Writer's Notebook

Being a saint was a damn hard job. Never a moments peace. The moment you got one problem out of the way, the barrier reopened and a hundred others fought with each other to be the first across the threshold. People didn't seem to realise that miracles cost time and energy. Of course, it was all the fault of fairy tales. Their compilers always made things seem so effortless. Take Cinderella's fairy godmother, for instance. All that was required was the wave of a magic wand and hey presto, they all ended happily ever after. But real life, even life after achieving sainthood just wasn't like that.

He remembered taking matters up with a brash sounding scholar at a colloquium. The idiot had just presented a paper on Sainthood and Magic in Ancient European Tradition. The guy didn't have a clue what he was on about. Sprite spent the better part of an hour ranting and raving at him without the guy batting an eyelid. He didn't even believe in the beings he was pontificating on!

Sprite knew the race across the line would take another hour or so before reaching its climax. Time enough to challenge Frankie to a quick game of chess express. After all, wasn't it Frankie's constant refrain:

Games lubricate the body and the mind