 April in my area means that after months of snow and ice, things start to get easier. I don’t have to layer up just to step outside, and simple things—like driving somewhere—become pleasant, once more. April is one of those months that make me happy—which is good because the topic we Quills chose for this month is for us each to identify ten things that make us happy. I am excited about this one because I believe that finding joy and expressing gratitude are two of the most important things we can do for our health—physical and mental. I will start off and then follow with comments from my fellow Quills, Robin and Parker. Things that make me happy and grateful include ... 1. Grandbaby. The top of my list right now has to be the grandbaby that I am awaiting. She, due in August, will be my first. I am beyond elated!  2. Children Meeting Goals. Great joy comes when your children meet their goals at any stage in life. My middle child will graduate with her dual Masters degrees from the University of Pittsburgh this spring and will then begin in her new position with the Mayo system. No one could be more deserving of the success she is experiencing, and I could not be more proud of her!  3. Family Get-togethers. Like most families, we find it hard to find time to gather. Recently, my son returned from another year of deployment overseas, and my middle child has been living out of state. We did manage to get together for Christmas 2020, and I now look forward to more opportunities when my daughter moves back to the area this summer.  4. My Island Home. I live on an island on the Mississippi along with a couple hundred other island residents. When people ask me about the island, I tell them that there are two kinds of people they might find here any given time: those who live here—and those who wish they did. It is a special place, indeed. (Here's a pic from the island.)  5. Completing a WIP. There’s not much more to be said on this one. Finishing up any writing project—even one as small as this for a blog post—is something to celebrate.  6. Watching a Snowfall. I truly think that every season on the island is more beautiful than the one that came before. Watching a snowfall from inside, while home, is one of the simple joys of life. With spring comes the greening that starts low in the woods at the back of my place and slowly grows upward. In summer, it is a joy to walk down to the river and watch kayaks float by, or to wave at passing bicyclists that seem to grow wings as they make their way around the island. Finally, fall brings the glorious colors of that season in abundance. What joy!  7. Picking a Great Gift. Gift giving is an art. For me, few joys are greater than choosing something for someone that brings them happiness. (Here's a pic of a snowfall from home.)  8. Tax Season Ending. This one is worth some explaining. You see, at tax time I am responsible for, or assist in the preparation of, returns for four trusts (NO—none of them are for me or anyone in my family—unfortunately); my personal return for my husband and I (which includes separate schedules for his proprietorship, my writing “business,” and for details regarding a trust for which I am trustee; and another separate corporate business return. (I think this will be the first year that I’m not also preparing returns for any children.) All this is to say that when I’ve done what I need to collect the details for my returns each year, I quite literally (honestly!) jump for joy.  9. A Great Read. There really is not much more to say here. Don’t you agree?  10. Blue Hair. My hair has mostly grayed, so when I’m feeling like I want to make a statement, I like putting some blue bits in it. With Covid shutdowns, I’ve been out few times in the past year, and thus, have had little reason to do this. Oh, but I am hoping, before long, to schedule an appointment to go blue once more ...  There you have it. The first ten happy things that came to my mind. What makes YOU happy?  Robin Lythgoe is next. Robin? Thinking of this topic had me humming Julie Andrews songs. Just a Spoonful of Sugar. My Favorite Things. Whistle a Happy Tune. (Am I dating myself? And can you tell I used to watch a lot of musicals?) Happy things—happy thoughts—are like magic. You hold them for a little while, think about how they make you feel and…  Parker, I know those little ones of yours are keeping you happy and busy. What more can you tell us about that? Stop. It’s Happy Time. Can’t Touch This. As I alluded to in the intro, when it comes to a list of joy and happiness, the fact that it’s springtime and Easter are going to be somewhere on the list. With that, I’ll jump right in – ordered according to how they came to mind, as opposed to a hierarchical list.
Thanks to all! Stay happy now, and grateful, and WELL!
0 Comments
We Quills are back with more flash fiction fun! (Do you hear that crowd cheering?) Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, is the person we must thank for our excellent prompt this time around. Please do take a look at what each of us have come up with for flash fiction stories and, if if this picture encourages you to write one of your own store, we'd love it if you shared it with us.  Coming in at roughly 650 words, I am keeping within my personal challenge not to exceed 1000 words for a flash fiction tale. (And as I've mentioned before, that is much more difficult than you might think . . .) So, here goes . . . It is Truly Magic |
 | (I do hope you can forgive anything out of sorts here. In any case, these are pics of my kitchen. You'll notice above the cupboards, presents and lights. They are not real presents; only decorations, but this has become a tradition we all look forward to seeing!) |  |
I remember that each Christmas, the local theater put on a free movie for all the kids to see. It was never anything you’d expect, like a Disney film, for example. But the novelty of seeing a movie at all was the thing of which memories were made. (I only recall having seen the following movies in theater in all my childhood years: Bambi; Yours, Mine and Ours (when I was invited for a friend’s birthday); and The Sound of Music (when a teacher of mine invited a few students to join her).) After the Christmas movie, we kids would crowd around to get to the Santa, who had for each child, one of those little stockings of netting that had hard candy treats in it. That entire day was like magic to all of us kids.
(There is one thing I need not worry about this Christmas, or really any Christmas, and that is, that it will be a white one. Here's a shot from out a back door.)
Each Christmas one of our neighbors sent a box of treats over. All I remember were the small chocolates, wrapped separately. Considering there were ten (yes, TEN!) in our household, there were few treats per person, indeed. As to Christmas presents, we girls each typically received a single item from my parents. Truth be told, I only remember one of us ever receiving something that was actually on her Christmas list. (You know the list I’m talking about. It was the one, pages long, that listed pretty much everything in the Sears Christmas catalog.) Still, the homemade pajamas we received were excitement enough.
Notwithstanding the scarcity of treats and gifts back in the day, I have extremely fond memories of Christmas. Perhaps it was the lack overall that made each treat that much sweeter, each gift that much more appreciated. Consequently, the things that stand out are my memories of visiting grandparents after a drive there to see houses lit up with Christmas lights, time with our cousins, meals with rice pudding and lefse (neither of which I actually eat!), and of gift opening—after dinner and all the clean-up was done. It was exciting, but never so much that we lost the true magic of Christmas, or that we lost sight of its meaning as a season to reflect on God’s gift to us, to give unto others (and not necessarily to receive), and to gather with family and loved ones.
With the world out of sorts in 2020, I’m unsure what this Christmas will bring for my family. Currently, the plan is that our daughter will be home from Pittsburgh to see the rest of us here. I hope everyone stays well and healthy in the meantime so that we can do that. Time will tell. In the meantime, I pray that you all stay safe, and healthy, and happy—and good (so that Santa can come visit you, of course!).
Merry Christmas, all! Happy Holidays!
Notwithstanding the scarcity of treats and gifts back in the day, I have extremely fond memories of Christmas. Perhaps it was the lack overall that made each treat that much sweeter, each gift that much more appreciated. Consequently, the things that stand out are my memories of visiting grandparents after a drive there to see houses lit up with Christmas lights, time with our cousins, meals with rice pudding and lefse (neither of which I actually eat!), and of gift opening—after dinner and all the clean-up was done. It was exciting, but never so much that we lost the true magic of Christmas, or that we lost sight of its meaning as a season to reflect on God’s gift to us, to give unto others (and not necessarily to receive), and to gather with family and loved ones.
With the world out of sorts in 2020, I’m unsure what this Christmas will bring for my family. Currently, the plan is that our daughter will be home from Pittsburgh to see the rest of us here. I hope everyone stays well and healthy in the meantime so that we can do that. Time will tell. In the meantime, I pray that you all stay safe, and healthy, and happy—and good (so that Santa can come visit you, of course!).
Merry Christmas, all! Happy Holidays!
Yes, 2020 will surely go down as one of at the most difficult years of all time. There's no surprise there. Our lives have been in turmoil from the outset, and as we are nearing its end, things are not looking any more stable, particularly since today is a Friday and the 13th of the month! So what better time than now to escape, even if only for a few minutes? Here's your chance with our latest flash fiction stories.
This time, P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, chose our prompt.
This time, P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, chose our prompt.
The artist of this beauteous piece, entitled, "Golden Fish," is Laura Diehl, found online, here.
As you all know, I consistently challenge myself to come in under 1000 words for my flash fiction. This time, I'm running at roughly 575 words. I look forward to hearing what you think.
He Needed Her
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
Crimson waxy leaves glistened in the waning sunlight, chattering amongst themselves as a cool breeze moved through. In the distance, the cat-like cries of black-tailed gulls sounded out.
Kaida flitted down the garden path toward the sea. On reaching the water’s edge, she came to a sudden halt. Before her and a short distance from shore, tiptoeing from one semi-submerged rock to another, an egret meandered. On sight of her, he spread his snowy white wings, then took to flight, joining the mewing gulls in their happy airborne ballet. Kaida grinned at the bird’s gangly legs that seemingly dragged behind, but then quickly turned serious once more. She had to get back to KanaRyu as quickly as possible. He needed her.
Spotting her boat hidden in the nearby rushes, Kaida ran to it and then dragged it toward the water. While its bow still rested on the sandy shore, she tied her lure to its curled end, knowing full well that once at sea, she could not do so without capsizing. When through, she pushed the boat out until water surrounded her. Then she jumped aboard before catching the wind in her sail.
Short minutes later, as she rounded the tip of the peninsula that she called home, the sun sank below the western horizon, while the moon began its ascent in the east. Now came the part Kaida found the most difficult—waiting, as the hours passed, while her lure filled up with needed moonlight. Still, she remained focused. For KanaRyu’s sake, she dared not fall asleep and miss the moment. He needed her.
Finally, as the moon began to set, Kaida’s lure reached its full capacity. Immediately, it began to glow and to sing. Soon, its golden light spread across the water, while its music filled the air. The calming sound reminded Kaida of when her grandmother played her end-blown flute.
When the light and sound surrounded her, Kaida threw her bait out, then watched as the fish approached the dragon-scales, ate, and then swam to her hand. The minutes passed quickly as she worked. Finally, thrilled with her catch, she turned her sail toward home.
Kaida flitted down the garden path toward the sea. On reaching the water’s edge, she came to a sudden halt. Before her and a short distance from shore, tiptoeing from one semi-submerged rock to another, an egret meandered. On sight of her, he spread his snowy white wings, then took to flight, joining the mewing gulls in their happy airborne ballet. Kaida grinned at the bird’s gangly legs that seemingly dragged behind, but then quickly turned serious once more. She had to get back to KanaRyu as quickly as possible. He needed her.
Spotting her boat hidden in the nearby rushes, Kaida ran to it and then dragged it toward the water. While its bow still rested on the sandy shore, she tied her lure to its curled end, knowing full well that once at sea, she could not do so without capsizing. When through, she pushed the boat out until water surrounded her. Then she jumped aboard before catching the wind in her sail.
Short minutes later, as she rounded the tip of the peninsula that she called home, the sun sank below the western horizon, while the moon began its ascent in the east. Now came the part Kaida found the most difficult—waiting, as the hours passed, while her lure filled up with needed moonlight. Still, she remained focused. For KanaRyu’s sake, she dared not fall asleep and miss the moment. He needed her.
Finally, as the moon began to set, Kaida’s lure reached its full capacity. Immediately, it began to glow and to sing. Soon, its golden light spread across the water, while its music filled the air. The calming sound reminded Kaida of when her grandmother played her end-blown flute.
When the light and sound surrounded her, Kaida threw her bait out, then watched as the fish approached the dragon-scales, ate, and then swam to her hand. The minutes passed quickly as she worked. Finally, thrilled with her catch, she turned her sail toward home.
As the pink of dawn lightened the sky, Kaida rushed back up the path, toward the tea house sitting in the center of the garden. Grandmother had not been happy about Kaida’s bringing home a pet, and had only reluctantly—and temporarily—agreed to give up her quiet space to house him until he grew too large. But two things Grandmother had vehemently refused: to feed him, or to gather what was necessary to restore his magic energy, as and when necessary. That was Kaida’s job, and Kaida well knew that in that regard, KanaRyu needed her.
She pulled the door open, stepped inside, then bowed.
“A minute later may have been too late,” KanaRyu whispered, slowly opening his steely blue eye, “as my magic was sorely depleted when last I ventured out.”
“I’m sorry!” Kaida cried. “But I made, indeed, a wondrous catch! So many were willing to sacrifice for you and for the sake of your dragon magic!” She emptied before him, her pouch of the gold pieces that the fish she caught had become—the very gold KanaRyu has asked her to gather, the gold he needed to survive, the gold for which she knew he needed her.
Kaida’s heart swelled as he sniffed, then smiled, his scales glowing in appreciation and anticipation.
She pulled the door open, stepped inside, then bowed.
“A minute later may have been too late,” KanaRyu whispered, slowly opening his steely blue eye, “as my magic was sorely depleted when last I ventured out.”
“I’m sorry!” Kaida cried. “But I made, indeed, a wondrous catch! So many were willing to sacrifice for you and for the sake of your dragon magic!” She emptied before him, her pouch of the gold pieces that the fish she caught had become—the very gold KanaRyu has asked her to gather, the gold he needed to survive, the gold for which she knew he needed her.
Kaida’s heart swelled as he sniffed, then smiled, his scales glowing in appreciation and anticipation.
I hope you enjoyed that quick tale!
Parker is temporarily delayed, but I will be sure to bring you his tale when it becomes available. Parker?
Parker is temporarily delayed, but I will be sure to bring you his tale when it becomes available. Parker?
Light Out of Darkness
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
Akari knew Grandfather’s stories. The stories of creation–of the sun and moon and wind. Of Amaterasu, the sun goddess, of how she put her light into the darkness of the sea and brought forth life. Or Akari’s favorite, of how the goddess hid from her brother in a cave. Akari knew how the sun goddess felt. Sometimes she wanted to hide from her brothers too.
Grandfather’s face would grow serious, and his white eyebrows seemed to grow even bushier and more wild than usual when he told of Yomi, the land of the dead—but then his eyes would crinkle with laughter as he told of how the gods tried to get Amaterasu to leave her cave and give light to the world once again. “It is light that gives life.”
“Light, and love,” Grandmother interjected.
Grandfather’s face would grow serious, and his white eyebrows seemed to grow even bushier and more wild than usual when he told of Yomi, the land of the dead—but then his eyes would crinkle with laughter as he told of how the gods tried to get Amaterasu to leave her cave and give light to the world once again. “It is light that gives life.”
“Light, and love,” Grandmother interjected.
(Be sure to follow the link for the rest of the story ...
Thank you, Parker!
Robin? I can't wait.
Thank you, Parker!
Robin? I can't wait.
Golden Girl
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
The third plank in from the window was the one that squeaked, and Mashika avoided it as she climbed carefully through the window, shrouded in summer’s warm shadows. Getting caught sneaking back into the house after hours was not a good idea. Light came from downstairs in the kitchen. Someone was still up. She held her breath, and after a moment she heard voices speaking. Mama and Papa were still awake.
“There’s no choice," Papa was saying. “We’ll start tomorrow night.”
“There’s no choice," Papa was saying. “We’ll start tomorrow night.”
This lovely October day, as I look out to see leaves raining down from the trees in my yard, I am turning my attention to my portion of our post for A Drift of Quills this month. Our subject? We are each to tell something about one of our supporting characters. I thought it would be fun to hear from my fellow Quills first.
P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, is up first. Parker?
The supporting character I’d like to throw a spotlight on today is from my upcoming novel and work-in-progress, “The McGalliard Street Gate.” It’s a fast-paced, action-adventure novel about two brothers, Mikey and Lucas, aimed at 2nd, 3rd, & 4th graders that’s a fabulous explosionary mashup of Jurassic Park and The Hardy Boys. (You might recall I did a character sketch of “Doc” from the same story a couple of months ago. Can you tell I’m excited?)
Today, I want to introduce you to Jim Braxton, a retired Orlando chief-of-police ...
Today, I want to introduce you to Jim Braxton, a retired Orlando chief-of-police ...
Thank you so much, Parker!
Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, always has something wonderful to share. Robin?
Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, always has something wonderful to share. Robin?
I am neck deep in the writing of Crow’s Nest, another novel about the best thief in all the glittering empire. (According to himself.) Crow is a little bit of an attention hog, so today I want to cast some light on one of his supporting characters: Girl.
First, I promise you that “Girl” is not her real name. Second, I promise that you’ll find out what that is in the new book. And that’s it for spoilers today! But how did she come by such an awful moniker?
First, I promise you that “Girl” is not her real name. Second, I promise that you’ll find out what that is in the new book. And that’s it for spoilers today! But how did she come by such an awful moniker?
Thank you, Robin! And now, for my turn.
It is a bit difficult to choose, but this time around, I will go with Velia.
Velia is an Oathtaker who I first introduced in Book One of The Oathtaker Series. Her unique magical powers include the power to discern truths from falsehoods, and the power to take on the pain of another. She also has limited ability to communicate with animals. Some might recall that when Velia told Lilith of that power in Book One, Lilith thought that meant that Velia might have a keen ability to understand the brutish soldiers from Chiran who were then at Lilith’s beck and call.
Velia and Mara, along with Basha, all Oathtakers, are particularly good friends. This grouping was a natural creation for me since my own best friendships have typically come in threes over the years. As I’ve experienced personally, these three able to speak truth to one another and to share their pains with one another. Of them, Velia laughs most readily and wholeheartedly. She is also one of the few who can set Mara right—and she doesn’t hesitate to do so, when needed.
We authors are often reminded to "show" and not to "tell" our readers things, so I thought I might do the same when discussing Velia. You see, in Volume Four, currently in the works, it is Velia who is able to force Mara to face some difficult truths. Here is an exchange (as yet unedited) when Mara resists the efforts of others to provide her with some much needed assistance:
Velia is an Oathtaker who I first introduced in Book One of The Oathtaker Series. Her unique magical powers include the power to discern truths from falsehoods, and the power to take on the pain of another. She also has limited ability to communicate with animals. Some might recall that when Velia told Lilith of that power in Book One, Lilith thought that meant that Velia might have a keen ability to understand the brutish soldiers from Chiran who were then at Lilith’s beck and call.
Velia and Mara, along with Basha, all Oathtakers, are particularly good friends. This grouping was a natural creation for me since my own best friendships have typically come in threes over the years. As I’ve experienced personally, these three able to speak truth to one another and to share their pains with one another. Of them, Velia laughs most readily and wholeheartedly. She is also one of the few who can set Mara right—and she doesn’t hesitate to do so, when needed.
We authors are often reminded to "show" and not to "tell" our readers things, so I thought I might do the same when discussing Velia. You see, in Volume Four, currently in the works, it is Velia who is able to force Mara to face some difficult truths. Here is an exchange (as yet unedited) when Mara resists the efforts of others to provide her with some much needed assistance:
This will pass. In the meantime, you need to let those who love you, help you.”
“I don’t need any help.”
“Yes, my friend, you do,” Velia, now serious, scolded. “What’s more, your friends and loved ones need to help you. They want to help you. One of the most important things you could ever give is the gift of allowing others the experience of giving back to you. Since you are someone who so rarely needs anything, they aren’t likely to have many opportunities.” She held her friend’s gaze. “This happens to be one of them. So let them do things for you. Let them give to you. Let them serve you. It will be good for everyone! Believe it or not, you are not the only person who has ever found herself at something less than her best—if only for a time.”
Mara made a face at her.
“Make all the faces you like, but you know I’m right.”
Sighing, Mara wiped her tears away. “I suppose that sounds like goods advice.”
“It should,” Velia agreed. “Do you know where I got it from?”
“No.”
“You.”
Ouch. Huh?
 | (If I had to say what Velia looks like, I might choose something like this pic here. |
Later, and at a time when Dixon is away, Mara awakens from a disturbing dream. Concerned it might be prophetic, she rushes to visit Velia. The following (as yet unedited) is a rather lengthy conversation between the two of them. However, I chose to share it because it shows how these two relate:
“Now, you were saying,” she prodded as she set the tray on the table, sat down, and then took up the pot of tea.
“It was awful.”
“Tell me.” Velia poured two mugs, one of which was missing its handle. She set the intact one before her friend, then wrapped her hands around the other as she leaned in to listen.
“Well . . .” Mara untied the holder that kept Jesse tight to her frontside. “You see, I was away. I don’t know where. But Jesse needed me. I could hear him crying.” She paused, swallowing hard, then started again in a rush. “In my dream I knew where he was and I knew he was hungry, and I knew I had to get to him, and I knew how far away it was, and I knew—”
“Slow down,” Velia said, patting Mara’s arm. “Have some tea and then start again.”
Mara tested the temperature of her drink with a tentative sip. Setting the mug back down, her hands shaking, she looked up at her friend.
“Velia, he was so hungry and he was crying so hard. But I couldn’t get to him. I—” Suddenly, she went silent. Her eyes narrowed. She pulled back. “You’re smiling. You’re not taking this seriously! Something is going to happen to Jesse, I just know it.”
Velia nodded. “Yes, I am smiling, but I’m also taking this seriously. And yes, something probably is going to happen to Jesse—but I don’t think it’s what you think it is.”
Mara stood as if to go. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you!” she huffed.
Velia grabbed her arm. “Well you do—bother with me, as you say. And you do it for the same reason that I bother with you, and that Lucy bothers with you, and that Basha bothers with you. It’s the same reason that Dixon does, and that Nina has for all these years. It’s also the same reason that the twins do, and that—”
“What are you talking about?” Mara snapped, pulling her arm free.
“Mara, you come to me for the same reason I go to you in times of need. It’s because I know that with you, I will get the truth along with a bit of wisdom, just like you know that with me, you will get the same.”
“Oh really,” Mara sneered. “And just what is this truth you’re alluding to that you seem to find so . . . amusing?”
Velia pointed at the chair across from her. “If you want to know, you’ll have to sit back down.”
In a huff, Mara sat. Then balancing Jesse face down across her lap, she folded her arms and glared at her friend.
“So,” Velia said, her brow raised, “you say that Jesse needed you.”
“It was a prophecy, Velia, I just know it was.”
Velia nodded. “Perhaps.” She took up one of the rolls, broke a piece off, and then ate it. “Mara, you know that at any given time, there are not many things we know about the future. And as I’ve heard you tell others over the years, that is a good thing.”
“It would kill us,” Mara interrupted. “If someone knew all the pain he’d go through in his future, he couldn’t stand it. Thankfully, the horrors we face in this life are spread out over time. But can you imagine knowing about them, fearing them, experiencing them, feeling them, all at once, over and over, day after day, before they even happen? Yes, I truly believe it would kill us.” She paused. “And that’s why I would never, ever, go to a fortune teller!” Her brow furrowed as she added, “Most of them are frauds anyway.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Velia said, patting her hand. “Still, there is one thing we do know about the future, and that is that good things will happen—and that bad things will happen.”
Mara rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That’s what you have for me, Velia? That’s the wisdom you have to share with me? The truth that I came to you for? Seriously? Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes, it is.” Velia took Mara’s hand. “Look, the Good One just blessed you with your dream, and now I’m going to tell you how.”
Mara pulled her hand away and glared once more.
“My dear friend,” Velia began, “your dream was a blessing.” She tore off another piece of roll. A warm, citrusy scent rose in the air. Then she placed another roll on a plate and set it down before Mara. “Look, you will not always be there for Jesse. That would be, to put it simply, impossible. There will be times you will be called away. There will be times you will allow him to try out his wings in a manner that will take him out from under your protection. You will need to do that, Mara, if he’s to grow up. And after all, that’s what you will want him to do. Ultimately, you want him to become a man.”
Mara scowled and rolled her eyes once more.
“Not too soon, for sure,” Velia continued. “But over time, your job will be to help him to grow up so that he will be prepared to leave you. For that to happen, he’ll need to experience some of the dangers out there without your protecting him all the time.”
A heavy teardrop rolled down Mara’s cheek. “But he’s just a baby, Velia. My baby. One I never thought I’d have! And he’s already been through so much.”
Velia smiled. “And he will go through so much more on this journey we call ‘life.’ You may as well admit it now—and you might as well prepare for it now. There will be times Jesse will need help when you will not be there. There will be times when perhaps you cannot be there. It is a fact of life—and it is one that you are well to take note of right here and right now before you try to manage every little tiny aspect of his life, to shield him from every possible or conceivable danger, however remote. You would smother him.” Pausing, she grinned and leaned in as though to share a secret. “Not to mention that you’d make the rest of us a bit crazy in the process. And of course, you’d be doing exactly what you warn others against. That is, you would be protecting him so intensely, you would keep him a baby for too long.”
Mara looked down, sighed, then glanced back up. “You think that’s all there is to this? That my dream was some acknowledgement of the way things are now?”
“I’m certain of it.”
Nodding, Mara bit her lip. Then, “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered. She grinned ever so slightly.
“Whyever would you be?” Velia chuckled. “Mara, life is far too difficult to figure out every little thing on our own. We all need some help from time to time. Now, it’s true that some need a bit less aid than others. That’s probably why you and Basha and I are such great pals. We are all strong and capable women who rarely need much from others. But even strong and capable women can’t go it alone.”
Mara sat quietly for a long moment, taking in Velia’s words. “Did you ever have a dream like that?”
Velia chuckled. “Oh, yes!”
Mara leaned in. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. It was one of the things I was most surprised about when my firstborn came. I’d been responsible for the life and safety of a member of the Select in years prior. As you know, I’d even sworn to help you to protect the twins before I had any children of my own. But I’d never had dreams like the ones I had when Aden came. I still have one of them from time to time. I have fewer these days for sure, but every once in awhile . . .” She paused, then continued. “I just accept it as Ehyeh’s way of reassuring me that I’m doing everything I can, and that some things are out of my control. Then my dreams keep me from beating myself up.”
“What do you mean?”
“They help me to keep things in perspective, to stay constantly aware that I’m not perfect. I acknowledge that I’m sure to make parental mistakes along the way. You see, my job as a parent—as much as it is to protect and to teach my children—is to learn to let go of them. It’s one of those fine lines a parent walks: protect but don’t smother; provide but don’t spoil; release but don’t abandon. So, life goes on and things happen—and sometimes those things are not pleasant.”
Mara nodded, then sighed audibly. “Honestly, sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you—especially now that Dixon is away.”
We could all use a friend like Velia from time to time. One who knows us well enough to know when we need a dose of truth along with a bit of compassion. Do you think? Have you a friend like that?
It is September, and we Quills decided to write about risks. Specifically, each of us will share about a risk we’ve taken that paid off. I'll go ahead and then share the stories of my fellow Quills.
I have a confession. In truth, I’m not much of a risk taker. That said, there is one risk I took that ultimately changed the course of my life.
To fully appreciate what I did, it’s important to understand my roots. I was one of eight girls—yes, eight girls. The world has changed more than some might like to think in the past few decades, but back when I came of age, women still didn’t have all that many options. More accurately, options were opening, but it was quite unusual to do something out of the mainstream. Add to that the fact that my parents expected a single type of future for their eight daughters: that we would all be at-home moms, and not more. They did not encourage education and, in fact, tried to talk me out of it.
I had no college educated family around me, no encouraging support for what I wanted to do, and no financial support. Perhaps most significant—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
To fully appreciate what I did, it’s important to understand my roots. I was one of eight girls—yes, eight girls. The world has changed more than some might like to think in the past few decades, but back when I came of age, women still didn’t have all that many options. More accurately, options were opening, but it was quite unusual to do something out of the mainstream. Add to that the fact that my parents expected a single type of future for their eight daughters: that we would all be at-home moms, and not more. They did not encourage education and, in fact, tried to talk me out of it.
I had no college educated family around me, no encouraging support for what I wanted to do, and no financial support. Perhaps most significant—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
In any case, contrary to my parents’ wishes, I decided to go to college. Since my family was not about to assist me financially (or in any other way), that option was off the table. So I worked, and I saved through high school, and eventually, I moved from home to campus, a couple hours away, to live in the dorms. I had my savings account (which wasn’t much)—and no safety net. Since the avenues used for getting financial assistance required family input, that wasn’t an option for me. Eventually, I ran out of money and had to quit for a time, but I kept the dream alive, and some (six) years later, I quit my job so that I could return to school. While wrapping up with my undergraduate degree, I looked into the option of law school. Eventually, I took the LSAT, submitted applications, received acceptances, chose my school, and then moved so that I could attend. The move wasn’t out of state, but for me, it was significant.
My law school experience was an eye opening time for me. I worked extremely hard and in the end, because of how well I did, options opened to me for employment, that were open to very, very few. I took one of those options and the rest is, as they say, history.
So there you have it. I took a big risk and in doing so, I experienced a dream come to fruition.
So there you have it. I took a big risk and in doing so, I experienced a dream come to fruition.
I know that Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has experienced profound changes of late. No doubt, she also knows a little something about taking risks. Well, Robin? What have you for us today?
I’m not much of a risk-taker.
I am perfectly happy to stay home and quiet without any spikes of adrenalin or pounding pulse, thankyouverymuch. My husband frequently called me a houseplant. He was the adventurous one.
Now and then, though, I break out of my pot and try something crazy. Like spelunking…
I am perfectly happy to stay home and quiet without any spikes of adrenalin or pounding pulse, thankyouverymuch. My husband frequently called me a houseplant. He was the adventurous one.
Now and then, though, I break out of my pot and try something crazy. Like spelunking…
Last, but by no means least, P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has known risk. Take it away, Parker!
For more, follow this link.
We Quills are back again this month with some new flash fiction (FF) tales. This time around, I chose the pic that we used as our prompt. Here it is:
I didn’t know when I chose our prompt that I would be revisiting the past, but that’s what I’m going to do. You see, I decided to write once again about Calico Dew, a character I introduced in a previous FF story. (I believe Calico’s primary audience would be middle-graders.)
Calico is an official retriever of magic artifacts. Her dog, Sneaker, who travels with and assists her, is known to abscond with (and even eat!) small, shiny objects. Meanwhile, a witch, Rosita Brack, tries to outwit Calico at every opportunity.
I decided I'd also make use of some rather well-known lines from some rather well-known works of others from the past. See if you can identify the lines, and if you can guess the identify of the character who first uttered the words in question. (Actually, I think they’ll be pretty obvious.) (Even my title suggests something that came before . . .)
And now, without further ado . . . (coming in at 970-980 words, or so) . . .
Calico is an official retriever of magic artifacts. Her dog, Sneaker, who travels with and assists her, is known to abscond with (and even eat!) small, shiny objects. Meanwhile, a witch, Rosita Brack, tries to outwit Calico at every opportunity.
I decided I'd also make use of some rather well-known lines from some rather well-known works of others from the past. See if you can identify the lines, and if you can guess the identify of the character who first uttered the words in question. (Actually, I think they’ll be pretty obvious.) (Even my title suggests something that came before . . .)
And now, without further ado . . . (coming in at 970-980 words, or so) . . .
Calico Dew and the Vial of Duplicate Sin
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
Calico held back a chuckle as a memory bubbled up of her younger brother, River, calling the local graveyard a “skeleton park,” but then she quickly grew serious again as she continued, tiptoeing her way through the Graveyard of the Devout.
Stopping occasionally to hide behind a marble statue or concrete monument, Calico kept her focus on the evil witch, Rosita Brack, just ahead. It was rumored that Rosita had stolen the Vial of Duplicate Sin. The Vial held a putrid green slimy syrup that, if ingested, would cause a person to repeat the wrongdoings of the last person to hold the Vial. Calico shuddered at the thought even as she patted her pocket. Inside it, nestled a dried leaf that looked distinctly like a fairy’s wing. Fairy Flickernoodles had given it to Calico, along with an instruction, when she sent her out to retrieve the Vial. “Chew on this in the event of an emergency,” she had said. Thus, Calico kept it close at all times.
Sneaker remained at Calico’s heels—except when, like now, a shiny coin sitting atop a tombstone, distracted him. Fortunately, he didn’t usually disappear for long, but Calico couldn’t always trust him. Thus, she was relieved when, looking back, she found him loping her way. Once back at her side, he sniffed at her. Then the two looked ahead at the precise moment that Rosita entered a single-crypt mausoleum before them, leaving its door wide open behind her.
Stopping occasionally to hide behind a marble statue or concrete monument, Calico kept her focus on the evil witch, Rosita Brack, just ahead. It was rumored that Rosita had stolen the Vial of Duplicate Sin. The Vial held a putrid green slimy syrup that, if ingested, would cause a person to repeat the wrongdoings of the last person to hold the Vial. Calico shuddered at the thought even as she patted her pocket. Inside it, nestled a dried leaf that looked distinctly like a fairy’s wing. Fairy Flickernoodles had given it to Calico, along with an instruction, when she sent her out to retrieve the Vial. “Chew on this in the event of an emergency,” she had said. Thus, Calico kept it close at all times.
Sneaker remained at Calico’s heels—except when, like now, a shiny coin sitting atop a tombstone, distracted him. Fortunately, he didn’t usually disappear for long, but Calico couldn’t always trust him. Thus, she was relieved when, looking back, she found him loping her way. Once back at her side, he sniffed at her. Then the two looked ahead at the precise moment that Rosita entered a single-crypt mausoleum before them, leaving its door wide open behind her.
Sneaker growled low in his throat.
Calico patted his head, then crept closer. Soon she heard Rosita from inside, in her high sing-song voice.
“Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble,” the witch chanted.
Smelling smoke, Calico inched even closer. Then she peeked inside.
Rosita stood, faced the other direction. Against the wall before her sat a shelf, and on it, jars of dried herbs, bottles of unrecognizable liquids, and numerous tattered, well-read, books.
There! Calico spotted the Vial of Duplicate Sin. Now, to get to it . . .
On the concrete floor behind the witch, and nearer Calico, a cauldron hung over a fire that emitted a sooty black smoke that tickled Calico’s nose. She stifled a sneeze, crept inside, and then crouched low behind the crypt.
Rosita bustled about, picking up and then returning items from the shelves. When she found an ingredient she liked, she added a portion to a mortar. This she did several times before she opened the Vial. She poured a few teaspoons of the syrup into the mortar, resealed the bottle, and then set it back down. Once done, she grabbed the pestle and proceeded to grind the items together. All the while she hummed, unnervingly off-key.
A quiet minute passed before, quite suddenly, Rosita stopped. She lifted her head and sniffed the air once, twice, thrice. Then she muttered something about a pretty dog, or so Calico thought. Still, the witch's voice was so low that she couldn’t be sure.
Rosita turned around and stepped nearer the fire. Holding a grimoire in one hand, and the mortar in the other, she slowly emptied its contents into the pot, as she read out loud:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Calico held her breath, pondering how she might snatch the Vial and escape with it, when quite suddenly, Rosita cackled, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
Rosita had spoken loud enough that Calico knew with certainty, that her presence was no longer a secret and so, believing it best to face trouble directly, she stood.
Rosita loosened a sorry substitute for a laugh. “Do come closer, my dear,” she whispered, crooking her finger.
Calico shook her head.
“Ahhh, but I’ve something here for you. Now, now, you needn’t fear me, child.”
Once more, Calico shook her head.
“No fear! No more fear!” the witch cried before grinning her wicked grin. Then, “I have been changed for good,” she said as she inched closer.
Calico backed away, turned to her right, and then circled around the crypt, all the while keeping her focus on the evil witch. Soon, she stood near the shelf of potions and ingredients. For a second, she allowed herself to glance at them. There, just as she’d seen previously, sat the Vial. She grabbed it.
With a shrill and piercing scream, Rosita charged, but before she could reach Calico, Sneaker snapped at the witch, grabbing her skirt. He shook his head and growled, even as Calico rushed to the door.
“Sneaker!” she cried, the moment she reached its threshold. “Sneaker! Come!”
After loosening his hold on the evil witch, Sneaker ran to Calico. The moment he was close enough, and with the witch approaching from behind, Calico stepped out and grabbed Sneaker's collar. Then she put the leaf that Fairy Flickernoodles had given her in her mouth, and chewed.
In a second—and must to her surprise—Calico took to the air.
Shortly, she arrived back home. When her feet came to rest on the ground once more, she looked up.
“Fairy Flickernoodles!” she cried. “It worked! The leaf! I don’t know how, but I— I—” She stopped short, unable to find the right words.
She fairy chuckled. Then, “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,” she said.
“But it was amazing! That leaf was . . . like magic!”
“Oh, the leaf was just to give you courage, my dear. Indeed, it had no power whatsoever.”
“But— But, I flew!”
Once more the fairy laughed. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
Calico patted his head, then crept closer. Soon she heard Rosita from inside, in her high sing-song voice.
“Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble,” the witch chanted.
Smelling smoke, Calico inched even closer. Then she peeked inside.
Rosita stood, faced the other direction. Against the wall before her sat a shelf, and on it, jars of dried herbs, bottles of unrecognizable liquids, and numerous tattered, well-read, books.
There! Calico spotted the Vial of Duplicate Sin. Now, to get to it . . .
On the concrete floor behind the witch, and nearer Calico, a cauldron hung over a fire that emitted a sooty black smoke that tickled Calico’s nose. She stifled a sneeze, crept inside, and then crouched low behind the crypt.
Rosita bustled about, picking up and then returning items from the shelves. When she found an ingredient she liked, she added a portion to a mortar. This she did several times before she opened the Vial. She poured a few teaspoons of the syrup into the mortar, resealed the bottle, and then set it back down. Once done, she grabbed the pestle and proceeded to grind the items together. All the while she hummed, unnervingly off-key.
A quiet minute passed before, quite suddenly, Rosita stopped. She lifted her head and sniffed the air once, twice, thrice. Then she muttered something about a pretty dog, or so Calico thought. Still, the witch's voice was so low that she couldn’t be sure.
Rosita turned around and stepped nearer the fire. Holding a grimoire in one hand, and the mortar in the other, she slowly emptied its contents into the pot, as she read out loud:
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Calico held her breath, pondering how she might snatch the Vial and escape with it, when quite suddenly, Rosita cackled, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
Rosita had spoken loud enough that Calico knew with certainty, that her presence was no longer a secret and so, believing it best to face trouble directly, she stood.
Rosita loosened a sorry substitute for a laugh. “Do come closer, my dear,” she whispered, crooking her finger.
Calico shook her head.
“Ahhh, but I’ve something here for you. Now, now, you needn’t fear me, child.”
Once more, Calico shook her head.
“No fear! No more fear!” the witch cried before grinning her wicked grin. Then, “I have been changed for good,” she said as she inched closer.
Calico backed away, turned to her right, and then circled around the crypt, all the while keeping her focus on the evil witch. Soon, she stood near the shelf of potions and ingredients. For a second, she allowed herself to glance at them. There, just as she’d seen previously, sat the Vial. She grabbed it.
With a shrill and piercing scream, Rosita charged, but before she could reach Calico, Sneaker snapped at the witch, grabbing her skirt. He shook his head and growled, even as Calico rushed to the door.
“Sneaker!” she cried, the moment she reached its threshold. “Sneaker! Come!”
After loosening his hold on the evil witch, Sneaker ran to Calico. The moment he was close enough, and with the witch approaching from behind, Calico stepped out and grabbed Sneaker's collar. Then she put the leaf that Fairy Flickernoodles had given her in her mouth, and chewed.
In a second—and must to her surprise—Calico took to the air.
Shortly, she arrived back home. When her feet came to rest on the ground once more, she looked up.
“Fairy Flickernoodles!” she cried. “It worked! The leaf! I don’t know how, but I— I—” She stopped short, unable to find the right words.
She fairy chuckled. Then, “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,” she said.
“But it was amazing! That leaf was . . . like magic!”
“Oh, the leaf was just to give you courage, my dear. Indeed, it had no power whatsoever.”
“But— But, I flew!”
Once more the fairy laughed. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
Did you identify the portions from works from the past? Here they are:
1. “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The Three Witches from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
2. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
The Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz.
3. “Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”
Second Witch from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
4. “I have been changed for good.”
Sung by both Elphaba and Galinda in “For Good,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked.
5. “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,”
Elphaba sings this in “Defying Gravity,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked
6. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
The Good Witch of the North from The Wizard of Oz.
1. “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The Three Witches from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
2. “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!”
The Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz.
3. “Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”
Second Witch from The Tragedy of Macbeth, William Shakespeare, Scene I.
4. “I have been changed for good.”
Sung by both Elphaba and Galinda in “For Good,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked.
5. “Everyone deserves a chance to fly,”
Elphaba sings this in “Defying Gravity,” from the Broadway musical, Wicked
6. “You’ve always had the power, my dear. You just had to learn it for yourself.”
The Good Witch of the North from The Wizard of Oz.
I do hope you enjoyed that.
And now Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has a tale for us all. Take it away, Robin!
And now Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has a tale for us all. Take it away, Robin!
Title
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
Smoke and the stink of rotten eggs shrouded the Issves te Ergint encampment. Thin, powdery ash drifted in eddies, settling over buildings, camp tents, wagons, hitching posts. Men… Despite the season, soldiers wore scarves over their faces, wet to stifle the fumes and poison. Ergint jidoma, the natives called it. Live silver. Invaluable to the rich and powerful; death to those forced to extract the stuff from the bowels of the earth.
Heat challenged winter’s bitter cold as the nearby mining town died in fierce shades of red, orange, bronze. Mostly red. It was foolish to set fire to wood permeated with poisonous dust. Or so the Dog thought as he strode between rows of gray- and vermilion-streaked canvas…
Heat challenged winter’s bitter cold as the nearby mining town died in fierce shades of red, orange, bronze. Mostly red. It was foolish to set fire to wood permeated with poisonous dust. Or so the Dog thought as he strode between rows of gray- and vermilion-streaked canvas…
Be sure to follow the link for the rest of Robin's story.
Finally, let's hear what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us. We're waiting anxiously, Parker.
Finally, let's hear what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us. We're waiting anxiously, Parker.
Stoppering Death
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
You would be forgiven for thinking you had stumbled into an apothecary. Or an herbalist's shop. It was actually a dead man's home. If you could call it a home.
A single room occupied the back of the junk and trinket shop, "Treasures and Troves," where the proprietor, Janey Muld, allowed, (or had allowed until very recently), Thadeous "Gutrot" Flynnder to live, in exchange for some small rent payment, (more often forgotten by both than not).
"Gutrot" Flynnder made a meager living doling out herbs, medicines and cures for everything from warts to the more severe and deadly cases of "blueface." He never set a price. Whatever the widow, or tramp, or jobless father from the Wayfair could afford. Which was often nothing. His remedies, unlike his finances, often hit the mark. This might have surprised anyone who cared to take notice, but hardly anyone except the hopeless even knew "Gutrot" Flynnder's name, much less where he could be found.
Hardly anyone.
Which means, almost no-one.
Which really means, someone.
Find more here.
A single room occupied the back of the junk and trinket shop, "Treasures and Troves," where the proprietor, Janey Muld, allowed, (or had allowed until very recently), Thadeous "Gutrot" Flynnder to live, in exchange for some small rent payment, (more often forgotten by both than not).
"Gutrot" Flynnder made a meager living doling out herbs, medicines and cures for everything from warts to the more severe and deadly cases of "blueface." He never set a price. Whatever the widow, or tramp, or jobless father from the Wayfair could afford. Which was often nothing. His remedies, unlike his finances, often hit the mark. This might have surprised anyone who cared to take notice, but hardly anyone except the hopeless even knew "Gutrot" Flynnder's name, much less where he could be found.
Hardly anyone.
Which means, almost no-one.
Which really means, someone.
Find more here.
Once again, be sure to follow the link for the rest of Parker's story.
Well, thank you so much for stopping by. Please do again. In the meantime, we'd love to hear what you think, or even to take a look at your flash fiction tales.
Until next time!
Well, thank you so much for stopping by. Please do again. In the meantime, we'd love to hear what you think, or even to take a look at your flash fiction tales.
Until next time!
There can be no mistaking that 2020 has been a most unusual year.
I believe Robin Lythgoe and I started our Quills posts in 2013. Later, Parker joined us. I do recall times when we’ve not all been able to put a piece together for our joint-post, but I do not recall a month when we did not post at all—until last month, that is. June 2020 came and went too quickly, and too many personal issues held us up. Consequently, we had no post last month. We are pleased, however, to be with you again, and just in time to wish America a very, very, very Happy Birthday, indeed!
The topic we chose this month was to put together a character sketch. I am currently in the process of introducing someone new, Athan Eamon, in Volume 4 of The Oathtaker Series, (for now, entitled, Blue Gloom), so I thought I would use Athan as a subject. I’ve known about Athan for a long time, although I was uncertain as to when he would actually show up. Then, wouldn’t you know it, a door opened and … there he was …
What follows is the beginning of a rough character sketch for Athan, and beyond that, an excerpt from my current work-in-progress. Keep scrolling from there, and you will find what my fellow Quills have for you!
I believe Robin Lythgoe and I started our Quills posts in 2013. Later, Parker joined us. I do recall times when we’ve not all been able to put a piece together for our joint-post, but I do not recall a month when we did not post at all—until last month, that is. June 2020 came and went too quickly, and too many personal issues held us up. Consequently, we had no post last month. We are pleased, however, to be with you again, and just in time to wish America a very, very, very Happy Birthday, indeed!
The topic we chose this month was to put together a character sketch. I am currently in the process of introducing someone new, Athan Eamon, in Volume 4 of The Oathtaker Series, (for now, entitled, Blue Gloom), so I thought I would use Athan as a subject. I’ve known about Athan for a long time, although I was uncertain as to when he would actually show up. Then, wouldn’t you know it, a door opened and … there he was …
What follows is the beginning of a rough character sketch for Athan, and beyond that, an excerpt from my current work-in-progress. Keep scrolling from there, and you will find what my fellow Quills have for you!
There is still much for me to discover about Athan and so, his sketch is an ongoing endeavor. Even so, some of the key elements are set out above, while others will make their debut in due course. Also, it is still possible that any of the above can change.
Below is a small clip from Blue Gloom, shortly after Athan arrives on the scene, although it too, could change in any number of ways. I hope you enjoy!
Below is a small clip from Blue Gloom, shortly after Athan arrives on the scene, although it too, could change in any number of ways. I hope you enjoy!
Excerpt from Blue Gloom, a Work in Progress
After much contemplation, Lucy finally determined she would allow Athan to accompany her and the twins—but only if he would allow her to retain Ignis until she learned more.
Athan agreed.
The first opportunity she had to address the flits out of his hearing, she instructed them to stay as close as possible, but to remain hidden from the man’s view at all times. They assured her they could do so.
As darkness fully descended, the foursome finished tying their belongings to their saddles. Then, as quietly as possible, they made their way out of the village, keeping to the main roadway.
Only two moons shone. One, a waning crescent, already neared the western horizon, as a consequence of which, its light would soon be lost. Fortunately, the other, in its third quarter approached the zenith, thereby providing sufficient light for traveling.
So as to keep an eye on Athan, Lucy insisted he lead the way. Then she followed, with one twin to each side of her.
For nearly the distance of a league, they spoke not at all, but finally, Eden turned to Lucy.
“He doesn’t look unhinged to me,” she whispered.
Lucy scoffed.
“Nor to me,” Reigna said.
“I am not mad, as thee intimate,” Athan said over his shoulder, clearly having heard them. “I admit that I was, but I am no longer. Thou need not fear me.”
Reigna urged her mount forward.
Fearful for her safety, Lucy quickly followed suit, Eden in her wake. Moments later, the four rode side-by-side. Lucy situated things such that Athan rode to her right, while the twins both rode to her left.
“Convince me,” Lucy said to the man, “that you are who you say you are, and that you are not mad.”
“I know not how.”
She sighed and bit her lip, in thought. Then, recalling how she’d seen Mara operate from time to time over the years, she said, “Why don’t you tell us your story.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It is not possible, as it is an exceedingly long one, indeed.”
“Humor me.”
“But of course, if thou insist, Madam Lucy,” he said.
“I do.”
“Where shall I begin?”
Again, Lucy thought back to her experiences. Then she repeated what she’d often heard Mara say: “I suggest you start at the beginning.”
Athan sighed and then nodded as he pulled out from his pack, a cloth bag about the size of his palm. He untied its leather string, then reached his fingers inside. A moment later, clearly having removed something from the bag, he drew his fingers to his mouth.
“What is that?” Lucy asked.
Pulling back lightly on his reins, as his mount had been pulling ahead, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, ’tis nothing that need worry thee. ’Tis simply a nugget of hard, dried maple sugar. I did not stop earlier to dine, nor did I imagine traveling through the night, but now I find myself in need of a bit of sustenance, which I know maple sugar shall provide me.”
“Hand the bag to me,” Lucy said, reaching his way.
Athan pulled the tie closed, then dropped the bag in her palm. “Please, help thyself,” he offered.
She opened it, sniffed at its contents, and then, satisfied, returned it to him.
“You should have said you needed to eat,” she scolded. “There was plenty of food back in Snoring. But the only provisions we have with us are packed away—and in truth, I’d as soon not stop to get them out. We need to make up for lost time, accomplish what we set out to do, and return home as quickly as possible.”
“Concern thee not,” Athan said as he dropped the pouch into a pocket of his tunic.
“I won’t. Still, I admit I do not understand your claim as to the power of that sweet to sustain you,” she commented.
“No?” The expression of shock on his face was clearly visible in the moonlight. “Thou ought try it sometime. It has the power to make one feel . . . satiated. If only for a brief period.”
Lucy scoffed.
He grinned, then said, “Well now, if I recall, I was about to tell thee my story.”
“Yes, do!” Eden encouraged him.”
“Very well then, my tale begins where I was born, on the outskirts of a little town in the hinterlands.” Delivering each word with a flourish, he sat up straighter, pulled his shoulders back, and then added, his voice soft, rhythmic, and possessing a nearly trance-like quality,
“It was there I learned what the word ‘yonder’ meant.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy interrupted him. “Not that far back! Goodness, if it was possible to recall one’s birth, I fear you’d have started there.”
Once more, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, I had determined that might be a bit too far back—although I would be happy to tell thee of my first glimpse at the attending healer—or even better, of my joy at finding my mother’s breast.”
Eden giggled, following which Reigna joined her.
The full emphasis of Lucy’s glare at them, failed in the semi-dark. Then, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to Athan. “You can’t possibly remember that. And if you say you do, you will convince me that you are, indeed, quite demented!”
Athan glanced her way. “Thou would have me lie?”
Once more, Eden giggled.
“No!” Lucy exclaimed in response before addressing Eden. “Stop that,” she scolded her.
“Ahhh, very well then,” Athan said, “I shall begin again—although thou might appreciate knowing the attendant healer at my birth— Well, goodness, but she was a sight! With eyes of two distinctly different colors, wrinkles like craters, lips so thin as to be nearly nonexistent, and—” He waved his hand. “Ahhh, but no mind! Perhaps instead, I ought tell thee of my charge?”
“Oh, yes!” Eden said.
“Ahhh. That is good, then. Now my charge, as thee well know, was a seventh. A seventh seventh, to be precise. Thus, and as thou all canst see, I have not aged for some centuries.”
Lucy glanced his way. “It would be the only explanation for your longevity, yes. Although if you tell truth, then clearly you had some years on you when you took your oath. That is, you were not a young adult at the time.”
“Indeed, ’tis as thou says. I had lived just four decades, was married and had a family. But I lost my beloved wife, infant daughter, and young son in a house fire. I tried to save them, but—” Athan paused to clear his throat, brushed the scar on his face, swallowed hard, and then continued. “’Tis true what they say, that time reduces pain, but never does it remove it entirely . . .
“Anyway, after spending a year or more wishing I had perished with my family, I determined I would not allow myself the luxury of loving another—ever again. I determined that the pain that could come of another such loss, was too great, indeed. Thus, I reasoned it appropriate for me to become an Oathtaker. I knew, you see, that once I took an oath and was sworn to the protection of my charge, I could not commit to another for so long as my charge lived.” With that, Athan went quiet.
Several long seconds later, Lucy glanced his way. “So you trained to be an Oathtaker,” she said. “Then what?”
Athan nodded, “I did, yes.” He took in a deep breath and then started in with his story in such fine detail as to seemingly invite his listeners to experience the events firsthand.
“Taking in the view from the hilltop behind Redgrove,” Athan began, “left one feeling as though Ehyeh had created the grandest canvas, then sat to paint His most glorious landscape, in colors and shades and hues that transformed as day progressed to night, and then circled back round to day once more. Above, the sun shone so brightly on roiling clouds piled high as mountains, that one might experience temporary blindness if he looked skyward for the span of more than a few fleeting heartbeats. Below, the vista encompassed immeasurable distances.
“It was such a view I had been enjoying that day. Half hypnotized with the glory I beheld, I would have missed the events had the panorama before me been a scene of rushing people or things, or had the wind been moving in the grassy meadows or through the treetops. In such event, I could not have discerned what transpired. But instead, the landscape was calm, serene, with a breeze, nonexistent. The birds had quieted for the late afternoon hour, and not even a lone hawk circled above by way of distraction. Thus, the singular place where movement occurred, was the one place across that grand vista, that caught my attention.
“There, in the nearish distance, rode three men. The sun glinted off the weapons they carried, whilst their dress identified them, most assuredly, as cutthroats, all. Soon, they dismounted, then slithered toward a group of travelers—who I guessed to be a peddler and his family, stopped to fix a wheel on their cart.”
Athan paused momentarily, then continued, “I watched transfixed as the criminals took cover in the brush surrounding the travelers. I was too far away to be heard. Nevertheless, I shouted for all I was worth and waved my arms madly, in hopes the travelers might see me. In truth, I could not have reached them in time to render my aid, even had I possessed the speed of a pronghorn.”
Once more, Athan paused. He cleared his throat and then said, his voice low, “And so, I was left to witness the worst. I assume the men used some prearranged signal, perhaps a bird whistle. Then the one who led the pack, with a double-edged sword in one hand and a battle-axe in the other, stepped out. While my heart beat but a handful of times, those men beheaded the peddler, then completed the slaughter of his family.”
Athan, pulling his shoulders back, exhaled audibly. Then, “I looked away,” he said, “but the images pestered me nonetheless, refusing to leave me. When I turned back, I saw yet another traveler, a lone young man, not terribly far from the bloody scene and, unfortunately, headed that way. He appeared about the age of the son I had so recently lost . . . Turning back, I watched as the criminals rifled through the belongings of their most recent victims, searching out anything of value. I knew in that moment that I had to hurry if I hoped to assist that young man.”
“Oh!” Eden exclaimed. “But weren’t you afraid of encountering those murderers?”
“I was not. Indeed, I had made a practice of interfering in such events. Countless times had I narrowly escaped what should have been my certain death. Yet I lived on.”
“But why?” Reigna asked. “Why would you court such danger?”
“See thee not, young one? I had nothing to lose. Nothing and no one to live for. No one to miss me. No one to mourn the loss of me.” Athan drew quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he continued. “But something about that young man drew me, cried out to me, begged me, demanded a response of me . . . Something of his certain predicament pressed me to run to his aid. As I said, I’d frequently sought out dangers, but in that moment— Well, the feeling that came over me could not be compared to any other. I could not then, nor could I today, hundreds of years later, describe it—except to say that it was of Ehyeh.
“And so, keeping my eyes firmly ahead, I ran down the hill and toward danger, hoping I might interrupt the otherwise certain meeting of that young one with the murderous trio whose evil I had just witnessed.”
Athan agreed.
The first opportunity she had to address the flits out of his hearing, she instructed them to stay as close as possible, but to remain hidden from the man’s view at all times. They assured her they could do so.
As darkness fully descended, the foursome finished tying their belongings to their saddles. Then, as quietly as possible, they made their way out of the village, keeping to the main roadway.
Only two moons shone. One, a waning crescent, already neared the western horizon, as a consequence of which, its light would soon be lost. Fortunately, the other, in its third quarter approached the zenith, thereby providing sufficient light for traveling.
So as to keep an eye on Athan, Lucy insisted he lead the way. Then she followed, with one twin to each side of her.
For nearly the distance of a league, they spoke not at all, but finally, Eden turned to Lucy.
“He doesn’t look unhinged to me,” she whispered.
Lucy scoffed.
“Nor to me,” Reigna said.
“I am not mad, as thee intimate,” Athan said over his shoulder, clearly having heard them. “I admit that I was, but I am no longer. Thou need not fear me.”
Reigna urged her mount forward.
Fearful for her safety, Lucy quickly followed suit, Eden in her wake. Moments later, the four rode side-by-side. Lucy situated things such that Athan rode to her right, while the twins both rode to her left.
“Convince me,” Lucy said to the man, “that you are who you say you are, and that you are not mad.”
“I know not how.”
She sighed and bit her lip, in thought. Then, recalling how she’d seen Mara operate from time to time over the years, she said, “Why don’t you tell us your story.”
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “It is not possible, as it is an exceedingly long one, indeed.”
“Humor me.”
“But of course, if thou insist, Madam Lucy,” he said.
“I do.”
“Where shall I begin?”
Again, Lucy thought back to her experiences. Then she repeated what she’d often heard Mara say: “I suggest you start at the beginning.”
Athan sighed and then nodded as he pulled out from his pack, a cloth bag about the size of his palm. He untied its leather string, then reached his fingers inside. A moment later, clearly having removed something from the bag, he drew his fingers to his mouth.
“What is that?” Lucy asked.
Pulling back lightly on his reins, as his mount had been pulling ahead, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, ’tis nothing that need worry thee. ’Tis simply a nugget of hard, dried maple sugar. I did not stop earlier to dine, nor did I imagine traveling through the night, but now I find myself in need of a bit of sustenance, which I know maple sugar shall provide me.”
“Hand the bag to me,” Lucy said, reaching his way.
Athan pulled the tie closed, then dropped the bag in her palm. “Please, help thyself,” he offered.
She opened it, sniffed at its contents, and then, satisfied, returned it to him.
“You should have said you needed to eat,” she scolded. “There was plenty of food back in Snoring. But the only provisions we have with us are packed away—and in truth, I’d as soon not stop to get them out. We need to make up for lost time, accomplish what we set out to do, and return home as quickly as possible.”
“Concern thee not,” Athan said as he dropped the pouch into a pocket of his tunic.
“I won’t. Still, I admit I do not understand your claim as to the power of that sweet to sustain you,” she commented.
“No?” The expression of shock on his face was clearly visible in the moonlight. “Thou ought try it sometime. It has the power to make one feel . . . satiated. If only for a brief period.”
Lucy scoffed.
He grinned, then said, “Well now, if I recall, I was about to tell thee my story.”
“Yes, do!” Eden encouraged him.”
“Very well then, my tale begins where I was born, on the outskirts of a little town in the hinterlands.” Delivering each word with a flourish, he sat up straighter, pulled his shoulders back, and then added, his voice soft, rhythmic, and possessing a nearly trance-like quality,
“It was there I learned what the word ‘yonder’ meant.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy interrupted him. “Not that far back! Goodness, if it was possible to recall one’s birth, I fear you’d have started there.”
Once more, Athan laughed. “Ahhh, I had determined that might be a bit too far back—although I would be happy to tell thee of my first glimpse at the attending healer—or even better, of my joy at finding my mother’s breast.”
Eden giggled, following which Reigna joined her.
The full emphasis of Lucy’s glare at them, failed in the semi-dark. Then, “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said to Athan. “You can’t possibly remember that. And if you say you do, you will convince me that you are, indeed, quite demented!”
Athan glanced her way. “Thou would have me lie?”
Once more, Eden giggled.
“No!” Lucy exclaimed in response before addressing Eden. “Stop that,” she scolded her.
“Ahhh, very well then,” Athan said, “I shall begin again—although thou might appreciate knowing the attendant healer at my birth— Well, goodness, but she was a sight! With eyes of two distinctly different colors, wrinkles like craters, lips so thin as to be nearly nonexistent, and—” He waved his hand. “Ahhh, but no mind! Perhaps instead, I ought tell thee of my charge?”
“Oh, yes!” Eden said.
“Ahhh. That is good, then. Now my charge, as thee well know, was a seventh. A seventh seventh, to be precise. Thus, and as thou all canst see, I have not aged for some centuries.”
Lucy glanced his way. “It would be the only explanation for your longevity, yes. Although if you tell truth, then clearly you had some years on you when you took your oath. That is, you were not a young adult at the time.”
“Indeed, ’tis as thou says. I had lived just four decades, was married and had a family. But I lost my beloved wife, infant daughter, and young son in a house fire. I tried to save them, but—” Athan paused to clear his throat, brushed the scar on his face, swallowed hard, and then continued. “’Tis true what they say, that time reduces pain, but never does it remove it entirely . . .
“Anyway, after spending a year or more wishing I had perished with my family, I determined I would not allow myself the luxury of loving another—ever again. I determined that the pain that could come of another such loss, was too great, indeed. Thus, I reasoned it appropriate for me to become an Oathtaker. I knew, you see, that once I took an oath and was sworn to the protection of my charge, I could not commit to another for so long as my charge lived.” With that, Athan went quiet.
Several long seconds later, Lucy glanced his way. “So you trained to be an Oathtaker,” she said. “Then what?”
Athan nodded, “I did, yes.” He took in a deep breath and then started in with his story in such fine detail as to seemingly invite his listeners to experience the events firsthand.
“Taking in the view from the hilltop behind Redgrove,” Athan began, “left one feeling as though Ehyeh had created the grandest canvas, then sat to paint His most glorious landscape, in colors and shades and hues that transformed as day progressed to night, and then circled back round to day once more. Above, the sun shone so brightly on roiling clouds piled high as mountains, that one might experience temporary blindness if he looked skyward for the span of more than a few fleeting heartbeats. Below, the vista encompassed immeasurable distances.
“It was such a view I had been enjoying that day. Half hypnotized with the glory I beheld, I would have missed the events had the panorama before me been a scene of rushing people or things, or had the wind been moving in the grassy meadows or through the treetops. In such event, I could not have discerned what transpired. But instead, the landscape was calm, serene, with a breeze, nonexistent. The birds had quieted for the late afternoon hour, and not even a lone hawk circled above by way of distraction. Thus, the singular place where movement occurred, was the one place across that grand vista, that caught my attention.
“There, in the nearish distance, rode three men. The sun glinted off the weapons they carried, whilst their dress identified them, most assuredly, as cutthroats, all. Soon, they dismounted, then slithered toward a group of travelers—who I guessed to be a peddler and his family, stopped to fix a wheel on their cart.”
Athan paused momentarily, then continued, “I watched transfixed as the criminals took cover in the brush surrounding the travelers. I was too far away to be heard. Nevertheless, I shouted for all I was worth and waved my arms madly, in hopes the travelers might see me. In truth, I could not have reached them in time to render my aid, even had I possessed the speed of a pronghorn.”
Once more, Athan paused. He cleared his throat and then said, his voice low, “And so, I was left to witness the worst. I assume the men used some prearranged signal, perhaps a bird whistle. Then the one who led the pack, with a double-edged sword in one hand and a battle-axe in the other, stepped out. While my heart beat but a handful of times, those men beheaded the peddler, then completed the slaughter of his family.”
Athan, pulling his shoulders back, exhaled audibly. Then, “I looked away,” he said, “but the images pestered me nonetheless, refusing to leave me. When I turned back, I saw yet another traveler, a lone young man, not terribly far from the bloody scene and, unfortunately, headed that way. He appeared about the age of the son I had so recently lost . . . Turning back, I watched as the criminals rifled through the belongings of their most recent victims, searching out anything of value. I knew in that moment that I had to hurry if I hoped to assist that young man.”
“Oh!” Eden exclaimed. “But weren’t you afraid of encountering those murderers?”
“I was not. Indeed, I had made a practice of interfering in such events. Countless times had I narrowly escaped what should have been my certain death. Yet I lived on.”
“But why?” Reigna asked. “Why would you court such danger?”
“See thee not, young one? I had nothing to lose. Nothing and no one to live for. No one to miss me. No one to mourn the loss of me.” Athan drew quiet for a long moment.
Finally, he continued. “But something about that young man drew me, cried out to me, begged me, demanded a response of me . . . Something of his certain predicament pressed me to run to his aid. As I said, I’d frequently sought out dangers, but in that moment— Well, the feeling that came over me could not be compared to any other. I could not then, nor could I today, hundreds of years later, describe it—except to say that it was of Ehyeh.
“And so, keeping my eyes firmly ahead, I ran down the hill and toward danger, hoping I might interrupt the otherwise certain meeting of that young one with the murderous trio whose evil I had just witnessed.”
I hope you enjoyed that!
Now, let's see what P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, has for us!
I see that Parker has jumped right into the crux of his character description, so here goes. (Be sure to click on the link for more.)
I see that Parker has jumped right into the crux of his character description, so here goes. (Be sure to click on the link for more.)
At first blush, you would think the beard is his defining feature. He growls any introduction through a tangle of grizzled brush that looks like it would have taken high marks at a ZZ Top concert. The little bit of skin that can be seen behind his face wig is a cross between bark and old leather. He only introduces himself as "Doc." Combined with the gray streaked through the beard you get the hint that he might have already come home from Vietnam when Pink Floyd formed in 65'. A faded bandana that could have been blue with stars on it at one time holds back a mop of hair. An old hippie. Except then you see a flash in his eyes. Almost black in the shadows, but with an unsettling spark. Cunning. Intelligent. Watchful. This is no peace and love and weed hippie. A live-and-let-live Big Lebowski.
This is a fighter. A hunter.
This is a fighter. A hunter.
Robin Lythgoe! Robin! Oh, there you are. Well? What have you for us today? I can't wait!
I see that you, too, jumped right into your character. Thank you!
I see that you, too, jumped right into your character. Thank you!
KipKap… What would you like me to tell you about him? We are friends, I think. Some people find that distinction uncomfortable, for he is also a foreigner to our world. The term “demon” is insulting, for he is no such thing, though that is what he is labeled by most. He possesses a sublime sense of subtle humor, a keen mind, and a remarkable tolerance for idiots. This is, perhaps, what makes us so compatible.
'KipKap’ is not his proper name. When he says it, it’s longer. He makes the K’s more guttural and the P’s more spitty, which I find altogether too messy for my mouth.
“Did you name him?” Tanris asked…
'KipKap’ is not his proper name. When he says it, it’s longer. He makes the K’s more guttural and the P’s more spitty, which I find altogether too messy for my mouth.
“Did you name him?” Tanris asked…
We are a bit late this time around, but here we Quills are, returning to what I think has become our favorite type of post. Specifically, we each created a flash fiction tale for the same picture. This time, Robin Lythgoe selected the inspiration. Here it is:
I did not find a title for this pic, but it is offered by Maria Eduarda Tavares. (You'll find it here.)
It seems we Quills couldn't even agree on whether the pic was of a boy or a girl. I thought it was a boy when I first saw it. Robin wrote about a girl. And I'm not sure Parker ever did commit ...
I almost went with a story that would have been under ten words long (which I will share with you later), but in the end, after much ado, I came up with a story that is still (title and all) under 500 words. Here goes!
I almost went with a story that would have been under ten words long (which I will share with you later), but in the end, after much ado, I came up with a story that is still (title and all) under 500 words. Here goes!
The Contest
by Patricia Reding
Copyright Patricia Reding 2020
“It’ll be fun!” they said.
“You’ll have the time of your life!” they said.
“The amazing things you will learn about yourself! Why you’ll carry those lessons with you forever afterward!” they said.
And then there were the naysayers. There are always some of those, are there not?
“Are you out of your mind?” one asked.
“You’ll be a laughingstock,” suggested another.
“What if you … You know … I mean … Well, what if you have to leave early? It could be so embarrassing, don’t you think?” pondered yet another.
Weeks passed and for the most part, of those who’d been supportive, what “they said” was accurate. Daniel took each new challenge seriously, practicing for days and hours on end. His focus grew sharper as he committed the smallest details to memory. His overall physique changed; his core grew stronger. His growing self-esteem even came to the attention of those who followed his journey. And then there were the unintended benefits! He could not have anticipated that he’d experience such new-found grace. And while his career came with amazing personal relationships, this experience brought friendships he could never have imagined.
Excited for what was to come, he’d arrived early to find the stage set. Blue lights sparkled through dry ice, creating a smoky, ethereal effect, reminiscent of clouds. And peeking out from among them, shone miniature glow-in-the-dark stars that technicians shot into the air for another special effect.
But that was then … and this was now.
Dazed, Daniel tried to process what had transpired. He’d never missed that connection during practice. And certainly, he’d never fallen before. How embarrassing! His partner would be so disappointed in him.
The audience sat silent, apparently too stunned to know whether to laugh or to worry.
With their jaws set, the judges filled out their reviews.
Daniel, the star millions knew as Harry, lay stunned. He thought back to all those who’d supported him when this journey began. This much of what they’d said, was true: he really had experienced something extraordinary. This also, from what the naysayers had said, was true: he’d made a fool of himself. He’d spontaneously changed the routine in the moment, overcome with the audience’s zeal. As a result, he'd missed the connection and fell from his perch above, in a blaze of ridicule—and glittering stars.
Daniel determined he’d hold on to at least some of what his supporters had said. He really had learned amazing things about himself. As to the naysayers, he was determined he’d stop their comments from echoing in his mind forevermore, even as the words of his oldest and dearest friend passed through, mockingly. “But, Daniel,” his friend had asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? To put your reputation on the line for this? Are you serious? For Dancing with the Stars?”
“You’ll have the time of your life!” they said.
“The amazing things you will learn about yourself! Why you’ll carry those lessons with you forever afterward!” they said.
And then there were the naysayers. There are always some of those, are there not?
“Are you out of your mind?” one asked.
“You’ll be a laughingstock,” suggested another.
“What if you … You know … I mean … Well, what if you have to leave early? It could be so embarrassing, don’t you think?” pondered yet another.
Weeks passed and for the most part, of those who’d been supportive, what “they said” was accurate. Daniel took each new challenge seriously, practicing for days and hours on end. His focus grew sharper as he committed the smallest details to memory. His overall physique changed; his core grew stronger. His growing self-esteem even came to the attention of those who followed his journey. And then there were the unintended benefits! He could not have anticipated that he’d experience such new-found grace. And while his career came with amazing personal relationships, this experience brought friendships he could never have imagined.
Excited for what was to come, he’d arrived early to find the stage set. Blue lights sparkled through dry ice, creating a smoky, ethereal effect, reminiscent of clouds. And peeking out from among them, shone miniature glow-in-the-dark stars that technicians shot into the air for another special effect.
But that was then … and this was now.
Dazed, Daniel tried to process what had transpired. He’d never missed that connection during practice. And certainly, he’d never fallen before. How embarrassing! His partner would be so disappointed in him.
The audience sat silent, apparently too stunned to know whether to laugh or to worry.
With their jaws set, the judges filled out their reviews.
Daniel, the star millions knew as Harry, lay stunned. He thought back to all those who’d supported him when this journey began. This much of what they’d said, was true: he really had experienced something extraordinary. This also, from what the naysayers had said, was true: he’d made a fool of himself. He’d spontaneously changed the routine in the moment, overcome with the audience’s zeal. As a result, he'd missed the connection and fell from his perch above, in a blaze of ridicule—and glittering stars.
Daniel determined he’d hold on to at least some of what his supporters had said. He really had learned amazing things about himself. As to the naysayers, he was determined he’d stop their comments from echoing in his mind forevermore, even as the words of his oldest and dearest friend passed through, mockingly. “But, Daniel,” his friend had asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? To put your reputation on the line for this? Are you serious? For Dancing with the Stars?”
Yes, I know this is not my usual kind of story. It is not even fantasy, although it includes a character that played a fantasy character ... Still, this is what came to my mind when I first saw the pic. I mentioned I'd share with you, the extremely short tale I almost settled on. It went something like this: "Harry Potter Voted Out From Dancing With the Stars." Ha!
Well, it's time to move on. Let's see what Robin Lythgoe, author of As the Crow Flies, has for us. (Be sure to follow the link below to her site and the rest of her story.)
Dusted
by Robin Lythgoe
Copyright Robin Lythgoe 2020
Darcy Channing heard the scratch of a fingernail on the door before she heard her name whispered. She opened one eye to look at the cellphone on the nightstand.
3:22 AM. Ugh. Nothing good ever happened at this time of the night ...
3:22 AM. Ugh. Nothing good ever happened at this time of the night ...
Thank you, Robin!
P.S. Broaddus, author of A Hero's Curse, is next.
It's your turn, Parker! What's that, you say? You have a title, but your story is only 11 words long? Hmmm. Well, have you an introduction? Very well then, we'll go with that for starters ...
(Readers, be sure to follow the link, below!)
It's your turn, Parker! What's that, you say? You have a title, but your story is only 11 words long? Hmmm. Well, have you an introduction? Very well then, we'll go with that for starters ...
(Readers, be sure to follow the link, below!)
Short stories, fantastic tales, spun from a single picture. It's flash fiction month! Our picture was chosen by the lovely Robin Lythgoe, and I've been thinking of a single storyline ever since. This may very well be the shortest short I've ever written...
Fairy Chaser
by P.S. Broaddus
Copyright P.S. Broaddus 2020
|
|
AuthorCheck out Patricia's blog articles, interviews of other authors and book reviews here. |
Archives
February 2021
January 2021
December 2020
November 2020
October 2020
September 2020
August 2020
July 2020
May 2020
April 2020
March 2020
February 2020
December 2019
November 2019
October 2019
September 2019
August 2019
July 2019
June 2019
May 2019
April 2019
March 2019
February 2019
January 2019
December 2018
October 2018
September 2018
August 2018
July 2018
June 2018
May 2018
April 2018
March 2018
February 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
October 2016
September 2016
August 2016
July 2016
June 2016
May 2016
April 2016
March 2016
February 2016
January 2016
December 2015
November 2015
October 2015
September 2015
August 2015
July 2015
RSS Feed
