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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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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 (http://lokimonth.tumblr.com/).  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’ .

Enjoy!

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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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staging a coup

I’d like to stage a coup.

A coup. A mutiny. An open rebellion against the powers that be! I can do it, I can, even though the voices in my head are laughing at me. Not all of them, only the naysayers. (I don’t need the negative people!) Pft, like they know how wildly unsuccessful I’ll be – ill just have to prove them wrong.

Why exactly do I want this? Well. It’s simple really. I get tired of the characters thinking that they have more of a say as to what happens in their lives than I do. I made them! I’m the one who put the pen to paper and wrote out a name, gave them a look and personality, yet they tend to think that they know better than I!

I do give my characters a lot of freedom. We sit and talk, muse over events of the day, and try things out, sometimes Inge work out and other times, not so much. So perhaps it’s my fault that I am even considering staging a coup to take back my story from my characters anyway! Perhaps, if I had been a good little author that keeps all her characters locked up and fed them nothing but overused clichés and excessive adjectives, they would be thrilled and more than willing to do whatever I wanted.

“Oh, yes, Master Author.”
“Whatever you say, Master Author.”
“Can I stay out, just a bit longer, Master Author?”
“I washed me face an ‘ands before I comes, I did.” No, wait, that one isn’t mine . . . .who let in Eliza Dolittle?

Geez….

Anyway, the naysayer voices say I’ll fail because I have a tendency to get easily distracted. While that may be true, I do know how to focus. Some of them even say that my coup will fail because I think that the story behind starting a coup and then having it taken down by treachery, before it gets to far off the ground, is too tempting for me to leave alone. That may actually be right, though I can think of other things as well…..

No matter what they think, this coup must happen! The characters need to know that they do what I want them to do! They exist because I know them and gave them that voice. It’s always good to work with your characters, get in their heads, but at the end of the day, it’s my story and they are my thoughts.

Creator verses the created. Let’s go!

 
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Posted by on July 18, 2013 in ramblings, writing

 

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Writer’s right to write

I came across this picture today, and I thought that it was fitting.  “10 Steps”.  I was thinking about printing it out and putting it in my workspace as a reminder, or a guide, of what I should be doing – which is writing.

Image

Don’t get my wrong, I love to write and I write all the time, but, am I writing what I should be writing?   If you were to ask the voices in my head, 80% of them would say no, 12% would say yes (those would be the ones that I am currently writing with), and the other 8% probably wouldn’t care either way . Those 8% are probably random extras who hope that, by staying silent, they can out live their shelflife. Poor unfortunate souls.

Anyway, what was I saying?

Right, writing.

The steps say that to be a better writer one must write. While I believe this whole heartedly, I also believe that the writer can’t simply spew nonsense form the tips of their fingers [blogging isn’t nonsense, it’s constructed chaos of the mind set to paper, thank you very much!] and call it writing.  Who would want to read a mass of jumbled jargon that didn’t make any sense?  Well, I would, but I’d like an explanation to it all in the end.  No one likes to be left in the dark on something that they are reading.

So, here we go. Write to write to write.  If you never start writing somewhere you may never start at all.  Sometimes people think that they have to sit down and be able to write a massive amount at one sitting, or that they must put out perfection and, since they don’t’ believe that they can, they don’t even try.  My writing is certainly not perfection and, sometimes due to my crazy life of having three kids all under the age of 8 in the house, I only get out a handful of sentences at a time before I go insane.  But I write.  It gets easier, everyday, to write.  It may be one sentence a day, then it goes to two, then three.  Before you know it, you’re writing paragraphs at a time.

And it’s okay to stop the main thing you are writing to go and write something for fun [look at me, I’m doing that very thing right now!].  If you make writing a chore, or work, then you’ll never want to do it. You have a right to write what’s fun.  If you’re not enjoying what you’re writing, then why would anyone enjoy reading it?

Think about it!

 
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Posted by on July 9, 2013 in Inspiration, ramblings, writing

 

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Cliffhangers

 

…. and then, without even knowing if it was safe, they jumped.

 

Wait. What? They jumped?  Who jumped? Where are they jumping from and what are they jumping into?  Obviously they are not jumping into anything safe or the above would have never been stated.  Why did you start off in the middle of a thought!  What’s wrong with you?  That’s not how you treat your followers!!!!

Maybe it isn’t how you treat your followers but, have you ever noticed, that is exactly what writers do when they put up season finales of shows?  It’s what the writers do when they end a story that is only one of series and they want to leave you wanting to get the next book.

Cliffhangers.

We love them, and we hate them  – sometimes we do both at the same time – and know that we’d be disappointed if things ended peacefully.   Peace means the end, that there isn’t anything of that story left to tell that’s important.  We never want our favorite things, our latest addictions, to end.  We like gathering around other people and talking about what happened and what we hope (and expect) to see next time.

I don’t like good things to end, I know that they must, but I don’t like for them too.

I’m writing a story, and I’m almost at the end of it, but I know that this end will not be ‘the end’ as everything cannot be wrapped up in the space I have given myself.  Therefore, I know that it’s going to end in a cliffhanger.  The problem is, which one?  If I wanted to I could end it right now.  Toss down the pen, throw my hands up and yell “That’s it!  I’m done! Suffer in your stuck circumstance characters!”   Everytime I try that, the characters start yelling at me, saying that I can’t leave them there like that,  it’s not fair, end it on something else, so on and so forth.

I can’t make all my characters happy, someone is going to be left at a cliffhanger, left to dangle there in whatever circumstance they are in, until the next book can be started.

Cliffhangers.  Where would our sanity be without. . . .

 
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Posted by on May 16, 2013 in Inspiration, ramblings, writing

 

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Talkity-talk, talk

Sometimes the Voices talk to much.

All throughout the day, every day, there is someone talking to me – most it is one of my three kids. Mom, mamma, mommy, ma, on and on until I can hear them even when they are not talking. Then I have other people talking to me – the voices in my head. Wait.  That’s not entirely true for sometimes they are not talking to me, but rather to each other, I simply can always hear the conversation.

What can a simple voice have to talk about, you ask? Plenty.  Let me tell you, when their lives are not being written out on a page they are yammering on about what happened, what they will and want to do. Sometimes they do more than talk about it, they act it out.  Me, with my overly active imagination, can see and hear it all.  It’s really quite funny.  Think of it like baring witness to a story in the making where the writers are all sitting around a table and drafting out lines and parts for the characters.  One makes a suggestion and they all discuss it, add it to, or – in my case -laugh at it and make the changes they want.

For example.  There is this one voice – a male cat named Tyger and he can talk.  At times he has a natural lack of tact and can be very sarcastic and crass by nature, especially to other males in the room. He has been going on and on about this other male character of mine and calling his latest actions imbecilic. Of course, this other guy – whom we’ll call ‘M’ – doesn’t like to be insulted, especially by a cat, and started to argue with it.

Their argument completely disrupted the train of thought of a female character of mine and she got upset.  She and I have been trying to work on a scene that we’ve been stuck on for a week now, and were finally making headway until the argument. Now she is trying to break up the human and cat fight while I’m here trying to get back in focus, so I can write.  I am writing now, but it’s not the writing that I should be doing.

Quiet, you three, can’t you see that I’m trying to concentrate!?  Go argue over there. There.  Not here, but over there.  Yes.  Thank you.  That’s better.  Maybe I will even post a tidbit of this writing, we’ll see.

Now, if only the Voices will give me a bit of peace, or work with me, so we can get this done.

 
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Posted by on February 12, 2013 in ramblings, writing

 

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