wyld_dandelyon: (Rainbow Margay Mage)
So, this is a continuation of Tom and Jeri's story. Hmmmm...writing it that way, well, I have to admit that my subconscious self must be laughing at my conscious self. I hadn't realized until right now that these characters are namesakes of that famous cartoon! I do want to keep him as "Tom", but now I wonder if I should change Jeri's name. (You're welcome to weigh in on this suddenly earth-shattering question.)

Anyway, for people who don't want to pick up this story in the middle, here is a glimpse of Tom as a boy: E is for Education, and here are the two bits that lead directly up to this one. D is for Dancing and F is for Witch/Familiar relations.

Jewelry?

Jeri looked around as she arrived at Mrs. Maher’s. There was a little stage in one corner, currently adorned with several guitars and a bodhran. There was a small dance floor in front of that, a well-stocked bar, and lots of tables.

Tom waved at her from a spot near the stage, smiling. His long blond hair was loose around his shoulders, a much more attractive look than she’d seen before, though she had to admit a ponytail was practical for acrobatic dancing.

Jeri smiled back and weaved her way through the tables. They exchanged pleasantries and Tom took her coat, hanging it on a hook nearby. A waiter showed up with menus. He greeted Tom by name, and Tom introduced Jeri.

“So, you’re a regular here?”

Tom nodded. “They have good food, good drink, good music, and a place to dance. What more does a man need?”

Jeri found herself grinning back at him. “Magic?”

His grin widened. “Touche! But now that you’re here, this place has it all.”

They ordered drinks and Tom settled back a bit. “I’ll have friends arriving in a while; if we’re going to talk about magic, you might want to do it now.”

Jeri nodded. “I don’t exactly have a syllabus, you know. Familiars mostly can’t read.” She kept her tone light. “But I do want your company for a few evenings. I can’t promise anything flashy, though.”

Tom leaned forward. “Is something going on? You sound worried.”

He was perceptive—either through the familiar bond or just noticing details she tried to hide. Despite herself, Jeri wondered what it would be like to actually date someone this sensitive to her moods.

“Yes, a little. My friends—my human friends—have all been having a run of bad luck. Cars breaking down, plumbing exploding, chimneys tottering, co-workers quitting for no reason, all sorts of things. Stuff that happens, but not to everyone all at once.”

“My friends too, now that you mention it.”

“I’m afraid there’s something magical that’s increasing entropic effects, hopefully by accident. I want to drive around the city and see if I can find—well, I really don’t know what.” She looked up at him, “You drive, right? It would be easier if you could drive so I can focus on the magic.”

He tossed his hair back decorously, a bit of a frown showing on his face. “Of course I can drive. What do you—“

Jeri put her hand out to touch him, felt the comforting spark of the familiar bond as they touched. “I didn’t mean anything by that; I just didn’t want to presume. Most of my human friends drive, but only about half of the magical ones.” She rummaged in her purse and brought out a box. “I—I have something for you.”

“A gift? It’s not my birthday.”

“This—or something like it—is traditional. It’s the first gift a witch gives to her familiar. I—I hope you like it. I tried to pick a form that would be suitable.” She slid it across the table, like a peace offering.

“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question, but at least it wasn’t an accusation.

He lifted the box and opened it. Inside was a heavy gold chain with an enameled triskel set as a centerpiece, in line with the chain rather than dangling like a pendant.

“This is awfully expensive for a first date.”

Jeri frowned. “It isn’t about the date. You agreed to a season. I have obligations. Ignoring magical obligations, well it isn’t wise.”

“Obli—“ He dropped the necklace back into the box, frowning. “You had to get me a collar? Why not just buy a leather one with spikes!”

Jeri felt herself blushing. “I didn’t know you swung that way.”

They glared at each other and suddenly burst out laughing at the same moment. The connection between them thrummed like a harpstring, reassuring them that the other didn’t mean harm, and the anger just couldn’t hold up to that sure, inner knowledge.

The waiter brought drinks and took food orders, and smiled when they had trouble stopping the laughter long enough to speak.

Eventually, though, Tom pushed the box back toward Jeri. “Seriously, this isn’t necessary. Take it to the store and get your money back.”

Jeri shook her head. “Seriously, it is necessary. That isn’t store-bought, it was made by a catkin craftsman and carries several layers of enchantment. The simplest one marks you as my familiar, so you can go places and talk to people on my behalf when needed.”

He frowned again, and Jeri rushed to complete what she had to say before he interjected. “The second enchantment provides you with some protections that you will need in case I lose control of a spell and the magic backlashes, or someone sends a magical attack our way, or we stumble into something that you have no natural protection against. The third—well, the third was a special gift for you, and will remain active even if we no longer have this connection.”

He closed his mouth again and raised his eyebrows.

“The third is the gift of what some people call The Sight—so long as you wear the necklace, you will be able to see, hear, and even smell things that normal humans can’t.”

“Like the ephemerals?”

She nodded. “And a lot more.”

“Even if I stop being your familiar?”

“Yes. You refused to let me support you, so you are due a substantial gift. I hope this one is acceptable. It’s not an easy enchantment to perform.”

He smiled slowly, and lifted the necklace out of the box. “I’ve always wanted to see the ephemerals.”

“They can be very distracting. Also, one could argue that I chose that enchantment more for my convenience than yours. I must give you a necklace or collar, but it doesn’t have to be this one—“

“No, I like this one very much. Thank you.”

__________________

Thank you to [livejournal.com profile] skajm for today's prompt, and to dreamwidth user Claredragonfly, [livejournal.com profile] ankewehner and [livejournal.com profile] kelkyag for the prompts to the earlier ficlets I linked to at the top of this post.

If you like what you read, and want to encourage me to put more time into one or another of my projects, please let me know. Requests from people who sponsor me will get priority!





wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
Sandie read the local papers obsessively, though most of them weren’t even on paper any more. They had kept her finger on the pulse of her City, so she could sell feature articles and humor pieces to the magazines. Now she also read the #Chicaugwa twitter stream and various local blogs and Facebook pages too. Chicaugwa was endlessly fascinating, vibrant and alive.

But today she frowned as she read. There were more want ads, but people complained of insufficient jobs. Apartment ads were plentiful, and house sales were down. Economic indices were up, but the spirit of the people of Chicago was unhappy, restless, even hopeless. She had seen it first on the street, in the grocery stores and restaurants, but now it was everywhere, even on MySpace. People were leaving, packing up their families and pets, abandoning beloved jobs, and, like it was an afterthought, putting their dream homes into the hands of harried real estate agents. It just didn’t make sense.

Sandie picked up the next neighborhood paper and scanned it, then shook her head. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, but this only showed the symptoms. She would have to go out and find the cause—but where?

It was time to check a different source of information. The old ways were usually vague or as maddeningly symbolic and obscure as the Delphic Oracle, but sometimes they were needed.

She cleaned her dining room carefully and took the leaves out of the center of the tablee, leaving herself with a proper circle to work on. She laid out a fine, microfiber tablecloth, then set five candles equidistant around the edge and lit them. Five tiny carved cats, each with a cone of incense were next. Then she started to spread the papers on the dining room table. For this, she needed real paper, so she identified a number of the puzzling articles and posts online and set her printer to chattering.

She shifted the papers until the pictures, columns of text, tweets, and advertisements shaped into a pentacle, and the whole table was covered. Finally, at the center of the table, she placed the stand for her crystal ball. It was brass, and depicted five cats, each with different precious stones for eyes—amber, opal, peridot, sapphire, and amethyst. Finally, she lifted the crystal ball from its case and set it carefully on the stand. It was natural quartz, expensive and beautiful.

Then she lit the incense and breathed deep, walking around the table and opening her inner eyes. She sank into the process; she had inherited enough of the catkin magic for this, but only barely. She chanted as she walked, waiting until she felt the flare of the magic deep inside, then turned toward the table and opened her eyes.

She was facing the cat with opal eyes, and saw its tail twitch angrily. It was not looking at her, however. It was looking over at a picture of the Lakefront earlier that year, the article about tourists visiting the ice caves before everything in the city had gone nuts.

Sandie didn’t remember printing that article, much less placing it on the table.

She whispered to the cats, “Show me, please—who is messing with my city?” She leaned over the table and gazed into the ball. Immediately, as clearly as if it were a cute baby animal post on Facebook, she saw a beaver frolicking in icy waters, swimming in circles, up and down and around and around. She watched for a moment, but like a facebook video, that was really all there was to it. As expected, a riddle.

She sighed and looked at the cat, and was surprised to find herself looking at the one with amethyst eyes. She sighed with relief. The cats were willing to answer more than one question, this time. That was rare, and precious, and probably meant that her city was in even more trouble than she had realized. She considered, then asked, “Where should I look first?”

All the articles she had been reading spun in front of her eyes, as if to say, “everywhere”. She pushed at the magic harder and leaned in to look at the crystal ball. Words from headlines and ads flashed by as the articles kept spinning, faster and faster. Animal rights, natural habitat, pollution, wilderness. Then she was too dizzy to focus and the magic she could call, exhausted, was slipping away.

It wasn’t enough! She reached, swinging her arms out, reaching in an attempt to grab at least one more clue, and her left hand hit a small glass bottle, knocking it over.

What? She had cleaned the room! Where did the bottle come from?

Dizzy, she fell against the wall. She was by one of the doorways, and she grabbed the moulding there, looking over at the table. What had she hit?

An open bottle of indelible India ink lay there, open, on its side. She watched as the ink spread across the papers on the table, forming a complex set of perfect concentric circles, each one overlaid with strange symbols. She watched in horror as the ink sank into the paper, twisting faces from smiles into grimaces of fear or anger or longing and obliterating or reshaping words. The smoke from her incense cones swerved in the still air of her apartment to avoid the area.

She’d gotten her additional clue—someone had cursed Chicaugwa, cursed her city carefully and thoroughly.

She stared in horror at the mess on her dining room table, knowing that it had become her responsibility to rescue her city, though she didn’t have the training or the magical power to even really understand what had been done. And the symbolism of the India ink was not lost on her. The curse had already soaked into the fiber of the City, like a stain on the tapestry woven by the fates.

__________________

Thank you to [livejournal.com profile] tigertoy for the prompt!

If you like what you read, and want to encourage me to put more time into one or another of my projects, please let me know. Requests from people who sponsor me will get priority!





wyld_dandelyon: (Torn World)
A First View of the Shrouded Land
a Torn World story  by Deirdre M. Murphy

Rreilan sat on the elderly stomper, ignoring it snatching insects out of the air that normally would have been worthy of her attention. Just at this moment, however, her attention was riveted on the landscape in front of her.

There were plants out there, but she couldn’t tell how similar they might be to the ones in the Empire. These were long and spiky, with intensely green foliage at the rare spots where they weren’t totally covered with what appeared to be spider webs. The leaves she could see from here were oddly irregular in shape, as if they’d been partially eaten by sticklegs, or as if, like oak leaves, they grew more where the sunlight hit them and less where the sun was blocked.

“You didn’t tell me there’d be spiders here—those are spider webs, right?” Onlai frowned from atop the younger stomper, though her eyes remained on the pack of young deathbeaks chained to her saddle. The birds seemed pleased at the outing, twisting their long necks this way and that to snap up flying insects.

Rreilan adjusted her brand-new black robes. She was the youngest full scientist assigned to the survey, but her superiors had deemed it more urgent to deal with the invasive flutter-beetle larvae than to ride across the border, so she’d been sent with a hired escort. “I didn’t know what we would find here, besides the violet butterflies and other insects that blew across the border when it opened. How could I? The Empire sent us to survey the resources and contact the people here.”

The ex-soldier gave a harsh laugh. “It doesn’t look like this is a place people live in.”

“Yeah.” Rreilan sighed, wondering how much closer she should get. She didn’t want to get in trouble for reckless exploration or for not doing enough. “That certainly looks like an arachnophobe’s nightmare out there.”

“Do you suppose they’re poisonous?”

Yeah, this place was definitely the stuff of somebody’s nightmares. Good thing Rreilan wasn’t afraid of spiders. “For all I know, that’s mostly butterfly cocoons,” she said, but she didn’t believe it.

Onlai laughed out loud, a good strong guffaw that distracted the stompers from their feast, though for only a moment. “I like you, scientist. Let’s get a little closer—close enough that you can make a nice, report for that sour-looking Science Leader, but not close enough to risk getting bit by anything on those webs.” Onlai’s pale wispy hair, where it fringed her wrinkled face, was about the same color as most of the webbing that covered the plants in odd-shaped drifts.

Rreilan dug out her notebook and pencils. “Nice and slow, then. I’ll be counting on you and those birds to keep me safe.”

Onlai smiled, showing a broken front tooth, and readied her cross bow. “The birds are still nice and hungry, and I’m ready if there’s anything big enough to shoot.”

They proceeded forward, stopping a few horse-lengths short of the webs. There were, indeed, spiders, and other creatures too, some large enough to identify from where they sat (rodents of some sort and a variety of insects) and smaller things too. Rreilan started to sketch.
________________________________

As always, drafts of Torn World stories shared here before they pass Canon Board review may be edited before appearing at www.tornworld.net.

Please let me know what you think!





wyld_dandelyon: (great wizard by djinni)
Re-Vamp is holding The Monster Makeover Short Story Competition, and my story Monster Meal is entered. You can stop by here: http://mad-docs-of-lit.livejournal.com/26730.html to read the story, and you can go to their "recent entries" to read the other contest entries that have been posted so far.

Voting will take place September 11-17, and the winner gets their story published in the Re-Vamp anthology.

I invite you to check out my competition!  I know I plan to do so.
wyld_dandelyon: (great wizard by djinni)
Re-Vamp is holding The Monster Makeover Short Story Competition, and my story Monster Meal is entered. You can stop by here: http://mad-docs-of-lit.livejournal.com/26730.html to read the story, and you can go to their "recent entries" to read the other contest entries that have been posted so far.

Voting will take place September 11-17, and the winner gets their story published in the Re-Vamp anthology.

I invite you to check out my competition!  I know I plan to do so.
wyld_dandelyon: (In my Garden)
Another installment in my Gluten-Free Adventures--and an announcement.

Informal office lunches are not what they used to be. Pizza is right out, as are sandwiches and...well, nearly everything cheap. I was delighted one day that the potato chips were safe (and that I had real food in my office for later). But today was different.

There's this sub place called Jimmy Johns in this neck of the woods, and they offer any of their sandwiches made as an "Unwich"--the same ingredients wrapped in lettuce leaves instead of bread. It was quite good--the lettuce was very fresh.

It was a good lunch.

Also, thank you to everyone who's supported my writing lately! I used the paypal funds to acquire some cool "church keys" to open old-fashioned bottles (like my corn-free Mexican Coke) with.



Thank you all for my fun new eating (well, drinking) tools!

In other news, my drabble "Sometimes They Do" will be published in the Re-Vamp anthology! The publication is due out on Halloween. They're currently running a contest over at [livejournal.com profile] mad_docs_of_lit, so you can read and vote on some of the candidates for the anthology. If you like vampire and monster stories, you might want to check it out.
wyld_dandelyon: (In my Garden)
Another installment in my Gluten-Free Adventures--and an announcement.

Informal office lunches are not what they used to be. Pizza is right out, as are sandwiches and...well, nearly everything cheap. I was delighted one day that the potato chips were safe (and that I had real food in my office for later). But today was different.

There's this sub place called Jimmy Johns in this neck of the woods, and they offer any of their sandwiches made as an "Unwich"--the same ingredients wrapped in lettuce leaves instead of bread. It was quite good--the lettuce was very fresh.

It was a good lunch.

Also, thank you to everyone who's supported my writing lately! I used the paypal funds to acquire some cool "church keys" to open old-fashioned bottles (like my corn-free Mexican Coke) with.



Thank you all for my fun new eating (well, drinking) tools!

In other news, my drabble "Sometimes They Do" will be published in the Re-Vamp anthology! The publication is due out on Halloween. They're currently running a contest over at [livejournal.com profile] mad_docs_of_lit, so you can read and vote on some of the candidates for the anthology. If you like vampire and monster stories, you might want to check it out.
wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
My #fridayflash for this week is up. It's a new Torn World story called [Poll #1772806]
I'll try to work the winner(s) into my Muse Fusion freebie!


Now, I must sleep.  But I look forward to your answers, and your reasons too!

See you all this weekend!
wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
My #fridayflash for this week is up. It's a new Torn World story called [Poll #1772806]
I'll try to work the winner(s) into my Muse Fusion freebie!


Now, I must sleep.  But I look forward to your answers, and your reasons too!

See you all this weekend!
wyld_dandelyon: (Default)
I'm so excited!  [personal profile] meeks  is doing an illustration for this story-arc, which includes more than one story. 

Since LJ is experiencing problems, instead of just linking to the first story, I'm going to post it here.


Feather Blessed
by Deirdre M. Murphy

The feather drifts down from the sky,
riding the thermals,
tossed north and east in turns by the crosswinds,
heading toward a tiny wooden pier.
It's tinted gold and orange by the sunset.

“What do you think it would it be like?” Grace kicked her feet, her toes barely skimming the cool water of the lake, but her eyes were on the sky. She spread her arms as if she could feel the wind under them.

“What?” Stella didn’t glance up from the copy of Feather-Blessed she was reading.
Read more... )
“Look at this!” Grace turned to Stella, but Stella’s nose was firmly buried in her book. Grace’s book, actually. And it was a good book, that’s why she’d loaned it to Stella. Noticing that Stella was almost at the end, Grace took pity on her friend, and fell silent. It was that book that first triggered her longing to fly.

Grace turned her back to her friend, and her attention to the feather. It was fluffy, and curled—a breast feather, like from over the heart of a bird. It was a delicate pink, but in the sunset, it glowed with gold and orange and the purest, brightest white. And it was huge, longer than her hand. Just like in the book.

It pulsed, sending off tiny showers of gold light.

After a while, Stella looked up. “Wow! What a book.”

Grace stuffed the magic feather into her pocket, protectively, then turned. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Do you think something like that could really happen? A feather that—changes you?

“Nah.” Grace could feel the feather pulsing in her pocket. “It’s just fiction.”

Stella’s shoulders slumped, and she looked down. “I guess you’re right.”

“Hey, you were the one being cynical a minute ago.”

“Habit. But this book—“

“Yeah.”

“It makes you believe in magic. No wonder you’ve been staring at the sky for days.”

“I have?”

“Oh, stop playing dumb!” Stella moved to the edge of the pier, and trailed her pale toes through the water. “If one of those feathers came to you, which would you pick? Dragon, gryphon, or fairy?”

Grace considered. Hand, forearm, or shoulder? “I wonder what would happen if I pierced my foot?”

“You’d probably just waste the magic, doing that!”

“Ok, dragon, then.

“Not a fairy? Fairies can hide their wings, and stay here. Go to school, even.”

“If you were going to just stay here, why do it at all?”

Stella stared at her, her eyes bright and intense. “So, you’d really use the magic, change yourself, and fly away?”

Grace squirmed. “It’s fiction, remember?” Her pocket throbbed.

“But if!”

“If.” Grace looked up, imagining what it would be like to soar high above everything she knew. “Well, ever since reading that book, I have yearned for the sky.”

“Me too.”

“You just finished it!” Grace picked the book up from the pier and turned her attention to the cover, where bright-winged fairies danced with colorful gryphons and dragons.

“What, you had to sleep on it to feel it?”

“Well, no.”

Stella kicked at the water. “If—if you did, would you just fly away from—“ She paused, not meeting Grace’s eyes. She twisted her pinkies together and Grace realized what she was asking. “—here?”

Grace grabbed Stella’s hand and linked their pinkies, swinging their hands together in their own private ritual, the book resting where it fell in her lap. “I promised I’d always be your best friend. I can’t just—wouldn’t just—fly away from here, leaving you behind.” But if the book was right, she’d have to do just that, enter a new world, all alone, and leave her friend behind. Even the fairies left, eventually.

She hugged Stella, ignoring the throbbing magic in her pocket. “If I found a feather, I’d—I’d throw it away.”

“Really?”

Grace nodded firmly. “Really.” She stood up, and jammed the book in her pocket on top of the feather, hoping to squash it into stillness. “Come on, I have enough money to buy us each an ice cream cone.”

The feather curls around the book,
shedding magic motes into the girl’s pocket,
and into the pages of the book.
It absorbs the cool, clean scent of ice cream,
and its colors deepen.

Grace ignored the feather and the book for the rest of the day, until she was undressing for bed. Then she pulled them out of her pocket. The feather was still perfect, still glowing and throwing off shiny sparkles.

Thinking of Stella, she didn’t drive the beautiful quill into her own skin, not the shoulder for fairy wings, not the forearm for gryphon wings, and not the hand for dragon wings. Not even a foot, for some kind of mystery adventure.

But she also didn’t throw it away. She stood over the wastebasket with it in her hand until her mother tapped on the door, reminding her bedtime was past. Unable to drop the feather into the trash, she shoved it into the book. “Ok. Mom.”

She pushed the book into the back of her closet, under her winter boots and ice-skates, and firmly closed the door.

All night, she dreamed of flying.
The feather lies still,
frilly edges glowing in the tiny, dark room,
waiting for a hand or a breeze to lift it
once again into the air.
Waiting for a dreamer to bless.

Copyright © 2010 Deirdre M. Murphy

There's a sequel here.
__________________________________

Please, leave me a comment below to let me know what you think.
wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
We had company last night; once they headed to bed I sat down to write and fell asleep instead; as a result, I got a slow start in this Muse Fusion. Then, of course, the first idea that really grabbed me will take a little while to complete. But the first scene works well as flash fiction, I think. I look forward to your comments.

A number of people have asked, "What happened to Osatha?" in response to last week's story, Marli Knows. Then this month, one of Ellen's prompts was babies, childbirth, and related topics. Those two things blended in my mind, and I got an image of a central problem, and I started writing.

This story (or the start of it, anyway) is set the day before Marli Knows. Additional installments can be sponsored at $10/1000 words.

Feeding the Hungry
A Torn World Story
by Deirdre M. Murphy

After work, Osatha lifted the box of food that was too old, even using time crystal technology, to retain for the next day’s business. Then she headed out to the edge of the city. She had a license to distribute leftovers to the poor and homeless, and people came up to her as she walked. Her regulars got a handout with no fanfare; new people, however, had to show a license—a begging license, or at least a personal license. She was studying for a license to work with purists, to try to bring them into the Empire, though she really didn’t care about that. She cared about people, and hated to see them hungry or suffering.

One of her regulars, Fleigil, a runaway... )





wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
We had company last night; once they headed to bed I sat down to write and fell asleep instead; as a result, I got a slow start in this Muse Fusion. Then, of course, the first idea that really grabbed me will take a little while to complete. But the first scene works well as flash fiction, I think. I look forward to your comments.

A number of people have asked, "What happened to Osatha?" in response to last week's story, Marli Knows. Then this month, one of Ellen's prompts was babies, childbirth, and related topics. Those two things blended in my mind, and I got an image of a central problem, and I started writing.

This story (or the start of it, anyway) is set the day before Marli Knows. Additional installments can be sponsored at $10/1000 words.

Feeding the Hungry
A Torn World Story
by Deirdre M. Murphy

After work, Osatha lifted the box of food that was too old, even using time crystal technology, to retain for the next day’s business. Then she headed out to the edge of the city. She had a license to distribute leftovers to the poor and homeless, and people came up to her as she walked. Her regulars got a handout with no fanfare; new people, however, had to show a license—a begging license, or at least a personal license. She was studying for a license to work with purists, to try to bring them into the Empire, though she really didn’t care about that. She cared about people, and hated to see them hungry or suffering.

One of her regulars, Fleigil, a runaway... )





wyld_dandelyon: (Torn World)
Is everyone too busy for LJ these days? I know I am, some days. I've been peeking at LJ on and off since the Muse Fusion started, but mostly off, since there's been real world stuff to deal with and writing to do.

But I'm not here to complain, I'm here to share a bit of my Muse Fusion work with you.

So far, I've completed a poem, Surprises at Sea, which can be sponsored for $10, and a short story called A Promise of Leather, which is definitely in the "spicy" category, which can be sponsored for $24. I'm also willing to write the (definitely adult) sequel for an additional $20, though I suspect it will run longer than 2000 words.  You can sponsor stories using my paypal button (below) or Torn World credits.

And now, I hope to brighten your day by sharing one of my Muse Fusion stories with you:


Blinkbirds are Fast

Mradi was chopping vegetables for dinner, when Filor ran past, an iridescent black wig on his head and a blue piece of paper cut into frills in one upraised hand. “Chirp Chirp!” He narrowly missed her elbow.

“Filor! Calm down!”

“It’s a blinkbird, Mom. Blinkbirds are fast. And I’m not Filor—I’m Filirii, a Mayaloi boy. Can’t you see my hair?”

“Well, blinkbirds can’t be fast in here while I’m making dinner.”

Filor’s hand darted to the vegetables, grabbing a slice.

“Filor, this knife is sharp! You could get hurt!”

Munching, he smiled up at her. "Blinkbirds are too fast to be cut with a kitchen knife"... )

Please let me know what you think!
wyld_dandelyon: (Torn World)
Is everyone too busy for LJ these days? I know I am, some days. I've been peeking at LJ on and off since the Muse Fusion started, but mostly off, since there's been real world stuff to deal with and writing to do.

But I'm not here to complain, I'm here to share a bit of my Muse Fusion work with you.

So far, I've completed a poem, Surprises at Sea, which can be sponsored for $10, and a short story called A Promise of Leather, which is definitely in the "spicy" category, which can be sponsored for $24. I'm also willing to write the (definitely adult) sequel for an additional $20, though I suspect it will run longer than 2000 words.  You can sponsor stories using my paypal button (below) or Torn World credits.

And now, I hope to brighten your day by sharing one of my Muse Fusion stories with you:


Blinkbirds are Fast

Mradi was chopping vegetables for dinner, when Filor ran past, an iridescent black wig on his head and a blue piece of paper cut into frills in one upraised hand. “Chirp Chirp!” He narrowly missed her elbow.

“Filor! Calm down!”

“It’s a blinkbird, Mom. Blinkbirds are fast. And I’m not Filor—I’m Filirii, a Mayaloi boy. Can’t you see my hair?”

“Well, blinkbirds can’t be fast in here while I’m making dinner.”

Filor’s hand darted to the vegetables, grabbing a slice.

“Filor, this knife is sharp! You could get hurt!”

Munching, he smiled up at her. "Blinkbirds are too fast to be cut with a kitchen knife"... )

Please let me know what you think!
wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
I'm excited--it's finally starting to get warmer, and I finally managed to finish a piece for #FridayFlash before Saturday.  I've also gotten my focus together to be sending stories out to general markets again, which had mostly stalled since the new year.  Maybe it's the increased sunlight, or maybe it's because I found my bottle of Vitamin D pills, or maybe some planet finally left retrograde; whatever it is, I'm glad.  I have things to do!

But first, here's this week's story:


Fog and Illusions

There was always a hint of fog at the edges of her prison; it marked the fuzzy borders where the worlds met, a hint of cold or steam and half-realized shadows. But today it was almost as thick as the day she’d arrived, battered and exhausted, unwillingly shifted into the form of a human child. Her magic had been exhausted in the fight with her half-sister, then bound by the simple iron necklace she still wore, though now it was wrapped carefully in cloth to keep it from her skin.

Will Lilyana finally escape her pretty prison? )
_________________________________________

I really enjoy your comments, so I hope you'll take a moment to let me know you were here.

You can also support my creative work with a donation:

wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
I'm excited--it's finally starting to get warmer, and I finally managed to finish a piece for #FridayFlash before Saturday.  I've also gotten my focus together to be sending stories out to general markets again, which had mostly stalled since the new year.  Maybe it's the increased sunlight, or maybe it's because I found my bottle of Vitamin D pills, or maybe some planet finally left retrograde; whatever it is, I'm glad.  I have things to do!

But first, here's this week's story:


Fog and Illusions

There was always a hint of fog at the edges of her prison; it marked the fuzzy borders where the worlds met, a hint of cold or steam and half-realized shadows. But today it was almost as thick as the day she’d arrived, battered and exhausted, unwillingly shifted into the form of a human child. Her magic had been exhausted in the fight with her half-sister, then bound by the simple iron necklace she still wore, though now it was wrapped carefully in cloth to keep it from her skin.

Will Lilyana finally escape her pretty prison? )
_________________________________________

I really enjoy your comments, so I hope you'll take a moment to let me know you were here.

You can also support my creative work with a donation:

wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
So, something happened in Torn World's past that effectively ripped the planet apart, isolating sections of the world from each other. The people in each shard were left sundered from help, to try to survive and to explain what had happened. One such shard was Mojeveterk, which can be translated "All That's Left". In Mojeveterk, a mythology arose that women must be the stewards of the land, and that no land could be held without a woman living on it.

In response to a question about what it's like when two shards merge together again, I bring you this story, though with the warning that the canon board has not yet approved this depiction of the event in question.  The details may change a bit before this story is officially published as a part of Torn World.

Rocking at the Edge of the World

By Deirdre M. Murphy

Rrilm sat in the rocking chair on her back porch, looking at the edge of Mojeveterk. The house had not been built at the end of the living land, of course. There was a wide swathe of grassland between the porch and the broken earth of the dead area, whose ugly brown was broken only by an occasional border chicory plant. The nearer chicory flowers were pale blue or lavender, but only a few feet into the border they turned darker. After a distance that probably measured the length of her daughter’s big house in town, the flowers were black, and after that, nothing lived at all.

At first, it seemed like another ordinary day... )

____________________________

If you enjoyed the story, please let me know! Comments, tips, and even smilies are welcome.
wyld_dandelyon: (a wizard writing)
So, something happened in Torn World's past that effectively ripped the planet apart, isolating sections of the world from each other. The people in each shard were left sundered from help, to try to survive and to explain what had happened. One such shard was Mojeveterk, which can be translated "All That's Left". In Mojeveterk, a mythology arose that women must be the stewards of the land, and that no land could be held without a woman living on it.

In response to a question about what it's like when two shards merge together again, I bring you this story, though with the warning that the canon board has not yet approved this depiction of the event in question.  The details may change a bit before this story is officially published as a part of Torn World.

Rocking at the Edge of the World

By Deirdre M. Murphy

Rrilm sat in the rocking chair on her back porch, looking at the edge of Mojeveterk. The house had not been built at the end of the living land, of course. There was a wide swathe of grassland between the porch and the broken earth of the dead area, whose ugly brown was broken only by an occasional border chicory plant. The nearer chicory flowers were pale blue or lavender, but only a few feet into the border they turned darker. After a distance that probably measured the length of her daughter’s big house in town, the flowers were black, and after that, nothing lived at all.

At first, it seemed like another ordinary day... )

____________________________

If you enjoyed the story, please let me know! Comments, tips, and even smilies are welcome.
wyld_dandelyon: (Default)
I found a new group of writers, doing what they call Free Fiction Friday. Go check out the ringleader!  There are links to other FFF writers there too.

And for new friends, the first story about Grace and Stella is here.


A Kindred Spirit
 
The woman, roused from her bed, found a battered girl
The child was neither bold Grace nor beautiful Stella
But she saw Grace’s doodle on the book the girl held tight.
The next day, the old teacher returned to the park
Avoiding the police, and their tape.

Grace and Stella were enjoying the heat of the summer day. Stella by hovering, wings, tail, and crest spread wide, just over the water, luxuriantly soaking in sunlight, Grace by relaxing in the water, only the tip of her head above the surface, to facilitate conversation. Over them both, like a garment fit for the Oscars, Stella held a shimmer of sunlight dancing on water, so no one would see them.

Grace had spent the early morning running along the beach, flapping her wings, and finally leaping, trying to get her bulk into the air. So far, all she had accomplished was about one dragon-length, before the waters gracefully welcomed her, turning what should have been an awkward belly-flop into a sleek dive.

“Well, I have to hand it to you—you sure can swim!” Stella laughed, from her comfortable spot in mid-air.

“Lot of good that’s doing me. I’ve got to learn to fly!”

(read more) )



I love to hear from you!
wyld_dandelyon: (Default)
I found a new group of writers, doing what they call Free Fiction Friday. Go check out the ringleader!  There are links to other FFF writers there too.

And for new friends, the first story about Grace and Stella is here.


A Kindred Spirit
 
The woman, roused from her bed, found a battered girl
The child was neither bold Grace nor beautiful Stella
But she saw Grace’s doodle on the book the girl held tight.
The next day, the old teacher returned to the park
Avoiding the police, and their tape.

Grace and Stella were enjoying the heat of the summer day. Stella by hovering, wings, tail, and crest spread wide, just over the water, luxuriantly soaking in sunlight, Grace by relaxing in the water, only the tip of her head above the surface, to facilitate conversation. Over them both, like a garment fit for the Oscars, Stella held a shimmer of sunlight dancing on water, so no one would see them.

Grace had spent the early morning running along the beach, flapping her wings, and finally leaping, trying to get her bulk into the air. So far, all she had accomplished was about one dragon-length, before the waters gracefully welcomed her, turning what should have been an awkward belly-flop into a sleek dive.

“Well, I have to hand it to you—you sure can swim!” Stella laughed, from her comfortable spot in mid-air.

“Lot of good that’s doing me. I’ve got to learn to fly!”

(read more) )



I love to hear from you!

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