Door 7 of #Shedvent: In a clearing in the forest stands a Christmas tree. Gleaming with icicles, gilded with frost; with golden pine cones and silver stars hanging from the branches...

Door 6 of #Shedvent: The reindeer sledge carries you over the snow towards a forest of pine trees; all scented like Christmas morning…

Door 5 of #Shedvent: You get on the sledge; cover yourself with the blankets and set off briskly over the snow, with the scent of pine in the sparkling air and the sound of bells in the distance…

It’s that time of year again, where I remember how a mammogram saved my life five years go, and I proceed to hold my breath while I await my scan results. Don’t put off your mammograms, people with breasts: five minutes can make all the difference…

Door 4 of #Shedvent: a sledge drawn by reindeer approaches, heaped with handwoven blankets and rugs, and a picnic for the journey, with hot mulled wine and honey-cakes...

Never forget.

An astonishing letter published in the Times of London.

Door 3 of #Shedvent opens to a herd of caribou, pale against the silver dawn, moving silently over the snow...

Dear Bluesky. I'm giving away two signed paperbacks of my novel Villager. All you have to do to enter is share this extract from it & pop a reply below. You also get a free map! You might like the book if you like: Ghosts Social history Folklore Lost music Rivers Opinionated hills Earth magic

It's that time of year, in which, between now and Christmas Eve, the Shed opens a new door every day, taking you on a journey. Welcome to #Shedvent, everyone...

And the first door of #Shedvent opens onto a sparkling field of snow; luminous in the moonlight; peopled with dancing shadows...

Door 2 of #Shedvent: the Northern Lights, unfurling gently in purple and green over the flawless field of snow...

Here's a #Shedvent gift for you: it's the recipe for Guy's xocolatl spice powder, from VIANNE... www.joanne-harris.co.uk/news/decembe...

And this morning the Shed is a gondola, gliding through the tall reeds…

And this morning the Shed is an inscription, in runes, on the gate of an ancient fort: carved in the language of a time when sheds were sheds, and built to last...

And this morning the Shed is an armchair, worn perfectly to the shape of its wearer, and buffed to a gentle patina with the lustrous, leisurely hours…

And this morning the Shed is a block print design, depicting multicoloured sheds against a yellow background…

Well, this isn't terrifying at all...

And this morning the Shed is a hieroglyph on the carapace of an emerald beetle, resting under a date palm…

Every single person in Britain: "the chippy" or, if we're being fancy, "the chip shop" The New York Times: "the french fry restaurant"

Hello , here is your #FoxOfTheDay from @gweebarraG !

New Ways November - Day 27: Join a friend doing their hobby and find out why they love it actionforhappiness.org/new-ways-nov... #NewWaysNovember

And this morning the Shed is a Montgolfier, rising through the gilded clouds…

And this morning the Shed is a pale image of a shed, outlined in frost, on the window of another shed, deep in the snows of the frozen north…

The 25th of November is St Catherine's feast day. "This isn't about God, the stained-glass legends of broken wheels, the barrowload of miracles, or the dinner-plate halo they will nail to your head. Under the gospel, the truth of it: woman answers back, ends up dead." - Rosie Garland

And this morning the Shed is a wanderer among the fields and hedges; picking mushrooms; gathering sloes; skimming stones on the water…

@joannechocolat.bsky.social Montmartre, today. By Emmanuel

This is a simply wonderful piece of writing.

I wrote a little story about the dangers of letting wasps live rent-free inside your head. Buy me a cup of tea if the spirit moves you, or just read it here for free... ko-fi.com/post/The-Was...

And this morning the Shed is a home of driftwood and shells at the edge of a pebble beach. The only sound, that of the sea. Overhead, the circling of gulls in the candyfloss sky.

And this morning the Shed is a knuckle of flint, deep in the cleft of a hollow tree; keeping its secrets; unbreakable…

And this morning the Shed is a roadside inn; warm hearth and golden windows..,

And this morning the Shed is a musical box; playing the songs of the seasons…

And this morning the Shed is painted with the ghosts of summer flowers...

We wake to mornings of cold magic. Exhale dragon-breath, crunch frost-frozen leaves as we walk. The year is dying. We feel it as rush of ghosts, a shivering that foretells the blade of ice upon its neck. No wonder this is the season where folklore burns bright. – #DAKilroy, 1982 #Folklore

And this morning the Shed is heading north, through the storm, on stilts of lightning.

And this morning the Shed is a bullet train, heading for the target...

Open AI loses copyright case in Germany. Judge Elke Schwager summarized the case saying that if you want to build something and need components, "then you purchase them and do not use the property of others."

And this morning the Shed is a panopticon; watching Argus-eyed through the mists…

And this morning the Shed is a fairy ring of toadstools on the village green…

And this morning the Shed is a drawing-room, all furnished in sea-green satin…

I love how these people have followed my work for YEARS and then are surprised that I’m anti capitalist and anti girl boss feminism. My most successful work is about a refugee goddess who illegally crosses water to find safety, whose side do you think I’m on?

Setting aside my bloodstained quill to stash my current manuscript in its hiding-place in the hollow tree, guarded by a pack of wolves with a taste for human flesh... #AmWriting

And this morning the Shed is a light ship; sails unfurled to harvest the sun…

And this morning the Shed is a flickering image on an ancient screen, scratched and stuttering…

You have till November 9th to bid for a signed, dedicated copy of VIANNE - all in aid of Children in Need... www.jumblebee.co.uk/auction/deta...

And this morning the Shed is a carousel, deep in the heart of a forest. Ivy grows around it now; the gilded horses leap and prance over a frieze of shadows.