. And how children believe in magic: the story sort of pulls you right in to their perspective of expectations of the impossible, is just spot on.
 
Thank you for sharing this. You can find Eric Montgomery’s stories and poetry at madp03t.org.
 
And finally, Paul Monteith wrote a short story called:
 
“The Expanding Lantern Cafe

On the outskirts of Marrakesh, I walked alongside a red clay wall until I came upon an archway that opened onto a garden and the popular, sentry-box-sized Expansive Lantern Cafe. At a table under the arch, the proprietor, a Barbary monkey, offered me a cup of mint tea.

He refused to show me a menu and told me the Lantern's cuisinier would prepare me a terrine of the day, and we haggled over vegetables and spices. After the monkey had chosen my meal, he called over the host, who led me to a table.

We entered the cafe through a teardrop arch. The air was heavy with cumin, ginger, garlic, and lemon. My table, only a few steps away, receded into the room with every step I took. Seeing my surprise, the host asked if I would prefer to ride in a horse-drawn caleche as we journeyed through the cafe's sensory labyrinths of colorful, narrow alleys, rich with spice scents, and sizzling food served to diners.

As we traveled in the caleche, I asked the driver if the Lantern Cafe was always this expansive. He said that the expansion depended on the diner's menu choice. I had ordered the chef's special, which required the cafe walls to move outward to accommodate the unique ingredient.

“What might that be?” I asked.

“You ordered a terrine topped with congealed hedgehog," he said.

“What is the portion size of jellied hog?”

"The congealed hedgehog portion is limitless, like the Expansive Lantern Cafe."
 
Aha! Brilliant. What you’ve done is throw in another of the weird word combinations that came up on the same show, in a different Exquisite Corpse: the congealed hedgehog which is of course a delicacy! Well, it is now.
 
This is so clever. I love this space-expanding café. It’s funny how settings can have as many characteristics as the actual characters, and they alone can be a huge pull into a story, no matter what kind of monkey might be serving the mint tea—or whatever!
 
Thank you for this incredibly inventive story. can find Paul Monteith on Bluesky as Quantum Fairy.
 
Thanks to everyone who sent in stories, and poems, these are just amazing and an absolute joy to read. Other listeners: do look up these authors if you enjoy their stories, there’s always so much more to discover from these indie writers, what you’ve heard today just scratches the surface.
 
OK, it is time to cast the nets of our imaginations into the infinite (expansive) ocean of what is, what could be, and what will surely never be. Pens poised, let us reach into the socks of destiny.
 
SOCKS OF DESTINY ORGAN JINGLE
 
As you may already know, Exquisite Corpse mixes words and phrases from different players into a sentence that goes Describing word—noun—action—describing word—noun”…
 
This part of the show is un-transpose-able! There's much giggling and rustling of paper as I pull words at random from the Socks of Destiny to create three unique sentences. Today’s resulting sentences are:
 
1. The bountiful garden gnome required the long-clawed banshee.
2. The jimmy-legged artist joined the table and looked for, but could not find, the drunken flowerbed.
3. The hungry handkerchief drifted effortlessly towards the furry Santa’s thieving helper.
 
**
Hm, so as we move on to the second set of story brainstorms—based on a list of 8 categories which I’ll pick out using my 8-sided dice—I have to say, I’m not sure which word combination I should go with. I think I might be most intrigued by the hungry handkerchief, but that’s not to say I’m ready to let go of the drunken flowerbed. And there are still possibilities to explore with the bountiful garden gnome and the long-clawed banshee, though not necessarily in the same story.
 
I wonder if I should use a dice to decide? Because I have just ordered a pack of multisided dice, so I have more than just my 8-sided one now: I have a 4-sided, which I could use here, a 9-sided, which kind of hurts my brain to think about (how did they do that?), a 12-sided and a 20-sided. (I figured that this category brainstorming section has the potential to develop in ways I can’t yet predict, so I thought: just buy a selection, let’s keep our options open.) And now I have these lovely marble-effect blue and red swirly patterned dice, with gold-painted numbers.
 
So let’s do this! In my notepad I have now numbered the four word combinations I like best, in order of appearance, so let’s give this a go and let the 4-sided die decide.
 
3: The drunken flowerbed. I knew things weren’t over with this one. I have unfinished business with the drunken flowerbed. But what? What story category shall I try for this one? Once more the list of 8 categories is in the show notes if you want to see them all, so let me just go ahead and roll my 8-sided dice.
 
6. That is: a monster or creature. Well, actually, that makes sense to me. For if the drunken flowerbed isn’t itself a monster, it may seem drunk by the wavering of the plants, the flowers that shake—because it is the sleeping place of a creature.
 
But that’s just going by appearances. How else could a drunken flowerbed be, or signify, a creature?
 
A flowerbed that is a grave? Where a monster has died, and its body buried, hidden—or so the killer (or hunter) believes. It’s a cottage, rather twee and quaint, but how else is a monster hunter meant to blend in these days? They’re tired of word in the city, where monsters are everywhere, on every street corner these days. All they need to thrive is a bit of shadow, and bad intentions, that they’ve soaked up from the humans they linger around. She’s seen them: during the daytime, these so-called innocent people go about their business, doing their jobs, but secretly scheming against each other, smiling sweetly to their colleagues while competing against each other. Grudges, diabolical desires, regrets and disappointments; these are the unseen shadows that hunch over them during the daytime. Then, when evening comes, they have the audacity to ring her up and complain they have a ghost in the apartment, or have seen a monster in an alleyway. Of course they bloomin’ have!
 
Our monster hunter considers this, her lovely cottage in the countryside, her semi-retirement, but she’s quickly finding out that the local monsters, while fewer in the less densely populated village, have grown stronger than their city-dwelling counterparts. They’ve had the luxury of time and space, with the wide fields to roam in and the thick shadows of the forest, to grow and expand, and build on the evil intent which first brought them into being.
 
And this one, slaughtered only last night and buried under her flowerbed, had a slurring sort of half-speech, and a sideways stagger. She wondered if it belonged to one of the local drunks. And now, as she sipped her tea in the garden, drinking in the May sunlight, she realised, at the quiver of those poppies over there, whether she hadn’t quite managed to kill it.
 
Okay. I quite like that. Let’s try for another one. Using my 4-sided dice, which word combination shall I try now?
 
Number 2: the long-clawed banshee. Which category? Let’s roll the 8-sided dice for that: 4. A portal or means of travel.
 
Gosh, that’s quite tricky. Or is it? What if this banshee claws her way through to other worlds, or just other places? This could be a way of getting about. She cuts a hole in the air with the prick of her claw, hooks it in, wrenches until it tears, then climbs through. Or maybe doesn’t even bother climbing through, she just bends down until she’s level with the hole and screams into it. That’s why the vicar shudders in his bed at night, from a nightmare (at least, he hopes it was a nightmare), the ice-cold trickle of terror sliding down the back of his neck. That scream. Where did it come from? Somewhere close. But there’s no-one here.
 
#He sits up in bed, clammy with sweat, breathless. Fumbling for his glasses. Surely it was just a fox. Surely. But his heart thuds anyway.
 
A second shrill noise cuts the night air, and he gasps, clutching his chest, before he realises it’s the telephone.
 
He picks it up. “Vicar, I’m so sorry to disturb you this time of night. But—there’s been a murder.”
 
And that could be how the long-clawed banshee is a way of getting around (for the banshee).
 
One last one. Actually, no, I’m not going to use the 4-sided dice for this one: I’m going to just pick the hungry handkerchief, because I really want to see where else this one can take us. (Apologies to the bountiful garden gnome, your adventures will have to wait.) Right, rolling the 8-sided dice for category…
 
7. An invention?
 
Mm, this is a tough one. In the original brainstorm I was thinking about a wizard or a witch who was practising a levitation spell on something light and easy, like a handkerchief, and the hungry part was an unfortunate side effect. To consider a hungry handkerchief as an invention is kind of polar opposite to that, because they say “necessity is the mother of invention”. So how on earth could anyone need a handkerchief that experiences hunger?
 
What if someone of high rank, like a monarch or a politician or a billionaire celebrity needs someone to poison-test their food? You can’t exactly have a person, like a servant, sampling your food to check if they might keel over so you feel safe to eat it… I’m guessing if anyone is having to test their food for poison, there will be chemical tests you can do (although I’m not sure how long they might take—won’t your meal get cold)? So perhaps it’s as simple as that. This rich and powerful person is worried about being poisoned, and either they, or someone they’ve employed, a crazy scientist, has invented a hungry handkerchief that will eat whatever you put in it, and will glow a number of colours if any poisons are present. Or maybe it starts sneezing.
 
A sneezing handkerchief. You don’t want one of those when you have a cold or the flu.
 
But what kind of story is this weird invention a part of? Is this really a person in power, or in politics, realistically concerned about being poisoned? Or is it someone suffering from paranoia? Are they the inventor? Do they spend their days cooped up in a laboratory? Or is this a “dark academia” story—a new genre I keep hearing about? Dark magic, secret knowledge, a big library in an academic institution. Academics in competition with each other, plotting against each other. Maybe there’s an actual competition happening, and they each have to try and invent something that will improve security for the Dean. The Dean of the dark arts…
 
A hungry handkerchief sounds faintly ridiculous in this context, but maybe that could work if your protagonist is a hapless, blustering academic who always seems to be stuck at the bottom. This competition might be his one chance to make a name for himself, and get a promotion. And while it may seem ridiculous, maybe this odd invention could be an unexpected success. But what if he wins, to the scowls of the other, jealous competitors, and is given a new position, taking care of the Dean’s every need, which gives him an insight to some of the cruel inner workings of the institution. And he begins to wish that maybe he didn’t know of this; that he hadn’t won, and could stay blissfully ignorant of it all. But then, things start to go wrong with his invention, which has behaved so well up till now: the hungry handkerchief is not quite the great poison detector he’d designed it to be. Or there are… side-effects. Our unfortunate inventor may begin, unintentionally, to slowly dismantle the institution he’s always been so in awe of, from the inside out. Yikes. A lot of tension-potential there. And someone you can really root for.
 
Well. What shall I invite you to write about this time? So many choices. I think I like the hungry handkerchief best, probably because it feels the most elusive, so it might have the potential to turn into the most different ideas.
 
But, equally, if you happen to find yourself in an imaginary conversation with a bountiful garden gnome, or are haunted by the long-clawed banshee, you know what to do: go to annatizard.com/submit, or on the website just click the ‘submit’ tab on the navigation bar, under the Brainstoryum tab.
 
But this is not the only reason to get in touch with me in the next week! The next show is going to be the 100th episode of Brainstoryum. I cannot quite believe it. I feel like I need to cast back and see just how many Exquisite Corpses there have been—it must be hundreds, I’m just not sure how many.
 
But the most important thing is, what’s been your experience? If Brainstoryum has inspired you in ways that you didn’t expect, if it has changed your perspective at all as a writer, or inspired you to pick up your pen when you might have left it lying there; if there’s been any advice or methods or techniques or topics I’ve discussed along the way that have helped you: I would love to hear from you. Please get in touch by the Friday after the release of this show, to ensure I have time to include your thoughts on the 100th show.
 
Until next time, go forth and be inspired!