(note: too lazy to write my own)
 

Bronwin Hillar

A Lost Bronte Novel
by Coughkah

Bronwin Hillar is a clever and incredible orphan raised by a deranged and rude sister. Eventually she gets a job working as a actor for the daring Lord Sledgehammer of Sledgehammer Castle. The unlikely couple rapidly succumb to a other worldly passion.
 
On the day of their wedding, a sinister headmistress escapes from the attic of Sledgehammer Castle and starts a fire. Believing that Lord Sledgehammer is dead, Bronwin flees from the church and wanders the nippy moors for days until she is rescued by a articulate author.
 
However, although Lord Sledgehammer is blinded by the fire, he still breathes. Without Bronwin he becomes creepy and spiteful. He turns to alcohol for comfort. The ghost of the headmistress from the attic haunts him.
Meanwhile, thinking Lord Sledgehammer is dead, Bronwin accepts a marriage proposal from her saviour, the author. However, one night she believes she can hear Lord Sledgehammer calling, "Bronwin, where are you? Bronwin come home!" and she returns to Sledgehammer Castle.
 
On Bronwin's return, she finds Lord Sledgehammer drunk and without sight. Mistaking her for the ghost of the sinister headmistress, he attacks her with a candlestick and Bronwin Hillar dies.
 
As he attends to the body, Lord Sledgehammer realises what he has done. Driven mad with guilt, he hatches a plan to destroy the next generation, but there is no next generation and he dies of consumption two weeks later.
 

Praise for Bronwin Hillar

"One of the most other worldly romances ever told. It makes you want to rush out and get a job as a Lord's actor."
                        - The Daily Tale
 
"I feel more passion when I flush away my daily business than I did reading this book, but Bronwin Hillar does warn us against the dangers of keeping a sinister headmistress in the attic."
                        - Enid Kibbler
 
"I'd rather marry a articulate author than a creepy Lord but each to his own."
                        - Hit the Spoof
 
"I could do better."
                        - Moshkito
 

jamesg1213
Hi,
 
I have a different opinion on that. I'm a Yokelian novelist, journalist, short-story writer whose psychological penetration into the human soul have had a profound influence on the 20th century novel.
 
I was born in Cheltenham, as the second son of a former army mule-botherer. I was educated at home and at a private school. Shortly after the death of my mother in 1837 I was sent to Coventry, where I entered the Army Engineering College. In 1839 my father died probably of boredom but there were strong rumors that he was murdered by his own television. I graduated as a military engineer, but resigned in 1844 to devote myself to writing. My first novel, Poor Blokes appeared in 1846. It was followed by The Double, which depicted a man who was haunted by a look-alike who eventually usurps his position and wins at darts.
 
In 1846 I joined a group of utopian socialists. I was arrested in 1849 and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to imprisonment in Siberia. I spent four years in hard labor and four years as a soldier in Mansfield.
 
I returned to St. Petersburg in 1854 as a writer with a religious mission and published three works that derive in different ways from my Siberia experiences: The House of the Dead, (1860) a fictional account of prison life, The Insulted and Injured, which reflects my refutation of naive Utopianism in the face of evil, and Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, my account of a trip to Western Europe.
 
In 1857 I married Maria Isaev, a 29-year old widow. I resigned from the army two years later. Between the years 1861 and 1863 I served as editor of the monthly periodical Pretentious Claptrap, which was later suppressed because of an article on the Welsh uprising.
 
In 1864-65 my dog and wombat died and I was burdened with debts, and this situation was made even worse by gambling on pig juggling contests. From the turmoil of the 1860s emerged Notes from the Underwear, psychological study of an outsider, which marked a watershed in my artistic development. The novel starts with the confessions of a mentally ill narrator and continues with the promise of spiritual rebirth. It was followed by Cheese and Pickle, (1866) an account of an individual's fall and redemption, The Numptie, (1868) depicting a Christ-like figure, Prince Toblerone, and The Repossessed, (1871) an exploration of philosophical nihilism and the benefits of HP Sauce.
 
In 1867 I married Anna Snitkin, his 22-year old stenographer, who seems to have understood my manias and rages, even though I couldn't stop laughing at her name. We traveled abroad and returned in 1871. By the time of The Brothers Chuckle, which appeared in 1879-80, I was recognized in my own country as one of its great writers.
 
An epileptic all my life, I died in the garden shed on February 9, 1881. I was buried in the Arthur Mullard monastery, Cerney Wick.
 
 
 

 
OMG James .......
 
good luck on topping that one Pedro
 
Kenny
 

Good times!
 
:-)

Mesh
Hi,
 
When's the movie review coming out?

There was a movie?
 
Where?

kennywtelejazz
OMG James .......
 
good luck on topping that one Pedro
 
Kenny

Not interested Kenny. Besides, I am not very good at comedy ... so I won't even try.
 
Really shows your appreciation and knowledge ... makes me want to ignore the songs you make!

Moshkito

kennywtelejazz
OMG James .......
 
good luck on topping that one Pedro
 
Kenny

Not interested Kenny. Besides, I am not very good at comedy ... so I won't even try.
 
Really shows your appreciation and knowledge ... makes me want to ignore the songs you make!

Hey Pedro ,
 
Wishing You a Merry Christmas
As far as my Music and Tunes go , I loved each and every moment of creating them .
Yet, after careful listening as time has marched on .
I myself happen to think that most of them are Sonic Monstrosity 's that would serve the greater musical online community  as perfect examples of what not to do if you want to get ahead in the Music Business .
With the exceptions of a couple of moments here and there with the guitar playing I know I can do a lot better .
 
Kenny
 

Pedro,
 
Lighten up, will ya?

jamesg1213
Hi,
 
I have a different opinion on that. I'm a Yokelian novelist, journalist, short-story writer whose psychological penetration into the human soul have had a profound influence on the 20th century novel.
 
I was born in Cheltenham, as the second son of a former army mule-botherer. I was educated at home and at a private school. Shortly after the death of my mother in 1837 I was sent to Coventry, where I entered the Army Engineering College. In 1839 my father died probably of boredom but there were strong rumors that he was murdered by his own television. I graduated as a military engineer, but resigned in 1844 to devote myself to writing. My first novel, Poor Blokes appeared in 1846. It was followed by The Double, which depicted a man who was haunted by a look-alike who eventually usurps his position and wins at darts.
 
In 1846 I joined a group of utopian socialists. I was arrested in 1849 and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to imprisonment in Siberia. I spent four years in hard labor and four years as a soldier in Mansfield.
 
I returned to St. Petersburg in 1854 as a writer with a religious mission and published three works that derive in different ways from my Siberia experiences: The House of the Dead, (1860) a fictional account of prison life, The Insulted and Injured, which reflects my refutation of naive Utopianism in the face of evil, and Winter Notes on Summer Impressions, my account of a trip to Western Europe.
 
In 1857 I married Maria Isaev, a 29-year old widow. I resigned from the army two years later. Between the years 1861 and 1863 I served as editor of the monthly periodical Pretentious Claptrap, which was later suppressed because of an article on the Welsh uprising.
 
In 1864-65 my dog and wombat died and I was burdened with debts, and this situation was made even worse by gambling on pig juggling contests. From the turmoil of the 1860s emerged Notes from the Underwear, psychological study of an outsider, which marked a watershed in my artistic development. The novel starts with the confessions of a mentally ill narrator and continues with the promise of spiritual rebirth. It was followed by Cheese and Pickle, (1866) an account of an individual's fall and redemption, The Numptie, (1868) depicting a Christ-like figure, Prince Toblerone, and The Repossessed, (1871) an exploration of philosophical nihilism and the benefits of HP Sauce.
 
In 1867 I married Anna Snitkin, his 22-year old stenographer, who seems to have understood my manias and rages, even though I couldn't stop laughing at her name. We traveled abroad and returned in 1871. By the time of The Brothers Chuckle, which appeared in 1879-80, I was recognized in my own country as one of its great writers.
 
An epileptic all my life, I died in the garden shed on February 9, 1881. I was buried in the Arthur Mullard monastery, Cerney Wick.
 
 
 

I think my water broke a little - ROFLMBFAOPMP!
 
'wombat' - Waste Of Money Brains And Time?
 

 

Hey Pedro ,
 
Wishing You a Merry Christmas
As far as my Music and Tunes go , I loved each and every moment of creating them .
Yet, after careful listening as time has marched on .
I myself happen to think that most of them are Sonic Monstrosity 's that would serve the greater musical online community  as perfect examples of what not to do if you want to get ahead in the Music Business .
With the exceptions of a couple of moments here and there with the guitar playing I know I can do a lot better .
 
Kenny

 
 
 
 
I like 'em Kenny, always plenty of variation and creativity in your stuff. Seems like a long time since you posted anything over at Songs.
 
Remember the 'Red Dress Blues' collab we did a few years ago?I wanted to listen to that recently, I'll have to see if I backed it up on disc somewhere.

bapu
....
"I couldn't do better."
                      - Moshkito

Grossly mis-quoted ... and had to fix it!
 
I'm not into it to do better than anyone else. I do not measure myself by others, up to and including Bapu, who doesn't like my liking his music!