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| Pixabay |
It's been fun, but time to move on. Cue the Jeffersons' Theme song!
Monday, March 31, 2014
Movin' on up - See you on the flip side!
It's been fun, but time to move on. Cue the Jeffersons' Theme song!
Monday, March 10, 2014
Starting again and Your Monday Fortune Cookie,
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| Off with her head! |
The secret of getting ahead is getting started.
SNARKY RESPONSE: Actually, first make sure the axe is REALLY SHARP!
A head? Get it! Yeah, been watching Reign, what can I say?
Okay...anyway, with my DH and myself having just celebrated our mumpty-mumphed birthdays, we've decided to do something very important for ourselves and each other. We've signed up for a weight-loss program together. In the past, one or the other of us (mostly him) has attempted a program on their own, but it's hard if the other partner (usually me) isn't participating.
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| Nope. Not Happenin' |
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| Countin' down |
Accountability is another key point, and I'm going to use this blog and you, poor things, as my accountability crew. You'll get to watch from a safe distance as I, we, once more wage our battle against the bulge.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Secret Smiles & Your Monday Fortune Cookie 3/3/14
You have a curious smile and a mysterious nature.
SNARKY RESPONSE:
Keep 'em guessing, Lisa! None of us wants to be an open book, and anyone who says they do, is definitely hiding something.
Then again, the key is the level of subterfuge. A healthy little secret here or there is to be expected, even in the closest relationship. It's when secrets begin to build that we run into trouble.
Why?
Because we humans are a curious bunch. Show us someone who's hiding something and even the most virtuous of us will want to discover why. If only to help. If only to satisfy that curious gene. No one can resist a good mystery.
Curiosity is what drives a writer to write. It's the temptation of that phrase - What if? What if I told my story? What if I shared my experience? What if I imagine something different? What if I turn that event around and explore a different ending?
And if we do it right, maybe then we can smile that curious smile to display our mysterious nature.
SNARKY RESPONSE:
You have a curious smile and a mysterious nature.
Keep 'em guessing, Lisa! None of us wants to be an open book, and anyone who says they do, is definitely hiding something.
Then again, the key is the level of subterfuge. A healthy little secret here or there is to be expected, even in the closest relationship. It's when secrets begin to build that we run into trouble.
Why?
Because we humans are a curious bunch. Show us someone who's hiding something and even the most virtuous of us will want to discover why. If only to help. If only to satisfy that curious gene. No one can resist a good mystery.
Curiosity is what drives a writer to write. It's the temptation of that phrase - What if? What if I told my story? What if I shared my experience? What if I imagine something different? What if I turn that event around and explore a different ending?
- What if a siren becomes a courtesan so she can learn to control her gift/curse? - The Festival of the Flowers
- What if shapeshifters come out of the closet only to become targets? - Collector's Item
And if we do it right, maybe then we can smile that curious smile to display our mysterious nature.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Eyes on the Prize! Never say Never! Get 'er Done! It's Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 2/24/14
THEY SAY YOU ARE STUBBORN; YOU CALL IT PERSISTENCE.
SNARKY RESPONSE: And sometimes it's just called not knowing any better.
Despite the snark, I love this fortune. Anyone who has taken the bit in their mouth and pursued something to the end despite the naysayers has to be right there with me.
For folks who stick to their guns regarding dreams and goals, stubborn is the mortar that holds your efforts together. Anyone who's pulled out a hundred rows of knitting to correct one dropped stitch, anyone who has hauled themselves out of bed at the crack of dawn to put in a couple of miles, anyone who has corrected that bit of paint, clay, or pastel until they captured their subject knows that it's really stubbornness that pushes them through.
For writers, this is what keeps us sending out that novel, essay, or poem over and over until it finds a home. Even if, in the end, that home is in something you produce on your own. You wanted to get those words into print and by George, you were going to see it happen.
If it was easy, everyone who wrote would be published. Mini-Snark:No, wait! Thanks to some online publishing services, everyone CAN, but there is the matter of quality versus quantity.
The key, for me, is to have made the effort to produce the best possible writing you can, polish it until it gleams, and then put it out there. I see no reason why you can't sidestep the publisher route and publish on your own, just make sure that it's worthy of your time and effort as well as the time and effort, not to mention the cash, of your reader.
Persistence is a nice word, a pleasant word, a 'politically-correct/motivational speaker' word, but for true - 'stick-to-it'ness (how would you write that phrase?) - I'm putting my money on Stubborn.
What have you been Stubborn about lately?
SNARKY RESPONSE: And sometimes it's just called not knowing any better.
They say you are stubborn; you call it persistence.
Despite the snark, I love this fortune. Anyone who has taken the bit in their mouth and pursued something to the end despite the naysayers has to be right there with me.
For folks who stick to their guns regarding dreams and goals, stubborn is the mortar that holds your efforts together. Anyone who's pulled out a hundred rows of knitting to correct one dropped stitch, anyone who has hauled themselves out of bed at the crack of dawn to put in a couple of miles, anyone who has corrected that bit of paint, clay, or pastel until they captured their subject knows that it's really stubbornness that pushes them through.
For writers, this is what keeps us sending out that novel, essay, or poem over and over until it finds a home. Even if, in the end, that home is in something you produce on your own. You wanted to get those words into print and by George, you were going to see it happen.
If it was easy, everyone who wrote would be published. Mini-Snark:No, wait! Thanks to some online publishing services, everyone CAN, but there is the matter of quality versus quantity.
The key, for me, is to have made the effort to produce the best possible writing you can, polish it until it gleams, and then put it out there. I see no reason why you can't sidestep the publisher route and publish on your own, just make sure that it's worthy of your time and effort as well as the time and effort, not to mention the cash, of your reader.
Persistence is a nice word, a pleasant word, a 'politically-correct/motivational speaker' word, but for true - 'stick-to-it'ness (how would you write that phrase?) - I'm putting my money on Stubborn.
What have you been Stubborn about lately?
Monday, February 17, 2014
No Cookie for You, but a Peek at My Writing Process
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| Pixabay |
My Writing Process – Blog Tour
What am I working on?
Currently, I'm working on a couple of
projects. One of them is the second book in my Marant Clan trilogy, a romance involving Peter Marant, the
eldest son of the Marant shapeshifter clan. The other project involves final
revisions for Aces Down, another
shapeshifter romance set in the same world as Collector's Item, but outside the Marant clan.
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I'd like to think that while I adhere
to most of what is expected for the Paranormal Genre, I give it all my own
spin. For instance, I gave the animal sides of my shapeshifters their own
personalities, complete with names. I've seen other authors including the
animal side viewpoint upon occasion, but I wanted to go a step further. The
animal personalities serve the purpose of the side-kick or advisor for my
shapeshifters, sometimes helping my shapeshifters to pick up on things the
human side might miss or stop over-complicating things. The back and forth
between human and animal can often be amusing, give me the freedom to make observations
that might be censored out of our human mental dialogue (or not).
Why do I write what I do?
I write paranormal and fantasy
because that's what I love to read. I've written since I was a child, always
exploring the "what ifs" and testing to see if I can add my own spin
to the genres' tropes. All while trying to weave a story that I would enjoy
reading myself.
How does your writing process work?
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| Pixabay |
I'm basically a pantser, meaning I write by the seat of my pants. Generally, my stories evolve from a character who steps onto the stage of my imagination demanding the spotlight. Together, we explore their world and generally get into mischief of one kind or another. Then, as a member of two wonderful critique groups, I am required to regularly inflict pages of my current projects upon them for feedback. This keeps me honest, believe me. I have to write so that I don't look like a slacker. Writers Endeavor and RichWriters have been invaluable to me for learning the craft and art of writing. If you don't have a critique group or critique partner, do yourself a favor and find one or both.
Next week, February 24th, I invite you to visit with three wonderful and diverse writers to read about their Writing Process. As anyone with a grain of experience in writing will tell you, there are as many ways to approach writing as there are writers, so I encourage you to visit with my friends see how they're navigating their paths.
Sofie Couch
Sofie
Couch writes sweet romance with just enough piss and vinegar to make you
spew your coffee and test your bladder control. With the help of 1,000 Typing
Monkeys, (which also just happens to be the name of her blog), she cranks out
romantic comedies and other literary mischief. You can find her at www.sofiecouch.blogspot.com
Alleyne Dickens was destined to be a writer the
moment her parents named her. It's just taken her a while to get there. Pre-published,
Alleyne writes historical romance, historical mystery and historical
fantasy (aka steampunk). Discover her at http://alleynedickens.wordpress.com/
Leah St. James
Leah St. James writes stories of mystery and romance, good
and evil, and the enduring power of love. To learn more about Leah and her
books, visit her at http://leahstjames.com/blog/
Until next week, keep reading, writing, and smiling.
Monday, February 3, 2014
What dreams may come and your Monday Fortune Cookie, 2/3/14
Old dreams never die they just get filed away.
SNARKY RESPONSE: And my office is proof of that fact.
The trick is to remember to go back through those files once in a while and see if anything has changed. Time passes, we change and those changes may give us more perspective, skills, or opportunity than we had when we opted to file that dream away. Sometimes we're just not ready to take that leap of faith. Sometimes we have too many irons in the fire already--one more would create a catastrophic meltdown. Sometimes we have to gain more experience, more knowledge, more skills before we can pursue that dream.
That's what I did in 2000 when I decided to find out if I could truly write something worth publishing. I set myself on the path to publication and have trod the path as best I could. There have been the inevitable quagmires, wrong turns, and darkest nights. There have been false starts, misleading middles, and abandoned endings. And there have been tremendous friendships, amazing guidance, and unexpected partnerships. Along with victories, big excitement, and enduring determination.
What about you? What dreams have you plucked out of the archives of your heart to pursue with your soul?
SNARKY RESPONSE: And my office is proof of that fact.
Old dreams never die they just get filed away.
The trick is to remember to go back through those files once in a while and see if anything has changed. Time passes, we change and those changes may give us more perspective, skills, or opportunity than we had when we opted to file that dream away. Sometimes we're just not ready to take that leap of faith. Sometimes we have too many irons in the fire already--one more would create a catastrophic meltdown. Sometimes we have to gain more experience, more knowledge, more skills before we can pursue that dream.
That's what I did in 2000 when I decided to find out if I could truly write something worth publishing. I set myself on the path to publication and have trod the path as best I could. There have been the inevitable quagmires, wrong turns, and darkest nights. There have been false starts, misleading middles, and abandoned endings. And there have been tremendous friendships, amazing guidance, and unexpected partnerships. Along with victories, big excitement, and enduring determination.
What about you? What dreams have you plucked out of the archives of your heart to pursue with your soul?
Monday, January 27, 2014
Two Poetic Twists on a Theme & Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 1/27/14
Cold hands -- warm heart (or poor circulation)
SNARKY REPONSE: So do cold feet -- hot buns?
At MarsCon, I attended a Poetry workshop where the moderator, Adele Gardner, invited us to write some poetry playing with the con's fairy tale theme. Here are what I came up with:
Point of Departure
SNARKY REPONSE: So do cold feet -- hot buns?
At MarsCon, I attended a Poetry workshop where the moderator, Adele Gardner, invited us to write some poetry playing with the con's fairy tale theme. Here are what I came up with:
Point of Departure
Before stepping between, she pauses to breathe,
a golden girl in pinafore with eyes of tempest blue.
Fingers splayed to reach, to push, to pull,
she breaks the liminal boundary, icy as sorrow,
fleeting as fog on a wintry morning.
A step away from a world dark with memories,
a step forward into a vista of unknowns,
she arrives, safe but not sound, here and yet still there.
Beyond the looking glass, she begins to seek her ending.
Queen's Gambit
So simple, yet so right.
With dew drops lingering bright on crimson skin,
the unsuspected vessel of my assured victory.
A single bite is all that's required.
Tart sweetness to be relished until
the body learns what the eyes did not perceive.
Rose red lips will part to gasp,
to frame a question unasked,
release a final breath in a sigh.
Innocence once more felled by naivete,
How simple, yes, how right.
The fruit of innocence bears the seed of death.
If you'd like to share something of your own in the comments, I'd be thrilled to see and read it. If you'd like to share your thoughts about my words, I'll try to be equally thrilled to read them (depending on the tone LOL).
Monday, January 20, 2014
That thin line between vision and hallucinating AND Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 1/20/14
Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.
SNARKY RESPONSE: It's also called hallucinating, and you might want to keep it to yourself.
Well, unsuspecting guests walking into the Fort Magruder Hotel this past weekend probably thought they might be hallucinating, or stepped through the looking glass, when they walked into the midst of MarsCon's Twisted Fairy Tales.
Look in any given direction and you might see Dr. Who talking to a Klingon or a trio of giggling fairies pacing down the hall or members of the Manticorian Navy looking for recruits. This year's MarsCon theme was fully embraced by everyone, including enterprising science fiction costumers. This science fiction soldier added wings and became part of Project Flying Monkeys.
In celebration of all things Dr. Who, there were multiple daleks and a double seating of a Dr. Who themed tea.
Along with all the fantastic visuals, there were a regular plethora of panels covering everything science fiction and fantasy. My personal bent being writing, I was most involved with Jim C. Hines and Carrie Ryan as the writing Guest of Honors. I even sat on a panel with them to discuss Fairy Tales in literature.
I also sat on several panels relative to Erotic Romance and two spontaneous writing panels where panelists had to rewrite their chosen fairy tale including some random aspects from the audience. These aspects included an extra character, an object, a setting, an obstacle. Nothing like a little pressure, right? The first was an Over 18 Erotic Rewrite and the second a PG Rewrite.
There was plenty of music with, I believe, four or five musical performers, including Danny Birt. Here he is filking. What is filking? Well, my research reveals that it is rather free-form and basically indefinable, but resembles folk music with science fiction or fantasy lyrics, though there are also filkers who preform other musical styles and themes.
This was my first MarsCon and I was doubly honored and thrilled to attend as a panelist. It was enlightening, entertaining, and exhilarating. I'm looking forward to next year!
SNARKY RESPONSE: It's also called hallucinating, and you might want to keep it to yourself.
Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.
Well, unsuspecting guests walking into the Fort Magruder Hotel this past weekend probably thought they might be hallucinating, or stepped through the looking glass, when they walked into the midst of MarsCon's Twisted Fairy Tales.
Look in any given direction and you might see Dr. Who talking to a Klingon or a trio of giggling fairies pacing down the hall or members of the Manticorian Navy looking for recruits. This year's MarsCon theme was fully embraced by everyone, including enterprising science fiction costumers. This science fiction soldier added wings and became part of Project Flying Monkeys.
In celebration of all things Dr. Who, there were multiple daleks and a double seating of a Dr. Who themed tea.
Along with all the fantastic visuals, there were a regular plethora of panels covering everything science fiction and fantasy. My personal bent being writing, I was most involved with Jim C. Hines and Carrie Ryan as the writing Guest of Honors. I even sat on a panel with them to discuss Fairy Tales in literature.
I also sat on several panels relative to Erotic Romance and two spontaneous writing panels where panelists had to rewrite their chosen fairy tale including some random aspects from the audience. These aspects included an extra character, an object, a setting, an obstacle. Nothing like a little pressure, right? The first was an Over 18 Erotic Rewrite and the second a PG Rewrite.There was plenty of music with, I believe, four or five musical performers, including Danny Birt. Here he is filking. What is filking? Well, my research reveals that it is rather free-form and basically indefinable, but resembles folk music with science fiction or fantasy lyrics, though there are also filkers who preform other musical styles and themes.
This was my first MarsCon and I was doubly honored and thrilled to attend as a panelist. It was enlightening, entertaining, and exhilarating. I'm looking forward to next year!
Monday, January 13, 2014
Beautiful mistakes? And your Monday Fortune Cookie, 1/12/14
How can you have a beautiful ending without making beautiful mistakes?
SNARKY RESPONSE: Well if we're talking orders of magnitude, then, my ending is going to be in 3D, surround-sound, techni-color.
And a beautiful mistake is better than a regular mistake how?
Does it hurt less or more?
Is it less disappointing or worse?
Is it more instructive or destructive?
Is it just me or does this sound as if the Fortune Cookie Guru is saying "no pain, no gain" in a long and roundabout way? I can't decide if I'm impressed by the depth of this fortune or irritated by it's pompousness.
I guess it's that ol' "you appreciate it if you've earned it" mentality. If we've suffered for our goals, we'll be grateful. If we sacrifice for our happiness, we'll value it more. If we haven't seen the dark, we can't appreciate the light.
I seriously vote for achieving my beautiful ending without mistakes, beautiful or ugly. I think I'm able to appreciate the positive things that happen to me without having to be clobbered by a boatload of negatives first. What about you?
SNARKY RESPONSE: Well if we're talking orders of magnitude, then, my ending is going to be in 3D, surround-sound, techni-color.
How can you have a beautiful ending without making beautiful mistakes?
And a beautiful mistake is better than a regular mistake how?
Does it hurt less or more?
Is it less disappointing or worse?
Is it more instructive or destructive?
Is it just me or does this sound as if the Fortune Cookie Guru is saying "no pain, no gain" in a long and roundabout way? I can't decide if I'm impressed by the depth of this fortune or irritated by it's pompousness.
I guess it's that ol' "you appreciate it if you've earned it" mentality. If we've suffered for our goals, we'll be grateful. If we sacrifice for our happiness, we'll value it more. If we haven't seen the dark, we can't appreciate the light.
I seriously vote for achieving my beautiful ending without mistakes, beautiful or ugly. I think I'm able to appreciate the positive things that happen to me without having to be clobbered by a boatload of negatives first. What about you?
Monday, January 6, 2014
What the heart wants, vampires, and Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 1/6/14
The heart wants what it wants: an unending supply of human blood.
SNARK RESPONSE: First - EW! Second - and so do vampires. Third - you call THIS a fortune cookie fortune?
Been trying to catch up with The Originals on CW, so I've got vampires on the brain. Still in the first few episode, so please, folks, no spoilers. Certainly a very photogenic group of blood-suckers plus one witch. Or is she a werewolf? And a twisty dysfunctional family structure to boot. Still a little fuzzy about the who's who, but the setting, Nawlins, is always filled with promises of the bizarre and outre. Yep, definitely intrigued.
In fact, I'm thinking I may be doing some posts over at Tea & Strumpets for Myth Perceptions about the vampire myth and related tropes. So, consider this a little snark peek, er, sneak peak at vampires as seen through the eye of yours truly.
First, why oh why ARE they always so deliciously hunkadorable to look at? Of course, there is that whole seduction to obtain food thing. I suppose if someone less than fabulous wanted to nibble on your neck, you'd be more likely to think twice. And if you've got to live forever, it is preferable to do so in a body to die, or not die, for.
Second, if all you can eat or drink is blood, talk about halitosis! How would you seduce someone if every breath smelled like an abattoir? I don't think Listerine would be completely up to the challenge, do you?
Well, I'd better stop now before all the vampire fans come after me with pointy objects. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a good vampire story as much as the next one, and I'll be watching The Originals. For a while.
SNARK RESPONSE: First - EW! Second - and so do vampires. Third - you call THIS a fortune cookie fortune?
The heart wants what it wants: an unending supply of human blood.
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| The Originals on the CW |
Been trying to catch up with The Originals on CW, so I've got vampires on the brain. Still in the first few episode, so please, folks, no spoilers. Certainly a very photogenic group of blood-suckers plus one witch. Or is she a werewolf? And a twisty dysfunctional family structure to boot. Still a little fuzzy about the who's who, but the setting, Nawlins, is always filled with promises of the bizarre and outre. Yep, definitely intrigued.
In fact, I'm thinking I may be doing some posts over at Tea & Strumpets for Myth Perceptions about the vampire myth and related tropes. So, consider this a little snark peek, er, sneak peak at vampires as seen through the eye of yours truly.
First, why oh why ARE they always so deliciously hunkadorable to look at? Of course, there is that whole seduction to obtain food thing. I suppose if someone less than fabulous wanted to nibble on your neck, you'd be more likely to think twice. And if you've got to live forever, it is preferable to do so in a body to die, or not die, for.
Second, if all you can eat or drink is blood, talk about halitosis! How would you seduce someone if every breath smelled like an abattoir? I don't think Listerine would be completely up to the challenge, do you?
Well, I'd better stop now before all the vampire fans come after me with pointy objects. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a good vampire story as much as the next one, and I'll be watching The Originals. For a while.
Monday, December 30, 2013
A good story can be a real killer & Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 12/30/13
What doesn't kill us usually makes for a good story.
SNARKY RESPONSE: And afterwards, it's best told with copious amounts of alcohol.
Isn't it strange how often the sad stories, the difficult issues, and the painful episodes are the ones that we harken back to the most? Tragedies are infinitely more relatable than comedies. And, if you look closely at any comedy, you'll find the funniest things are built around a moment of pain, be it slapstick or satire, someone's hurting in there somewhere. The difference is that experiencing tragedies is more often private while comedies are public. We withdraw with sadness, but we fling ourselves outward with laughter. This is my observation and my experience.
As writers, we are lucky to be expected to break with that pattern and outwardly share both the sorrows and joys of our characters. Only if we convey the emotional depths properly can we hope to bring our readers the connection they need and desire in a good story. So, we hoard every experience, good or bad, recording the stimuli and response so we can remember it for the page. And what we don't or can't actually experience, we delve into our imaginations, building on the closest proximity, and creating the best facsimile we can.
So, writers and readers, take heart and this advice, when life hands you lemons, yes, you can make lemonade, but be sure that you also take notes. Someone, somewhere, somewhen is gonna ask you how you did it. Trust me.
SNARKY RESPONSE: And afterwards, it's best told with copious amounts of alcohol.
What doesn't kill us usually makes for a good story.
So, writers and readers, take heart and this advice, when life hands you lemons, yes, you can make lemonade, but be sure that you also take notes. Someone, somewhere, somewhen is gonna ask you how you did it. Trust me.
Monday, December 23, 2013
Wisdom? From Me? And your Monday Fortune Cookie 12/23/13
Wisdom is on her way to you.
SNARKY RESPONSE: I hope she's a lot more reliable than her cousin, Lady Luck! Marlon Brando immortalized that lady's unreliability in Guys & Dolls!
Wisdom is on her way to you.
Personally, I think Wisdom has opted to take the Grand Tour on her way to me. I get an occasional postcard in the form of a momentary burst of brilliance or personal fortitude, but mostly it's all kinda "wish you were here" from Lady Wisdom.
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But I have learned this piece of wisdom - courtesy is never out of style.
Saying "thank you" is a simple two-word gift that you can give to anyone and everyone who offers you assistance and/or support.
Thank you, everyone, who has supported me in my writing endeavors - RichWriters, Writers Endeavor, James River Writers, Virginia Romance Writers, and especially all of the Strumpets of Tea & Strumpets!
And thank you to my husband and family for everything they do every day to make my life more complete. Without you and your love, NOTHING would be possible. Love & thanks!
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Best Laid Plans...Last Minute Shopping...Books!
Drop by the Celebrate with a Book event at Regency Square Mall on Saturday, December 21st, from Noon to 4pm! I'll be with a group of talented authors braving the last minute shopping frenzy to offer a dazzling array of books to help round out that Christmas list.
This will be the first public appearance the paperback version of COLLECTOR'S ITEM. I'd love to see it nestled underneath Christmas Trees or tucked into Christmas stockings this year!
Stop by and say hello.
This will be the first public appearance the paperback version of COLLECTOR'S ITEM. I'd love to see it nestled underneath Christmas Trees or tucked into Christmas stockings this year!
Stop by and say hello.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Diamonds, Tears, and Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 12/15/13
THE PLEASURE OF WHAT WE ENJOY IS LOST BY WANTING MORE.
SNARKY RESPONSE: Unless we're talking about diamonds. Just ask Marilyn.
I think this is a particularly cynical or perhaps puritanical fortune. Cynical by assuming that we're so unappreciative by nature that something is devalued by desiring more. I'd think that the value of what we have is increased by our desire for more. And that's where the puritanical comes in, we should NEVER ask for more than what we are given. Why not? We seldom get without making the effort to earn or ask for it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, pro and con.
Today's fortune is very apropos to this the final section of BY TEARS BOUND.
I hope you enjoyed BY TEARS BOUND. I'm sorry if you were expecting an HEA, but perhaps a future incarnation of the story will provide one. Maeve and Random Bay appear in my fantasy e-novella, The Festival of the Flowers: The Courtesan and The Scholar.
The poem that brackets the story leapt into my mind as I was researching selkies for this story. The Orkney Jar website spoke of the spell and Annaree's desire, dilemma, and disappointment were born. I just love research, don't you?
Sooo, do you agree or disagree that today's Fortune Cookie matches up?
SNARKY RESPONSE: Unless we're talking about diamonds. Just ask Marilyn.
The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more.
Today's fortune is very apropos to this the final section of BY TEARS BOUND.
BY TEARS BOUND
His last kiss still warm on her lips, Annaree watched Erskine stride away from the village toward the cliffs. He stopped at the edge where the cliff trail dropped below the horizon to wave before he turned to start down to the beach.
She stood staring long after he disappeared below the horizon, imagining his path down to the pocket beach, to the cave and to the discovery of his missing pelt. She imagined his anger at her betrayal. She had tried not to fall into the trap, but it had closed around her heart just as it did for every man or woman who had loved a selkie.
Unbidden images of their life before and after this morning rose in her mind. The fading of shared laughter into the silence of betrayal, the passion that drew him to her turning to a desperate passion to return to the sea. What had possessed her? She had thrown it all away.
Knowing the realization came far too late, she drew a shaky breath, slammed the door behind her and ran down the path toward the village.
#
Annaree burst into her best friend's house. "Maeve! Maeve! Where are you?"
Maeve poked her head around a doorway and frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Where is it?" Annaree demanded.
Maeve stepped into the room and jerked her chin toward a chest tucked under the front window. "Not to worry," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I've got it safe and sound in there."
Annaree threw herself to her knees and yanked the chest open. For a moment, she stared down at the seal pelt, the reality of what she had done catching at her heart.
"'Twas right where you said it'd be," Maeve said, unaware of Annaree's distress. "Had a real time getting it in that storm."
Annaree gathered the pelt into her arms and rose to her feet. "I can't. 'Twas a mistake. I can't trap him this way."
Maeve reached out a hand as if to hold Annaree back, but stopped, hazel eyes clouding in sympathy. "Even if you give it back, he'll never forgive you."
"He'll understand. He has to understand. He has to." Annaree's voice cracked against the truth reflected in Maeve's eyes. She shook her head, spun and raced out the door.
Oblivious to the surprised looks and shouted questions, Annaree ran through the village, her arms straining to hold the pelt. But she refused to stop; she could not spare the time.
The village disappeared behind a curve in the cliffs and still she ran. Storm debris littered the beach beneath her feet--crushed shells, dead crabs, foam and driftwood. She stumbled and almost fell several times, but she did not stop running until she saw him standing on the sand, bareheaded, staring out at the sea.
She staggered to a halt at his side, gasping for breath, tears wet on her cheeks, and held out the pelt.
"I'm sorry," she said. He did not move or acknowledge her as her words tumbled over each other. "I don't know what I was thinking. No, that's a lie. I know exactly what I was thinking--I love you and I wanted you with me always. Not just on stormy nights or foggy days or whenever you show up, but every day."
She studied his profile--the high brow, the bold nose and the line of his jaw, tight now with anger. But he said nothing and she filled the silence with her attempt to explain.
"But when you left this morning, I knew I couldn't do it. I knew I couldn't trap you here. You're everything I asked for, but you're not mine. So, here--take it. I'm giving it back to you. Just please don't leave me."
Again, she held out the pelt and waited. He stood silent, so still he could have been carved from the cliff behind them.
The wind caught the tears that trickled down her cheek and tossed them into the waves. She felt each drop that left her skin. Just so had she cried the day she wove her spell and now she felt her tears unweaving it.
The man she had known as Erskine turned to look at her and she bit her lip. His eyes held no warmth for her, only a cold flatness that cut her to the core. Her arms sagged and the pelt slithered to the sand between them, a shimmering pile of brown.
He bent and scooped it up without hesitation, his silence eloquent, his face expressionless.
"Good-bye," she whispered to the stranger in front of her, then turned and walked away.
Do not cry into the sea, lassie
Let not your tears meet the waves.
For should the water of your eyes
Meet the waters of the sea
A selkie man will steal your heart from thee.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed BY TEARS BOUND. I'm sorry if you were expecting an HEA, but perhaps a future incarnation of the story will provide one. Maeve and Random Bay appear in my fantasy e-novella, The Festival of the Flowers: The Courtesan and The Scholar.
The poem that brackets the story leapt into my mind as I was researching selkies for this story. The Orkney Jar website spoke of the spell and Annaree's desire, dilemma, and disappointment were born. I just love research, don't you?
Sooo, do you agree or disagree that today's Fortune Cookie matches up?
Monday, December 9, 2013
By Tears Bound continues and Your Monday Fortune Cookie
TRY EVERYTHING ONCE, EVEN THE THINGS YOU DON'T THINK YOU WILL LIKE.
SNARKY RESPONSE: Except for brussel sprouts. Oh! Nor anything intentionally containing insects as an ingredient.
You might be expecting me to take back my snarky response, but I'm standing by it. Now that that's out of the way, here's the next section of my story, By Tears Bound. I hope you're discovering that, unlike brussel sprouts, you like this.
By Tears Bound
Dressed in a gown of flowered cotton, Annaree left her black hair loose about her shoulders. When she dabbed a drop of perfume in the hollow at the base of her neck, the touch of the dropper sparked memories of other touches.
Gravel crunched outside and she stoppered the bottle. Setting it on the shelf, she turned to the door.
A knock, and it opened.
Erskine stood on the threshold, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his smile a flash of white.
She forced herself to cross the room calmly, her voice casual. "Why is it you only come to see me when a storm's brewing?"
He pulled her into his embrace with a laugh. His cloak blew around them while the storm broke over Random Bay, sending rain and wind racing through the village.
"I guess the wind just pushed me this way," he said before his lips made conversation impossible.
Life in the village revolved around the pub during a storm. Life on the beach depended upon hiding from the ravages of the storm. And life in the house at the edge of the village consisted of languorous kisses, passionate sex and drowsy conversations.
"Tell me another story," Annaree asked, snuggled against Erskine, her hand on his chest.
"I almost think you bed me for my stories as much as for my dashing good looks," Erskine teased, his voice rumbling against her ear. He yelped as she tugged on a handful of chest hair. "I yield! I yield. What would you hear?"
"Another story of your people and mine," Annaree said, hoping her voice would not betray her. "Something with a happy ending."
"My people's experience with yours seldom ends happily, Annaree," Erskine said. "Selkie magic is linked to his pelt and that link is our greatest weakness. We cherish our time as humans; the contacts we make are treasured and savored for their rarity and brevity. But humans have persisted in using it to trap and control us for centuries. And even without that, there's the spell--the one you cast to call me from the sea."
Annaree paused, the words of the spell rolling through her memory. Standing knee deep in the waves, she had cried her grief for one man and cast a spell to call another.
Annaree fought the urge to tell him, then shook her head as she drew his face down to hers. "None."
Silence pulled Annaree awake and she tensed beneath the blanket. Eyes closed, she strained for the sound of raindrops pattering on the thatch overhead. Instead, she heard the faint notes of birdsong. The storm had blown itself out during the night.
For a second, tears prickled the back of her eyes and she squeezed her lids tight, willing the moisture not to betray her. Only when the battle was won did she open her eyes.
The pillow beside her was dented from his head and her questing hand felt a trace of heat on the mattress. She drew a slow breath and rolled over. He stood before the window, naked, staring out toward the sea.
Pushing herself up on one elbow, Annaree watched him, admiring his unconscious grace. "I've never known a man so comfortable in his nakedness as you, Erskine," she said. "Though, to be honest, I've seen only one other naked man in my life. And while Donnie shared my bed and my body, he never would have stood so before my eyes."
"Why should I not be comfortable like this?" Erskine asked. He turned, his face in shadow, his skin gilded by the morning sun. "Should I get dressed?"
"No!" Annaree bit her lip, embarrassed by the breathless denial. She smiled. "No, I like it. But I'd like it better if you were over here with me."
"You're a wanton woman, Annaree Velton," Erskine said, laughter dancing around the edges of his voice. "I like that about you."
"It's all that sunlight, my bonnie lad." Annaree smiled and slipped back under the covers to clear a space for him. "Now come and show me how much you'll miss me when you leave."
I hope you enjoyed this section and that you'll come back by next week to read the conclusion of By Tears Bound. Until next week.
SNARKY RESPONSE: Except for brussel sprouts. Oh! Nor anything intentionally containing insects as an ingredient.
Try everything once, even the things you don't think you will like.
You might be expecting me to take back my snarky response, but I'm standing by it. Now that that's out of the way, here's the next section of my story, By Tears Bound. I hope you're discovering that, unlike brussel sprouts, you like this.
By Tears BoundDressed in a gown of flowered cotton, Annaree left her black hair loose about her shoulders. When she dabbed a drop of perfume in the hollow at the base of her neck, the touch of the dropper sparked memories of other touches.
Gravel crunched outside and she stoppered the bottle. Setting it on the shelf, she turned to the door.
A knock, and it opened.
Erskine stood on the threshold, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his smile a flash of white.
She forced herself to cross the room calmly, her voice casual. "Why is it you only come to see me when a storm's brewing?"
He pulled her into his embrace with a laugh. His cloak blew around them while the storm broke over Random Bay, sending rain and wind racing through the village.
"I guess the wind just pushed me this way," he said before his lips made conversation impossible.
#
Life in the village revolved around the pub during a storm. Life on the beach depended upon hiding from the ravages of the storm. And life in the house at the edge of the village consisted of languorous kisses, passionate sex and drowsy conversations.
"Tell me another story," Annaree asked, snuggled against Erskine, her hand on his chest.
"I almost think you bed me for my stories as much as for my dashing good looks," Erskine teased, his voice rumbling against her ear. He yelped as she tugged on a handful of chest hair. "I yield! I yield. What would you hear?"
"Another story of your people and mine," Annaree said, hoping her voice would not betray her. "Something with a happy ending."
"My people's experience with yours seldom ends happily, Annaree," Erskine said. "Selkie magic is linked to his pelt and that link is our greatest weakness. We cherish our time as humans; the contacts we make are treasured and savored for their rarity and brevity. But humans have persisted in using it to trap and control us for centuries. And even without that, there's the spell--the one you cast to call me from the sea."
Annaree paused, the words of the spell rolling through her memory. Standing knee deep in the waves, she had cried her grief for one man and cast a spell to call another.
With seven tears shed in the sea"To a selkie male, the tears of a human female are like ambrosia to the gods, and yours the sweetest I'd ever tasted." Erskine stroked her cheek with one finger. "Such sorrow, such longing, such determination." He rolled her over onto her back, his brown hair falling forward to curtain their faces. "But I've no complaints. Have you?"
I call a selkie man to me.
From the ocean far and wide
My tears will call you to my side.
With seven tears shed in the sea
I call a selkie man to me.
Annaree fought the urge to tell him, then shook her head as she drew his face down to hers. "None."
#
For a second, tears prickled the back of her eyes and she squeezed her lids tight, willing the moisture not to betray her. Only when the battle was won did she open her eyes.
The pillow beside her was dented from his head and her questing hand felt a trace of heat on the mattress. She drew a slow breath and rolled over. He stood before the window, naked, staring out toward the sea.
Pushing herself up on one elbow, Annaree watched him, admiring his unconscious grace. "I've never known a man so comfortable in his nakedness as you, Erskine," she said. "Though, to be honest, I've seen only one other naked man in my life. And while Donnie shared my bed and my body, he never would have stood so before my eyes."
"Why should I not be comfortable like this?" Erskine asked. He turned, his face in shadow, his skin gilded by the morning sun. "Should I get dressed?"
"No!" Annaree bit her lip, embarrassed by the breathless denial. She smiled. "No, I like it. But I'd like it better if you were over here with me."
"You're a wanton woman, Annaree Velton," Erskine said, laughter dancing around the edges of his voice. "I like that about you."
"It's all that sunlight, my bonnie lad." Annaree smiled and slipped back under the covers to clear a space for him. "Now come and show me how much you'll miss me when you leave."
#
I hope you enjoyed this section and that you'll come back by next week to read the conclusion of By Tears Bound. Until next week.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Offering you a story along with your Monday Fortune Cookie, 12/2/13
SOMEDAY EVERYTHING WILL ALL MAKE PERFECT SENSE
SNARKY RESPONSE: Yeah, and it'll be way too late to do anything about it.
Someday everything will all make perfect sense.
Usually, I try to write something loosely related to the theme of the fortune cookie, but I think it's time to change it up a tad. You know I'm a writer, and I've indulged in the occasional shameless self-promotion of my books. Well, I've decided to offer you, in serial format, one of my short stories, published back in 2008 - By Tears Bound. I hope you enjoy it.
By Tears Bound
Do not cry into the sea, lassie.
Let not your tears meet the waves.
For should the water of your eyes
Meet the waters of the sea
A selkie man will be called to thee.
"Storm
coming," Annaree murmured as she stood on the cliffs overlooking Random
Bay. The rising edge of clouds piled up
on the horizon drew an early twilight over the coast. The approaching storm pushed the wind before
it and dusted the tops of the waves with foam.
Earlier, the
fishing fleet had scurried into the harbor, the fishermen beaching and securing
the boats as best they could. Now the
men would be gathered in the pub, downing dark beer and telling darker tales of
storms long past.
A gust of
wind wrapped Annaree's skirts around her legs and tugged at the shawl around
her shoulders. She tightened the knot at
her throat as she watched the sea foam scattered on the beach below. Then, she turned from the cliff edge and
headed down the path to her house at the edge of the village. Her fingers grasping the knot of her shawl
tight, she smiled.
Storm
coming. Would he?
#
Golden
lamplight filled Annaree's house while she bathed in the tub she had pulled in
front of the fireplace. Lavender scented
steam rose from the water to perfume the air and coaxed the waves of her hair
into loose curls. But the relaxing
warmth of air and water could not keep her from straining her ears for the
sound of a footstep, a knock on the door.
She remembered the first time he came to her, appearing on her doorstep ahead of a savage nor'easter that raged for days. She had checked her supplies carefully and prepared herself for a long lonely wait when there was a knock on the door.
Thinking it
might be her best friend Maeve Tillson come to check on her, Annaree rushed to
pull the door open.
"Maeve,
I'm a big girl. You don't ..." She stumbled to a halt as she stared up at
the tall stranger in her doorway.
"I'm
sorry, sir," she said. "Can I
help you?"
"I
think it's more a question of can I help you?" The man's smile was a flash of white beneath
the shadow of his hat. He held out a
bundle to her. "I believe this may
be yours?"
Before she could reach out, a sudden gust of wind made the door shudder in her hand and she remembered her manners. "Please, come in."
"Thank
you." The man swept his hat from
his head as he crossed the threshold and tucked it under one arm when he paused
just inside the door.
Annaree
latched the door against the wind and turned to see him still holding the
bundle. "Oh, I'm sorry." She took it in her hands and then froze.
Her hands
identified the familiar bumps and knots, her eyes recognized the pattern of
stitches--her shawl! The one she lost
the day she ...
Her head jerked up and she stared at the man. "Where did you find this?" she asked.
"It
came to me on the wind," he answered, his dark brown eyes holding
hers. "It came to me when you
called me from the sea."
#
I hope you'll come back next week to read the next installment of By Tears Bound.
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