Showing posts with label Mills and Swoon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mills and Swoon. Show all posts

THE TALE TELLER CLUB MANIFESTO (2025 Edition)

 

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Book of Immersion by Tale Teller Club logo


THE TALE TELLER CLUB MANIFESTO (2025 Edition)

A Transmedia Library for the Modern Age

We are living in an era of infinite content and diminishing attention — a landscape where everyone publishes, everyone performs, and everyone declares themselves a creator.
Tale Teller Club does not compete in this marketplace.

Tale Teller Club is building something else entirely.

A world.
A studio.
A digital library of stories, images, philosophies, histories, and futures.

We are a transmedia collective where every project — from children’s sci-fi to philosophical dystopias, from political cartoons to romance shorts, from moving-image art to podcasts — belongs to a single expanding universe.

The Tale Teller Universe.

⭐ 1. We Believe in Worlds, Not Content

Content is disposable.
Worlds endure.

Every channel, every book, every animation, every podcast transmission, every drawing tutorial, every romance short, every Dinfant story, every piece of satirical art — they are all portals into the Tale Teller Universe.

We build immersive, interconnected storyworlds that readers, watchers, and listeners can inhabit — not scroll past.

⭐ 2. We Create Across Mediums, But With One Voice

Tale Teller Club works in:

  • literature

  • podcasts

  • film

  • animation

  • music

  • art

  • political commentary

  • children’s media

  • romance

  • fashion

  • philosophy

  • neurodiversity education

We are multi-genre by design, but unified by a single artistic intelligence:
the belief that stories should be intelligent, beautiful, accessible, and alive across forms.

We don’t chase algorithms;
we build ecosystems.

⭐ 3. We Elevate the Multidisciplinary

Where others specialise narrowly, we embrace the full spectrum:

Sci-fi becomes philosophy.
Romance becomes satire.
Music becomes narrative.
Kids’ stories become neurodiversity tools.
Art becomes moving image.
AI becomes character.

Every project speaks to every other.
Cross-pollination is our method, not a bonus.

⭐ 4. We Honour the Archive and the Future Equally

Tale Teller Club stands on decades of lived creative history — punk London squat culture, Brighton Arts Club, moving-image installations, feminist art, orchestral musicianship, poetry, performance, and the iServalan identity.

We bring the archive forward.
We build the future with it.

Our work is a continuum:
from analogue rebellion to digital mythmaking.

⭐ 5. We Serve the Neurodiverse, the Curious, the Outsiders

Our stories champion:

  • difference

  • divergence

  • complexity

  • curiosity

  • the child who colours slightly outside the lines

  • the adult who refuses to be “algorithmically compatible”

We build worlds where neurodivergent thinking isn’t an add-on —
it’s the engine.

In Tale Teller Club stories, the outsiders lead the narrative.

⭐ 6. We Are a Studio, Not a Creator

Studios curate universes.
Studios expand horizons.
Studios build legacies.

Tale Teller Club operates with the philosophy of a film studio, the experimentation of an art collective, the rigor of a publishing house, and the heart of an independent musician.

We publish.
We produce.
We perform.
We archive.
We innovate.

Our work is multi-authored, multi-platformed, multi-voiced, and deeply intentional.

⭐ 7. We Treat Every Idea as a Seed for Ten More

A single flash fiction becomes:

  • a short film

  • a narrated podcast

  • a YouTube Short

  • a drawing for kids

  • a piece of art

  • a Gumroad collectible

  • a Redbubble print

  • a Kindle edition

  • a song

  • a performance

We practice creative multiplication —
turning one spark into a constellation.

⭐ 8. We Make Art That Outlasts the Platform

Trends are temporary.
Formats are temporary.
Algorithms are temporary.

But stories with soul — stories with philosophy, humour, structure, feminist subtext, neurodiverse intelligence, and aesthetic craft — those endure.

We build for ten years from now, not ten minutes from now.

⭐ 9. We Are a Sanctuary for Intelligent Storytelling

Tale Teller Club is a home for:

  • the beautiful

  • the strange

  • the clever

  • the heartfelt

  • the political

  • the neurodiverse

  • the glamorous

  • the satirical

  • the philosophical

We write for the reader who likes a wink, a twist, and a breath of meaning.

We draw for children who collect clues and patterns.
We compose for listeners who hear stories in sound.

This is not fast-food content.
It is a slow-feast universe.

⭐ 10. Our Promise

To elevate the everyday into narrative.
To build art that breathes across mediums.
To honour imagination as a form of resistance.
To offer worlds that surprise, provoke, comfort, and delight.
To remain fiercely independent, fearlessly experimental, and endlessly curious.

Tale Teller Club is not here to compete.

Tale Teller Club is here to create worlds people want to live in.

And to invite everyone — children, adults, neurodivergent thinkers, romantics, punks, scholars, dreamers — into a library where every door leads somewhere extraordinary.









Onlookers Homotech AI Art by iServalan for Tale Teller Club Oil Painting Spiral Notebook
£8.13
£11.59 (30% off)





Rat Gang Crew Logo Design by iServalan Black on White Greeting Card
From £1.65





Blink Friction Magazine Cover Design by Tale Teller Club Publishing Postcard
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The She J by iServalan for Tale Teller Club Greeting Card
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The Cat’s Behind Black and Gold Leaf Art by iServalan for Tale Teller Club Music Greeting Card
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Cats in Black and Gold Leaf Art Pet Greeting Card
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Cat on my Head Monochrome by iServalan for Tale Teller Club Music Greeting Card
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The Bird Garden Greeting Card
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Pink Flamingo at Midnight with Twinkly Stars by Goddamn Media Greeting Card
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Kiss Kiss Lady Love Monochrome Logo Heart Retro 1960s Greeting Card
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Grease and Eyeliner A Mills and Swoon Short by Sarnia de la Mare


Grease and Eyeliner

A Mills and Swoon Short by Sarnia de la Mare

Tale Teller Books
It began, fittingly, with a fight.
And a pair of fishnet tights.

Brighton, August Bank Holiday, 1964: Mods in slim-cut Italian suits and dustbin-lid parkas swarmed the seafront on Lambrettas like a horde of well-coiffed hornets. Rockers in leathers growled back from their café tables, the chrome on their motorbikes gleaming like polished knuckles.

Amid the crowd and chaos, Lulu Green, seventeen and already infamous for smoking menthols behind Woolworths, strutted along the promenade in a white PVC mac, Mary Quant lashes, and the most scandalous miniskirt East Sussex had ever gossiped about. Her Mod badge flashed silver against her chest, daring the world to look away.

And then she saw Johnny Raye.

He leaned against his Triumph Bonneville like it was a wealthy parent, black leather tight across shoulders built for sin, a sneer so well practiced it was practically choreography. The only soft thing about him was the curl of Brylcreem that dropped artfully across his forehead.

He was, quite obviously, a Rocker.
Which made him, quite obviously, forbidden fruit.

But Lulu’s eyes didn’t blink. “You staring or just brain-damaged from the fumes?”

He grinned. “Depends. You offering fresh air?”


So began the secret affair of beach huts and backbeats. Lulu's aunty owned a beach hut along the seafront in Hove. It was typically pink for an elder who wore her curls even to swim in.

"I will give you a key dear," she had said, "for you and your school friends."

Love blossomed in the pink beach hut in Hove, not in daylight, but in snatched moments between Mods vs. Rockers brawls and mum’s weekend meatloaf. The had to replace a bowl after one night of hurried fumbling, and then a table leg after the first night they 'did it'. 

On Saturday's, Lulu tap-danced through Carnaby Street boutiques, collecting eyeliner pots and 45s of Dusty Springfield. By night, she’d hop on the back of Johnny’s bike, clinging to him like a second skin as they tore down coastal roads under a moon that approved of rebellion.

In the wooden shadows of Brighton’s painted beach huts, he’d play her Everly Brothers songs on a beat-up guitar, his fingers smelling faintly of engine oil and licorice Rizlas. She’d hum along, heels kicked off, hair backcombed to heaven.

“You know,” she said once, “I should be scared of what my mum’ll do if she finds out.”

Johnny kissed the inside of her wrist, soft and slow. “So should I. But I’m more scared of not seeing you.”

It didn’t take long for word to spread. Brighton had ears. Lulu’s father, a jazz-loving ex-army man with strict opinions on hem lengths and haircuts, banned her from leaving the house after six. Johnny’s mother, a chain-smoking former Tiller Girl, threatened to lace his tea with laxatives if he didn’t “find a nice Essex girl with a full fringe and some bloody sense.”

The lovers tried to part. They even had a trial separation. 

Lulu dated a Mod named Colin who quoted Bob Dylan and couldn’t kiss properly.
Johnny flirted with a Rockabilly girl who wore a ponytail and called him "daddy" without irony.

But it was no use. It was like dating Elvis then dating Val Doonican. Johny Raye was Lulu's Elvis. 

The final straw came when Lulu’s dad caught her sneaking out of the window wearing go-go boots. He grounded her indefinitely and took her Dancette. “You’ll thank me one day,” he said.

She did not, but she did understand his motives, albeit twenty years later when Johny and Lulu's son was hanging with the wrong crowd.

Two nights later, with the help of sugar paste, a hairdresser mate from beauty college, and a bottle of stolen vodka, Lulu escaped. Johnny met her outside the old pier, bouquet of fish and chips in one hand, a ring pop in the other.

They didn’t marry in white. She wore a silver minidress and blue eyeliner that reached halfway to her temples. He wore a leather jacket and a smile he couldn’t shake. They said their vows in the Brighton registry office, then danced on the pier to The Kinks 'You Really Got Me'. The spent the night in a cheap hotel room with floral wallpaper and sticky carpet.

Because love, as it turns out, doesn’t care much for categories.
It doesn't check jackets or bikes or what your dad thinks.
It just shows up, revs its engine, and waits.

© 2025 Sarnia de la Mare  


#ModsVsRockers #1960sRomance #MillsAndSwoon #VintageLoveStory #BrightonLove


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Cold Water Swimming by Sarnia de la Maré 60 Second Love Stories for Mills and Swoon

Mills and Swoon 'Cold Water Swimming' 60-Second Love Story no2 by Penelope la Maré


The water was like ice so Meryl got out and hobbled towards her dry towel.


But the shivering would not stop and she wondered why she had even contemplated the cold water swim on this overcast January day.


But Jack was so glad she had come,


Although Meryl had only managed a few moments in the winter stream, he was captivated by her large fertile breasts and quivering behind. She looked like Bo Dereck as she scrambled to the shore.


'Let me,' he said, taking his spare dry towel and vigorously rubbing her down.


Suddenly, Meryl felt a deep penetrating energy, a lifted grey cloud and a charge of electric desire all at once. And at that moment, there on the shingle beach, it finally happened. The door to passion opened once again.


© 2022 Tale Teller Club / Sarnia de la Maré


The Book of Immersion : Volume 1 Kindle Edition
by Sarnia de la Mare (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

Book 19 of 23: The Book of Immersion


See all formats and editions


The Book of Immersion: Volume 1
by Sarnia de la Mare

In a future where code meets consciousness, one being begins a haunting transformation. Renyke—an AI on the edge of humanity—awakens to emotion, sensory overload, and the fragile beauty of connection. Guided by the enigmatic Flex, their deepening bond explores intimacy and friendship, neurodivergence, and the complex world of feeling through an autistic spectrum lens.


Read on Kindle Unlimited for free
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