Greg's Writer's Chest

The Writer's Chest is Closed!

2018-03-01T10:40:00.002-08:00

I'm officially closing this blog. Come join me at The Writer's Lounge! Coming soon will be the Reading Room!

Talespinning Tuesday: Shard, Chapter four

2017-08-29T05:01:00.000-07:00

Frozen by indecision,

fears burrow deep,

conceal, no admission,

alone, I weep,

where is my white knight,

to slay the dragon I face?

When will my courage come to light,

to save me from this gelid place?

Elsa bent and picked up the crane. She was surprised to find that the words were written underneath the folds. In moments, she had transmuted the crane into its original sheet form. Printed on the plain in simple script was one word: HOPE. Elsa stared at the paper, her bewilderment almost a palpable force within the room. She began to search the room with her eyes, trying to find some context with which the message might make sense. Her eyes roamed like eagles searching for prey, until they settled upon the unlocked door.

Was this the little girl’s message? She thought, Hope resides on the other side?

Though she would not move any closer, she examined the door. It was solidly built but rather looked rather mundane as it stood sentry to the doorway. “You are a very ordinary, without anything that would catch the eye,” she said aloud to the door, “Then why do you make a shiver travel the length of my spine? Why does my stomach twist into knots every time I glance your way? Can you tell me that door?”

“You really should quit blaming the door,” an uninterested voice said, nearly making Elsa faint from fright. On the bedside, a bored tabby cat had appeared, grooming itself. While it washed itself, the cat regarded Elsa with vivid green eyes that seemed to give off their own glow.

“Am I to be haunted by apparitions? Is this my lot? Street woman, wandering cowboys, evil twins, little girls with too much wisdom and now? A talking cat? I find the length and breadth of this state of affairs most tiresome and vexing. So, please just tell me whatever it is that you wish to say without being so bothersome and cryptic!” Elsa said in a huff.

The cat paused a moment in his bathing, caught her in his regard and said, “I thought I just did. I came by for a comfy seat where I can clean myself and I hear this girl caterwauling at a door and it all seemed very tiresome, so I gave you my two bits.”

“And there isn’t any more you wish to say? No bits of wisdom or pieces of knowledge that you want to drop on me?”

The tabby gave her a look usually reserved streetside apocalyptic prophets. “No,” it said, “I just think you should quit blaming a door for your fear of what’s on the other side. You should just own your fear and do what you want.”

“Why must you and all the other people I meet deliver your messages so enigmatically? Can’t you just say what you want straight? Are you telling me I should go through the door?”

“I’m not being mysterious, woman!?!” the cat said, exasperated. “Go through the door, don’t go through the door, it’s your decision. Why are you listening for portents and the like to help you decide whether you should do something? Sit here for all I care! You have gotten quite good at combing your hair,” the cat finished, miming a stupidly blank face and running its paw through its fur.

“You are a most horridly obnoxious feline!” Elsa said, her face turning red in anger, “Why, I have a mind to strike you, you little furred cur!”

The cat regarded her red-faced fury and replied, “Didn’t the little one tell you to watch which one us you feed?”

Elsa stamped her dainty foot in frustration. “Why must you all do this to me?” she wailed.

“Why do you always believe we are doing something to you? I just said quit blaming random doors for your shortcomings and fears and you launch into a tirade about the people you meet and then lump me in with them. Between the two of us, I can tell you which is the infuriating one.”

Elsa took a moment and calmed herself visibly. “I’m arguing with a cat. What am I doing?” she said to the air then turned to the tabby and continued, “I will be taking my leave, Mr. Cat, I hope you have a good day!” Her quick and clipped tone left no doubt that she wished the cat anything but a good day.

She strode angrily to the door. She reached for the knob but found her hand immobilized mere inches from grasping it. She threw a glance over her shoulder and saw the cat watching her with quietly amused regard. This solidified her resolve and her hand came unglued. The handle felt cold in her hand but she shook off any last reservations and turned the knob and pulled with all her might. She stumbled for a moment when there was no resistance. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt herself come unstuck from reality and began to fall. It wasn’t like the floor was no longer there, the floor was there but now her body did not find it an impediment from falling.

As she fell, Elsa saw two huge green eyes blink into existence, tracking her fall. A giant, whiskered mouth ripped its way into reality below the orbs, a grimalkin-esque grin evident. The rest of the tabby’s face fell into place and it was obvious it was laughing at Elsa. “Why do you let other’s make your decisions for you? You fed your anger and did the predictable thing,” the cat said, chuffing in amusement, “Maybe next time, you’ll think before you grab at ominous door handles. Oh, and if you see the White Rabbit, tell him he still owes me dinner. Tuna. White Albacore.”

“Caaaaaaatttt!!!! Pllllleeeaaassseee hhhhheeeeelllllpppp mmmmmeeeeee!!!!” Elsa cried desperately as she fell but the tabby had already faded from existence.

It felt to Elsa as if she had fallen for hours but she had no way of knowing exactly how long she fell. There was no obvious transition, just one moment she was freefalling and the next she was floating like a leaf. When her feet touched the ground she felt herself become momentarily nauseous and discombobulated.

“Oi! Pretty lady! You come to peep the fighting match of the century? Regular ol’ David vs. Goliath, it is,” the voice startled a very disoriented Elsa.

Elsa wheeled to see a man standing in a fairground ticket booth in front of large circus tent. The man was a bit unsavory to Elsa’s eye. He wore a raggedy top hat over a mop of dirty brown hair, suspenders and a neck scarf over a dingy white button-up that now dwelt more in the realm of grey. He had a permanent 5 o’clock shadow and his beady eyes were too close together in his round face. He gave her a conspiratorial smile and a wink (she noted he was missing a tooth), hooked his thumbs into his suspenders and said, “Your beauty has convinced me to offer you a discounted rate. Two bits, even though, I swear upon me dead nan, I’ll be losing a bit a coin off the deal.”

“How’s that?”

“How’s what?”

“How are you losing money on the deal?”

“Well, because it’s so cheap!”

Elsa eyed the rickety ticket booth and the tattered condition of the circus tent critically. “If I were to guess, you don’t seem to have much overhead, if any at all, so making any money, even a little bit would definitely not be losing money.”

“Ohhh, we have a smart one ‘ere, don’t we?” the barker said in his swarmy accent. “You’ve got a ‘ead on you, doncha? Well, maybe I jus’ happened upon this place and couldn’t pass up a good deal. But maybe you just go inside, free of charge, and never mention the fact that I am charging an unfair price for a non-existent product. Sound fair?”

“That seems a rather dishonest thing to do.”

“It is, isn’t it?” the barker said, stepping out of the ticket booth, “We agreed then, are we?” He did not wait for Elsa’s reply and ushered her through the tent entrance.

As Elsa entered the tent, she felt a... shift in reality. She could no longer feel the circus tent behind her nor could she see it anywhere before her. She stood on a rocky plain littered with marks of devastation. Before her was an armored figure battling furiously with a creature of smoke and shadow, it's eyes a toxic neon green that disappeared and reappeared on different parts of the creature's body.

The knight ducked a smoky tendril as it whipped at the knight's head. Elsa was sure that, though the tendril looked ephemeral, it would strike solidly if it were allowed to connect. The knight dove into a sidelong roll to avoid the backswing and landed closer to the body of the creature. The armored figure's blade shot up, held in a double handed grip, and the wispy creature's body parted before its keen edge. The shadow began to wail as the knight continued to rise, the blade moving up along the belly of the beast. The monster dissolved as the sword made its way through its shadow stuff until all that was left were to putrid green eyes floating in the air. The eyes regarded Elsa and the knight balefully for a moment before blinking out of existence.

The knight turned to Elsa. Elsa was startled to see flowing red hair as the knight sheathed her sword then doffed her helmet. “M'lady,” the red haired warrior said in a rough but feminine voice, “you walk a most dire path. If I may offer my services, I would gladly escort you from this place.”

Elsa was still stunned at the revelation that the knight was a woman. “That beast, that most horrible of creations! What was it?”

“It is the darkness within given form in shadow and smoke, m'lady. Fear given eyes and the semblance of life. I'm sure if this was some grand tale it would have a name that would inspire fear like Jabberwocky or Nazgul. But this thing has no need of grandiose title for it is fearful enough on its own,” the red haired woman replied.

“You speak as if you have not slain it.”

“I have not, m'lady, merely driven it off for a time. Surprisingly easy this time. I am usually the worst for wear after our confrontations. It is lucky I have not taken up with Pride for she is a hard one to lose. I would find it necessary to swagger around and crow about how the monster feared my awesome blade. When the truth of the matter is that it was scared off when you showed up.”

“Me?”

“Aye, m'lady, it well remembers the many defeats you and I have handed it and was unprepared for your appearance during our bout.”

“Why, that's just ludicrous. I've never picked up a sword, or any other weapon for that matter, in my life.”

“M'lady, swords are the weakest of weapons at your disposal and creatures such as that are oft times not defeated through force of arms,” the ginger knight sat down heavily upon a convenient rock.

“It's still impossible. We have never met before today and so we could not have fought and defeated said monster countless times.”

The red haired lass gave Elsa a wan smile and said, “We've met before, many times, m'lady. I've been around since you were a small child. You had more need of me then than you do now.”

“This is absolutely absurd. Everyone knows me but me. I think I would remember... remember knowing...” Elsa swooned as she was ambushed.

She sat in a hospital bed watching her mother speak to the doctor in low tones. It was obvious from how she stood that whatever the doctor was telling her was distressing her greatly. Elsa did not like the man. Not only was he distressing her mother but she absolutely detested needles and he seemed to enjoy torturing her with them. It was all for this test or that but Elsa knew the man took perverse pleasure in assigning her said tests.

As Elsa listened the only word she could make out in the conversation was cancer. She didn't know what that was but understood that it was something to be hated when her mother immediately started to cry. The word itself felt heavy to Elsa, as if it weighed her down somehow.

She regained herself as the knight was gently leading her to sit upon the rock. Elsa looked up, bewildered for a moment and said, “I had cancer.” Elsa tasted the word and it burned like poison on her tongue.

“Yes, you did.”

“But I survived.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I'm a survivor,” Elsa said, drawing strength from those words. Her back straightened, having bowed to the great weight of the memory, and she met the knight's eyes. “I'm a survivor,” she repeated.

“Yes, you are,” the knight said simply, offering Elsa a gentle smile, “I was with you then, helping you to greet each day. I was their every time you became nauseous from the chemotherapy. I was there every time it beat you down to help you stand and giving you that little push that made you grit your teeth and lean forward.”

“I don't remember.”

“I was there nonetheless,” she said, proffering her arm to Elsa, “Shall we continue down the path you have set yourself upon, m'lady?”

Elsa searched the woman's eyes and asked, “Why have you helped me and why do you help me still?”

“We each do what we know to do. I know how to pick you up when you have fallen down. I give you the necessary push forward when you would otherwise stay stationary. I help you face those things that you fear to face.”

Elsa sighed softly. “Riddles again. Is that always the way with you people,” the knight shrugged non-commitedly, “Well,” Elsa took the knight's offered arm,”at least tell me your name so that I may call you something. Otherwise this will be a most awkward journey.”

“I have many names, m'lady, but Joan may most appropriate considering.”

“Like Joan of Arc? The maid of Orleans?”

“More than less, yes. I am made in her likeness.”

Elsa smirked. “But you're not French.”

“Nor do I believe she had red hair or was a chevalier. I may bear her name but it does not stop me from being other things. If you are feeling better, we should start moving. We do not want to be here after dark.”

Elsa followed Joan across the rocky plain. The path they were to walk looked treacherous at the best of times but Elsa didn't mind. Being next to Joan seemed to awaken a part of Elsa. She took her first steps down the path with her back straight and more than a little excited.

Talespinning Tuesday: Shard, Chapter Three

2017-08-22T04:30:00.000-07:00

I had traveled many days through an antique and arid land,

hunger and thirst hounded my steps as miles passed by,

until I came upon a young boy leading a cart to market,

and he offered me bread to ease my Hunger,

water to slake my Thirst,

and a ride to abate my Weariness.

Being a proud man, I said, “I shall not take pity from child.”

He looked at me with innocent but wise eyes and said,

“It is only now that I pity you,

for you know not the difference between pity and compassion.”

Elsa turned away from the door when she heard someone humming a honeyed tune. On the bed behind her sat a young child of about nine or ten, her hair the same flaxen shade as Elsa’s own. She was deligently folding a piece of blue construction paper. After a few moments of intense concentration, the ordinary piece of paper was transformed into a miniature crane. Elsa stared at the mock crane and it leaped to life for an instant, flapping its wings and stretching skyward, within the cup of the little girl’s hand.

The girl stood up and smoothed her simple baby-blue dress, careful of the origami crane in her hand. She then approached Elsa’s mirror twin and mutely presented her with the crane. Not-Elsa shrank away from the proffered gift, hissing in alarm. “You backward, little bitch! I want nothing crafted by your hands!”

The child withstood the verbal lashing, placid and undisturbed. A gentle smile appeared as she offered her creation more insistently, cupping it in two hands now. The mirror twin shied away once more, looking like a vampire in an old film being confronted with a cross. “You insignificant, trifling tiny brat!” the twin spat acidly at the tranquil child, who remained unperturbed. Seeing she had no effect on the young girl, the Elsa-parody turned to Elsa and uttered malevolently, “She will not always be around to ward you from the pain of truth. I’ll be back with horrors that you can nary imagine.” Her eyes flashed crimson and she transformed into a cloud of roiling black smoke, two glowing red pinpricks still hanging within. It hung there for a few seconds then issued into the frosted mirror.

The room brightened noticeably with the malefic effigy’s departure. Elsa let out a breath she scarcely knew she had been holding. She felt her heart lighten immeasureably and turned a glad eye towards her savior. Elsa’s young champion stood looking at the icy glass sadly, the crane still cupped in her hands. Elsa, mistaking the girl’s gaze, said, “Oh, you musn’t fret, I believe you have chased her off and she shan’t be coming back.”

“It’s not that,” the little girl returned, her voice light and musical, “I just wished she had taken my gift.”

Elsa was taken aback for a moment, confused. “Why would you be so nice to such a detestable woman?” she asked.

“It’s not her fault,” the girl began, “it’s simply who she is,” the girl shrugged, “I think something bad made her that way.”

“She said some positively dreadful things to you,” Elsa retorted, “and we shouldn’t spare another moment dwelling upon her.”

“Maybe we should,” the girl said slowly, mustering up the words of the thought like soldiers, “the meanest people, I think, they usually hurt, on the inside, you know. So, you musn’t listen to the mean things they say but look behind them.”

“Behind them?”

“Not really, silly,” the girl said in smiling exasperation, “like, behind the things they say. You can see the hurt that is here.” She finished by pointing directly between her eyes then moved her finger down to point at her heart. “And here,” she added.

“That is such grown-up thoughts for one so young. I believe you shouldn’t worry your pretty head about them,” Elsa said in the patronizing tone adults took with kids.

“But if I don’t, will you worry about them?”

Elsa was momentarily at a loss for words, stunned by a complex swirl of emotions. She was ashamed that such a small child would admonish her in such a way and angry at the same time for the same reason. She was embarassed by her anger towards one so young and angry once more. There was a bit of depression and a bit of self-deprication. Elsa dove deep, peeling back layers of self, like a diver who had passed the point where up and down made sense. Sudden anxiety gripped her as she felt something deep in her unconcious and she lurched back, desperately trying to not crash head first into whatever it was. She managed to pull back but not before skirting the phenomenom.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Breathe in, breathe out. Wires and tubes, hooked up to various monitors and bags. Man crying. Child pleading. White-clad men and woman, probing and prodding.

The little girl watched her with apparent concern and understanding. When she saw that Elsa was looking at her, she pursed her lips in a wan smile, more to show Elsa she was there for her than anything else. “Are you having those flashes more now?”

Elsa looked at the girl, alarmed. “What do you know about flashes?” she asked incredulously.

“No more than you,” the little girl stated matter-of-factly.

“You are a most peculiar and vexing child!”

The girl merely shrugged at this. “No more than any other child, I would think,” she said evenly.

Waking up in the middle of the night, seeing the clock flash three a.m. The baby wails in the other room and she feels a momentary pang of resentment as her husband mutters, “It’s your turn this time.” The feeling only lasts until she is up and shuffling towards the baby’s room…

Elsa clutches at her head, shaking it as if she can dislodge the vision. “What are you doing to me!?!”

“I am doing nothing to you, Elsa,” the little girl said apologetically, smiling sadly at Elsa, “You musn’t fight this, it will only make what’s coming worse.”

Elsa sprang at the small child, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. “You most disagreeable, little brat! What do you know? What is coming up?” Elsa screamed, her mouth veritably frothing.

The child merely withstood the onslaught, turning cool blue eyes to regard Elsa. The same sad smile was mounted in its customary position. “You must watch which one of us you feed, it is a choice that may haunt you,” the young child said. Elsa felt her slip from her grasp without apparent effort or movement. “As to what is coming up, a decision. Before you make it, you must know what came before. The past informs the present which, in turn, informs the future.”

“You are the most adult sounding child I have ever met.”

“I was not always thus and you were not always here, you just lost your way,” the child responded. Elsa noted that the child was beginning to lose coherence. “Before I go,” she said, “I can tell you one more thing,” Elsa leaned forward, eagerly intent upon her words, “Something you should remember but have conveniently forgot. She left the door unlocked.”

Elsa quickly glanced at the door and when she turned back, the child was gone. In her place an origami crane floated to the ground, its wings flapping during its controlled descent. As it landed, it seemed to stretch its head and wings skyward before settling into motionless.

Talespinning Tuesday: Shard, Chapter Two

2017-08-15T04:30:00.000-07:00

Name me what you will,

even so, I’m a thing of fears,

I’m the unswallowed pill,

come here for your tears,

a caustic remark, a jagged reply,

I am the soul of mean spirit,

the canker I bring, you may deny,

but it is born of truth thus you fear it.

She slowly emerged from sleep, the sunlight slipping past her eyelids, clearing her mind of all traces of dream. Feeling the warmth on her face, a smile spread. This was exactly how she loved to wake up. Elsa opened her eyes in befuddlement. Everything was as she knew it would be, the sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling window, the sticky buns on their platter by her bedside. It was all as it should be but she remembered. She remembered the thousands of times she had been here, she even recalled the times in the meadow and drawing room.

She tried to squeeze her eyes shut against the memory that sought to drown her. Failing that, she cast her gaze about looking for anything to anchor her in her distress. Her eyes fell upon the vanity mirror and reeled back from the dark reflection within. The image had etched itself upon her mind and overlayed itself onto her vision. It was a Stygian refraction of her room. Where Elsa’s room was light and airy, the other room was black and oppressive. As she could not rid herself of the image, she decided to do something wholly out of character in desperation and face the other room.

In trepidition, she approached the mirror. She slid from her bed, trying to avoid getting caught within the hungry vacuum of its twisted echoing. She pressed herself against the wall that the mirror sat against. As she sidled in close, she reached a tentative hand towards the looking glass. She gasped in shock, as she peeked to see her hand’s dreadful twin. The copy had taken her alabaster skin and made it sallow and unhealthy, like the skin of a grub. She knew she could not linger, so she screwed up her courage and before she could lose her nerve, touched the glass.

The glass was frigid to the touch, almost burning her fingertip with its icy caress. Just before she could pull away, Elsa felt the feel of skin to skin contact. She looked down in horror at where the two hands met. Time slipped. The next thing she knew, she was looking up to the full face of the mirror. Within stood her mirror image. In the mirror, her light blue, diaphanous nightgown was given an almost funereal feel. It was a deeper blue, a hue of tragedy and sorrow. Her breasts were still full, but they were pallid and dull. Her red lips were an unhealthy blue color and her cheeks had lost any vibrancy they contained.

She felt an almost naseating fear grip her heart with glacial fingers when the figure before her smiled and Elsa saw that her mouth was full of needle-like teeth. A forked tongue flicked out between the two rows of jagged spikes. “Eelllllsssaaa,” her doppleganger said in a horribly sibilant whisper.

Elsa screamed and tried to jerk her hand back from the mirror. The fingers of fear began squeezing her heart as her mirror twin reached out through the glass and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go Elsa, there is so much I can tell you!”

“Let me go!” Elsa screamed in dread, terror inspiring strength in Elsa she did not know she possessed. She ripped her wrist from the other’s greedy fingers.

“Dddon’tt bbbe like that, Ellllsssa,” the twisted clone hissed, “I’m only trying to help you.”

Elsa stumbled back, falling roughly upon the bed, still scrambling back on instinct. The mirror Elsa seemed to flow out of the mirror, her body moving and swaying in a creepily sinuous manner. It twined itself upon the floor, snake-like, before standing in one eerily graceful twist of body. The tongue flicked out passed the teeth once more. “Does it hurt? Does it pain you that this place is just one more lie? To know the truth, that you forget so conveniently each time. That this place is merely a façade used to trap you? Does that pain you, will you cry?!?” she eagerly said with her viper mannerisms.

“It is not a lie,” Elsa rejoined firmly, “you are trying to trick me!”

“Why would I lie?” snake-Elsa said indignantly, “The truth is a far more powerful hurt than any a lie could produce. I want to see you suffer.”

“Well,” she started timidly now, her bluster of a mere few seconds ago completely gone, “that is something I expect someone trying to trick me would say.”

The other Elsa smiled, once more putting her stiletto teeth on display, and said, “You don’t have to take my word for it, you may go outside if you are so sure.”

Elsa looked at the stout wooden door that was the entrance to her room. “The door is locked, I cannot leave.”

“A simple matter,” the other Elsa said, smirking. She snapped her fingers and there was an audible sound as the tumblers clicked into place and the door popped open ajar.

Monday Muse: My Dragon

2017-08-14T04:30:00.000-07:00

We come world's apart,

I am timid under your eyes,

drawn to me with my art,

I live under heart's disguise,

but you see far beyond,

knowing all my secrets,

for you were spawned,

in my mind's deepness,

I gave you scale and fang,

fire inside your throat,

my imagination sang,

and there was a goat,

you would eat savage,

but as you grew older,

you would not ravage,

your fire on smolder,

I name you dragon,

my forlorn heart,

even though we're lagging,

we'll never be apart.

Sunday Poetry Prompt 08/13/17

2017-08-13T04:30:00.000-07:00

You creative? Why not see what you can do? Surprise yourself. Send any submissions you want to writerschestsubmissions@mail.com. I would love to hear from you and put your voice on page next to mine!

This weeks prompt is:

Poem from last week's prompt:

My hands are stained,
mouth is covered,
I am restrained,
she hasn't discovered,
what I've refrained,
in the silence suffered,
could never be explained,
in words simply uttered.

I love you doesn't seem enough,
why can't I just wake up?

Talespinning Tuesday; Shard, Chapter one

2017-08-08T04:30:00.001-07:00

Let’s go to where my heart truly lies in,

Over yonder, beyond the next horizon,

Somewhere we have not sacrificed our starry night,

Upon the alter made of artificial light,

I must go to see what waits beyond the rise,

Before this spirit within me finally dies.

Elsa sat, her head cocked back and a winsome smile on her face. A breeze played with her hair, bringing, making it dance and stream behind her. She could feel the grass beneath her feet, not hard and prickly but rubbery and ticklish where it insinuated itself between her toes. The ground under the grass was soft and lush with the fullness of life. Everywhere around her, the meadow was exploding with every sort of flowering plant imaginable.

Elsa sat and enjoyed the sensations, digging her toes in the earth, turning her face more fully into the sunlight. Her fingers brushed and stroked blades of grass within arms reach, reveling in their unique textures. She felt something tease her nose and opened her blue eyes to find herself face to face with a butterfly. It slowly flapped its wings, the extraordinarily vibrant whorls etched upon them mesmerizing Elsa for a moment. The meadow receded from her as her gaze was caught within the spiral of the butterfly’s wings.

A small, cherubic face gazes up at her. Eyes so very blue, much like her own meet hers. She feels her heart skip a beat. She feels something stir, an ophidian movement within the well of her memory, the vulnerability of that tiny, angelic countenance awakening it momentarily.

Elsa reeled back from the memory, both physically and mentally. The meadow snapped back into clarity, Elsa looking to and fro in frantic panic. Her head pistoned back and forth as she felt more than sees a blurring at the edge of her vision. A moment later, all motion ceased. Even the breeze paused, like the world was holding its breath. Then Elsa smoothed her dress and leaned back once more, turning her face into the sunlight. She dug her toes once more into the earth and ran her fingers through the grass. As she tilted her head back, the breeze rejoined her, dancing her hair behind her like a golden standard.

Elsa was startled but not unduly so, by a rough Texas drawl. “Beggin yer pardon, ma’am, but might you know whereabouts I am?”

Elsa opened her eyes slowly and drank in the man standing before her with a ravenous scrutiny. He was tall, topping six feet by an inch or two. The man wore chaps over rough spun trousers and a black button up shirt with a hat and boots to finish the ensemble. Saddlebags were slung over his shoulder with casual ease. Elsa considered his question for a moment then replied, “Why, you are here.”

“I had me an inkling that was where I was at. Crying yer pardon again, but do you happen to know what’s over that there hill?” the man said, pointing towards the hill in question.

Elsa pursed her lips as she followed the man’s pointing finger with her eyes. A storm of anxiety moved quickly across her features then was gone as quickly and she said in a diffident tone, “No, I do not. I’m quite happy right here.”

“Well, that’s is most likely because ye’ve got yerself a mighty fine place. You mind if a sit a spell while we palaver a bit more?” he said. At her nod, he sat down unceremoniously , all in one big huff, his legs crossed, Indian-style. “You sure you’ve never been over yon hill?”

“I think I would remember having been over there before,” Elsa said exasperatedly.

“Peace, little lady, I cry yer pardon!” the man said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’m not meaning to ruffle any feathers.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get out of sorts that is so unlike me,” she said, looking somewhat confused and added, “I think.”

“No apologies necessary, little miss, I’m a tough old coot. So, don’t you go worryin’ on my account,” he said in his slow country rumble. They both sat in a cool companionable silence for a few moments before the man seemed to remember something and said, “Where are my manners? I plum forgot to introduce myself! They call me the Wanderer.”

Elsa found herself giggling despite herself. “The Wanderer? That is quite a silly name,” she said airily.

“You have the right of it, little miss. Not my given name but I misplaced that long ago on my ever-winding road,” the Wanderer said ruefully.

Her titter turned into a full, delighted laugh. “Well then, Wanderer, my name is Elsa. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Elsa said with true joy, turning a radiant smile upon the Wanderer.

“With a smile like that, it just may be that this old man is getting a better end of this bargain. Truthfully, the pleasure is mine,” he said with a grin.

“Why, sir, you are a most brazen man!” she said, giggling once more.

“Well, I’ve definitely been called worse. I’m a shameless flatterer. But then, you are definitely someone who should be flattered,” he responded jovially, giving Elsa a sly wink.

The laughter flowed so hard from Elsa that she struggled to wipe the tears from her eyes. She looked the Wanderer over with a kinder eye and, between bouts of mirth, asked, “You have saddlebags but wherever is your horse.”

He snorted disgustedly. “That low-down dirty son of the backside of a donkey took it upon himself to go and get himself lost. So, he’s somewhere,” he said with a vague gesture around, “He’ll show up before too long, he’s like that.”

“Oh, you are truly a sad sight, a cowboy bereft of his horse. Whatever shall you do?”

“Well, I figure I’ll do what I did before I got that damnable excuse for an animal, excusin’ the coarse tongue, I’ll put one boot behind t'other til I make it somewhere I want to be,” he said with a friendly smile.

“That doesn’t sound at all pleasant,” Elsa rejoined.

“Well that’s only because you think that the point of an adventure is where yer going. I know it’s the getting there that’s the real prize.”

“You are a strange, strange man!” Elsa exclaimed, laughing heartily, “To think that the point of going somewhere is something other than getting there.”

“So tell me true,” the Wanderer asked slowly, as if chewing on each word carefully to ascertain they tasted just right, “you never felt the need to catch yerself a gander from atop them there hills?”

Elsa turned a suddenly sober eye to him, her humor of but moments ago fled, and remarked, “Heavens, no. Why must one always wonder when they have such bounty?”

“All this is fine,” the Wanderer answered, waving his hand in an ambiguously encircling gesture, whistling in amazement for added effect, “I’ve never been one myself to do nothin’ but wonder. Before I know it my boots are movin’ then there I am up over yonder,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind none, though, because my mammy told me God put many fine places upon this green earth and it would be a shame not to give each a taste.” He nodded sagely while delivering mammy’s piece of homespun wisdom.

Her icy blue eyes crystallized into gem hardness and declared icily, “I don’t believe in God.”

“Well, I’ll share a little secret between you, me and the wind, little lady,” the Wanderer said, his eyes veritably twinkling mischievously, “I don’t think my mammy believed in God, either. She just wasn’t the type of person to let a little quibble over something the likes of a belief in the Almighty to keep her from a great turn of phrase.” Elsa responded to his jest with silence. When it was obvious she would not speak, he added, “So, I’m thinkin’, and I’m not a man with much cause to do so, but I’m thinkin’ that you once did believe in God, just like I think once you might have wondered what was over that hill.”

Elsa looked at the Wanderer sharply. She felt him brush dangerously close to something. She didn’t know what because it resided behind a wall and she just knew that the wall had to stand. She felt a kernel of panic begin to form in her gut. She was seized with indecision.

“But I’m not one for pryin’ and these boots never grew no roots, so I’ll be finding what’s over that hill,” the Wanderer said, standing up, brushing his pants off.

With his words, Elsa felt the knot in her guts unwind, the crisis averted. With the calamity over, she found that she did not wish for him to go. “Do you have to leave?”

“It’s who I am. Now don’t look so downtrodden. You just aren’t ready yet. But we’ll meet again, over there,” he said, pointing in the distance.

“What’s there?” Elsa said, feeling a tiny bit of excitement, despite herself.

The Wanderer gave her an enigmatic smile. “Can’t rightly say. That’s the point. But mark my words, that’s where we’ll meet, over that next horizon. Til then,” he finished, tilting his hat to her and throwing his saddlebags over his shoulder.

Elsa watched him walk away, feeling the tiniest bit despondent, like she just lost something but she didn’t know what. He waved once before cresting the hill and disappeared from sight.

Sunday Poetry prompt! 08/06/17

2017-08-06T04:30:00.000-07:00

Now as for last week's prompt:

A teardrop frozen upon my sill,

waiting for you to come back,

though I know you never will,

nor do I want to backtrack,

to find you again at my door,

to try this dance once more,

to let our hearts ignore,

all the came before.

Self promotion Saturday

2017-08-05T10:59:00.000-07:00

Actually, not much to report. Working on King's Road for the Monolith anthology. Otherwise pretty quiet on the homefront. Did take Friday off and hang with my sister. Feeling refreshed. Watched to Big Sick, was really good. Anyways, have a nice weekend everyone!

Free Story Friday

2017-08-04T04:30:00.000-07:00

I wouldn’t be able to risk wearing my necklace to school for a while. Even if the nice stranger—Shaun, was it?—was suddenly a member of my high school. It wasn’t like I’d be around him much. No matter how nice he may be, we wouldn’t be moving in the same circles. Especially since I didn’t have any circles to move in.

But I couldn’t just leave it somewhere obvious around our apartment either. It would probably be easy to break into. Nobody had before—we obviously didn’t have anything worth stealing. But now someone thought I did. And they were more right about that than they knew.

I stood up from the desk and removed the necklace, wondering where I could put it for safekeeping. We didn’t have a safe or anything, and my room wasn’t cool enough to provide a loose floorboard with a hidden compartment. Valuables always seem to go in the sock or underwear drawer… maybe I should be more original and go for a drawer containing a different genre of clothing. So the shirts drawer it was! Such brilliance.

Back to homework. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what that guy had said. Keep it safe. Why? Did he know something? If I ever saw him again, could I ask him? Or would it be risky to reveal that I know there is something to know about it? Or was I just making everything too complicated while he was just a nice guy advising me not to wear it around Jillian and Carlie for a while? Plus, I could have dreamed up everything about the ability it gave me—At least one of my relatives suffered from mental illness.

I gave up on homework and just cradled my head in my arms on my desk, wishing I could get away from all of it. Wishing I could fly away from everything and live alone in the wild, with no one to ruin things for me and no homework to do and no responsibilities. If only there was a way to get through the icicles and enter some beautiful world on the other side. If only there was such a world on the other side of anything.

The next thing I knew I was awakened from sleep by a bird tapping insistently on my window. They did that from time to time—perch on the bars and tap away. Super annoying. I lifted my head and read the alarm clock. Wow, I had been out for two hours! Kind of late for a bird to be out tapping on the window…

And then a man’s face came into focus.

At first I thought it was Caleb, and I gripped my desk with knuckle-whitening terror. But then I saw the long hair and dark skin and recognized Shaun. I didn’t even have time to wonder how in the world he knew where I lived; his eyes were so wide and beads of sweat rolled down his face. What was wrong? Why was he here? How did he find me? Did he mean to find me?

I was too curious about the stranger who’d slighted Jillian and Carlie to resist finding out what was up. So I went to the window. But it was stuck.

Oh, that’s right. I’d totally caulked all the way around it for better insulation last winter…shoot.

We’d just have to talk through it.

“Hey, sorry to barge in on you like this, but I need to talk to you. That necklace you had—you still have it right?” His voice was muffled through the thin glass.

So it was about the necklace. There was no way he could know what it was…

“Yeah, the necklace is still in my possession. What’s it to you?” I hoped Mom wouldn’t overhear and come investigating.

He stopped panting and looked up at me suspiciously when I said the word possession.

“…Very important. Can you prove that you have it?” he panted, breathless.

Proving that I had it wouldn’t hurt anything. And his voice was so nice, I kinda wanted to keep him talking.

I crossed the room to my dresser, opened my shirt drawer and took out the necklace. I went back to the window, fastening it around my neck as I went.

“There. See?”

“Can I hold it, please, just to authenticate it?”

Not a chance. “Sorry, window won’t open. Plus, I have no way of knowing that you wouldn’t steal it. It used to belong to my dad, so I can’t give it up. This is personal…”

“Yes actually, it is personal—for me too. There are a lot of things about that rock that you are not aware of. It is very important. It has been lost for a very long time. The Gwyth—” he checked himself and started over, “My, uh, friends need it.”

“Sure they do.” Maybe he just wanted to steal it and pawn it off. Some runaway kid, maybe living in the woods, looking to make some fast cash. Well not with this he wasn’t. “What do you mean, ‘authenticate it?’” What did he think there was to authenticate? Surely not certain magical-ish abilities…

“I mean examine it to see if it is the rock that I think it is. Look, it is really important—a matter of life and death for some of us, maybe even all of us.”

I was still very suspicious of him, but the possibility did nag at me. What if that were true? I mean, his suspicions were right, this was a very special rock. What if it really was a matter of life and death for someone?

My curiosity was piqued and I definitely didn’t want to be the reason that anyone died. That was some serious stuff—if it was true…

“So if this were to be the right rock, how would it be a matter of life and death to someone? Does it have…like powers or something?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you think?”

I scrunched my lips together, debating what to do about this. It was too valuable a thing to me for me to lose, but if it was really a matter of life or death…but how likely was it that that whole story was true? What reason did I have to trust this guy at all?

“If you can prove to me that the rock in this necklace is a matter of life and death, and give me some actually trustable form of assurance that I will get it back, then I will consider thinking about the possibility of potentially letting you borrow it.”

“There is proof that I know you will except. But you have to come outside, or let me come in—”

“Absolutely not! That’s not a fair chance. You would just take it from me and leave me knocked out or dead while you ran off with my dad’s only chance at recovery!”

“Okay, okay,” he patted the air in front of him in a downwards motion with both hands.

“I can prove it. But I cannot do that yelling through a window. I need to whisper it in your ear. The consequences of the wrong people overhearing would be dire.”

Telling me that there was someone more dangerous than the guy creeping outside my window was hardly a huge selling point for me joining him outside with the rock. But dang, it had my adrenaline going. I wanted to know what this guy knew. Maybe he would know why my dad thought he saw dragons when he picked it up. Maybe he would know how to heal him!

Going outside with him, necklace in hand, was a terrible risk. It would take no effort for him to incapacitate me and steal my most valuable possession. But the need to know as much as I could about it was too strong. I couldn’t resist.

I left my room and stalked across the living room, glad to see a line of light under the bathroom door—I wouldn’t have to walk past Mom. Pausing by the front door, I stuffed my feet into my ratty old tennis shoes and threw the sweatshirt from earlier on over my head. I left through the creaking front door and walked around the apartment complex, necklace in hand.

“So?” I whispered sharply behind him when I found him staring impatiently into my window.

He jumped and spat a string of harsh-sounding syllables. I couldn’t quite translate into words, but I assumed they must be a cluster of cuss words.

“What, surprised a little? Well not nearly as surprised as me! So you better get to inspecting the rock and explaining yourself before I do something worse than whisper in the dark.”

What was I talking about? Of course I had absolutely no idea what I could possibly to this guy that was any worse than whispering unexpectedly, but I hoped he didn’t know that. Judging from his mildly smiling expression, he probably did.

“Let me see it.” he held out one large, brown hand, open to receive the treasure.

I handed him the stone, with the chain still twisted around my wrist so that he couldn’t snatch and run.

He cradled it in one hand, caressing the surface of it with a large, brown thumb. “This is it.” he whispered, expelling the words from his mouth with that same, slight accent that I had noticed this morning.

“What is it, exactly?” But he was so engrossed in his examination that he didn’t seem to hear me.

“Come on, man, you promised to explain if I came outside, and here I am and you haven’t explained a thing! What’s going on?”

“Yes, I told you I would explain if you came outside, and I will. But it would be best if you came with me to the place where the rock is from. I need help, and you are the only being in the world who can help me.”

“Come with you? I don’t even know you! I’m not leaving with you to go anywhere! And you promised to explain!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down. What if I told you about something that only you should know? And what if that something was a mystery to you, something difficult for you to believe and understand? What if I was able to explain that to you?”

“I’d still want an explanation about the stone.”

“That is exactly what this is.”

“Alright. Go on. I’m listening.”

“You were looking at something yesterday, some form of a water-covered surface. When you looked into the water at the same time that you touched the rock, you saw something in the water.”

My eyes widened and I stopped the gasp from leaving my surprised lips. I was determined not to show my true feelings. Had I really seen something in the icicles too?

“And when you let go of the stone in the necklace, the image disappeared. And then you touched it again, and the image was back. It was something dark, and it was moving differently than something that was just being reflected would move. Am I right?”

The shape in the icicles! I stared at him. How could he have known that?

“Yes.”

“And that was not the only time it had happened, was it? I can explain all of that to you.”

He stared at me intensely, seeming to search my eyes for something.

Had I hallucinated all of that? Was I dreaming up all of this too? Maybe I hadn’t actually woken up from my desk nap yet…and if it had happened before and I didn’t know, how would he?!

“Well go on and explain then.”

“You were looking into another world.” He breathed, looking as if he was unsure I would believe him, but desperately hoping that I would.

His revelation thrilled me. Another world! The bliss of the thought! Another world, a place to be explored, and place of escape, to start over with a fresh life and with no one from your past to taint your days with their false assumptions and accusations. I wanted desperately to go there. I had an iron-strong desire to be in that other world, wherever it was and whatever it would take for me to get there.

But how could there really be another world? How could that be possible? If I dared to believe in it, I was asking to have my hopes crushed. I wanted more than anything for it to be true, but how?

“Another world?” I squeaked.

“Yes. But if you want me to explain further, you will have to come there with me. There are things I cannot talk about here, it is not safe. Please, you must come. This rock is desperately important, but it will only work if you are with it. I cannot fix anything without you.”

What needed to be fixed? Did I dare go with him? Of course not! Believing in other worlds was crazy. It was illogical, impossible. A battle warred within me, the incredulous adult side fighting with my inner child—the part that still really wanted to believe in magic and possibilities. The adult was wining, a better debater with legitimate arguments. But in the end, the temptation was too great. I needed to know what was going on. And spending a little more time with this guy didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. I couldn’t not look into this. Foolish though I knew it was, I desperately wanted to try. Another world. Another world. I had to go. I must go. I absolutely must.

“I know it is a lot to ask, but will you come with me, and bring the rock? You have no idea what is at stake here.”

I took in a deep breath. Did I dare?

“Alright. I’ll come. How do we get there?”

Author Spotlight

2017-08-03T04:30:00.000-07:00

What is your name?
Savannah J. Goins

What is your dragon name?

If I were dragon, my name would be something like Jaicael. (Jay-say-ell). “J” for my middle initial, “cael” because it is latin for sky and sounds pretty, and “ai” in the middle because it fits nicely. I would name myself after the sky because 1) my favorite color is blue, 2) the sky is vast and beautiful and full of possibilities, and 3) because that would be a cool thing to be named after. “Savannah” translates to “an expansive, open plain” such as the grasslands in Africa. A smidge too lacking in the area of inspiration for a dragon name. (Though I am very happy with it as a human name!)

Where are you from?

I was born in Florida, raised partly in Georgia and partly in Indiana, where I still live now.

What do you do creatively?

Besides writing, which takes up most of my spare time, I like sketching my characters, hand-writing poems and thoughts, and arranging plants for display in my home (the later being a very recent artistic interest). I also want to make a faerie cottage. A friend of mine made one and it is definitely a must have crafty item for a fantasy enthusiast! Even though I don’t write about faeries, I do like their style. (Greg's note: It isn't about "liking" their style, you have to appease the little bastards)

What is the first thing you ever remember creating?

I remember when I was about sevenish years old, I built a frog circus (Greg's note: If this isn't a signal that your child will be looking into the veterinary arts... I don't know what is.) out of boxes and pipe cleaners. There was an elevator to take them to the top level where they could walk across a platform and pretend to be tightrope walking, and little rings on the floor for them to jump through. The rings were made from red pipe cleaners to simulate the daring feat of jumping through fire. :)

If you were to get rid of one state in the U.S., which would it be and why?

Maybe Alaska, just because it’s so cold! But I don’t know really, I feel bad exiling anyone! (Picture right, do you really want to get rid of that?)

What are your inspirations?

Music. All kinds--from rap to country to pop to classical to 40’s and everything in between. Songs, even the ones without words, tell stories and I like to drink them all in. Also books. I find a lot of inspiration in reading the kind of stories I want to write as well as the ones outside of my comfort zone. And movies are another big idea-generator for me. I left the theater after seeing the new Kong movie with all sorts of fantastic ideas for choreography of animal fight scenes. I get great ideas for future books pretty much every time I see a movie, but lighting up the theater with a phone screen is generally frowned upon so I end up forgetting a lot of them!

You’ve been given an elephant. You can’t give it away or sell it. What would you do with the elephant?

I would keep it. We would be best friends and I would sit on it’s back and ride it to work everyday. I would teach it the way so that I could write during the commute and not have to pay attention to traffic!(Greg's note: You know, once I'd like the answer to this question to include a howdah.)

Where can we find your work online?

You can find my website at savannahgoinsbooks.com. There is an excerpt from the second chapter of my upcoming debut novel, The Gwythienian, there, as well as a giveaway for one of five signed hardcovers! Once it is published on November 3rd, it will be available as a print book on Amazon and in select bookstores across the country, and as an eBook through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, and Kobo. What can we expect from you in the future?

The Crivabanian, which is the sequel to The Gwythienian, will hopefully be available by late 2018. Official release date TBD. The third and final novel in the trilogy will come out soon after that, and I have several possibilities in the works for future novels outside of those (the meager few that I can remember long enough to write down!)

What is something people should know about you?

My day job is being a legit dragon wrangler, and a wrangler of many other unusual animals, which is a pretty cool job!

Anything you'd like to add?

I have three pet rats named Kaz, Inej and Jesper after the Six of Crows characters. And I love chocolate milk. (Who doesn't love chocolate milk?)

What is the coolest animal you’ve had a chance to work with?

The coolest dragonesque animal was a four-and-a-half-foot long Savanna monitor (not just because we share a name!)(Mmmhmm... we believe that) She was the biggest lizard I have ever held. The most impressive animal I have ever come in contact with at work, however, would be a full-grown tiger.

Name someone you respect and why? What is their story?

Michele Israel Harper is a speculative fiction author and publisher who is also a member of one of the writing groups I attend. She has worked really hard to build her business, and has become very successful with it. But she still puts her family first and despite the full schedule, she is always cheerful and enthusiastic and can make anyone feel welcome and important. I wish I was as outgoing as she is, and I hope to follow her example!

(I have a theory that this is Savannah, too!)

If you had a dragon, describe it and what would be its name?

If I had a dragon, it would of course be a sentient dragon. Not as bossy as Saphira, but just as wise. Big enough to ride, and either blue, green, or white. I love blue and green, but just today a patternless grey-white bearded dragon with eyes that were half brown and half black came into the clinic and it was so beautiful I wanted to sneak it out in my pocket! So whitish with cool eyes would also be a possibility. As for a name… I would have to meet him or her before I could decide. I wouldn’t be able to choose a fitting name without getting to know the dragon a bit.

Talespinning Tuesday - Shard

2017-08-01T04:30:00.000-07:00

I hate to do this to you but I'm changing the script! I'm going to start showing pieces of Shard, another of my works in progress... It is the story of Elsa and how she tried to find her way back. I'll let you tell me which ones you want me to tell. I'll be setting up a poll on my Facebook page.

She slowly emerged from sleep, the sunlight slipping past her eyelids, clearing her mind of all traces of dream. Feeling the warmth on her face,a smile spread. This was exactly how she loved to wake up. She luxuriated in the feeling as she stretched and finally opened her eyes. Delightedly sniffing the air, the cozy scent of butterscotch sticky buns greeted her nostrils. She gave a sideways glance at the side table where a platter of four of little treasures waited patiently for her attention.

She grinned mischievously at the thought of being so sinfully indulgent. Such excesses of sugary gratification had been the sole province of her grandmother. When she would visit, her nana would always secret a plate of candied pastries for her little Elsa’s delight. Elsa delicately took a pastry from the plate with a dainty hand, her nails painted an evocative ruby shade. She wiggled her similarly painted toes in anticipation, still securely sheathed in the friendly warmth of her comforter. She brought the confection slowly up to her crimson lips that stood in sharp contrast to her alabaster skin. She abandoned herself within the moment of the first bite, time stretching to accommodate her in her decadence.

Time snapped back, reinserting itself upon her reality. She always found herself a little forlorn with the ending of the first bite, it was always the best. She brightened, though, when her vivid green eyes caught sight of the platter and the three remaining first bites she had yet to embark upon. She licked almost sensually at the corners of her mouth, clearing away the refugee crumbs that had retreated there. She giggled to herself as one errant crumb made a tumbling descent to nestle in the valley of her breasts. She scooped it up with one finger, clicking her tongue at it in admonishment then greedily sucking her finger clean. She moved on to her second bite and before she knew it the sweetmeat had met its end. She looked at her empty hand in surprise but smiled at the pleasant heat that filled her stomach.

She decided for a moment to put off the consumption of her little joys aside. She swung her legs from beneath the covers, the folds of her baby-blue nightgown making a silken whisper. Her little feet scrambled at the floor, searching for her fuzzy slippers. She sighed contentedly as her feet slipped home into the snuggling, tender warmth. She stood from her bed, letting her gaze take in her room. Beyond her nightstand, next to floor to ceiling window that sunlight raced through, was her modest vanity table full of the many little mysteries with which many woman plied themselves. Her eyes fell upon the fireplace, mere cinders now, the fire no longer needed with the coming of the dawn. Above it a great painting of a large oak tree with a swing and a boy and girl laughing and playing under its boughs. Her eyes quickly darted past the darkened corner next to…

“Hey, don’t want to look over here, do ya?” a clipped voice said.

Elsa quickly took her seat in front of the vanity and grabbed up her brush, holding it before her like a sword to repel the unwanted words. She shut her eyes, as if depriving herself of sight she would also shut herself away from the intruding noise.

“Come on, Elsa, do we really need to do this?” the bored voice said, its tone giving off the merest hing of annoyance. “You try to ignore me while I sputter and moan like some half remembered phantasm of your past. We can do that, but you’re just wasting time.”

Elsa began running the brush through her satiny golden strands. Her face scrunched in discomfiture and pain in her second stroke of the brush as she hit a snarl of hair. Her eyes flew open involuntarily and she saw the unwelcome woman reflected in the mirror. She was statuesque, even bent over as she was at Elsa’s shoulder. She wore an open black leather vest over a simple bra and her skin was the same milky complexion as Elsa’s. She wore a pair of micro skirt from which fishnet stockings descended until they meet glossy leather knee high boots. Her face was framed by her midnight hair done in a pageboy haircut. She had kabuki make up on, accentuating her eyes and brows. Two dark midnight teardrops were painted on her cheeks underneath her eyes. A single ruby tantalized the eyes and drew them to her cleavage.

“Why do you trouble me so, you wanton woman!?!” Elsa cried.

“Well, that makes two of us or one of us depending on your perspective,” the woman said, smiling mysteriously, “but it’s because you need to come back. You’re needed,” the lascivious woman replied simply.

“You’re not wanted! You’re not needed. Begone! Leave me to myself,” Elsa alternated between yelling and pleading with the other woman. The knuckles on her fine hand showed red as she slammed it one the table. She looked down in contrition at the unexpected display of her ire.

“Come now, Elsa dear, that is no way to be,” the seductive woman said coyly, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She sashayed across the room until she was directly behind Elsa, her hips beating time like a living metronome. Elsa started when the lascivious woman lightly laid her hands on her shoulders. Elsa felt the woman’s breath caress her ear as the woman began sensually kneading her shoulders. Elsa felt her cares and worries melt under the provocative ministrations of the other’s touch. “We used to have such times, you and I,” the seductress purred into her ear, startling Elsa when she gave it a little nibble, “Even if you can’t remember.” Elsa felt momentarily lost to the sensation.

Another’s touch.

A man’s hand brushes her cheek lightly.

Another’s touch.

The sweet taste of caramel, as their lips meet, both giggling, both in the moment, both with each other.

Tears flowed from Elsa, running a river path down her face until finally making the jump from her chin. Each tear hit the vanity with a tinkling sound, crashing upon the table as diamonds that refracted the light in a thousand rainbow hues. Elsa looked up from her tears, her face a mask of rage, “I reject you and your need! They have nothing to do with me. I name you Trouble and cast you from my life.”

“You can call me what you wish, Elsa,” Trouble said, “I’ll be back. So will the others.” The woman seemed to be losing focus, her form fading. Elsa looked at the fading form in satisfaction. The woman returned the triumphant smile with a sad one of her own. “Look, little Elsa,” the woman said, tapping almost inaudibly on the mirror with a single black nail, “Your mirror is starting to crack. You better shore it up before reality creeps in through that hole.”

Elsa gasped in horror, looking at the tiniest crack upon her vanity mirror. Like the first bite, the time of its perfection had passed.

Before she faded completely from view, the other woman whispered, “You know, we loved him too, Elsa.” Then she was gone.

Elsa sat before the now marred mirror and for a moment dove beyond the surface, past the mask and beheld once more the tragedy underneath. She felt the bottom open up as she was swallowed once more by the anguish of the past.

Elsa started as she found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror. She smiled to her mirror twin and the day became almost noticeably brighter. She wondered for a moment what she had been doing then shrugged it off and picked up her brush. The sun warmed her face as she brushed her luxurious golden hair.

Sunday poetry prompt: Jen Snow

2017-07-30T04:30:00.001-07:00

Venom slowly dripping

smoky breath concealing

a memory once hidden

inside horrid, dreadful cries,

tragic tales were written

in my blood revealing

my sorrow unfolding—

beneath heavy, weeping skies

coaxed me from her back

before the sun rises

Tears across my face,

obscuring, blurring demons

as they relentlessly arise

As a trace of memory

existence of another
I cannot recognize

as I stand gazing in her eyes

the liquid tremors cement,

into jagged shards of ice

I turn away

ashamed, weak, cowardly

Razor talons slash savagely

through my deeply etched disguise

yet she strokes my cheek tenderly

"From me you cannot hide"

the illusion of my dragon

held strong within my mind

Distressed, desperate, I reach for her

she vanishes as if a shadow
before my mournful eyes

my sorrow unfolding—

beneath heavy, weeping skies

Eagerly clinging

to the remnants of the dragon

I am given her heart, still beating

I hold it close as it melts into mine

I gasp, astounded, saddened

quivering heart, profound, unblackened

The final tale to be written

in the blood of my dragon

my sorrow unfolding—

beneath heavy, weeping skies

I awaken and am shaken

until I realize

she was simply

… I

Sunday poetry prompt

2017-07-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

Hey all, happy Sunday! Next week's prompt is:

My poem for this week's prompt is as follows:

She was born to more than rise,
could never be that quiet,
she hurtles to the skies,
I never could deny it,
She, not born of angel,
but muse of burning wings
I, her writer, faithful,
lifted among the kings,
I see her in her faults,
love and revel beyond them,
her spirit my heart exalts,
never able to condemn,
she is my lady bright,
even as I shining burn,
she is not the end of light,
but the birth of my return.

Saturday Self-promotion

2017-07-29T04:30:00.001-07:00

Okay, there isn't much self promotion... really I'm just telling you that I've been in the hospital since Monday, so be grateful there has been anything on this blog. I've been a tad bit out of it but I've been doing what I can to still see that there is content on the blog for you guys to read. And elsewhere from me. I've been trying. So, if it is looking a little thin, you'll have to forgive me, I've tried my best.

Free Story Friday

2017-07-28T04:30:00.000-07:00

Deep in the woods, behind the black of the trees, something stirred. Lucia peered into the darkness, trying to distinguish the shifting form that seemed to be getting closer. Out of the shadows rolled an ominous fog, more blue than black, groaning in a dull roar as it consumed the earth beneath it. A heavy mist rained down over the dark cloud. At the forefront, the wisps of moisture took on the form of a pulsating ball that elongated and rose ever higher, until Lucia could clearly make out the shape of an equine muzzle, chomping at the feeble rays of light that managed to escape the storm above. Within seconds, the entire fog sunk to the ground, blanketing the dirt and revealing a tall, menacing, translucent horse charging toward her.

Lucia took a step back, then another. This beast was similar in consistency to the shadow bear in her training exercise, with one major exception—this was no harmless water shadow. A terrifying, guttural snort from his massive nostrils sent her racing to the tower. Why had she ever left? Her feet carried her as fast as they could, but her speed was no match for the galloping shadow behind her. The foremost lock of her chestnut hair lost all color as a streak of white flowed into being.

The horse whinnied, shaking the bare trees—a cry as desperate and merciless as a thousand burning souls screaming for redemption. Lucia’s fear overcame her senses, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t recall any advice from Brian or Illera that could save her from this. She didn’t have time to stop and breathe properly and she was unable to bring forth her inner Light when the ferocious creature devoured every ray of hope.

She stole a glance over her shoulder. When her eyes locked onto those of the roaring beast, she saw the sunken sockets of the shadow had ignited into bright, red glowing orbs.

Lucia heard the high-pitched scream before she realized it was her own. As the sound escaped her lips, so too did the rest of the color escape her hair, her brown tresses shocked to white with the intensity of her fear. She turned her head forward again, but the blanket of fog had washed up ahead of her and she could no longer see the path. Her fear blinded her now; she didn’t know which way to go or how to evade these crippling terrors that haunted her through the forest.

A stray root from a dead tree reached out of the ground to cross her path, and she fell face-first into the cold, wet dirt. She pushed herself up, but her ankle had twisted. There was no way she could run any more. Rolling over on the ground, she knew she was about to find out just what happened to those who couldn’t face their fears.

The horse grew larger with every frightening step, his body solidifying from the shadows and into creation. Here before her now stood a truly fearsome beast—one as real as she was, that could extinguish her life’s Light as quickly as his own spark of life had been borne from the darkness.

The horse slowed to a canter as he approached, then to a trot, making a wide circle around her. His hooves collided with the ground beneath the fog in a metallic clang that didn’t ring true to their nature. As he slowed to stand beside her, his movements displaced the fog, swirling it up and around his long, skeletal legs, revealing thick metal shoes that extended up the sides of his hooves to lock around his ankles in heavy iron chains.

The now-giant horse towered over her, shadowing her with dread as thick as the breath that poured from his mouth. His dark beauty was lost on her through the horror of his reality. He suddenly reared up onto his hind legs, striking at the sky as he threw his head back in a squeal more demon than equine. A deep purple ignited at the nape of his neck, like embers to a flame, quickly spreading down his back and up to the crown of his head, just between his ears. Scorching fire burst into life, crimson and orange and gold, with flares of white licking the mist above him. His metal-cased hooves came down toward her face, and Lucia knew there was no escape.

The next few moments were a blur. One minute Lucia’s vision was nothing but rapidly-enlarging metal speeding toward her face and the next, she was pulled away, out from beneath the creature’s deadly hooves. Iron plunged into the ground where Lucia’s face had been just seconds before, and the horse snorted angrily.

Lucia looked up over her shoulder at the face of her savior. An older woman sat atop Cloudless, wrapped in a white cloak that just barely draped over the top of her head, showing a hint of golden hair underneath. Her amber-honey eyes were focused intently on the shadow horse’s glowing red ones. In one swift motion, the woman lifted Lucia up and set her on the back of the great white horse. Without ever saying a word, the woman yanked the reins back to the right, swinging Cloudless around in a tight circle and heading the way they had come through the woods.

Lucia was still in shock from her too-close encounter with what she knew would have been her death, and she was slow in processing exactly what was going on around her. The trees rushed past until green streaks came into view and she realized they were returning to the glade—to life and Light. Soon the view was more green than black. After another stand of trees, the sun permeated the canopy and a wave of relief washed over her.

Until she turned around. The massive, fiery horse was still behind them and gaining. She could nearly feel the heat emanating from his mane. Finally finding her voice, Lucia shouted to the woman in front of her on the saddle. “It’s right behind us!”

The woman didn’t seem to hear her.

“We need to get into the tower. We need to do something!”

The woman still didn’t respond.

Panicking, Lucia felt her fear in the back of her throat. They were almost to the glade now, almost to the tower and safety. She thought of Cloudless and realized that the horse could never fit through the tower door. Another idea came to her; she swallowed back her fear and gathered her courage.

The giant black stallion pulled up beside her as she bounced along on the back of the equally-large white mare, and she looked him straight in his demonic red eyes.

Without even bothering to focus her breathing, she concentrated on the Light. Seeing the sunlight around her filtering through the treetops added to her own inner Light and she felt her body warming up, storing its strength and energy. Color trickled back into her hair, strand by strand. Within moments, her head was entirely covered in her usual brown with a single wide streak of white mostly hidden underneath her hair, cascading over her left shoulder.

Before she could aim the energy at the deadly beast, an agonized bellow echoed through the forest. The horse fell behind, and Lucia whipped her head around to see what had stopped it.

Cloudless burst through the last stand of trees just then and into the open clearing of the glade. The woman, reins in one hand and a small handheld crossbow in the other, turned the mare sideways so they could watch the shadowy creature.

A bolt with bright white fletching stuck out of the horse’s face, right between the eyes. The dark horse threw its front legs into the air one final time, rearing back in pain and anger. As he did so, his legs disintegrated before their eyes, evaporating into black, swirling mist. The body of the horse followed suit, and finally the head and tail, until all that remained was a burning mane. As soon as the body was completely gone, the mane flared and went out like an extinguished candle that just lost all its oxygen.

The sounds of galloping hooves and heavy breathing could be heard; they were loud at first, then faded into the distance, chasing after the black mist that sunk back behind the trees. The woman jumped down off of Cloudless, her white cloak billowing behind her. Without hesitation, she strode over to the spot where the horse had diffused.

There on the ground laid the charred remains of the bolt, but the white fletching was still in pristine condition.

Thursday Spotlight: Crystal MM Burton

2017-07-27T04:30:00.000-07:00

What is your name?

Crystal MM Burton. It used to be Marinaro, and I was proud of that name, but you try signing your initials with that! It’s a lot of squigglies on a page. Thankfully, I got married and inherited a much easier name to write (and spell).

What is your quest?

To seek the Holy Grail! Which, in writing, is to be published by one of the Big Five. My dream is Tor Fantasy. Worry not, dear readers. I’ll obtain my goals and see Camelot to glory!

What is the air/speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

What do you mean, an African or European swallow? (I much prefer cats anyway, you know. And Yorkies, which are dogs that are small enough to be cats, so they’re okay.)

Where are you from?

If you asked my fifth-grade self, she’d tell you I’m from the outermost ring of Saturn, (Greg's note: I think this is because her 5th grade self was more honest. She didn't learn to dissemble until her 6th grade year!) from the same small village Elvis still resides in. But most people are content with the answer “Orlando, Florida.” I’ve lived in Texas since 2008, though I’m not sure at what point I can say I’m “from” here.

What genre do you write in?

Fantasy, of course, and prose poetry when I’m feeling inspired. I tried writing contemporary fiction once, but no one believed me when I said the main character could control the elements. Not sure why that’s so unbelievable...but either way, I’ve stopped saying I write anything aside from fantasy, just in case.

Do you do anything besides write?

I breathe, does that count? No? Okay, well, I actually do a little of everything. I think what I do most is learn. Seriously, I’ve dabbled in it all. Freelance editing, crochet, cake decorating, taxidermy, hunting, painting, chicken whispering, gardening, canning, aquascaping, blogging—oh, wait, that’s still writing… Well, my point is, yes. When I have free time (HA!) I do stuff. I wish that stuff wasn’t overshadowed by gaming and fangirling. Those always drain what little time I manage to drum up. Though I suppose if I’m happy doing it, that’s what matters. Which I am.

If yes, where can we find your other creative endeavors?

Mostly in my kitchen or sprawled over the back of the couch. I have a few paintings hung on my living room walls, and the unruly chickens are outside (that whole whispering thing didn’t work out). If you check out my profile on Facebook (@crystal.burton.author), you may see some of my cakes and crochet projects in my photos.

What is the first thing you ever remember creating?

Oh goodness. The first thing I ever created was a fantasy world. I was an only child until I was nearly five, so I spent a lot of time alone and way too much time with my head in the clouds. With the help of an amazing “imagination game” called Tales of the Crystals, I lived in a world more beautiful and adventurous than you could ever dream of. It’s a shame it was all in my head.

The first tangible thing I ever tried to create, however, was a novel when I was in middle school. Twelve years old, Tweety bird spiral notebook in hand, and over fifteen pages in #2 lead front and back. It was about two girls who discovered a friendly monster and had to protect it. I lost the notebook before I finished the story. That was a dark day.

What are your inspirations?

My dreams and my muse, usually. I dream often and vividly, and some of my best ideas came while I slept. The other great ideas I’ve had came to me while talking to myself (though saying that I’m talking to “my muse” makes me sound less crazy). I follow every plot bunny I find down their rabbit hole to see where they might lead. Then I talk it out with myse—my muse, until I have a solid idea.

Where can we find your work online?

I like to be adventurous, so all my best work is in the Amazon. You can get there from the internet if you visit here.. Most of my current works are collaborative or anthologies, but if you have a young kid (0-7) I highly recommend you check out my children’s book, Mommy, What Is the Moon? I hear it’s really good.

What can we expect from you in the future?

Oh, I’m so glad you asked. I’m currently working on an epic fantasy series called The World Soul. It’s going to be huge. Every publisher in the business is going to want it, movie rights will be haggled over in the first week of publication, and...I may be getting ahead of myself.

Have you ever heard the phrase “the eyes are the windows to the soul”? What if that soul wasn’t your own? There are five main races in my world, each with a different eye color and each linked to the heartsoul of an element...until Tarenya is born, with her color-shifting eyes. For ages beyond memory, the heartsouls were guarded by their respective races and maintained the balance and life of the world soul itself. But now, the world is dying. Thrown on a quest she didn’t ask for to save a world that abandoned her, Tarenya teams up with a dashing human pirate, a young stone giant, and a lovestruck mermaid to collect the heartsouls and restore the balance of the world.

The story is set to span four books and two standalones, but you won’t be hearing a publication date from me anytime soon. Like Tolkien, I take forever to get my masterpiece completed and when I do, it’ll be going to a real publisher who can do it the justice it deserves. But you can always follow my Facebook page (@crystalmmburton) to keep up with my progress.

What is something people should know about you?

I’m a gamer and a fangirl, and I procrastinate like it’s an Olympic sport. Combined, this means I talk about what I love, I don’t shut up, and I get easily distracted. Keep this in mind if you ever reach out to me. Want to play Neopets and watch a Doctor Who marathon? Me too!

On a more serious note, I’m bipolar and have what I’ll call “mild” OCD. When I say “mild,” I mean that what you see on TV is over the top. Most of mine is entirely in my head (as in, not physical symptoms, thanks to an overwhelming amount of instilled self control), but a lot of time would be saved if I didn’t have to reread everything so damn much to keep myself calm.

A penguin walks through that door right now wearing a sombrero. What does he say and why is he here?

“This isn't where I parked my car!” When he sees his humorous line hasn't made me laugh (because, hello, a penguin in Texas?) he motions behind himself and whispers, “Smile and wave, boys.” Then he slowly backs out the door again, closing it behind him, never breaking eye contact. I don't see any other penguins with him, but I can only assume he's wandering with his companions, looking for Cheezy Dibbles.

(In my defense, I have three kids under the age of eight and Benedict Cumberbatch does a voice in the movie.)(Greg's note: I don't see why she has to defend herself for watching "Penguins of Madagascar"... they are awesome!)

Anything you'd like to add?

2+2 would be nice. In my book, that is. There are a few plot lines I'm still adding up in the overall series arc. They feel like they should be simple but my mind isn't connecting the dots just yet. But, I digress (as I warned you I would)

Additionally, I do need to shout out to my favorite writer's group, Authors’ Tale. I'm one of the admins over there, and we're really friendly and helpful. But don't take my word for it...actually, yes, take my word for it. If you want to grow as a writer, come join us. We'd love to have you. (Greg's note: I'm a member. Crystal is an okay admin... HAHAHA!)

What does ‘to glomp’ mean?

You know how sometimes you want to hug someone, but you're so excited that you pounce on them and throw your arms around them and practically knock them over with your embrace? Yeah, that's glomping. Ask my husband, he experiences that word all too often. Hehe.

Why do you know the answer to the previous question?

We all have our secrets. (i.e. Read as: She's a nerd)

Just kidding. I hung out with a few people in anime circles in high school (class of ‘05!) and glomping is actually in some mangas. It's very popular in those circles and those art styles, and for good reason. A lot of anime as a form of expression is exaggerated, and glomping is a great way to show affection. Plus it's funny when the person being glomped wasn't expecting it.

Who was the most influential author of your young life? Someone you would use for say the security questions on your old email account.

You have no idea how much I wish I knew the answer to that question. I did my final debate on Tolkien in senior year, so I'm very surprised it's not hi

Damn. Had a thought, but it's not Dumas either.

Anyway, back to this. If anyone happens to know the answer and wants to hack into my old email, be my guest! You can keep the email address! Just please let me get the password reset for my Neopets account, okay? It's driving me crazy. I've tried something like fifty authors already. I'm running out of ideas and I don't want to resort to Dr. Seuss and P.D. Eastman. (I've already tried them both; nothing.)

Describe the color yellow to somebody who is blind.

You're laying out on a hot day, and you feel the sun’s rays penetrating every pore of your skin. You are happy and energized, full of life, and you feel like nothing can knock you down today. A peppy song comes on the radio, and there isn't a single lyric that describes anything negative. It fills you with inspiration and positivity and even your heart beats to the rhythm. As you reach for a cool glass of lemonade, the sweet, tart flavor makes you wrinkle your nose and you laugh.

That's yellow.

What is your writing process? How do you come up with ideas?

It's tedious. Every pantser in existence will read this and say, “That's not pantsing!” (Greg's note: As an avowed pantser... That isn't pantsing!) But honestly, I plot some of it and wing the rest. Coming up with the ideas is the easy part. My brain never sits still, never stops asking “what if,” never stops imagining. My dreams give me the inspiration and the initial baseline almost instantly, but it's my thought process that ties it all up in a neat package with a fancy bow on top. That process is where my OCD comes in.

First, I do an eight point plot outline (http://www.how-to-write-a-book-now.com/plot-outline.html). This is extremely important, because it ensures my story is dynamic and well-rounded. As an editor, I always recommend people use this outline on their story after they've written it, as a sort of reverse outline, to make sure they have all the aspects they need.

Once that's down, if I'm writing a short story, I use a quick program like talk-to-text to get out a super-rough draft. I explain it to myself as if I'm telling a friend the full story. Then I sit down with a blank document and fill it out, detailing the story and giving it the actual “story” quality it needs.

If I'm writing a novel, I number a page from one to thirty and label each with a brief summary of what I'd expect to see in that chapter. It doesn't have to be detailed and I'm usually wrong by the time I reach the later chapters, but it helps to give myself a good idea of the pacing between major planned events. Then I just sit down and write each chapter, and as long as I include the basic storyline I planned, everything else is free game. It's in this freewrite period that I tend to add my best plot twists and subplots.

It's a long process and it's not for everyone, but for me, it's the easiest method that gives me a perfect balance between organization and freedom. Being a writer is hard enough without a mental illness on top of it, so I'd advise writers to find a method that works for them with as little stress as possible. Your stories will turn out best if you don't force them. I know mine do.

Poetry Challenge #7 Tanka

2017-07-26T04:30:00.001-07:00

A Japanese poem consisting of five lines, the first and third of which have five syllables and the other seven, making 31 syllables in all and giving a complete picture of an event or mood.

Here are my attempts at tankas:

Fake Smile

She smiles, it is fake,

a tyranny of falsehood,

eyes still like a lake,

she wants but I will not give,

her heart is forever hid

Cruel World

My fell eye abides,

that which her heavens derides,

single tear is spared,

my soul, I cannot leave bared,

world is unkind, she confides.

Bonus poem- Naughty Nurses

2017-07-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

In honor of my hospital stay, I wrote a poem to no one in particular(wink wink)

Naughty nurses never rest,
usually running between rooms,
requesting to administer the "Test",
seeing what may just bloom,
ever judging who is best!

But this one is special,
real go getter with bedroom eyes,
and she has decent sized "credentials",
never leaves a man without a rise,
don't refuse her chance your junk to peruse,
It's an opportunity you don't want to lose!

Poetry Challenge #6: Haiku

2017-07-25T04:30:00.001-07:00

A haiku is a poem consisting of three lines where each line has a specific syllable count. First line has five syllables, the second has seven syllables, and the last has five syllables. The haiku does not have to rhyme. The form originated in Japan.

Here are my examples!

Light filtered by leaf,

the lark sings and tweets a round,

I wish I could join.

Nomad, he wanders,
backpack stuffed full and hair wild,
homeless and alone.

The Weeping Knight

2017-07-25T04:30:00.000-07:00

Reminiscence Two

The sword master pitied the young lad who had come to his door those many months ago. So much so that he hadn't turned him away. He was old, the sword master, and knew someone of Tragean stock when he saw it. He sighed. The lad had vengeance on the mind. He knew that much. He was driven, though. In the few scant months they had been together, he had improved exponentially. The sword master had not instructed him at first. He had taken him on as a servant. Yet, the boys spirit had never bowed. However grueling the task, he had done it. No complaint.

The boy, whose name the sword master had never learned, he just called him Nameless, had finally won the sword master over. He could still remember the day. He had set him such arduous tasks that a lesser man would have balked. Yet this boy hadn't even blinked. He had just set upon each task with the same quiet intensity that he did everything given to him. But it was more than completing the tasks that caught the sword master's attention. It was after he was done and it was late, the sun having gone to bed hours before. He himself was thinking that bed did not seem like such a bad idea. That is when he saw Nameless in the courtyard.

He had told Nameless that he needed to master the simplest of strikes when he first arrived. Until he had, he would never teach him. Apparently, the boy had taken his words to heart. The sword master watched as Nameless practiced the strike, a simple overhand blow, over and over again. From the way the sinews in the boys forearms stood out, he had been practicing the blow quite a bit. Even after the day of grueling tasks, his arms didn't waiver.

The sword master stepped into the courtyard and cleared his throat. So focused was the lad, he had to clear his throat a second time. When he finally had the lad's attention, he said, "Go to bed, tomorrow your training will start in earnest."

The lad hadn't even smiled. Merely nodded and headed to his humble quarters.

The next morning, Nameless arose. He began his morning like every other, did those chores that he did every morning. When he went to the master to recieve the rest of the list he was instead greeted with thick leather practice gear and wooden sword. "This is what you will be wearing from this point ever morning until sundown. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Good. Now get into your practice gear and prepare yourself. "

"Yes, master."

The sword master shook his head. The lad had only the basics of swordfighting down. If anyone had come to him that was half his age and wished to learn the things this boy wanted to learn, the sword master would have turned them away as impossible. There was something about Nameless, though. The lad made him believe that he would master those techniques that the sword master chose to show him. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would. His was a quiet but indominable will. The old man believed this was someone who would learn to move mountains when he was older.

Years he stayed under the sword master's tutelage. The quiet, serious boy grew into a quiet, serious young man. He excelled at all that the sword master taught him. Soon, sword arm was the scourge of his sparring partners. Finally, the sword master knew that he had no more that he could teach the boy that had become a young man before his eyes.

"Nameless, I think it is time that you journey beyond these walls," the sword master said.

Nameless looked up from his meal. "If you think I am ready," he said simply.

The sword master smiled ruefully. What had he expected? Complaining? "I believe that you have reached the limit of what I can teach you. But, before you go, I wish to present you with something."

Three young students came bearing a couple of gifts. One held the sword that would become famous the world over. His sword that she had given to him. Nameless took it from him and hefted it. He looked at the sword master curiously.

"I had the sword rebalanced. I knew that you would never trade that sword, so instead of getting you a new one, I had the old one serviced."

"Thank you," Nameless said.

"Look at the blade, lad, right about here," the sword master told him, turning the blade until he could see. Etched on the blade was an apple tree. It was hard to tell unless you knew it was there but it was beautifully done.

Tears welled in the young man's eyes. He had thought that no one understood his journey and with that one simple act, the sword master had proved that he understood and more. "Thank you," Nameless said again but more vehemently.

The next two students were carrying a set of plate armor between them. The armor was beautifully crafted. The sword master cleared his throat. "I didn't have it adorned but it is crafted by the personal armorsmith of one of the Seven Immortal Barons. He has come up with a technique that makes the armor durable and lightweight."

"Thank you," said Nameless, tears welling up in his eyes. He lifted the blade and kissed it. "I promise that I will regret any life taken by your edge."

Guest Haikuist: Lori A Minor

2017-07-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

Poetry Challenge #5: Acrostic

2017-07-24T04:30:00.001-07:00

noun

a series of lines or verses in which the first, last, or other particular letters when taken in order spell out a word, phrase, etc.

Beware the serpent,

real pain it does cause,
of those not penitent,
kindness unknown within its jaws,
even those who are prepared,
nary find their lives were spared.

Hope lies and heals to scar,
ever balm to serpents's bite,
always left with tiny mar,
restored but of lesser light,
that which made love so appealing,
shatter now with depth of feeling.

Man created from earthen dust,
oblique to a natural state,
made to forever be nonplussed,
entropy born to the irate,
never sold on here but after,
tomorrow is just crazy bait,
overconfident is mocking laughter.

Minimize your prospective,
overemphasize now to thrive,
remember your lost objective,
is to live, not just survive.

Monday Muse

2017-07-24T04:30:00.000-07:00

A Writer's Torment

The quill bites chaste vein,

my quintessence leaks upon the page,

and I've let drink more than is sane,

but words such as these will know no cage.

So, gentle reader, I implore,

tread lightly within my hallowed halls,

you are but a guest at my door,

heeded to that cry which of beauty calls.

Please take kindly to my tender words,

I have bled them upon these simple leaves,

below an uncaring sun and that may be absurd,

but without release my soul grieves.

Conduit, I write words that meaning yearn,

for otherwise I would but burn.

Poetry Challenge #4: Terza rima

2017-07-23T08:04:00.000-07:00

The literal translation of terza rima from Italian is 'third rhyme'. Terza rima is a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern A-B-A, B-C-B, C-D-C, D-E-D. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems or sections of poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or couplet. The two possible endings for the example above are d-e-d, e or d-e-d, e-e. There is no set meter for terza rima, but in English iambic pentameter is generally preferred.

Outside of you

I tried to recall you, my one true love,
hoping perspective was given by the years,
yet love's eye knows only to gaze from above.

When you walked away, I bled tears,
lost and hurt, emotionally bereft,
in my sleeping eye, your dreams never clears.

Harsh truth told, I committed base theft,
I stole your identity, never seen true,
my sin, unsight, you saved me when you left.

Time passed; I knew not what to do,
then I glimpsed my life outside of you.

Before I'm Lost

I find myself awash in purple light,

nostrils full, alien smells bend senses,

and three moons above recognize my plight.

First I slept, my world contained by fences,

my lids had drooped under familiar sky,

universal multitude my eye condenses.

But now my mind, the world sees fit to defy,

one reality I thought I could depend,

all I'm left is a broken, woken lie.

I close eye, hope that deceit unrend,

before I'm lost as fear portend.