Superstitions VIII - Theatre Superstitions

Performers in the theatre are among the most superstitious people alive, so it’s no wonder I can dedicate an entire post to theatre superstitions. Some of them you may be familiar with, but others may take you by surprise.

Never wish an actor “good luck” say “break a leg” instead. There are two reasons for this. The first is that many theatre folk believe the theatre is filled with mischief-making spirits who will use their magic to cause the opposite of what you wish to happen. The other explanation is the word “leg” does not refer to the actor but to the curtains that mask the backstage which are known as “legs.” “Breaking a leg” means you’ve crossed from the backstage into the front, thus entering the spotlight.

It’s bad luck to say the name of the play Macbeth in the theatre as it curses the production. Many actors will refer to it as the Scottish play or the Bard’s play instead. It’s widely believed that Shakespeare used a real spell incantation for the opening scene and real witches cursed the play because of this. In 1606 the actor playing Lady Macbeth died tragically and Shakespeare himself had to step into the role. Other productions have been plagued with accidents such as actors falling off the stage, mysterious deaths, and even narrow misses by falling stage weights.

The last person leaving the theatre at night is responsible for leaving on the ghost light – a light in the middle of the stage that stays on when all other lights have been turned off. Now this may have a more practical reason seeing as there’s usually a lot of debris on stage for someone to trip over in the dark, but the light also appeases any spirits who may be living in the theatre and keeps them from playing pranks.

It’s bad luck to whistle backstage. This superstition started in the middle of the 1600s when scenery was lifted into the air by ropes and pulleys. The stage hands would communicate with each other by whistling, so a random whistle could cue a stagehand to lift or drop scenery with disastrous results.

Blue should not be worn on stage. Several centuries ago, blue dyes were expensive because they were so difficult to make and a theatre troupe’s success was often judged by the number of blue costumes it could afford. Failing troupes would spend every penny they had on blue costumes to deceive audiences into thinking they were more successful than they actually were. To distinguish themselves, the more successful troupes would adorn their blue costumes with silver because only a flourishing troupe could afford to do so. To this day, blue costumes are considered unlucky and a sign of failure unless they’re paired with silver.

Green is often shunned as well. When the spotlight was first invented it worked by burning a chemical called quicklime, which is where the term “limelight,” originated. The limelight had a greenish glow to it and any actor wearing green might not be visible when hit by the spotlight. The other reason to avoid green was that it was the colour of the costume actor/playwright Molière was wearing in 1673 when he suffered a coughing fit while onstage, brought on by tuberculosis. Though he finished his performance he had started to hemmorage and died, still in his green costume.

Bringing a peacock feather on stage will bring bad luck to a production. The eye-like pattern on the end of the feather is reminiscent of the evil eye, something that has been thought to bring on a malevolent curse since the early Greeks. Peacock feathers were also feared by the early Europeans as they were part of the adornment of the Mongols who invaded during the Middle Ages. Peacock feathers became associated with that dark and bloody history and no one wanted it associated with their production.

Don’t give gifts of flowers before the performance because it tempts the fates to ensure a lacklustre show. But interestingly enough, there was at one time a tradition that involved giving the leading lady and the director a bouquet of flowers stolen from a graveyard when the show closes to symbolize the death of the show.

It stands to reason in the early days of theatre having an open flame was dangerous as well as unlucky, theatres being built of wood with thatched roofs. Shakepeare’s Globe Theatre burned down when a cannon was set off during a production of Henry VIII. Having three lit candles on stage was considered especially unlucky, as the person standing closest to the shortest candle would be the first to die.

Mirrors on stage are considered bad luck because they reflect light, which can wreck havoc with the lighting design of a production. A reflected spotlight could blind an actor, causing him to walk right off the edge of the stage.

Other Theatre superstitions:

* A bad dress rehearsal portends a great opening night.
* To keep the ghosts of a theatre quiet, there should be at least one night a week when the theatre is empty (traditionally Monday night).
* It’s bad luck if a cat runs across the stage during a performance.
* It’s good luck if you’re greeted at the stage door by the theatre cat.
* It’s excellent luck if the cat rubs up against or sits on your knee, and it will bring good reviews.
* A loose thread on a costume must be snapped, never cut, off and wrapped around the forefinger. The number of loops will tell you how long the run of the show will be.
* Never speak the last line of the play while in rehearsals or the play will never get through a performance.

It’s A Kind of Magic

Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of magic.
― Carl Sagan

This was a week, I tell you what.

First of all, I’m making myself crazy with Firestorm. Should I keep going as it is, should I create a plan of attack for it, or should I just start over? The whole mercenary thing seemed like a good idea at the time, seeing as it generated so many words for NaNo, but it needs to be cleaned up and expanded if I’m going to keep it, condensed if it’s just going to be a footnote in his life.

Now, if I keep it (which I’m leaning towards) I’ll need to make some major adjustments to my time lines. But I’ll also need to put a little more thought into it, and I’ve got other irons in my fire right now that need their fair share of attention.

For instance, I have about 10,000 words written on the book I’m taking to the writing retreat in the spring (unless it gets moved again). It would be kind of nice to at least double that, but I have only a vague idea of where it’s going. Might be nice to figure that out as well.

There’s also the edits on Blood Ties, which kind of ground to a halt during NaNo, and let’s not forget about An Elemental Spirit, which was NaNo 2019. So maybe I need to take a step back and get my priorities straight.

Meanwhile, I edited my story, tweaked it, took a deep breath, and sent it off into the wild. I should hear within three weeks whether it’s been accepted or not. I’m thinking in the new year I should be making a habit of sending stories out, maybe even some poetry. What good is a story or poem if no one else ever reads it?

I also spent a great deal of time picking out stories, then rejecting stories, for my book flood anthology. I thought I had a decent line up, but then realized they were all pretty dark. So I changed out a few, thought about it, changed a few more, and finally settled on my line-up. It’s got a little bit of everything – horror, humour, weird, and wonderful.

Then, of course, I spent a day arranging and re-arranging the order, formatting it for printing, and testing the print-run. My printer gives me the option of printing in booklet format which is a big time-saver, but there’s also the matter of getting the font size right and inserting a blank page where needed so each story starts on an odd page.

Then I realized I could add page numbers, and page numbers meant an index. Okay, so the index is in a separate document so I didn’t have to go to the trouble of suppressing the first couple of page numbers, but it was no big deal to print it out separately. And Staples very nicely cut all the pages for me, for free.

All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the results. And I can take pride in the fact I did it all myself. I guess that’s also a kind of magic.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

I added a few words to Firestorm last week but I was so busy doing other things that that was it for the writing. My blog posts were up on time, so that was something. And then Thursday I spent considerable time on my post for Friday before realizing I was doing a superstitions post, not a fiction post. *sigh*

I signed up for the Writer's Digest prompt a day. It's supposed to be delivered to my inbox but I think I messed up my email when I signed up because I haven't received any yet. But I figure these prompts should be a quick and easy daily exercise and I can post the best two or three on Fridays.

Goals From Last Week

1. 500 words a day – only about one day’s worth.
2. Finish editing story and submit – I did!
3. Finalize stories for book flood anthology – another win
4. Learn to use coil binder – learning as you read

Goals For This Week

1. Prompt a day.
2. Find new story for submission
3. Start edits on Blood Ties
4. Make up my mind about going forward with Firestorm.

Back to Blood Ties

I have an idea for the ongoing Fiction Fridays, but I didn’t have time to implement it this week. If I’m really on the ball I’ll start it next week, but no promises. In the meantime, I thought I’d change things up a bit and give you an excerpt from Blood Ties, the third (and last) of the Moonstone Chronicles.

This scene takes place near the end. Howard and Jessica are prisoners in Anakaron’s lair and they’ve been separated. The last Howard had seen of Jessica she’d fallen under a glamour cast by the evil wizard and he’s about to attempt to use his elemental magic to rescue her.

Howard paced in his room, more worried than he’d ever been before. He’d tried to get back to the throne room, but the heavy doors were closed. If there was another way in, then he couldn’t find it.

If Anakaron convinced Jessica to join him, whether she was under a spell or not, they were all screwed. He had to get the moonstone to her, even if he died trying. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. He pushed the table and chairs away, making a clear space in front of the fireplace. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but figured he’d need space to do it. Howard sat down cross legged in front of the fireplace.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” he muttered, and closed his eyes.

At first he focused on his breathing, in and out, deep and slow. When he felt centered, he looked inside himself for that beautiful colored strand that was his magic.

The elemental magicks were easy to find, they were twined around each other, brighter than all the rest. It was so amazing that he’d had that inside all these years and never known it.

Basking in the feel of the magic, he sent out a call – fire, water, wind, and earth – humbly asking for a boon. Howard had no idea how long he sat like that, but a breeze caressing his face brought him back to himself. He could feel the warmth of a fire on his face and his eyes snapped open.

There was a fire in the fireplace, where none had been before. A small, grey, moisture-laden cloud hovered to the right while a wind imp sparkled as it hovered on the left. Between Howard and the fire was an earth entity.

Howard decided he’d be awed later, for the moment he cut right to the chase. “Thank you for answering.”

A face appeared in the fireplace. “The time foretold has come.” It hissed and crackled as it spoke.

“The dwarves and other magickal beings stand ready,” the earth entity said.

“What would you have of us?” the wind imp asked in a high, piping voice.

“I have to get into the throne room to give this to Jessica, the *champion*,” he said, lifting the moonstone pendent up with one hand.

The wind imp darted towards the pendent. “It is too heavy for me to carry,” she said in his head.

The fire hissed and snapped while the cloud rumbled for all the world like thunder. The imp darted over to them, flashing brightly.

“I will spread the word that the time has come,” said the earth entity, sinking between the cracks in the stone floor until it was gone.

The fire flared up to get Howard’s attention. “The wind blows a fire hot; the rain cools quickly enough that metal cracks; the door will be opened.”

“You can really do—”

Before Howard could finish his sentence, the three were gone. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried out of the room and straight to the throne room. By the time he reached it, the locking mechanism was blackened. He tried the door and it opened easily.

Howard sidled into the room, keeping to the shadows. To his astonishment, it looked like his help wasn’t needed after all. Jessica apparently broke Anakaron’s spell all on her own. But it also looked like she was in serious trouble.

Superstitions VII – Salt

Homer called salt divine. Plato described it as a substance dear to the gods. Pythagoras said that salt was the emblem of justice.

Salt is a purifier, a preservative, and symbolizes the good and lasting qualities of life. It became a sign of hospitality, trust, and friendship because of its high price. Soldiers in Rome were often paid in salt, which is where the saying that a person was "not worth his salt" originated. It was mixed into the foods used in the religious ceremonies of both the Greeks and Romans and was also used for medicinal purposes.

In the Middle Ages salt was very valuable and the waste of it was said to bring bad luck. To avoid this bad luck you were supposed to throw a pinch of salt over your left shoulder, a remedy that was Christian in origin. By doing this, you're throwing the salt into the devil's eye to blind him and deflect the bad luck and bad health he had in store for you. You need to throw it over the left shoulder, not the right, because the angels sit to the right hand of God and the seat of the devil, the fallen angel, was to His left.

If you look closely at Leonardo da Vinci's painting of the Last Supper, you will see that the betrayer Judas has accidentally spilled salt onto the table, another reason spilling salt is considered bad luck.

In the Hartz Mountain region in Germany, peasants believe that three grains of salt in a milk-pot will keep witches away from the milk. To preserve butter from uncanny influences, it was a custom in Aberdeen, Scotland, to put salt on the lid of a churn. In Normandy the peasants would throw a little salt into a vessel containing milk in order to protect the cow who gave the milk from the influences of witchcraft.

In the Province of Quebec, French Canadians sometimes scatter salt around the doors of their stables to prevent mischievous little imps called lutins from entering and teasing the horses by sticking burrs in their manes and tails. In Marsala, west Sicily, a horse, mule, or donkey is thought to be liable to molestation by fairies when they enter a new stall. As a precautionary measure a little salt is placed on the animal's back. This is believed to insure freedom from lameness or other evil resulting from fairy spite.

The Germans of Buffalo valley in central Pennsylvania believe that a boy may be cured of homesickness by placing salt in the hems of his trousers and making him look up the chimney.

In India the natives rub salt and wine on the affected part of the body as a cure for scorpion bites, believing that the success of this treatment is due to the supernatural virtue of the salt in searing away the fiends who caused the pain.

A Magyar house-mistress will not give any salt to a woman who may come to the door and ask for it in the early morning, believing that any such would-be borrower is surely a witch; but in order to keep away all witches and hags, she strews salt on the threshold. On St. Lucien's Day neither salt nor fire must be taken out of the house.

Scots fishermen have a traditional custom of salting their nets for luck, and they also sometimes throw a little salt into the sea "to blind the fairies."

Salt and bread, representing the necessaries of life, are the first articles taken into the dwelling of a newly married pair in Russia. In Pomerania, at the close of a wedding breakfast, a servant carries about a plate containing salt, upon which the guests place presents of money.

Other superstitions regarding salt:

• In order to reverse the bad luck that was coming your way from spilling salt, enough tears must be cried to dissolve the salt that was spilled
• If salt is spilt in a particular person's direction, bad luck is coming to that person
• Tossing a pinch of spilt salt over the left shoulder is the antidote of ill luck raised
• If you have a curse or hex placed on you by a gypsy then once they leave your home throw a pinch of salt in their direction to nullify the curse
• If you have a frequent visitor whom you don’t want, then simply throw a pinch of salt at them when they’re in your house and they won’t return
• Fishermen never use the word while at sea because it’s taboo, however it’s a tradition to sprinkle fishing nets with salt to ensure a safe return
• If you want a lover to return then burn salt on seven consecutive mornings
• If you sprinkle some salt on the doorway to a new house then no evil can enter it
• If you are a bride then sprinkle a pinch of salt onto your dress for a happy marriage
• Never lend salt if you are outside the house, at a picnic etc., this will bring you very bad luck
• Newborn babies were once bathed in salt and water to ward off witchcraft
• Never offer another diner a salt cellar that is open - help me to salt, help me to sorrow
• You can tell if a girl is a virgin if she forgets to put salt onto the table

Après NaNo

This is the current state of my office. Some of the clutter is Christmas presents, but most of it is detritus from the kitchen/dining room because of the renovation and there’s just no place else for it. But perhaps you can see how uninspiring it is to work in there right now.

As usually happens when NaNo is done, my writing mojo has taken a nose dive. I finished NaNo with a thousand words to spare and since then I have marked up a story, twice, and wrote my weekly blog posts.

What have I been doing instead? Playing a lot of solitaire on the computer, sometimes a game or two of Text Twist, or hidden objects thrown in for variety. In other words, I was pretty much a couch potato last week.

Which is fine once in awhile, but for the long term it’s pretty unproductive. Of course it didn’t help that the weather was pretty grey and dismal, which is depressing at the best of times. So this week the focus will be getting back on track. I even have a nice long list of things to do when the writing isn’t going well.

If you can see my progress bars on the right hand side of the page, you’ll notice that I have a new goal for Firestorm. I figure it’s going to be at least 100,000 words before it’s done, and it’s going to require a fair bit of planning.

I think I mentioned at the beginning of November that Firestorm is the prequel to a couple of swords and sorcery stories I attempted many moons ago. Well, the problem was, I didn’t have a clear idea of the path the book should take. I knew my character, and I had a nice little synopsis of his life, but I was real sketchy on the details.

Then we come to the two stories. They’re actually very similar to each other and I was hoping to incorporate events from one, or the other, or both into Firestorm, but the Brand in Firestorm is very different from the Brand in the two stories. Which has led me a whole lot of floundering as I try to get him to where he needs to be to continue the novel.

Meanwhile, I bought myself a coil binder so I can do my own binding for my book flood anthologies from now on. Even if I only use it once a year, in five years it’ll have paid for itself. Now all I have to do is get the stories organized.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Wordage Report

Yeah. No real words to report for last week. Shame on me. But I really don’t want to lose my momentum on Firestorm, so I’m going to set myself a daily goal.

Goals From Last Week

1. Finish NaNo – I definitely did, and I have the certificate to prove it.
2. Organize book flood stories – that would be a big fail.
3. Blog posts – done, and on time.
4. Editing story for submission – edited it twice but I’m still not happy with it.

Goals For This Week

1. 500 words a day on Firestorm.
2. Finish editing story and submit.
3. Finalize stories for book flood anthology.
4. Learn to use coil binder.

NaNo No More

NaNo may be over, but the story goes on, which is why you’re getting another excerpt from Firestorm this week. It’s a long one, so I’ll keep the explanation brief. Brand has decided to become a mercenary, so his foster-father Nairn sent him to his old friend Sanron who runs a mercenary training facility. In this scene, Brand has been told he must wait (with a few others) in a kind of half-way house until there’s enough of them to make a class. This starts with his first dinner there. Oh, and Gowan is kind of like a house mother, only for mercenaries. :-D

Gowan was sitting at one end of a long table; there were three other men sitting with him. One seemed very young, one was about Brand’s age, and one a few years older.

“Welcome,” Gowan said cheerfully. “You’re just on time. Come and take a seat.”

Two men were already seated on Gowan’s left, so Brand took the seat on his right to even things out.

“Allow me to introduce your fellows,” Gowan said. “To my right is Dren. And to my left is Alaric and Brin. Gentlemen, this is Brand, who will also be staying here.”

Dren was close to Brand’s age, with dark blond hair cropped close to his head and pale blue eyes. Alaric was a few years older, a heavy set man with dark hair, also close cropped, and grey eyes that missed nothing. Brin, the youngest, fidgeted in his seat as though unable to stay still. He was a slender youth with dark curly hair and brown eyes.

There were murmurs of greeting which Brand answered with murmurs of his own. He was saved from any further conversation by the appearance of servers who began bringing in platters of food. The dishes were passed around and everyone helped themselves.

“Forgive me,” Brand said to Gowan after everyone had been served, “But did you not say there were six of us here?”

“Veran’s always late,” Dren told him. “And Grent hasn’t come out of his room since he got here.”

This was followed by an interruption as a man hurried into the room. His shaggy brown hair was mussed and there were ink stains on his fingers.

“You’re late Veran,” Gowan said disapprovingly.

“I know, I know. And I’m very sorry. But I was thoroughly engrossed in the history tome I borrowed from the library.”

He hurried took the seat beside Alaric. “Hello, you’re new,” he said to Brand. “I’m Veran. You’re a Witcher, aren’t you? I’ve never met a Witcher before.”

He seemed rather pleased to be meeting one now and Brand couldn’t help taking a liking to him. “I’m Brand,” he said. “And yes, I am a Witcher. Or at least half of me is, at any rate.”

There was little talk while they ate and what little there was consisted mainly of compliments on the food.

Gowan rose from his seat, signifying the end of dinner. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have duties to see to. Feel free to make use of the common room.”

“Good night Gowan,” Brin called after him. “Anyone up for a game of dice?”

The rest of them pushed away from the table and stood as well.

“This way,” Brin said, leading the way.

The others looked at each other and then Alaric shrugged and followed, the others trailing after him.

Someone had started a fire in the fireplace, and on a sideboard just inside the door was a variety of beverages. Alaric poured himself a goblet full of an amber liquid from a crystal decanter, Dren chose a clear liquid from another. Veran held up a pitcher of ale and raised an eyebrow at Brand, who nodded in assent. Brin ignored the refreshments altogether and was busy going through the boxes on a shelf, looking for the dice.

While Alaric and Brin settled at a table for the game, Brand and the others settled into the chairs near the fire.

“How long have you been waiting here,” Brand asked. “Gowan told me we must wait until there are twelve of us.”

“Alaric has been here the longest,” Dren said. “He’s been here close to three weeks. “I arrived more than two weeks ago. Veran arrived the day after I did. Brin and Grent arrived from different directions six days ago.”

“Grent is the one who does not leave his room,” Brand said.

“Brin exaggerates, of course,” Veran said. “Grent breaks his fast in the morning, but he does not linger. He claims he needs to have quiet for his meditation and prayer.”

“I find it odd that someone so religious would seek to become a mercenary,” Dren added.

Personally, Brand felt the same, although he said nothing.

Two days after Brand arrived, a much older man named Sena arrived, followed three days after that by Lucca.

Veran was almost as excited by Lucca joining them as he had been by Brand. Lucca was from the western wastelands, whose inhabitants were almost as insular as the Witchers.

Brand found time weighed heavy on his hands as they waited for the remaining three to make their appearance. He worried about how Raven was faring, but Gowan assured him he was doing well. Veran speculated that the wait was a test of their patience and Brand was forced to agree.

After the first day of inactivity, Brand made it a habit of rising before breakfast to run through the sword dances. The second morning of this, he realized Brin was watching.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked.

“It is the sword dance,” Brand said, without breaking his rhythm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Few have, outside of the Witch Hills,” Lucca said, coming downstairs early as well. “May I join you?”

“Certainly,” Brand said. “I’m about to start the third movement.”

Lucca took his place beside him and joined seamlessly into the dance. Brin watched, mesmerized as the two men moved in synchronization, one move flowing into another.

Veran and Dren joined the audience. “What are they doing?” Veran whispered.

“It’s called a sword dance,” Brin whispered back.

Alaric joined them as well, watching silently until they were done.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Brin asked.

“It was part of my training,” Brand told him. “One of the first things I ever learned.”

“As it was with me,” Lucca said. “Our sword master was a Witcher.”

“I’ve seen something similar in the east, but without the swords,” Alaric said. “It was called the warrior’s way.”

“Can you teach it to me?” Brin asked eagerly.

Lucca and Brand looked at each other. Brand shrugged. “Why not?” he said.

When he and Lucca came down to the common room that afternoon, as they’d arranged to with Brin, they found the others gathered as well.

“What’s this?” Lucca asked.

“We figured it couldn’t be much harder to teach all of us than just one,” Dren said.

“What say you?” Lucca asked Brand.

“Why not?” Brand said easily. “If we are to fight together, why not share knowledge that could aid us?”

Gowan, watching from the shadows, smiled.

Superstitions VI – Sneezing

Who would have thought there were so many superstitions about sneezing?

Sneeze on Monday, sneeze for danger.
Sneeze on Tuesday, kiss a stranger.
Sneeze on Wednesday, sneeze for a letter.
Sneeze on Thursday, something better.
Sneeze on Friday, sneeze for woe.
Sneeze on Saturday, a journey to go.
Sneeze on Sunday, your safety seek—
For Satan will have you for the rest of the week!

Ancient man believed that his breath was also the essence of life, or soul. A rapid exhaling of that breath--a sneeze--was the same as expelling life from one's body. It also left a vacuum in the head that would allow evil spirits to enter.

The Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians considered the sneeze a kind of internal oracle that warned them in times of danger and foretold future good or evil. Sneezing to the right was considered lucky; to the left, unlucky.

There is an old legend that before the time of the Old Testament, people sneezed only once and then died. However, Jacob interceded on behalf of humankind and obtained a cessation of this rule on the condition that the words "God bless you!" follow every sneeze.

In Iceland, according to legend, there was once a terrible epidemic in which many people died. A brother and sister observed that everyone around them who succumbed to the disease was first seized by a sneezing fit. Therefore, when they themselves sneezed they cried, "God help me!" Because of this prayer they were allowed to live, and they spread the story of their healing blessing to all the inhabitants of the area. The Icelanders have continued the custom of saying, "God help me!" when they themselves sneeze and "God help you!" when others sneeze.

Closer to home, it is believed that the custom of saying "God bless you!" after a sneeze dates back to the bubonic plague. Sneezing was an early sign of catching the infection and hence of imminent death. The pope decreed that persons who sneezed should be blessed with the phrase “May God have mercy on your soul,” to protect them from imminent doom. This was later shortened to “Bless you.”

There are also many other beliefs about sneezing:

• A sneeze at the time of prayer gives negative result.
• If you sneeze without covering your face, your soul may escape.
• If anyone says good health or long life, the sneezer will live for one hundred years.
• Sneezing before stepping out of the house or at the onset of a new task or journey is considered ill luck.
• A sneeze during a conversation means the words spoken are true.
• If you sneeze when you are talking you are telling a lie.
• The first sneeze of a baby should be blessed as it means that the child is mentally balanced.
• A fool cannot sneeze.
• If you feel like sneezing and can’t, it means that someone close by is in love with you.
• If you sneeze while at a meal this means you are going to meet a new friend.
• If you sneeze two or three times in a row, it means that someone is complaining or gossiping about you.
• If you sneeze between 6 a.m. - 9 a.m., you will be lucky that day.
• If you sneeze between 9.01 a.m. - 12 p.m. you will receive good news from someone far away.
• If you sneeze between 12.01 p.m. - 3 p.m. you will receive some good news from someone of the opposite sex.
• If you sneeze between 3.01 p.m. and 6 p.m. you will receive some good news regarding business. If you have lost anything you will get it back.
• If you sneeze between 6.01 p.m. - midnight, do not accept anything from anyone because bad things will happen.
• If you sneeze between midnight until 6 a.m., someone will come to ask to stay with you. Do not allow them. If someone asks for help, do not help. They will bring trouble.

So next time you sneeze, pay close attention. It might just mean more than your allergies acting up.