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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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Lost Keys and Internal Dialogue

Do I talk to myself? Yes, yes I do. Does that make me crazy? Normal society may say yes, but who has time for anything normal? Better yet, who wants to be normal? I don’t! Anyway, recently I lost my keys and, during yet another search of the house, one of my voices decided to speak up. What you see next is the dialogue that followed. Enjoy my crazy.

 

I’ve looked for them everywhere. Yes, even in that hard to reach spot and the spots that don’t make any sense. Everywhere, and I can’t find them.

Well, you know, if you had looked everywhere then you would have found them.

I wasn’t talking to you, thank you very much.

Oh, you weren’t? I don’t see anyone else around here to listen to your ranting.

If you want to get technical about it, then you’re not here either. You’re just one of the voices in my head.

I know you didn’t say what I heard you say . . .

….That.. you’re just a voice in my head?

Ya-huh.

Well . . . you are.

I see. That’s the thanks that I get for coming all the way down here, stoping what I was doing, so I could come and keep you company. The nerve.

If anything you are being more of a hinderance, than a help, to me finding my missing keys!

Always asking for help, and then when it shows up you ignore it.

I’m not ignoring anything but maybe your lack of common sense.

Even has to throw insults at me.

Ugh. Look. Okay. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot and —

Now you want to apologize?

…… Sure.

That’s more like it. I have better things to do than sit around trying to help you remember something so trivial as where you put your car keys. So, did you check your bag?

Of course I checked my bag.

Are you sure?

Positive. I checked it twice, even turned the whole thing inside out.

Did you check the drawer?

Yes.

Did you check under the couch.

Yes. I even checked in the pan in the closet, and you know that I never go up there.

Hmm, I see. Well, I hate to tell you this, but your keys are lost.

I never would have guessed…

Don’t get cheeky on my now or I won’t offer my help. I’ll talk to the other Voices and see if any of them can remember anything about what you did when you came home. You were so frazzled that day most of us were simply trying to stay out of your way.

Thanks?

You’re welcome. It may take another day, but we’ll find the keys and we’ll let you know where to look when we do. RIght now, stop thinking about it and do something that doesn’t require any thinking at all.

Gotcha. I’ll just be over here, doing nothing.

Glad we understand each other.

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2013 in writing

 

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Catching the Late Train . .

A good friend of mine participated in NaNoWrimo this year and, though they didn’t make the word count, they still managed to get in a good deal. They’ve posted part of it on their site, give it a look!

To Repair the World. . .

So, another November has come and gone, and like many before it I failed to finish NaNoWriMo. . The good thing is, there’s always next year! try and try again! Until then, since everyone else is doing it, I wanted to share the first chapter of my story in the hopes that showing it off will give me the needed push to get back to work on it!! To those who wish to leave a comment, please keep in mind that this is a first draft. It is not finished nor is it meant to be perfect!

 

    How time flies when one was supposed to be sleeping. Clear gray eyes stared restlessly up at the ceiling above them, slowly tracing patterns into the dark wood grain. After what seemed to be an eternity a sigh erupted the silence and with some shuffling a form gradually parted from…

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Posted by on December 8, 2013 in writing

 

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Taking the Journey

Every great journey has to start somewhere.

Whether you step out boldly and full of bravado, or silently inch your way into the light, nothing will happen of you don’t take that first step. No one said that it was going to be easy — once you take a step, you can’t go back, and that is something that scares many people. It even scares me. But, shouldn’t you be a little scared?

Being afraid doesn’t always mean that you cower down and run away.  Having a fear of something, especially change, shows that you have respect for the change. A type of reverence that says that what you are about to do means something.

I always wanted to write a book and put it out there for others to read. Now that it’s been written it’s time to press onward into the world of publishing. And, for a special treat, I’ve put the first chapter here on my blog! Follow the link below and enjoy!  Best of luck to you all in whatever journey lies before you.

Past’s Prologue: Chapter One

Synopsis: Five hundred years ago, the Shadow War tore the Four Kingdoms apart. Now, the Ma’Tradom’s and the Master’s discreetly rule the Realm to keep history from repeating itself. But, away in the North, the shadows are stirring and the fate of their world rest in the hands of a girl with no faith and a boy with a vengeful heart.

 
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Posted by on December 2, 2013 in Inspiration, ramblings, writing

 

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This is how we NaNo

Every November I take part in National Novel Writing Month – or better known as NaNoWrimo (I simply call it NaNo). It’s an event where people from all over dedicated the month to writing a novel of, at least, 50,000 words.  Why? Because they’re crazy!  We’re all just a bit crazy, a little bit.

This year I’m using NaNo to revise, update, and rewrite the novel that I was able to complete last year.  I’m quiet happy with it – even though rewrites are killing me at times – that I thought it would be nice to share a chapter!  I’ve listed it under the ‘Stories’ section, but I ‘ll provide a direct link to it here as well.

Enjoy and, to any of you tapping away on the keys on your path to NaNo victory, good luck!

Past’s Prologue Chapter One

 
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Posted by on November 10, 2013 in Inspiration, writing

 

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Never Underestimate a Writer.

“How could you understand, you’re just a writer.”

Anyone who says that, or thinks it, clearly doesn’t understand what it means to be a writer. It’s not all about sitting down and putting words to paper or taking dictation, if it were that simple then anyone could do it. Writing is art. Sure, it can be taught, but some are inheritable gifted storytellers.

That’s what we are. Story tellers.

Writers are the creators of worlds, religions, people. Writers influence perception; cause people to take a second look at something they otherwise may have overlooked. They open eyes to new worlds beyond dreams. Writers inspire style and nurture new ideas. They coach people through difficult situations and help inspire confidence.

A writer is often labeled as an outcast, a person who fails to see life for what it really is, but I venture to say that this isn’t so. Not only do they see the world and it’s faults, but they have the audacity to see something better. To see the lessons that people need to learn and teach it in such a way that the viewer doesn’t know they’re being educated.

Taking nothing, and turning it into something, that’s what a writer does. Never underestimate the power of words. Never under estimate a writer.

 
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Posted by on November 1, 2013 in 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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