Book Making

So what do you do on a Bank Holiday Monday, when the sun is shining and it is a lovely day to be outside?
    Do you? Well I have been inside making books.

     Actually this is a job I like to do either at the weekend or on a Bank Holiday, because it is a job that always takes longer than I expect it too, and during the week I feel under pressure to get on and deal with orders to get as many out as possible. There may only be one or two orders actually waiting for these books, and we can often send out the bulk of the order with just the odd book 'to follow'. But eventually the job has to be done, and today was it!

     I had printed out the pages and covers for the books during the week, double sided A4 sheets of paper, which have to then be cut in half to make a larger pile of A5 pages, with card covers, and of course the pages have to be in order too.

 We use a small, antiquated guillotine which I got from a Boot Sale years ago for the princely sum of £3.00

 


Here are all the book pages. Each little pile is a single book, but of course all the pages are currently loose .






These books are being comb bound, and the fab machine we use will first punch all the oblong holes down one edge of the pages. Of course you can only stick around 10 pages in at a time, so you have to be sure you are punching the holes in the right side of the pages, and that you lay them down correctly on top of the ones you have taken out, so that the pages stay in the right order.

Here is one book page set with the holes punched on the left side ready for the 'comb' to be inserted through the holes

Here the plastic 'comb' is being inserted through all the holes in one go. This can be fiddly to do, and you often find when you look at the back of the book that not all the ends of the 'prongs' of the comb have gone through all the pages.
This job needs both patience and attention to detail - and the ability to wriggle a recalcitrant prong through a hole only just big enough for it.

There we have the finished comb bound book.

And below the results of an hour's work, ten books nicely comb bound and ready for sale.

Where Has all the SF Gone?

22nd of Aug is the the birthday of Ray Bradbury, which of course made me think about all the fab stories he wrote.

     Throughout my teens and 20's I was a great SF fan, well science fiction and fantasy too. I had lots of favourite authors, because there seemed to be so much SF out there: Isaac Asimov, Anne McCaffrey, Harry Harrison, Roger Zelazny, Larry Niven, Ursula Le Guin, Fritz Leiber, Robert Heinlein, Tanith Lee.
     I loved the alien landscapes and alternate views of the universe they gave. I loved the way they stimulated and expanded my own imagination and there seemed to be so much endless variation within SF from straight adventure, to extrapolations on current scientific discoveries, to flights of pure sword and sorcery fantasy.
     I read of Elric of Melnibone, the exiled albino prince of a dying world - and by the same author (Michael Moorcock) I still love the Dancers at the End of Time books. Moorcock was a prolific author who wrote at a ferocious rate, a book a fortnight at one time, as if the stories were crowding through him, desperate to flood into the world. He was not afraid to poke fun at his own characters either, with Elric at the End of Time, being deadly and depressedly in earnest while the Dancers merely create battles and love affairs for their own entertainment and to fill the emptiness as they wait for the end of time. They try to cheer Elric up - a lost cause, of course - by giving him enemies to kill and epic battles to fight, then go home to tea.
     For pure fun and entertainment you could not fault Terry Pratchett, who had the ability to point up glaring faults in society and 'progress', inequalities and prejudices, while at the same time showing how crassly stupid these are.
     Ray Bradbury was the master of weird and macabre fantasy, but without descending into stomach churning gore. His stories piqued the imagination and recognised that sometimes our own imaginations can create a greater horror than those hammered home with bloody spikes by other authors.
     He was friends with Charles Addams, author of the Addams Family, and there are sometimes similarities in some of their ideas, the playfulness mixed with the grotesque, the families who see themselves as perfectly normal, which to us are both weird and scary.
     I remember a story in The October Country where two uncles run the local funeral parlour, where they drain the corpses of blood, and take the blood home for their family to drink. These are thoroughly modern (ish) and practical vampires, pillars of the local community and existing in plain sight with none of that nasty neck-biting - so last century. And the young son, the runt of the family, who cannot drink blood because it makes him sick, and has none of the magical or psychic powers of other family members, but his mother loves him.
     Golancz used to be the publisher I searched for in the local library, with its distinctive primrose yellow book covers. They introduced me to so many authors. So many different styles. I didn't like them all, but some I adored (and still do).
     So where has all the sci fi gone?
     I used to be able to buy it in Woolworths, shelves and shelves of paperback books with their, literally 'out of this world' covers showing strange planets and double sun rises. Twenty years ago I joined a SF and Fantasy Book Club and what a disappointment that was, the only SF on offer were stories based on Dr Who, Star Trek or Star Wars, the rest was all Fantasy. Has SF fallen so far out of favour that authors cannot write anything new, only add to existing franchises?
     Saddly my own collection of SF paperbacks vanished in a house move years ago, so all I have are memories.
     But, Oh! what memories !

Hymn to Tehuti

This is a translation from Papyrus Anastasi III :

Praise to you, Lord of the House,
Holy Baboon with shining mane and pleasing figure,
gentle, charming, loved by all.
To him belongs contentment, for he is Tehuti
Who overwhelms the Earth with beauty!

His headdress is red jasper
His phallus is carnelian
Love gushes out of his eyebrows
and he opens his mouth to give life.

My home is sweet, since the Holy One entered
It has flourished and grown since
My Lord set foot therein.

May all receive his blessings
Be happy for me, my friends,
Behold my Lord! He has made me what I am
and my heart belongs to him.

O Tehuti, with you as my champion,
I will fear nothing

Shamash

For those of you unlucky enough not to be on the Raven Mailing List, and who therefore miss out on our Newsletter, here is an extract from an article on Sun Deities from our July 2016 issue

Shamash

     Possibly even older than Ra is the god who was worshipped by the Akkadians and later Assyrian and Babylonians, Shamash.
    The main symbol of Shamash is a winged sun disc (the Egyptians had a similar symbol to represent Ra).
     Originally it was the moon deity who had precedence as the chief of all the gods, and it is speculated that this was because to nomadic peoples the moon and stars are more important as measures of time and indicators of direction. Once people became settled farmers then the solar deities became the powerful ones.
     Shamash is the son of the Moon god Nannar, which might also indicate the supreme power changing from moon to sun. He rides a chariot across the sky, driven by his charioteer, Bunene.
     Shamash is God of Justice, as the sun dispels darkness, so Shamash sheds light on a situation and brings the powers of justice to bear. As he dispels physical darkness, he also dispels the darkness of the soul and banishes demons and evil spirits. As illness was believed to be caused by the actions of evil spirits, it was Shamash who was prayed to for relief from the demons of illness.
     In later times he amalgamated other solar deities into himself - as Ra also can be seen to be both Ra, Kephera and Horus, who yet can be viewed as deities in their own right. So Shamash became thought of as part of a trinity with Ninurta being the Sun God of the Sunrise and Spring time, and Nergal the Sun God of midday and the Summer Solstice. In the same way as Ra aged, so did Shamash, becoming more the God of the Sunset who passed through the Underworld at night and was reborn at dawn.
     Yet even while he was in the Underworld, Shamash carried out his role as God of law and order, becoming the judge of the spirits of the dead.

Shamash, Great Lord, Merciful God

Who hears prayer, who grants life

On the servant who reverences you, have mercy.

Prayer to Shamash from a cylinder seal.

Intruder Allert

     It was a warm and sultry afternoon.
     Graham had taken China out for a walk, and I was in the living room, reading the Radio Times while ignoring the Formula 1 Testing session on the TV in the background.
     Then suddenly I heard the sounds of a helicopter, or some flying machine coming low overhead. This does happen regularly, so wasn't a huge cause for concern, although this did seem particularly loud and therefore close. The regular beats of the rotors were pulsing very close by.
     Hang on they were now being mixed with the sound of crockery and glass. And it wasn't outside, it was coming from the kitchen.
     Oh my Goddess! The back door to the garden was wide open, as it usually is from sunrise to sunset during the summer, there was someone in the kitchen - and they were ransacking the place!
     I hurried through to the kitchen,  hoping that my sudden appearance would make whoever it was take fright and run away. To be honest, the thought that they might not run away didn't occur to me.
     So I went in to the kitchen, expecting to see an intruder.
     And there they were!
    A pigeon was in the small window above the sink, a window stuffed with small tasteful nick-nacks in porcelain and glass, and was attempting to beat its way out through the glass while flailing madly with wings and feet and sending afore-mentioned nick-nacks flying and ricochetting around the kitchen and off the crockery stacking in the drying tray.
     It must have flown in through the open kitchen door and being a bird of little brain, and in a panic, instead of flying out again was trying to dig its way to freedom through the window.
     I tried to reach it, but I am only short and the nearest I could get to it was its tail. So I carefully tried pulling it towards me and ended up with a fist full of feathers.
    The pigeon looked sideways at me, and I looked sideways at the pigeon, and both of us decided there was no way I could reach it to get it outside. So I went for plan B - leave the kitchen, shut the kitchen door behind me (leaving the outside door open still) to make sure the bird couldn't get any further into the house and wait for Graham to come home.

    When Graham arrived home with China, It took him all of two minutes - including the swearing - to capture the pigeon (now in the front kitchen window) and put it outside on the lawn. It flew off none the worse for the experience - apart from the loss of a few tail feathers.
   
     So much for a peaceful Friday afternoon off work.

The Owning of Dogs

     The third of July is the start of the Dog Days, the heliacal rising of Sirius, the dog star.
     And on the 2nd of July, Saturday this year, we took our lovely girl, Maeve on her last journey to the vet. It was the last act of love and care we could do for her.
     Maeve was named after the Queen of the Fairies and she was a slender, yet strong and lively, blue merle, rough collie, with a mischevious sense of humour.
     Anyone who has owned dogs will tell you that each one is unique, with their own distinct personality.
     When you take on another dog, after the loss of one, you are never replacing the previous pet. Nothing can do that. It is like saying that a new baby would replace another child. Every child, and every dog, is a unique individual with their own likes and dislikes, and very much their own personality and sense of humour.
     After our previous dogs had died, our breeder friend Angela (Wicani Collies), asked us if we would consider giving a home to one of her adult dogs, China. It took us no time flat to say 'Yes! Please!' and off we went to meet China and possibly (? Who am I kidding!) bring her home with us.

     But China lived in the kennels with another adult female, Maeve, and when China was let out to meet us, Maeve came too.
     China and Maeve were as different as chalk and cheese. China is a happy, placid dog. Not the sharpest knife in the box, but solid, loving and always happy to finish off any food Maeve might leave. China was also the boss of the pair, even if it was Maeve who was the brains of the partnership.
     Maeve was a year younger, more slender and delicate in build and with a sharper, more Mercurial nature. She was shy and would hide from visitors, where China would push her way in.
     Maeve was also the dog who let us know if we had visitors coming, or if anyone was passing the house, or the birds were being too boisterous in the garden, usually by 'woofing' loudly, well away from the 'danger' and as near to us as possible.
     China's place was on the sofa, Maeve's place was on the floor. But this meant she had the opportunity to lie on my feet, or nestle up to Graham, since he also prefers to sit on the floor.
And if we were having supper, Maeve would be the one who 'helped' me to eat mine. To the extent that I would look at her and say to Graham, 'Tonight we will have a Marmite sandwich and some cereal to follow.' Then it was a bite of sandwich for me, and a piece for Maeve, and any cereal left over (of course, there was always some) would also go the way of Maeve too.
     One of her favourite games was not-letting-me-get-up-until-we-have-had-a-cuddle. And she loved having the top of her head rubbed while she pushed back against my hand making ecstatic, appreciative noises and nearly falling over.
    When she became ill, I asked Anubis to look after her, and as I write this I have an image of two dogs walking away. One a tall, slender, black, Egyptian hound, with a smaller, fluffy white collie trotting along beside him.
     Of course we are sad when they have to die. I have shed many tears for Maeve, as I have for other dogs and cats I have known over the years. But those tears are largely because I will miss her. I know that she is fine and happy in spirit.
     The joy of having her, and all the other creatures who have shared my life, far outweighs any sadness.
     All those who love their pets know: Our lives are richer and better for having known and loved them.

Summer Solstice Magic

I love the turning of the seasons, watching nature change with the waxing and waning of the year.
     I love that Witches and other Pagans mark the turning wheel of the year with special festivals. And I especially love the magic which twinkles through the year, and really pokes you in the eye around the festival times.
     This year (2016) we have a Full Moon on the night of the Summer Solstice. Full Moon and a Fairy festival together, how magical is that ?!
     So tonight would be ideal for a magical plant hunt. A night to gather fern seed, to turn you invisible, to wander unseen wherever you will. Or a night to drag a Mandrake Root screaming from the earth, and to create a homunculous, a magical servant who can travel through thick and thin and bring blessings, love, healing, or maybe the darker magics, as you desire.
     This is a night for being outside, with a bonfire, drinking wine with friends and toasting, 'The Old Ones!'. For wandering the wild places, haunting the Fairy Mounds and exploring the places where the Old Gods linger - will you run from Jenny Greenteeth, or stay and have a cup of tea with her?
     'But what if it's raining?' I hear you cry. Wandering the dark places, squelching through mud and cold is not so much fun, (not for us, anyway, but it gives the Old Gods a laugh).
     Then remember that tonight is sacred to Angus Og, Angus the Young, god of magical dreams. Through dreams we are carried to strange and magical places every night. We meet extraordinary character and have weird adventures in unknowable realms. With the help of Dream Angus we can pick a destination and travel to meet those who are not of this world. We can meet again those who have passed to the Summerland. We can explore the realms of the dead, or the lands of Faery. We can speak with spirits, angels, ghosts, ghouls and Gods.
     As we fall asleep we are at a magical crossroads which can lead us anywhere. it is the place where the Fairy Folk ride, their horses decorated with bright silver and tinkling bells, where the Witches cast spells, where Hecate waits, where the dead process, where Legba directs the traffic with his walking stick, where the black dog, Black Shuck or Anubis waits to guide you.
    The Web of Wyrd with all its threads and pathways is here, the Labyrinth with its Gods and monsters, it is the first branch on the Tree of Life climbing into the infinite beyond.
     Adventure awaits.
     If you are brave enough.