FINNS and THE SEA - JULIA TIRKKONEN

Masters Creative Project - Julia Tirkkonen's photography project celebrates her native Finland's long and complex relationship with the Baltic Sea - from its frozen winter to beautiful summer sailing in its archipelago.  Julia was invited to hold an exhibition at the Turku Jazz Sea Festival and you can find her website  here Julia Tirkkonen Photography with a link to her on-line exhibition here: Finns by the Sea - Online 3D

WANDERER- SAVANNAH CROSBY

Masters Creative Project -  Wanderer  by Savannah Crosby is a hand-on exploration of photography, walking in nature and well being. The images capture Savannah's walks through  Galloway where she lives. An on-line exhibition was complemented by a physical exhibition in Stranraer's Millenium Centre.  Her project which includes a short film can be found here: Wanderer Exhibition . Savannah has recently been announced by South-west Scotland's arts organisation  Upland as one of two "Emerge" artists for 2022.  Recipients receive mentorship from experienced artists / makers along with a bursary of £1000 to create and present new work.

The SAFE HOUSE - Bobby Wells

Masters Creative Project - The Safe House by Bobby Wells is a fantasy novella where spells, witches and wraiths interact with the everyday world of modern Britain. Mason is the house father of a safe house protecting witches in need from their adversaries. One of these is Hannah, except she’s a waitress in a seaside town and has no idea that she’s a witch!  The project also encompassed a script for screen adapation of the story. Here's an extract from the opening chapter:

Mason appeared in a small storm of orange sparks and stepped out on the beach, the café was sitting a little way off, doors locked and a small flickering bug light still alight in the window.  The growing weather threw the sea into unrest and forced him to the twinkling lights of a nearby town. The streets were empty, the pubs and bars closed, and only a small 24-hour supermarket showed that this wasn’t a ghost town. Mason kept his hand around his wand, feeling safe to hold it in the open, darting his gaze through side streets and alleyways. 

         The streets were a winding nest of cobbled lines and Mason could barely find his way in the dark. As he got closer to town and a few more people were in the streets, he stowed his wand in his pocket but didn’t release his grip on it. The town centre was a mass of restaurants, and bars, that still had people inside. The muffled sounds of clinking glasses and dull music came through the open doors. 

         He leaned against the shopfront and watched the patrons milling around. The various businesses were starting to close now and in the distance the town clock struck eleven pm. Mason was starting to worry he was running out of time, when something caught his eye. The something in question was a pair of waitresses that locked up a small Italian eatery. They were both still wearing white shirts and with black aprons tied around their waist. The pair walked off down the street, but the reason that Mason knew they were different was the shadow creeping along behind them.

         A wraith was crawling over the buildings a little behind them. Almost indistinguishable in the darkness it was given away by two shining white eyes. Its long limbs clutched onto railings and windowsills, and Mason could’ve sworn he heard it take a long deep sniff, as though it were hunting the waitress’s scent. 

         The two women turned down a side street and disappeared from view. Mason jogged across the road and watched as the women turned to each other and said goodbye, before parting ways. The taller of the two walked left and the shorter right. Mason was panicking a little, he couldn’t follow both people at once, but the wraith proved to be an unlikely help. 

         It was crawling along the walls of the narrow street above him, completely oblivious to Mason’s presence but focussed on his quarry at the other end. It reached the exit of the street and paused. Mason watched it look both ways, before taking a long drag of air in a grunting snuffle. It turned right. He ran after it, his footsteps echoing off the walls before falling out of the street exit. The waitress was unlocking a car a few metres away, and the wraith had climbed the building to get a bird’s eye view no doubt. 

         Mason crossed over, and in his haste propped his hand on the waitress’s shoulder.

         The woman turned and let out a short yelp, grabbing herself back from the stranger. ‘Shit, sorry, sorry’ Mason backed away a little, holding his hands up. The woman saw the wand in his hand, but the dark street cast a shadow over it that made it look like a knife. She backed into a storefront window, and held out her bag 

‘I-I don’t have any money on me, please just take this.’ Her voice was clear but terrified. 

‘Oh god’ Mason breathed ‘no no no-’ he stowed the wand in his pocket ‘that’s not, I’m not’ he was stammering now, and backing away a little further. ‘I was looking for someone, I thought it was you, but maybe it’s not you, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.’ 

The woman slowly lowered her bag, but didn’t move, her eyes fixed on something behind Mason. He turned, half-hoping that he was wrong, the wraith was indeed lowering itself down onto the street.

‘Well, that’s not good.’ Mason muttered, and he heard the woman take gasping breaths, he held out an arm against her and whispered ‘If you can see that, then tap my arm,’ tap tap ‘right, you are who I’m looking for then.’ Mason’s voice was steady, although he could feel his jaw quivering.

‘Move slowly to your left, and down to the end of the alley.’ The woman tapped his arm again, and Mason took that to mean she understood.

THE DILIGENT FOX - CALLUM J BROWN

This novella combines elements of fantasy, social realism and the religious parable and koan.  We follow the progress of a the growing  fox cub Pict and his  family in a harsh world where animals speak - but with a strong West of Scotland accent!  Here's an extract from the opening chapter:

Midge and Kipper had finally noticed the black and white figures hopping around in their play area. The cubs charged at the birds with joyous cries. Raspy chatter filled the air as the magpies took to the air and scattered. Pict bowed his head and looked at the ground. What he had seen had overwhelmed his mind. What a nasty thing, he thought, the life of a worm must be sad. Is life always like that?

Pict wondered what happened when a creature entered another’s stomach. Where they gone

forever? He knew to be afraid of being eaten. Being crushed by jaws and then swallowed surely caused immense pain and suffering. Whatever followed could not be good even if it was a mystery to the little fox cub. Pict’s mind came to standstill as he reflected on the slaughter his siblings had unknowingly caused and halted. He held a concentration never before obtained in his short life. All at once did the mental intoxications of self leave his mind. Like a dimming light, the questions of

origin and fate faded away. Pride, age and strength had no meaning. He was free in silent bliss under the decaying arch of colour.

A dead rat fell to Pict’s feet from on high. He shot to his feet with a piercing yelp. His trance was abruptly ended. A loud voice, utterly different to the deathly tranquility from before, called out.

“Whit ye daein, ya dreamer? Aren’t ye supposed tae be watching? Ah could ‘ave been anybody.”

Pict turned around and looked up. Before him stood Fritter, a mangy vixen. Her fur was a weak orange, that of a fading ember losing its heat. Bald patches of cracked scar tissue dotted around her body. Fritter looked sternly at Pict. Her frown was highlighted by the slight bend in the scar which

trailed down her right eye. With a squealing voice Pict scrambled together his courage.

“Mammy, I was watching,” he said.

“Naw, ye were daydreaming. No the same ‘hing,” Fritter exclaimed.

Her frown moved towards Midge and Kipper who had not noticed the arrival of their mother.

“Oi, whit ‘ave ah telt youse? Never leave the shelter and stop messing around when am no here.”

“He likes it, mammy,” exclaimed Midge as she pinned Kipper to the ground.

“Well ah don’t an’ that’s that. Get over here now. Swear, youse all drive me insane.”

Midge released Kipper and the two cubs padded over to their mother. Pict stared at the ground as his siblings approached. He could sense a rising tension within Fritter’s belly but if Kipper had noticed his mother’s annoyance he did not care.

“Ew, whit’s that rat? We had it jist yesterday,” Kipper complained.

Fritter jabbed her front right paw hard into Kipper’s side. Pict winched at the sound of his brother’s whelp. Fritter then shoved Kipper’s snout into the soil, pressing down with her paw. Her teeth were bared and her furious voice lashed right beside his ear as she forced him further down into the muck.

“If ah hear another complaint outta ye, ye wee mutt!”

Fritter released Kipper. His head sprang out of the soil and he gasped as though he had been submerged in water. His mother ignored his discomfort and strode over to the end of the fallen tree. She urinated on the rotten wall of wood. The aroma gradually defused throughout the oasis. A warning to others that Fritter was present. Midge sat and looked down on the dead rat. She ignored her brother’s pain and pretended to wait patiently. Pict’s instinct was to help Kipper as he watched

him cough and splatter the mud off his snout but he knew not to interfere in his mother’s chastisement.

The three cubs dismembered the dead rat in silence. Goo-like blood oozed out of its corpse. It was an odd sight which Pict could not understand. Blood was meant to flow hot and free, not cold and sluggish. They devoured the carcass under Fritter’s watchful gaze. They knew not to leave scraps

or complain. Every drop of nourishing blood had to be licked up. Fritter did not like wasting food. The worm like tail slithered down Pict’s throat and the rat was finally gone. He thought again of the earth worms and felt a terrible sense of loss.

The night was still warm. There was a notable breeze as though the earth was snoring, no longer able to control its breathing. It irritated Fritter. The lukewarm wind against the back of her neck reminded her of the hot breath of past foes as they bit and slashed her vulnerable spots. The trio of cubs nestled against Fritter. Her bushy tail sheltered them from the occasional breeze as it curled around their nimble bodies. But Pict could not sleep. His mind pondered over the misery of the past

day. He felt the sting of guilt. So many creatures endured the obvious pain of being devoured and yet only now had Pict realised the closeness of suffering. Midge and Kipper’s breathing was slow and relaxed as they slumbered. Fritter could feel their little furry tummies gently rising up and then

down. She felt that Pict’s tummy was more conscious and rapid in its movement. She knew her son

was awake.

“Whit’s keeping ye awake, son?” Fritter asked in a unusually gentle whisper.

“Sorry, mammy,” said Pict “I was just thinking about something.”

Pict shifted his head and looked at his mother. The bleakness of the summer night concealed her tormented figure. She looked almost peaceful. Pict could tell his mother was not looking at him. Her eyes looked upon the same spot where he had witnessed the massacre of the worms.

“Of the same stuff ye were day dreaming aboot, aye?” She asked.

“Yes. Mammy, what happens after you get eaten?”

Fritter squirmed as though an unwelcome insect had ticked her paw. She scratched her ear, clearly uncomfortable and then shook her head hoping to wipe away the tingling sensation that had begun to scuttle across her fur.

Pict waited patiently for his mother to answer. His innocent, open-mouthed face never shifted away from her. Fritter looked ahead as if something had startled her. After a while she spoke.

“Ye know whit yer problem is, Pict? Ye ‘hink tae much.”

Fritter only allowed herself to snooze after she saw Pict’s little head flop down on her hip as he fell asleep.