Tag Archives: Fiction

A Gothic Symphony: Chapter Two – Bethany

My parents are divorced, and that’s probably all you need to know about me. They split when I was seven, and it kind of fucked me up. I never thought it was all my fault like everyone wants to believe – they both talked to me a lot about it. It was my dad’s fault, and we all know it. My feelings were a lot more complicated, and I guess I still haven’t got it all worked out.

My dad’s an alcoholic. I guess I didn’t really know what that meant when I was seven. He just drank a lot of beer, which is what I thought all dads were supposed to do. Maybe he didn’t know what it meant, either. Either way, what I do remember is that he and mom fought a lot, and she’d scream at him just as much as he did. He never beat her – he never laid a hand on either of us – but I always got scared when they fought, and I’d hide in my room and cry.

I never felt like it was my fault, but I did feel guilty. When dad took a day off work and we hung out, we had such good times that I thought days with dad were what the world was made for. Sometimes it was just a simple trip to the park; sometimes he took me into the city and we’d go to a museum. Not the boring kind, though – he knew the ones that had dinosaur bones and medieval armor and children’s boots from a hundred years ago. Sometimes, on a rainy day, we’d just stay at home all day and play Monopoly and listen to heavy metal.

And my mom…she was just there. She was there when I needed her, and there when I didn’t. Sometimes she was there even though I didn’t want her to be; I still hate cleaning my room. My mom was the one I talked to when Keila tripped me in the hallway and laughed when my stockings split right in the back.  She was the one who made a cake for me when Jess didn’t invite me to her birthday. She was the one who screamed down the phone at Rob’s parents because he called me a bitch, even though I didn’t know what it meant.

It wasn’t the last time I’d be called that.

No; I love my parents, and I’m pretty sure they love me too. The reason I felt so guilty about the divorce is that there wasn’t anything I could do. My parents had always told me I could do anything I put my mind to, and here was something I couldn’t do anything about. Nothing. […]

Read the full chapter here.

Thought of the Week: Snooze

I hate inspiration in the same way I hate money: it’s constantly eluding me. That little beast, dancing just out of reach and taunting me with clues that fail to develop, is one of the most frustrating things in existence.

Of course, I can’t say I never have inspiration; after all, I managed (somehow) to write a book, half of another, and half of a third (does that make two books total?). But for the most part, it’s just not there. Just…not…there…

Or is it?

You see, I read recently a passing comment that inspiration often comes when the mind is allowed to wander, such as those moments between waking and sleeping. It’s a time when your brain starts to meander off course, taking the unbeaten track to places that make little or no sense, yet with the presence of mind still to remember it…maybe. The danger of this approach, clearly, is in actually falling asleep, because then the wanderings turn to dreams, which are inherently unmemorable.

And I can certainly attest to this. Though indistinct, I can clearly recall many, many occasions just before falling asleep (or sometimes, on those rare occasions I get to sleep in, just before waking up) when I start thinking about my writing, or my music, and suddenly something just makes so much sense that I want to jump up and scream and write it all down. Most of the time, however, I just fall asleep.

Occasionally a dream will be vivid enough to remember even after waking, if only for a little while; the seed of a novella I’d like to one day work on came from such a thing. Even the title came from the dream: The Girl Who Killed Herself in Apartment 615. Yes, it’s pretty morbid.

However, there is one source of inspiration that works more often than not, and that’s the daytime snooze. Some people refer to it as power napping, and the great thing about it is that you don’t quite fall asleep; your mind is in a constant state of drift. The realization of what happens at the end of The Redemption of Erâth: Exile (that’s book two) came from such a place. So did the knowledge of what exactly happened to Amy in her formative years in A Gothic Symphony. It’s a wonderful place to be – a world of disconnection where the oddest things suddenly make sense of themselves, and every so often blast their way to the front of your head so that you remember them.

And of course, the very best part of all of this is that – heh heh – I have an excuse to sleep during the day. Of course, the real reason is because it helps to avoid doing anything else, but the secondary benefits are rewarding. Inspiration, that elusive fiend, can’t escape my snoozes.

Ironically, the inspiration for this post came from thinking about how little inspiration I see to have. So that works, too.

Featured image from http://documentaryden.com/the-light-bulb-conspiracy/.

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The Redemption of Erâth: Book 2, Chapter 15

Chapter 15: A Party of Three

For many moments there was a silence, as Brandyé and Elven stared in shock at where the fierund had plunged into the dark water. It was Kayla who broke it first, approaching them with her bow still in hand. “You are fortunate I happened by, it seems,” she said.

Brandyé stared at her, speechless, but Elven frowned and said, “How is it you happened by at all? It seems a strange coincidence that you should appear just as the beast attacked, and armed.”

Brandyé gaped at him, and hissed, “She saved our lives – you should be grateful!”

“If you must know, I asked her to join us,” said Elỳn. “I thought she might help us with our crossing.”

To Brandyé this sounded more than reasonable, but Elven said, “Then why bring a bow?”

But Kayla merely said, “There are fierundé about,” and indicated the water.

Elven appeared ready to continue the argument, but Elỳn said, “Come – we should not delay. I thank you, Kayla – we might all be dead if you had not come.”

Kayla nodded, and slung the bow over her shoulder. She moved toward the boat, and – somewhat reluctantly, it seemed – Elven moved aside to allow her to board. Elỳn grasped the boat’s stern and with a great heave launched it into the water. In a smooth motion she leapt into the boat with them, and before long the land had disappeared into the mist, and they were floating silently, lost in the darkness.

There were two oars in the bottom of the vessel, and wordlessly Elỳn and Kayla took them up and began to propel them forward, away from the Illuèn’s island and toward the shores of the lake, where they would once more enter into the Trestaé, and resume their journey – to wherever it might lead. Brandyé began to feel uneasy at the thought, knowing that whatever he and Elven might think of their skills in combat, they would nonetheless be at the mercy of the fierundé, and whatever other beasts and creatures might roam the forests as they continued north.

He looked around them into the dark, trying to see where they might be going, but despite the faint glow emanating from both Elỳn and Kayla, he could see nothing but the very edges of the boat. With a nervous curiosity he leaned over the hull and lowered his hand into the water. The lake was icy, and rushed through his fingers – Elỳn and Kayla were clearly moving them at a prodigious pace. “We are moving very fast,” he whispered to Elven. In fact he was unsure why he was whispering, other than it felt unnatural to speak loud in such dark and such silence.

“Do you know where we are going?” Elven whispered back.

“We are traveling northeast,” Elỳn replied. “It is the shortest way between our island and the shore – perhaps ten miles.”

Brandyé withdrew his hand from the water and asked, “How soon do you think we will arrive?”

“Perhaps an hour – perhaps less,” said Elỳn. Then, with a sudden look at Brandyé: “Do not put your hand in the water again; there are many creatures in these waters that would hunger for your fingers.”

With a shiver Brandyé looked back toward the water, suddenly imagining things with scales and spines and jagged, sharp teeth darting here and there just out of sight. His mind was recalled to the last time he had been in a boat in the dark, floating along the Tuiraeth bound to a mast and unable to move. He had been certain then that there were great creatures in the deep, and wondered what manner of beasts might dwell in the immeasurably deeper waters of this lake. Then he recalled with a memory of horror the dreadful sea monster that had swallowed an entire Cosari vessel and sent Khana’s own ship crashing upon the rocks. Frightened, he withdrew further into the boat and did not speak again until nearly an hour has passed, and they were approaching their destination.

By that time a wind had risen, and the mists were lifted; the faintest gloom of day light was beginning to appear in the clouds above, and Brandyé found he could see ahead of them some way. Perhaps half a mile before them rose tall cliffs from the deep waters, and it seemed it was to these that they were now heading. Elỳn appeared to notice his stare, for she said, “There is a rock passage in the cliffs that leads high above the shore. It gives a safe route from the lake, and it is protected from fierundé and other creatures.” […]

Read the complete chapter here.