Author Archives: thenovascotia

Learn to Dance

Once there was a girl who processed a wild spirit. From the moment she was born her mother knew that something would have to be done to focus and contain it, not only for her daughters sake, but for those around her. This girl would have to fit in their society if she was ever going to succeed. 
When she was two years old her mother gave her a pair of dance shoes. “You are a very spirited girl, and your flights of fancy are not suitable for this place. Take these shoes and will learn to dance. Through it you can create what is needed to fit in, and with your movements your spirit can be free.”

So it was that the girl learned to dance. All of her energy; all of her thoughts; all of her emotions were focused to the soles of her feet and came out through the grace of her steps and motion. Day and night, night and day, the girl would dance. Picking up the rhythm of others she came in contact with, she weaved into their pattern and melded with the tune. By the time she was a young lady even the gait of her walk had become an expression of its own. 

Once in a while she would take the stage to perform. It always drew an audience. When she danced for herself that’s when the things she kept inside were supposed to be exposed for others to see. Some people were intrigued, and others were fearful. Was this the same person who walked among them every day? No, they told themselves, the dance on stage was the act, what they saw everyday was the reality.
The truth was, that she had been dancing for so long that even she had trouble discerning once dance from another.

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Posted by on October 19, 2015 in story


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Summer’s Goodbye (A micro-story)

Though the sun shone brightly, and the songs of birds still filtered through the air, it was the chill in the wind that declared Summer was at an end. Mornings were brisk and the merchant pulled on his jacket while stepping on his porch, ready to start another day.

Standing on the lower porch step, looking out onto the grassy field, was a fairy. Her thinly veined pink wings shimmered in the morning light and the wind was playing with loose strands of her hair. She had first appeared to the merchant many months before – on that very step – when the snow was melting. Before that day he had only heard stories of the fairy folk. Since her arrival the merchant had a swell of luck and a companionship which had been different than others he had known. Looking at her there now he felt a weight in his stomach.

“Tell me merchant, do you feel it?” Spoke the fairy, her voice light and mixing in with the air as it always did.

The man approached her slowly, stuffing his hands into the jackets pockets. A sense of dread slowly washed over him. “Mmhm,” he nodded, looking out at the field. “The weather is changing. Autumn is here. I’m not worried. I’m more prepared this year than ever I was before.”

With a small shake, the fairy’s wings spread out to their fullest. A small jump and suddenly she was already more than a few feet away from the porch and starting upwards to the sky.

“Wait!” The merchant yelled, running after her. The fairy had come and gone many times throughout the warm seasons, but this time her leaving felt different. Permanent. “Where are you going?”

She paused in her ascent, arms spread wide as she turned around to look at him. Sprinkles of magic fanned out from her wings. “Summer is over, Merchant, I cannot stay with you any longer.”

“You can’t leave. What am I to do without you?” The weight in the merchant’s stomach increased and he reached his arms out to the fairy. She had not only brought him luck over the last few months, but he had grown attached to the mystical creature. And now she was leaving.

The fairy came down and the merchant sighed as he felt the warmth of Summer in the hands she placed on his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her. Though she smiled at him it was sad and looked out of place on that face he had – until now – always seen filled with joy. She spoke softly to him. “I am a child of Spring’s birth, and Summer heat. There is no place for me in the short days of Autumn, or the chilly world of Winter.”

He shook his head, not in disbelief, but because deep down he knew it was true. “Why did you not tell me you were leaving? Were you simply going to leave without saying goodbye?”

The fairy began to pull away, and the merchant strengthened his hold. “I won’t let you go.”

She brushed a hand over his face, and the tips of her fingers ran through his hair. “Goodbye, Merchant. I will always be with you whenever you remember the warmth of the Summer sun upon your face, and the birth of Spring in your heart.”

The merchant loosened his hold and the fairy drifted away from him, once again climbing upwards in the sky. He watched her until he saw her no more, and then he looked longer still at the sky, watching the clouds.

Though he would always remember her, the merchant never saw the fairy again.

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Posted by on October 16, 2015 in story, writing


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Mentorship and Writing Economically

Mentorship and Writing Economically

Create. Communicate. Connect.

Mentor MemeAs I mentioned in my last post, I had the absolute pleasure and honor of directing a play by an amazing young playwright for the How I Learned to Write Festival, a program created by Philadelphia Young Playwrights. During the weeklong process, I can only hope this talented young writer learned as much from me as I did from her. That’s my favorite part of new play development – through the process of bringing a new play to life, everyone in the room learns about the art form from one another.

The conversations both inside and outside the rehearsal room are great for remembering, too. As we tackle a world that’s never existed before and we explore how best to bring that world to life, we think back. To past experiences, to past lessons, and to past mentors, all which guided us at one time or another. When…

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Posted by on June 26, 2014 in writing


Novel Critique Partner and Writing Friend Meetup!

This is going to be fun, and it happens during NaNaWrimo July Boot Camp! Give it a go!

Ellen Brock


Novel Boot Camp is only a week away! Before we all get absorbed in the excitement and chaos, let’s make some writing friends and snag some critique partners!

Writing Friend: Someone to chat with about writing and publishing. Someone to give you a nudge (or a shove) when you fall behind on your goals. Someone to laugh and cry with you about your writing ups and downs.

Critique Partner: Someone to exchange full or partial manuscripts with in order to offer critiques of each other’s work. Must be polite, courteous, constructive, but also honest.

There are two ways to connect:

Twitter Meetup

Tweet your request for writing friends or critique partners to Twitter and tag it with: #NovelBootCamp

Sample Tweet: Looking for a critique partner. A YA writer would be great! Writing friends always welcome! I need a good shove during !

Blog Comment Meetup

Post your request…

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Posted by on June 23, 2014 in writing



A good friend of mine talks about not letting the thoughts of others determine what he should be doing, or where he should be, in life.


Epiphany-an experience of sudden and striking realization.


I have never claimed to be the smartest person in the world, nor would I. That would mean I suffer from the character flaw of pride, and I have no flaws.  That would be a silly thing to say, considering I am enrolled in school to learn a new trade, namely computer information technology. This isn’t the epiphany I promised. We’ll get there, though. Trust me. 

I have lived on this gem, this marble in the satin of the universe, this third rock from the sun. as the late great Jimi Hendrix sang, for fourty years. My contributions are, at best, minimal. I’ve done things, said things, seen things, etc. that I wish I could take back. Heck, haven’t we all? I helped in the production of, in my opinion, two of the most awesome kids in the world. I admit…

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Posted by on April 24, 2014 in writing


Short (Loki) Fiction

Fan fiction! You either love it, hate it, or you don’t care either way.  I’m one of the people who doesn’t care either way.  I support people who write fan fiction simply because it’s creative.

I have a friend who loves fan fiction, and she loves Loki.  She has been trying to get me to write a bit of fan fiction for a long time now and I’ve always found a way to weasel out of it. Until today.

At the beginning of the month she told me that February was Loki Month (  Who knew? I told her that I would do a Loki vic before the month was out.  Today is the last day of the month.  I had avoided it  for days, and now it was time to pay the piper.

Outside of the movies and the comics my knowledge about Loki was very limited and, if I was going to write a Loki-fic I wanted something more than Hollywood glitz to base his character against.

Cue internet research and Wikipedia! I found interesting articles about the myth and information about him and the other gods that I thought was a terrific story in itself.  Why didn’t Hollywood go with something like this?

My bit of fan fiction (can it still be called that if it’s based on mythology?) is taken from lines 1-5 of the Norse poem “Lokasenna”, meaning ‘Loki’s quarrel’ .



I Do What I Want: A Loki Fiction

“I shouldn’t have killed him,” Loki muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in the woods outside of the hall. Inside the gods and elves were feasting. He had been a part of the revelry until they started gaving the servants, Fimafeng and Eldir,  praise. That was where he drew the line. That they would praise a servant and treat Loki with disrespect was intolerable. He wasn’t able to kill both servants, but at least Fimafeng would not be gracing anymore halls and banquets. “I shouldn’t have killed him, and yet, someone had to die as retribution for their insufferable gloating of perfection.”

The gods had kicked him out for killing the servant, but Loki wasn’t done yet. He would enter back in again. As if almost on cue, Eldir, the servant who lived, exited the hall. In his hands was a basket and when he saw Loki, Eldir gave a momentary pause. He was alone out here. There were not any gods to protect him and Loki was eying him down. Eldir held up his free hand.  “I don’t want any trouble, Loki,” Eldir said, keeping his back to the hall door.

“Good, because I don’t want any either.” Loki replied as he approached. He took  a deep breath to calm his rage. It wouldn’t do to kill the person before he was able to get any information out of him. Loki stood very close to Eldir. Close enough that their noses were a hairsbreadth apart.

Loki raised his right hand and reached out to tap his fingers against the door. “What are they talking about in there?” The calm in Loki’s voice was thin. “Are they still getting a rise out of my earlier display?”

Eldir leaned his head back and felt it hit against the door. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go, and for the moment he was speechless.

Loki would not be ignored by a servant and his calm shattered. “ANSWER ME!” He yelled at Eldir, spraying the man’s face with the force behind his words.

“Weapons!”  Eldir stammered out.  “Weapons. They are talking about the strength of their weapons and their greatness in war.” Eldir flinched as Loki draw back his arm and slammed his fist into the door. “No one has anything good to say about you, Loki.” The servant said meekly.

Loki’s face contorted in rage and his words dripped a venom as poisonous as what was born in his daughters snake form. “Do you think that I, Loki, care about what they have to say about me?” Eldir shook his head. “I will re-enter the hall, and before the end of the feast I will mix their mead with malice.”

It would have been so easy for Loki to kill Eldir right then and there, but he refrained.  Seeing the fear in the man’s eyes was enough for him. Loki threw the servant away from the door and Eldir landed hard on his side.

“Shouting and fighting with them will only bring the same to you!” Eldir warned. He had seen what happens when the gods anger has been ignited too far.

Loki swiftly turned, his cold and hardened stare boring at Eldir. “I am LOKI!” he shouted and turned back to the door. He placed both hands on the door to the hall and pushed it open with such force that it broke from its hinges. His eyes narrowed in anger and determination. With a twisted grin on his face he passed through the now broken doorway and said, “I do what I want.”

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Posted by on February 28, 2014 in writing


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When things don’t make sense

When the world doesn’t make sense it’s only natural for people to try and, well, make sense of it. We start off by examining the facts, pulling out any logical reasonings for why the events happened and if they could have gone a different way. There has to be something that we didn’t see before. Something that we’re missing. If we could simply discover what that is then maybe, just maybe, we would be able to make sense of whatever madness that has recently been tossed our way.

But the world doesn’t make sense. Like many things, there are moments – fractions in time were everything falls into order – but it doesn’t stay there for long. What is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly, isn’t that how the saying goes? If this is the case then how are we to ever make proper sense of anything?

Perhaps we’re not suppose to.

Perhaps this is the reason why people write, or loose themselves in books of fantasy and fiction. They want to escape from this complicated world and into another where they already know that the rules and boundaries of logic are part of someone’s imaginings.

What a great relief it is to sit back and know that, for awhile, you’re going to enjoy being a part of a world that’s different from your own. Virtual worlds and games, we invite our friends to join us in our indulgences so we can have someone to share with. Some of us go at it alone with only the voices in our own heads and meet like minded people along the way. We invite them into our madness, our addictions – quite possibly to help them make sense of us and not solely so we will have company.

I cannot believe that the world will ever make sense because we are all different people and we have different opinions on everything. We don’t understand things the same way, never will, and that is okay. Why then is it that some factions of society try to get people to think the same way about everything? Forcing their agendas as a new standard norm that can be accepted blindly. They try to crush out individuality and, consequently, creativity.

People should never feel out of place, or bad, for not being like everyone else in the room. A nation of people who don’t know how to think for themselves, suppressing original thoughts and ideas of others. Or trying.

When the world doesn’t make sense, when all the facts and figures and fragments of logic fail to come together, people get creative. They either find a way to make it make sense, or they create their own rules and work in those bounds.

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Posted by on January 28, 2014 in ramblings


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