Archive | July 2011
Wedding Plans, Reiassan, for Rix’s Prompt!
This is a short story in response to rix_scadeau‘s commission in my Giraffe Sale: a continuation of Rin & Girey, after this story
Reiassan has a Landing Page – and on LJ.
“Lady! Lord! Are you here for the wedding?”
Rin had been caught up in coming home, equally caught up in watching how her prisoner reacted to this, the heart of her country. She hadn’t expected the question, although she supposed she should have. There were so many cousins, so many sisters and aunts, brothers and uncles and far more distant relatives. Someone was always getting married.
“No,” she told the children, smiling at them. Brightly dressed in their silk qitari, these were no urchins. School must have just let out. “I, we,” she caught herself quickly and hoped Girey hadn’t noticed, “are just home from the front. So tell me, who is getting married? What news have I missed?” She leaned forward, half-off her saddle, as eager for the gossip as they were to share it.
“Princess Elenerja,” blurted out a pretty girl almost old enough for weddings herself, earning her a glare and a bony elbow from what had to be her younger brother.
“Elen?” Rin sat back into her saddle, wondering if she’d misheard.
“She’s marrying a spice merchant from the border!” the brother blurted out. “Not even a lord.”
Girey was looking at her oddly; she mustered a smile for him. “So,” she said brightly, “I suppose we’re going to a wedding. You’ll get to see how we do things up north.”
“Elenerja?” he murmured. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“I should imagine so,” she answered quietly. “She’s fourth in line for the throne.”
“Aaah. So getting married is nothing all that surprising, is it? Or is this another one of those situations where you people do everything backwards, too? She’ll want her eighty-one heirs, too, won’t she?” He was, she noted, smiling, almost as if he was trying to coax a smile out of her, too.
She obliged him. “Not really eighty-one,” she demurred. “We’re fertile, but we’re not quite that fertile.”
“I don’t think you’d be able to find the time,” he admitted. “So the fourth in line is getting married,” he persisted, unwilling to be sidetracked. “And this surprises you. Why?”
She got her mount pointed in more or less the right direction again, it having gotten distracted by a tasty hanging plant, and frowned at him. He really wasn’t going to drop it. “She had – Elen, that is – she’d joined a priestly order of Tienebrah that didn’t go in for marriage or child-bearing or siring. She’s been part of the order since she was a young woman; if she’s stepped out of it now and is getting married, it means something in the political situation has changed recently.”
“And that worries you.” The road was wide here, and people got out of their way, so they were riding abreast, knees nearly touching.
“It worries me,” she agreed. She eyed him, wondering at his patience. He’d been asking her for the entire trip who are you when what he meant was what position do you hold?, and she’d avoided answering for just as long. “I want to know what she knows that I don’t.”
“To know what the political climate will be like?” he hazarded.
She shook her head. “More to know if someone is going to try to kill me any time soon.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/84023.html. You can comment here or there.
Instant Karma moment of awesome
This weekend, T. and I were hiking down at Taughannock Falls State Park, as we are wont to do. We’d frozen half a water bottle full of water, as we are also wont to do, and then poured in water to fill, but this time, the half-liter of water really wasn’t enough for the day, and I was carrying around a half-liter of ice and wishing it to melt faster.
We’re in the habit of picking up a few piece of litter every time we go out walking, so I wasn’t thinking about it when I bent down to pick up the bottle of Poland Springs floating in the creek.
The entirely sealed, full, new bottle of Poland Springs Water.
Sometimes life is just fun.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/83787.html. You can comment here or there.
Protected: Book Non-review, halp
crowdfunding, writing, etc – posted in whole from Stryck – “Yes, This.”
Originally posted by at crowdfunding, writing, etc
The Crowdfunding community is in the LJ spotlight this week. [inserted tag]
Anyway, some folks have commented how few patrons are participating. That’s sad, because patrons have two things that I, and many creators, really crave.
No, not money. Money is icing.
What I crave as a writer are ideas and feedback. I get ideas of my own, but in a slow and rare trickle when it’s just me. However, one person talking with me to start sparking from? I can spin a whole world out of somebody saying that they want to read about a villainous polar bear.
Patrons are vital. They provide the proteins that my little creative enzymes can take apart and put back together into stories and poems. Feedback provides a stock of more proteins, to make it grow. (Especially questions. Asking who or what something is? Oooh, amino acids on parade.)
So, patrons, you have a market, too. That idea nobody ever writes about? I bet there’s someone out there who’s staring at a blank page who would love to know what it is.
And once you cultivate an artist, they may start producing works just because they thought of you. I probably would have never written a short story about giant space rays if I didn’t know that one of my friends likes rays.
Sharing Stories – Dragons Next Door – to meeks’ prompt
This is a short story in response to ![[personal profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meeks‘ commission in my Giraffe Sale: the dragons’ storybooks, as discussed here
Dragons Next Door has a Landing Page – and on LJ.
The neighbor girl Juniper had taken to reading to Baby when she came over to sit with the hatchling, which she was doing with pleasant regularity. While Baby’s brain was not nearly developed enough to comprehend the stories – at this stage of life, a hatchling was primarily an eating-and-growing machine – the Smiths approved of the idea. Even now, the hatchling was learning, collecting information. The more Juniper talked to the child, the more language skills would develop.
They were, however, curious about the stories she read. So many of the stories humans and other small creatures told about dragons were nothing more than echoes of their own fears and flaws. Would some of that seep in to Baby through the reading? Juniper’s family seemed fairly rational beings, for small creatures, but they were still small creatures.
The little thing was a bit intimidated around them – biologically, humans were supposed to be afraid of predators who could eat them in a couple gulps, after all – so they didn’t try to listen in when she was there, in Baby’s nursery, but when she left her storybook behind, they pounced eagerly on the opportunity to peruse it.
The stories they found inside – beautifully illustrated in pastels – were different from the tales they remembered from their own childhood, although, to be fair, those they remembered had been held up as examples of why small creatures could not be trusted. This one portrayed a juvenile dragon (the colors were wrong, but detailed points of biology could be forgiven) and a young human, together with a presumably-also-juvenile pixie (with the tiny races, age could be very hard to determine) on a grand adventure together, searching for some device called the MacGuffin, which appeared to be a plaid ruby.
Turning the pages carefully with their foreclaws, the Smiths agreed that it was a very nice children’s tale, and suitable for Baby, if some of the message was to inadvertently sink in. Wanting to repay the favor Juniper was doing, they searched in their vault for an appropriate story to share in return.
They ended up finding what they wanted in Cxaidin’s hoard of childhood books. Left carefully visible, so-casually set on the human-sized table Juniper’s parents had provided, the tome was nearly as big as the table, a wide, brightly-hued volume with both binding and pages of leather (paper burned) colored with plant and insect dyes.
The story, one which Cxaidin remembered warmly, told of a juvenile dragon (the colors, in this case, were correct) learning how small and tiny creatures were different from dragons, and how best to interact with them. The Smiths noted, a bit ruefully, that the colors on both the human and the pixie seemed a little bit off, and the portrayal of the orc was outdated and stereotypical. The interaction between the young dragon and the young human, however, they deemed worth sharing.
The happy ooh and aaah noises Juniper made when she discovered the book made them very pleased indeed with their choice.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/83050.html. You can comment here or there.
30 Days Meme – A selection of others’ work
Unhappy Catgirl! lilfluff‘s Day 27 (orig. meme) story., Trapped.
kc_obrien has started the second meme; my favorite of his three so far is, unsurprisingly, The Price of Insolence .
rix-scaedu has already written the first 10 days of the new meme; I think this one is my favorite, but it’s hard to tell.
minor-architect is doing a 30 days of Haiku version; this one made me cry a bit, but in a good way.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/82926.html. You can comment here or there.
New Crowdfunding Project: “Nightlights” Book Sale
Originally posted by ysabetwordsmith at New Crowdfunding Project: "Nightlights"
Check out “Nightlights” by chrysoula. It’s a paranormal YA story with action/romance.
Also:
recessional is having a book sale. Lots of good stuff there!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/82393.html. You can comment here or there.
House Foo :-)
Yesterday (note: while the Finger Lakes of NYS are buffered by being, a, surrounded by water and b, northerly, the heat wave the US is experiencing did push the high into the 90’s yesterday), Spouse!man and I scraped, sanded, and painted three window frames, a utility door, and the front door frame on the-house-that-isn’t-quite-ours-yet.
We’re on the final lap, I think; we’re handling things that have to be corrected for the mortgage to be approved: rug (argh), boiler issues, paint, and handrails. And then we get to start the REAL fixing up!
It’s going to reach 100 today. I may put off that walk.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/82092.html. You can comment here or there.
Arguments with one’s self
This is a short story in response to rix_scaedu‘s commission in my Giraffe Sale: More of Ceinwen & Thornburn.
Addergoole Year 9, next in order with the rest of them – Dark Corners is a good pre-read to this for context.
By Tuesday, Ceinwen was beginning to get used to the collar, or, at least, to the way it felt around her neck. She didn’t find herself reaching up at every opportunity to touch it, and the movement it made, shifting with every move of hers, didn’t cause sudden, unwanted reminders of Thornburn and his arrogant, knowing smile.
She hadn’t yet gotten used to the way everyone’s eyes seemed to go to her throat, though. Sometimes it was other Ninth Cohort students, their own necks circled by something, looking lost, or still bare-necked and looking like they’d missed the memo. Sometimes it was upperclassmen and teachers with sympathetic looks.
The worst, however, were the other looks, the vaguely disappointed ones, especially from someone like Taliesin, who she’d really liked, who’d invited her to a poetry reading next weekend. Somehow, she didn’t think Thornburn would let her do that. Worse, she doubted the invitation was still open.
She didn’t mean to start crying about it – she’d been so good, holding in the tears, not letting Him see how upset he’d gotten her. She could have kept going, except the leer that Curry gave her as she walked into the Dining Hall, the whispered insinuation that he couldn’t wait until Thorn was ready to share her.
She fled before anyone could tell her to stop, relieved that He hadn’t thought to give her any orders about lunch yet, and kept running, choking on the tears she was trying to hold back.
She fell into the girls’ room almost accidentally, looking for a place to hide, somewhere He wouldn’t come looking. The bathroom seemed to fit the bill perfectly, so she slipped in, hiding in the last stall, and let the tears come.
She was his. She was a possession, and everyone knew it. Everyone who looked at her knew he’d marked her, caught her. From the leers some people were giving her, everyone thought they were having sex. And his friends thought, eventually, He’d get bored with her and share her with them.
Share her. The sobs bubbled up, and escaped, one after another. Things got shared. You lent your favorite CD, your favorite pants. Not your girlfriend. Not your friend. She gulped air, trying to calm down, and kept sobbing.
It felt as if every tiny thing since Saturday morning was coming out all at once. Basalt, who she’d thought was an okay guy, grabbing her arm and yanking her down a hole. Curry laughing and leering at her. Thornburn’s gentle, calm voice. “I’ll protect you. Be mine.”
His smirk, afterwards, as he showed her exactly what kind of power he’d given over her. The box where he’d locked a quarter of her stuff, then another quarter of it when she complained about the first bunch. The collar around her neck. The weight of it when she was naked, pressed against his clothed body for sleep. The darkness of his shadows, even in her dreams. The shadows all over this school. The light she’d shined on all of it.
She caught the next sob, swallowed it, and stood, slowly, remembering that light, and the warmth of it. She scrubbed at her eyes and stretched her back, talking herself into some semblance of calm. Curry was an ass, yes, but Thornburn had said, over and over again, that he Kept her (at least in part, and the “in part” worried her a bit) to protect her. Did she really think Thornburn would share her? Did Curry think it would happen? Or was Curry just trying to freak her out, to see how much he could affect her?
She scrubbed at her eyes in the sink, trying to work her mind around the uncomfortable feeling of being a possession, and the even more uncomfortable part of her that wanted to accept it, to accept Thornburn’s rule. She was so tangled in the internal argument, she didn’t notice the door had opened until, glancing in the mirror, she saw a face behind her.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/81915.html. You can comment here or there.