Dandelyon's Worlds

The stretch of sand between The Dancing Serpent and the Jiggling Jellyfish was a great place to sell Neteilyu’s wares. Her deathfin-hide tent was temporary; the tourists loved the feeling of visiting a rustic, uncivilized life. It was all illusion, of course. Her licenses were all in order, and her house, moored as it was on land-supports most of the year, was ship-shape in the event of a storm.

But for the tourists, she kept her long hair braided with shells, and wore dreamskate-leather clothes, cunningly cut to allow the ring-leech scars (which turned paper-thin and quite see-through in the tanning process) to show skin only where she wanted to show skin. She looked quite the barbarian artist—but the image of barbarian artist allowed her to charge twice what she had when she wore respectable clothes.

She was setting up her newest lamp, the base a fanciful construction of dreamskate tails, miscellaneous shells, driftwood, and a leaping deathfin carved of green dragonwood, when Dulilm walked up.( "So... )
______________________________________

*I'm happy to hear suggestions for cool Scary Sea Monster names, both to replace this generic reference here and to fill in the monster menu at the Dancing Sea Serpent.

**Remember, this is a rough draft!  The canon board will have to discuss it before it goes up in final form on tornworld.net.  For instance, the monsters described as "deathfins" in An Irresistible Attraction are now called "dreamskates" instead, which is reflected in the terminology used in this story, even though the final version of that other story isn't yet up on Torn World.

I'm told that April is National Poetry Month, and I've been meaning to post some poetry.  Well, April is almost over, so here's a story poem for



Green-Eyed Friend

He looks like a normal kind of guy, he’s got a solid, dull career
His eyes were a safe warm brown, we’d been friends many a year,
He walked up to me with a troubled look, “hey, friend, you got a while?
There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” Then he gives me this odd smile.

“My mom said to keep the secret, or I’d lose more than I could win
I’ve been silent so long, it’s hard to know where I should begin—“
Then he popped the contacts from his eyes, showed me the bright green hue
“I’m an elf, well, half-elf” he said, his eyes proof that he spoke true

I refused to scream, although I’m sure the fear showed in my eyes
All know that you can’t trust an elf—why’d he show me his disguise?
But he didn’t offer any threat, just stood there awkwardly,
The same old nerdy space geek—so I just said, “So, why tell me?”

“I could say I’m sick of wondering who’d be friends if they knew
I could say I’m tired of lying, and God knows that that is true
But the truth is I’ve been too scared of what I’d lose to stand so tall
And if I hadn’t got this letter, I’d have said nothing at all.”

“But, my sister, she got married, and some while back had twins
The elfin blood shone through in them; they suffered taunts and sins
Now, the boy’s committed suicide; the girl is at death’s door
I wish I’d helped them sooner, but I can’t live silent anymore.”

He’d showed me pictures of those kids, bragged of talents they had shown
He loved them so, I’d wondered why he had none of his own
It was fear, I guess; looking in his eyes, a truth occurred to me
Elves have a lot to fear from us, that they all hide or flee.

I must have looked uneasy, for he looked down with a sigh
“If you feel we cannot still be friends, I sure understand why.”
I reached to stop him—touched an elf! But the world didn’t end.
I said, “I’m feeling kind of shocked, but I’ll not reject a friend.”

I remembered all the times we’d shared, how he’d helped when I was down
How he’d come to get me in the night when my car broke far from town
And I imagined that bright, pretty boy now laid out underground,
And I said, “this world’s a better place, with folks like you around.”

Copyright ©2007 (November 7, 2007) Deirdre M. Murphy, all rights reserved.

Remember, comments are candy!
_______________________

This story was written a day late to be included in my Muse Fusion total; it is another tale of Torn World. One of the prompters wanted to see a story of a pet yiirk--yiirk are kind of a cross between ferrets and rats, and quite a pest for the northerners.

If you want to see a longer Torn World story, Kasiikar’s New Hunting Ground has been partially funded; $15 will get me to post it here, so you can read it even before Torn World's Canon Board.

Bayarl's Yiirk

Alainya normally liked white, but she was tired of knitting for the babies. And she was tired of working with the undyed yarns normally given to beginners. And given the time of the year, not-quite-white was definitely not the color she wanted to knit with. Dirty white was the color of spring snow, and brown the color of mud. And she’d had more than enough of both.

She wanted to make something colorful for a change. And she wanted to do it on her own.

( Read more... )

I hope you'll let me know what you think!

kelkyag , not the only one to tease me that I still haven’t finished the series of stories that started with Feather-Blessed, asked: “How many serials do you want to have running at the same time?”

My plan was to do one. Fireborn. And really, one serial while doing other writing for publication is enough.

But then I found #FridayFlash, which stretches me in a different way. And part of me is still amazed that I can write whole stories (or at least enough of a story to be satisfying) in less than 1000 words.

So, why am I now (apparently) writing another serial?

The thing is, when I sit down to write, something mysterious happens. The words I put down are (mostly) simply not there until I start. Then, on good days, they just flow, each one shaped by the rest. And by other things, most of which are completely outside my focus-of-the-moment.

Fog and Lembas, for instance, was written in one sitting, as was Deep Dreams. Sure, I polished them a bit, afterward. But neither needed much. (I wish I could always do that. There’s other pieces I’ve spent a lot more time on, that aren’t as good.)

In both stories, I had no idea what I would be writing until I started. Consciously, anyway. I picked a name for a character and made the character do something, and kept going. Now, there’s all sorts of things I think about consciously as I go, once I have at least one character in a situation. But that starting point is mysterious to me, even though I can predictably start a story. Event though, frequently, I can’t predict what it will be about.

And 1000 words is so short! For me, anyway, this length emphasizes that there’s a multitude of stories to tell about any one character or setting.

But I was talking about the creative process, and writing serials. And a significant part of that is you. Your comments help me to know what’s working. And even better—sometimes they make me think. Long comments, comments like tigertoy made on the first of these feather stories, inform my thoughts about that story—and about subsequent stories too.

Feather-Blessed started similarly, with my commitment to write stories for #fridayflash, and no story written yet. No particular idea ready for writing in my conscious mind. So I made up a character, and gave her action—speaking to her friend, which then required another character. And suddenly, I had a backdrop, and characters, and a situation, things to work on using all the various storytelling skills that I’ve worked to acquire. And I wrote, and polished, and read it aloud, and posted it.

I didn’t plan a serial.

But then you commented, and asked questions, inspiring me with both your words and your pocketbooks. And I thank you for both.

Grace felt huge, stretched wide and strange, in the wonderful, colorful cloud of magic. The sparks tingled and tickled, then itched. She felt her mind reaching for—for something, as if she’d seen a movie trailer, a wonderful movie trailer, with the promise that the movie would start momentarily. But then the lights come on, and the ushers gesture toward the exit door.

( click here to see what the magic did! )

Please let me know if you enjoy the story!

 

Today, I'd like to share another song with you.

Grandmothers’ Stories
By: Deirdre M. Murphy


CHORUS:......When the chores get too hard and the day seems too long,
.......................Or the night is too scary, or a lecture too strong,
.......................Grandmother will be there with a story or two
.......................Just listen and enjoy, she won’t force lessons on you.

Diana was a girl like you, fearless, strong, and bold
She could string a really solid bow, and didn’t mind the cold
She brought home meat for her family instead of ‘broidery and lace
They might not have thought her ladylike, but she won her own place

CHORUS

Grandson, you’ll want to hear of Loki’s latest tricks
You’ll laugh when Thor grabs his hammer and gets only painted sticks
But it’s not so great when Loki needs a friend because he’s down
And no one helps, ‘cause all his tricks are the talk of every town.

CHORUS

Granddaughter, I’ll tell you now, a tale of love gone wrong
Of a young wife who did listen to the gossip in a song
She’d promised to not look upon her husband in the night
But he left her when she broke her word, and peeked by candle light.

CHORUS

And you, small one, I’ll tell a tale of a girl who wove and spun
Such wondrous garments, I tell you now, I wish I had just one,
She bragged that she was better than any Goddess at her loom
But the Goddess heard; she still weaves now, a spider in the gloom.

CHORUS

Copyright © 2003 and 2010 Deirdre M. Murphy (written June 17, 2003) Most Rights Reserved.
If somone wants chords, please ask.


As always, I love to hear from you!

This is a sequel to Feather-Blessed.

The magic feather haunted Grace’s dreams. Again and again, she plunged the quill into hand or arm or shoulder, and launched herself into the air, free to fly away from her alcoholic mother, her boring school, her deficient life; into a sparkling blue sky.

Every morning it was harder to leave the feather buried under her winter boots in the closet. But every morning she managed, bolstered by imagining a teacher confiscating it.

Every afternoon, she renewed her resolve to keep her promise to Stella, but she found she couldn’t imagine throwing the feather away. Not by reminding herself that magic wasn’t real. Not by thinking about how much she’d miss Stella if she flew off. Not even by imagining burning in Hell forever for the broken promise.

They’d planned to go shopping on Saturday, but Grace overslept, dreaming of flying through flowering trees and—

Her mother shook her awake. “Stella’s banging on the front door!” She was holding her head.

Grace rushed to greet Stella before her mother’s headache got worse. “Shhh—can you wait a minute?”

Stella nodded, rubbing her shoulder. She’d seen Grace’s mother with a hangover.

Grace threw clothes on, and they went to the mall, their haven of normalcy. Grace automatically headed for ice cream.

“I’m broke.” Stella said quietly.

Grace’s eyes flew to her friend, but she dropped them quickly. “It’s ok, I’ve got enough.”

“Thanks, Grace!”

Stella’s t-shirt sleeve rode up on her arm as she reached for the cone, and bruises showed. She pulled it down, and Grace pretended not to notice. Her home life was bad, but it was better than Stella’s.

Fortified by chocolate, they headed to the jewelry store, to dream of better days. After ogling the diamonds, they headed to the earring store, where they usually took turns holding preposterous dangles to their own ears, only switching to things they’d actually consider wearing after much giggling, and if they had money to spend.

Today, however, Grace kept holding pretty things to Stella’s ears.

“Would you stop that? I don’t have any money!” Stella hissed.

“I have some.”

“Is this about you oversleeping? Or—” Her hand went protectively to her shoulder, and she frowned. They never referred to each other’s family problems.

Grace shook her head. “No. Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“I—” Grace looked away, played with a random earring. “I couldn’t keep my promise.”

“Your promise?”

“About the feather.” Grace mumbled.

“The feather?” Stella looked bewildered. “What feather?”

Her voice a whisper, Grace answered. “Like in the book.”

“Feather-Blessed?”

Miserable, Grace nodded.

“But that’s just a story!”

“That’s what I thought. But then, on the pier, it came to me, drifting through the air. And I—I told you I’d throw it away. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to do that.”

“Throw—Grace, if it’s real—it is real?”

Grace nodded again.

“Where is it?”

“In my closet.”

“But—your Mom! Stella’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry. She never cleans with a—headache.” But now that the possibility had been raised, Grace found she couldn’t stop worrying.

“We should go get it. I—I want to see it, and then you can use it.”

“I’m not using it. I promised I’d throw it away rather than leave you.”

Stella grabbed Grace’s hand, and squeezed hard, until Grace looked up. “I’m glad you didn’t! One of us, at least, can get away. You’ve got to use it!”

“But what about you?”

Stella looked down. “I’ll manage. Somehow. At least I’ll know the magic is real. I—” She squeezed tighter. “But I want to see it. Let’s get it, and go to the pier.”

Heading out of the mall, Grace noticed Stella was awkward getting on the escalator. She felt guilty suddenly. Why did she get a chance to escape, and not Stella? Stella deserved it as much as she did—and needed it more.

The world brightened once she retrieved the feather, though she left it in the book until they got to the pier. Then, feeling like the announcer on the Emmys, she opened the book.


“Ooh—it’s beautiful!” Stella reached out, and the tip of the feather curled around her finger, the rest still curling around Grace’s hand. For once Stella didn’t notice when her shirt bared the bruises.

Grace looked at the purple and green marks. “You should use it.”

Stella looked up, startled. “But it came to you.”

“It came to us. In the book, it only comes to someone alone, but this one came while we were together.”

“I don’t care. I won’t take it from you.” They watched the glowing pink feather, still curling around both of their hands, showering them both with sparks. The sparks tickled and tingled, and as one, the girls looked up into the sky.

“If—” Grace felt out of breath. “If we had two, would you be a fairy?”

Stella shook her head. “No. I’d be a dragon, like you.” She sounded breathless too. “Do it. Do it now, so I can watch.”

Grace had a sudden inspiration. “If you’ll let me hold your hand.”

Stella nodded, and Grace took her hand, spreading the webbing between her thumb and forefinger as flat against Stella’s skin as she could. She lifted the feather in her other hand. The quill was long and sharp, as if it had been carved to a point.

If she was going to try this, she had to do it the first time, with no hesitation.

She licked her lips, frowned in concentration, and drove the quill down, through that tiny bit of webbing and into her friend’s hand.

She had just enough time to see her friend gasp in pain and, she hoped, wonder, before sparks filled her consciousness and she felt her body start to change.

Copyright © 2010 Deirdre M. Murphy

The story continues here.
__________________________________

Thank you to my sponsors and my commenters!

“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.

“Flying!”

“You sit in an uncomfortable seat and if you’re lucky, you have a window to look out of.”

“That’s not flying—that’s—being flown!”

“Don’t let Batty Hattie catch you using words like that.”

Grace ignored the reference to their English teacher, and looked up, up, up. Far above was a tiny wisp of—cloud? No. It was falling, like a snowflake, out of a clear blue sky on a summer’s day.


“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.”


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.

Copyright © 2010 Deirdre M. Murphy

There's a sequel here.
__________________________________

Please, leave me a comment below to let me know what you think.

Fluffy lay on the couch, licking the last of the possum blood off of her feet, and watching her human put shiny things on a dead pine tree. She was exhausted. Going out every full moon and hunting something big enough to sate a werewolf’s appetite was work!

The first month, killing the terrorist had been satisfying, but in the months since—well, the neighborhood dogs had gotten very polite. And the local wildlife, well, they knew to hide during the full moon. She wasn’t the only werewolf around.

And now, there her human was, decorating the tree, and she felt no urge whatsoever to go bat at the pretty toys. It was just wrong! But she was so tired. She stretched and curled.


She woke much later. The lights on the tree were off, but she had no trouble picking up the gleams of the baubles. She went over and patted at one half-heartedly. But her human didn’t push her away, laughing and rubbing her head. Once again, she wished she’d never teased that werewolf. Though she couldn’t regret getting rid of the terrorist, not after he’d killed one of her stray friends, and bitten others.

It was so totally un-feline to be mooning about like this. She had to get with the spirit of things, or her human would be taking her to the vet. She went and got a drink of water, then padded up the stairs to see if her favorite Christmas toy was up yet—yes! There it was, green leaves and white berries, dangling from a red ribbon, tied around one of the uprights along the handrail separating the second floor hallway from the room below.

She headed over and started to play with the ribbon, pulling and tugging and shredding—the exact method didn’t matter, so long as she could drop the mistletoe to the first floor and bat it about for a while, leaving it somewhere amusing for the human to find.

It dropped quickly—too quickly. Fluffy was just starting to really enjoy the play. But she bounded down and batted it across the floor. And stood there and watched it bounce, still not wanting to chase anything. She was still stiff from the antics of that possum!

Angrily, she bit into the mistletoe, harder than she’d planned, and carried it over to the open box of shiny toys, and placed it into one of the waiting spots.

Boy, that stuff tasted bad. She sat and licked her toes again, licking and swallowing, licking and swallowing, trying to get rid of the taste. Suddenly, she felt her form twist and grow. What? How? She looked around wildly, but there was no full moon in sight. She—just barely—remembered not to howl her confusion inside the house. It would no doubt wake her human, and—no. Just no.

She shook her wolf-body, looking around. From this height, the whole apartment looked different. Small. And now she was hungry, though not as much as usual. She headed into the kitchen and polished off the kibble in her dish.

So, what had happened? She trotted back into the living room, and lay down on the couch, thinking. The couch wasn’t so comfortable like this—her feet all hung off the ends when she tried to curl properly. Finally, she sat up and shifted, putting the bulk of her weight over her feet, and pulling the coverlet all out of whack. Could it be the mistletoe?

She got up again, one claw pulling the coverlet half off the couch. She sniffed the mistletoe, and again felt big, strong, and very wolfish. Huh. But then, how to get back to her proper form? Would it just wear off?

Behind her, she heard noise at the front door, metal in the lock. It fumbled around, not like a proper key, and she ran to watch.

After a while, the lock snicked, and the door opened, revealing two men in dark clothes and ski masks. One started to step inside. Fluffy immediately started to growl.

“I thought you cased the place, Mel!” It was a rough whisper.

“I did!”

“You said nothing about a damn wolf!”

Fluffy advanced on the men, and they hastily pulled the door shut. With a sense of satisfaction, she listened to them retreating down the walk, arguing. A car door slammed and a car pulled away with a squeal of tires. So being a werewolf was still good for something after all!

She sat there wagging her tail proudly for a minute, then decided she deserved a reward. And at this size, she could reach the new catnip mouse out from where she’d watched the human put it. If she could open the cabinet door.

She trotted into the dining room, lifted awkwardly onto her back legs, grabbed the handle of the cabinet with her teeth, and pulled. Success! She snaked her wet tongue in between the mugs and the side of the cabinet and snagged out the mouse, dropping to the floor to lick and sniff at it.

Oh, it was wonderful! She sighed, and rolled about in ecstasy. It was so distracting that it was a while before she realized she was back to her proper self.

The windows were starting to show light, and soon the human’s waking noise would happen. If she could change at will, maybe being a werewolf wasn’t going to be so bad after all!

Quickly, before her human could wake, she ran to the living room, and snagged the red ribbon in one claw, dragging the mistletoe to a far corner under the couch.

Then Fluffy hid the mouse before heading up to her human’s bed to purr and purr, thanking her wordlessly for the best Christmas toys ever.

Copyright ©2009 Deirdre M. Murphy
__________________________________

For anyone who missed Fluffy’s debut, Fluffy and The Terrorist, here’s the link.

This story is a part of the Spec the Halls contest for speculative winter holiday-themed fiction, artwork, and poetry. You can find guidelines and links to other entries at http://www.aswiebe.com/specthehalls.html 

I hope you'll leave me a comment!

I'm excited--there is to be a #fridayflash "best of 2009" anthology. I of course want to submit some of my stories (I can submit up to three). I can also submit one to the 3rd Annual Micro Award.

But writers aren't very objective about their own stories. Though, come to think of it, my opinions about others' stories are subjective too...but I digress. Even without knowing how many authors disagree with their fans about which stories are their best work, I'm undecided. So I turn to my friends for their opinions.

Which ones should I submit? Please vote for no more than three. Feel free to leave comments, lobbying for your favorite(s), critiquing the one(s) you like least, or whatever. And if I left your favorite out of this not-very-short list, feel free to tell me that too.

Links to my flash fiction can be found here. In case anyone wants them. I don't know enough html to make the titles in the poll into links.

[Poll #1495787]Thanks for sharing your thoughts!