tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85223938919952145512024-02-24T12:24:04.854-06:00Smugglers & JugularsMy writing blog, covering pretty much anything and everything I am interested in.Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.comBlogger153125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-91864949783824418702022-09-25T19:32:00.004-05:002023-04-29T06:54:47.962-05:00New Release Coming in time for Halloween!<p><span style="font-size: large;">Hello All you Cute Bats & Mittens!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have a new short story coming out, just in time for Halloween! It's part of a Wolfsinger Publications anthology titled </span><b style="font-size: x-large;">Never Cheat a Witch</b><span style="font-size: x-large;">.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJ92ziU-ipVBxEw3Gs46--_fqKguA45yrhDdfxkqlX_rK2EsGA5hgfQ1EssjmYYpzVcTr43SBVVXpRJDAEYWPuiqacSOzxjoJCj1rpScxOA-G9ByQwIVKNUOg7bx56Dmty1-oqjps7ACGYU-crYfXZbhFyAGX8g6xQ2huPOOmLyCjTs9HzLIB-fGW/s2048/306914762_10160699869854057_5085044187978357450_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1347" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJ92ziU-ipVBxEw3Gs46--_fqKguA45yrhDdfxkqlX_rK2EsGA5hgfQ1EssjmYYpzVcTr43SBVVXpRJDAEYWPuiqacSOzxjoJCj1rpScxOA-G9ByQwIVKNUOg7bx56Dmty1-oqjps7ACGYU-crYfXZbhFyAGX8g6xQ2huPOOmLyCjTs9HzLIB-fGW/w421-h640/306914762_10160699869854057_5085044187978357450_n.jpg" width="421" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The prompt for the anthology revolves around the idea inherent in the title: cheating a witch is a bad thing to do. I took that idea and wrote a story about a village that needed help in dealing with a witch they had wronged. Titled Isabella the Eldridge, the short story is filled with magic, werewolves, magical trees, faithful villagers, loving grandparents, and witches that hold grudges.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Here is a piece: </span></p><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Amidst the waste, slop, and vile run-off, wrapped up in old rags, looking like nothing more than another pile of refuse. The Old Blind Woman. They say she gave up her sight to punish someone who wronged her. A last, desperate trick. What-ever the truth was, it was plain to see she was a witch with nothing left to lose.<br /><br />I crouched down beside her. A rat screeched nearby, annoyed at my presence no doubt. “Megarith?”<br /><br />The pile of rags shifted. Moved. Muffled, a coarse voice whispered, “She needed the babe. Powerful magic in a babe.”<br /><br />“What?” I asked.<br /><br />“You were about to ask me what she needed the baby for. Or have we reached that part yet?” The Old Blind Woman yawned, stretched. “Dark magic.” She unfolded her legs and lifted a rag off her head. I saw the stories were true. Deep scars surrounded empty sockets. What a mess. The patchy remains of her thick eyebrows danced like hairy warts as she grimaced and scrunched her face. “After being roasted in an oven, together with a few other savories, and then ground to powder and ashes, she would use the material in certain spells and potions.” She sounded as if she recited a treasured family recipe for pot roast. “Or she could have wanted to transform the baby into something else.” A wrinkled hand reached up and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.<br /><br />I fell back on my butt, stunned.<br /><br />The rat chittered and squeaked.<br /><br />“Yes. He should know better. Never cheat a witch,” she cackled. “They will make you rue the day and the night for the rest of your short, pitiful, life. Trust me, I should know.”</span></b><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There are a lot of other talented writers in the anthology as well. I'm looking forward to reading their stories. The titles look intriguing. Below is a table of stories and authors:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Acts of God, by Ian Kitley</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Skulls on a Shelf, by Jodi Rizzotto</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Better than Gold, by T.W. Kirchner</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Law of Spells, by Lea Storry</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Subscribed, by Louise Zedda-Sampson</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">No Age Restrictions, by Danielle Mikals</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Fair Trade, by Dominick Cancilla</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Dream Weaver, by Wendy Harrison</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Can’t Be Done, by Elle Hartford</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Dwarves, Donks, and Death, by Brian MacDonald</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Mike and His Three Lives, by M.A. Lang</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Book and Key, by J.L. Royce</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Isabella the Eldridge, by Frank Montellano</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Hex, by Clark Sodersten</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Paper Mage, by Sandra Unerman</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Controlling the Kudzu, by Bailey Finn</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Friar and the Turnip, by Christopher Wortley</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">How to Steal a Spell Book, by Mirabelle Poppy</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Frog and the Princess, by Jean Martin</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Marigold at Midnight, by Tyree Campbell</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Learning Something Useful, by Joyce Frohn</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Night Work, by Rose Strickman</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Breaking Down a Cursed Sandwich, by Ray Daley</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Paybacks a Witch, by Harriet Phoenix</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">For those interested, my title has a deeper meaning not mentioned in the story. Isabella the Eldridge is a mangling of Isabella the Elf-Bridge. The title witch is friendly to elves, functioning as a sort of connection between our world and theirs. If I ever write more of the tale, there is plenty to work with. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All for now,</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Frank</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-33927222480709768672022-04-02T09:18:00.008-05:002022-08-28T17:10:19.323-05:00Descriptions & Time Capsules<span style="font-size: large;">It's been a quiet bit of time on this blog, nearly a year, but for good reasons. I've been busier than usual and reflections and expansions of the written sort have taken a back seat. <br /><br />So let's catch up on some news, eh? I have two new stories out! One is my typical fantasy fare, good stuff and I'm proud of it. The other is a piece of realistic fiction. Also good, and also proud of it. You can find both stories in the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/8522393891995214551/3392722248070976867#">Time Capsule anthology</a> released by Wolfsinger Publications.<br /><br />The first recent story is called How the Wish was Won. It was based on a selection of time capsule contents. While there is no one single protagonist, there is a brave and gallant knight, a possessed soldier, an unpossessed soldier, a mysterious underground creature, and a woman of the woods, along with some elvish lore and an ancient outpost in the deep forest. <br />Here is an excerpt: <br /><br /><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">Five seekers quested for their Heart’s Desire. One from the east, one from the west, and two from the south.<br />The fifth seeker, you ask? No cardinal direction guided its way. Its dark path twisted and turned in the unlit underground. And yet it too quested, the same as the others.<br /></span></b><br /><div><script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js?client=ca-pub-5008135905106147"</div><div> crossorigin="anonymous"></script></div><br />The whole idea of hiding something away fascinates me, especially with the recent find of not one but two time capsules beneath a civil war statue scheduled for movement elsewhere. Time changes, changes more than anyone can predict. The stories hidden inside this anthology were written with this idea in mind, that things change over time. Authors were given lists of time capsule contents to choose from, with no clues as to why the items were originally sequestered. With a list and nothing else, they came up with fantastic stories that bear a tangential tie with the original depositors, as discovered by the notes from the capsule content authors at the end of the story.<br />For those who wish a peek behind the writing curtain, my two stories evolved in very different ways. For How the Wish was Won, I ran the story by a few readers, including my youngest daughter. An interesting note is that all readers so far have come away with a different idea of the ending! What will you find when you buy it?<br /><br />Here is another sneak peak at How the Wish was Won:<br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><br />Sanders and Palmer dug into the black earth, occasionally stopping to vomit. The ground came away in shovelfuls. The men looked at each other with insane glee. They would find the treasure!<br />With a wounded retch of rotted roots, the earth caved in, throwing them into a hollow nestled among the roots of the trunk.<br />“What in God’s name?”<br />They coughed and hacked as the air cleared. By the sunlight they noticed a small tunnel leading away.<br />“Drag marks. Look. Someone got here first.”<br /></b></span><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: large;">My second story in the anthology is The Importance of Things, a piece of realistic fiction. Unlike the first story, this one came fast and furious. Deadlines are great at inspiring lazy writers and Carol Hightshoe is a wonderful motivator! Although not fully noted in the story, it is located in a particular place within the continental United States, and I hope readers from the area will recognize it. The people at the heart of the story are not real though. They are, like most literary inventions, fictitious blends of various characters I've been or have had the misfortune and/or good grace to stumble across. I hope I did them justice.<br />Here is a sneak peak at The Importance of Things:<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><br /><span style="font-size: large;">“Daddy found it in the backyard.”<br />“Yes, well. That’s where I buried it. Forgot about it back there.”<br />They both stared at it.<br />“What is it?”<br />“It is a time capsule.”<br />“Time? Like a clock?”<br />“Don’t they teach you nothing in schools these days?”<br />“I’m only in second grade,” Tommy said with a pout.<br />“No excuse.” His voice held an edge. Tommy cringed, but Grandpa Tom only ruffled his red hair.</span><br /></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />What did Grandpa Tom bury in the backyard? Buy the e-book and find out! You can find both stories in the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/8522393891995214551/3392722248070976867#">Time Capsule anthology</a> released by Wolfsinger Publications. Other authors in the anthology include Deby Fredericks, John Lance, Dana Bell, and Ryan Kinkor.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbn0szufGvQjTmP746NdYFj7DN_0b3FwEfVNtqm-2az3EzgpytZpNnqxEhVYBa28reb-Mh5_29eqfroxCpw-gAiaNRrkw6gaGd1kKwPztMUEWKPtXShwhX-VuhXvWcaOCqq-xf58ZGBQGnrA_TN91hK8PEhJ43hzasm4afGc5lIgDWf3yWtJDidedf/s1735/time%20capsule%20cover.jpg" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1735" data-original-width="1149" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbn0szufGvQjTmP746NdYFj7DN_0b3FwEfVNtqm-2az3EzgpytZpNnqxEhVYBa28reb-Mh5_29eqfroxCpw-gAiaNRrkw6gaGd1kKwPztMUEWKPtXShwhX-VuhXvWcaOCqq-xf58ZGBQGnrA_TN91hK8PEhJ43hzasm4afGc5lIgDWf3yWtJDidedf/s320/time%20capsule%20cover.jpg" width="212" /></a><br /><br /><br />****<br />Never have I read a more accurate description: <br /><br />"One woman makes a din, two women a lot of trouble, three an annual market, four a quarrel, five an army, and against six the Devil himself has no weapon."</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mad Griet, from the Flemish. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Must use this somewhere in my writing.</span><br /></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-91839998554972565622021-04-25T17:24:00.005-05:002021-04-25T17:29:47.848-05:00Inspirations & Motivations<p><span style="font-size: large;">A writer friend of mine recently asked two questions: </span></p><div><span style="font-size: large;">1. Where do you get your inspiration and your motivation from?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">2. What do you do with bits of inspired writing not long enough for a story? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Inspiration and motivation can be found all around us. Movies for instance. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Dr. Zhivago</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Dr. Zhivago, a story of Russia in the days of the Revolution, wrapped around a love story. But it starts off so dark. In the opening scene of Dr. Zhivago, one of the characters says, "There were children in those days who lived off human flesh, did you know that?" </span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhsVhkFKnyM_eoyJhKhrVCoxAjJgEwsF9cMC-gjp3d4tysG6UZ05uYkxLFUY3QfhYPprElWzh6ezu-GYxwqCTkjBmmHcsD-B9XSfGOqzx36PMFOMcWMseFC_qijorN7VxqSt7QF6objc/s1000/dr_zhivago.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="1000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDhsVhkFKnyM_eoyJhKhrVCoxAjJgEwsF9cMC-gjp3d4tysG6UZ05uYkxLFUY3QfhYPprElWzh6ezu-GYxwqCTkjBmmHcsD-B9XSfGOqzx36PMFOMcWMseFC_qijorN7VxqSt7QF6objc/w640-h360/dr_zhivago.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span>Who would write a love story that starts off like that? A guy named Boris Pasternak, who was awarded the Nobel Prize but couldn't go get it. His life was something else, worthy of its own read. For example, the Russian government threw his girlfriend in the gulag for three years because they didn't like what he was doing.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b><u><span>Writer Stuff:</span></u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Inspiration and motivation can even come from simple knowledge. Like the following: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>MacGuffin: (n)</b> An object or device in a movie or a book that serves merely as a trigger for the plot. I recently watched another classic: <i>The Maltese Falcon</i>. The statue at the heart of the plot is a perfect example of a MacGuffin. The whole movie revolves around this statue. Definitely inspirational. The Lord of the Rings anyone? Another series set around a MacGuffin. You can do it too!<br /> </span><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBhl5AG9DmRqL2EU6cpum-wz0fMowCmxV5ojcVqP-A9yqRhxoyf_vhPhONJiSPYs6OU5OzsJ0unUMEei3jltHRv1fk2W9lxOMOeMnH5TuK1uZO0YPtJDtpMVEVCYJEkPFrOF5W_l8OrY/s2048/maltese+falcon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaBhl5AG9DmRqL2EU6cpum-wz0fMowCmxV5ojcVqP-A9yqRhxoyf_vhPhONJiSPYs6OU5OzsJ0unUMEei3jltHRv1fk2W9lxOMOeMnH5TuK1uZO0YPtJDtpMVEVCYJEkPFrOF5W_l8OrY/w400-h225/maltese+falcon.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://obviousstate.com/" target="_blank">Obvious State</a>:</b> A website with some excellent literary quotes and fantastic accompanying pictures. One of my favorite, which I was unaware of</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>, was this gem: <b>[Exit, pursued by a bear].</b> That's a stage direction from William Shakespeare's <i>A Winter's Tale</i></span><span>. I won't get any money if you follow the link, I just think it's a good site for motivation. Writers should want their writing to be good enough to be turned into a work of 'art art' to mirror the work of 'word art' it truly is.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicve2VeXhyG2X2V6lb2jTZeJMD7AbWR8ZLwlsz2M7wOA3BdU4dz4VHaPMeQH8JIiffg5AbPdsYkv5pqdj-UdJOoDJcPh5qlVqF9MLwKkyBPv4avl-1_HL3wuq5jjyTrVLG6VijazJB5Yk/s1835/52P-SHA-pos.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1835" data-original-width="1468" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicve2VeXhyG2X2V6lb2jTZeJMD7AbWR8ZLwlsz2M7wOA3BdU4dz4VHaPMeQH8JIiffg5AbPdsYkv5pqdj-UdJOoDJcPh5qlVqF9MLwKkyBPv4avl-1_HL3wuq5jjyTrVLG6VijazJB5Yk/w512-h640/52P-SHA-pos.jpg" width="512" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>French Opera</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I absolutely enjoy having friends from all corners of the globe. It exposes me to so many things I would never come across. Like this: a small snippet of song, from one of my writer friends overseas (Howdy AJ Jon!). I reviewed a piece of work by him and some others and they inserted the following lyrics at the beginning of their story, which was about a girl who loved the oper</span><span style="font-size: large;">a. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">passons nos jours dans ces vergers, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">loin des amours et des bergers,</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">passons nos jours, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">passons nos jours, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">loin des amours et des bergers</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />[translated from the French]</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Let's spend our days in these orchards, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">far from loves and shepherds, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">let's spend our days, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">let's spend our days, </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>far from loves and shepherds<br /></span><br /></span></div></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>So simple, so powerful. Though I am a little confused on why the shepherds need to be distanced from, lol. The lyrics are from </span><i>Pomone</i><span>, considered to be the first truly French opera. Composed by Robert Cambert, </span><i>Pomone</i><span> premiered in 1671 during the reign of Louis XIV. You can get some more information and hear the song <a href="http://cestpartiapprenons.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-first-french-opera-pomone.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I guess the lesson here is to cultivate friends from far afield, and with different interests than yours, besides writing of course.</span><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrPty580vnRc0Sv6ZdzTV55ZLuuzXSO-ATWvD0kQa-EOYR5KMuN8bJ-HssYyTh_p_af_U3TkPWEfCqoGaIl8wY4UYLSuGTXlmIgLRFfsX9o3i-273MwpC9Ck9msc1TUW0GRXwsfMybHI/s535/Pomone.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="353" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrPty580vnRc0Sv6ZdzTV55ZLuuzXSO-ATWvD0kQa-EOYR5KMuN8bJ-HssYyTh_p_af_U3TkPWEfCqoGaIl8wY4UYLSuGTXlmIgLRFfsX9o3i-273MwpC9Ck9msc1TUW0GRXwsfMybHI/w422-h640/Pomone.jpg" width="422" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;">That'll do Pig. That'll do.</span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>And lastly, one of the most powerful motivators comes a job well done. The following is a missive from one of my recent editing jobs (slightly edited for anonymity): </span></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />"I started reading the first six chapters. I cannot believe how you have transformed my book. It is so much better! It just tells me how much I have to learn. I will finish reading it this week.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I would just like to say thank you so much. If the rest [of the book edits] are as good as the first six chapters, I am going to be a very happy man. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I really can’t thank you enough. Let me know when you want the final payment and I shall send it to you. I look forward to working with you on my future books.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">A very grateful [Author]</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I am grateful to be able to work with such wonderful authors. He is a huge motivation for me to do my best! </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Now go forth and write!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-46-BRGXml57od_k4FeN2hr2Z-40MQJeortRBsXVRYPBKtpHntvKvuZA-oaapxOhuXCCwtvHRKryEe7BMPBe0Io9JYMkwiqoLwanoC1XBlurkDZr8AdGVqNgn3IclFPRSnhoY-ohBbo/s625/thatll+do+pig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="625" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-46-BRGXml57od_k4FeN2hr2Z-40MQJeortRBsXVRYPBKtpHntvKvuZA-oaapxOhuXCCwtvHRKryEe7BMPBe0Io9JYMkwiqoLwanoC1XBlurkDZr8AdGVqNgn3IclFPRSnhoY-ohBbo/w640-h336/thatll+do+pig.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-36907190426007979122021-01-31T16:27:00.004-06:002022-04-02T09:22:04.579-05:00Dave Owens: How to Tickle the Muse<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Howdy All,</span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Here, today, we have for your perusal another fine bit o' advice for you to chew on. Dave's the man. Learn his lessons well and you too shall prosper with the words. My only regret is it's not an epistle. Heaven knows I yearn for a good one of those. Ah well, maybe next time. Until then, feast your eyes on...</span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Libre Baskerville; font-size: x-large;">How To Tickle
The Muse</span><br />
</b><span style="font-size: large;">By</span><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b><span style="font-size: large;">David Alan</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Owens<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Unless you do the work, the world will never see your
vision. -Jocko Willink</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">Today I wrote and revised for 3 hours. My usual activity
for early morning. Not much actual writing today, but I scoured one of my
stories in progress. I reset the anticipated plot, rearranged the sequence,
researched clothing worn by the characters, pasted the images into my story for
future reference, and deleted much of the material already written. I am never
satisfied, nor should you be satisfied. When a writer becomes satisfied, he's
made his first mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrvDKL0VkxS3zTFPXRNrhqS7_DHRDo984Un4q7-4Ct7Z4Sl0YJtDtRqO5JuMjgtIBeH7mGlexVM4nI_IpleT3ai1uhFuwLR1LdlYoIoihWD-XUrb15V7T5-9Y882pS9D349yHgVdfJCs/s451/tickle+muse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="326" data-original-width="451" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrvDKL0VkxS3zTFPXRNrhqS7_DHRDo984Un4q7-4Ct7Z4Sl0YJtDtRqO5JuMjgtIBeH7mGlexVM4nI_IpleT3ai1uhFuwLR1LdlYoIoihWD-XUrb15V7T5-9Y882pS9D349yHgVdfJCs/w640-h462/tickle+muse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Traits a good writer must pursue with vigor: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Writers must be
great observers. </b>We watch people, their actions, the little things about
them, how they dress. We wonder whether their clothing fits properly. We store
the data in our memories, because somewhere in the future, we know we will need
the persons we watch to create memorable characters in our stories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">Does the person limp, walk with the aid of a crutch? Does
the person strut the walk of self importance – keep him, you'll need him. Does
the woman wriggle her hips when she walks, or is it the tall walk of
confidence. The boy on the street. Is one of his front teeth missing? What is
the appearance of the child's clothing. Readers will remember the child because
of his missing tooth. Anything less than focused observation will cause the
writer to write stick figures or cardboard characters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">Appearance and physical traits reinforce the character for
the reader's pleasure. The same elements drive “Show Don’t Tell.” Ask yourself
this question: “Do I love the character, or did I write them flat?” Love your
antagonists as much as your heroes. Know all of your characters – write depth
of character, and not poor images copied from movies we've seen. Create
original characters. Originality is what sells.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We must become
great listeners:</b> To listen, instead of speaking, teaches us many things. We
learn dialect nuances, speech patterns, rhythm patterns, oddities – a
"lisp" for example, might well be usable in a story. Then we must
write the "lisp,” because unlike movies and films, we must convert a characters'
vocal traits into written words. Not an easy task, and one of the weaknesses I
always find when I edit. No matter what your pursuit, when you listen carefully
you learn. Turn your mind into a recording device. Store the information you
hear in your memory. When one injects himself into learning, the power of the
lesson vanishes. Ask this question when you write dialogue: “Does my dialogue
read like real people speak? Do they all speak in the name manner? What
variations do I employ to differentiate them from each other?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Writing is art: </b>The story is the core of our art,
but it isn't art. Dynamic characters aren't art. Beautiful scenery isn't art.
Plot isn't art, but a road map. The smart writer knows the map is not always
the correct map. Why? Because a plot rarely survives the scrutiny of an editor.
Create a solid Map and revise it often. Discard if the map doesn't take the
reader where it should. Find the treasure, and don't randomly search for
alternate routes. Find the true map during revision.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">A simple change in a character can disrupt the plot. The
process requires delicacy not force. When you force the story, you will always
fail. I'm living proof.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>Writing is
craft:</b> Writing is also something more. We strive to master the craft, but
we are practitioners in a craft for which there are no masters. Great stories
require a balance between art and craft, but unless the two merge, the story
may flounder. This is the point where edit and revision reside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve talked with writers who think an edit is revision.
Well, sort of, but revision is far more difficult than an edit. Proper revision
is a destructive process. Destroy and rebuild.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What is an edit? </b>Edits involve a broad scope of
knowledge. Grammar, word choice, and punctuation rule the edit. Some forms of
edit involve story only. Line edits probe deep into the words and structure,
and revision hovers alongside the editor, but the line edit is not a revision.
Complete the laborious spelling and grammar check. Solid inspection is a must.
Technical elements. Examine the technical aspects of your writing. Edit without
mercy. Edit with vengeance. If you don’t, an agent or publisher will know. Most
editors and agent can recognize the quality of a manuscript in just eight
lines. Eight lines. Those first few lines tell the agent/editor everything they
need to know about your style. Is your style strong, does it help create a
great hook, or is it dependent upon common weak techniques copied from other
writers?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Revision.</b> Now comes the time to “kill darlings.” In
revision everything is “fair game.” In addition to the ever-present editing
factors, revision digs deeper. The process is intense. Question everything to
make sure the writing, characters, setting, plot, plot structure, grammar and
punctuation is the very best you can do. It’s a tough process and consumes much
time if you revise properly. Avoid shortcuts. Get it right and you’ll find that
elusive “satisfaction” <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">—</span>maybe. Does what you’ve written
reveal the true story you intended? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Originality: </b>Vibrant writing holds the reader.
Hemingway said, “Motion is not action.” What’s the difference? Sometimes the
line that separates the two is narrow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Examine this sentence: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’ll get some,” he said going to the refrigerator,
opening the door, taking out a bottle of milk, and opening it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">Everything after “he said” is motion and an awful dialogue
tag. Stick with <i>said</i> or <i>asked</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Action version.</b> Notice how word count and interest
increases.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 7.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hey.
Get me some milk,” Carol said. “I put a fresh bottle in the fridge yesterday.”<br />
Jack wanted to say, “Get it yourself,” but he changed his mind. Like an
obedient servant he went to the refrigerator and opened the door. The pungent odor
of rotted vegetables assailed him. “Yuck. When’s the last time you cleaned this
thing?”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Just get the milk and quit your
whimpering.”</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 7pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">(<i>Did
you notice the second sentence Shows instead of Tells?</i>)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Don’t revise for yourself. Revise for the reader.
Always for the reader.</b><br />
Your first reader may be an agent, editor, or publisher. Your story reflects
who you are as a writer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t skimp<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">—</span>give ‘em a five course meal
with dessert. Cheesecake anyone?</span><br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Lobster; font-size: x-large;">-Dave Owens</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /><br /></p>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-69257590417697890432020-12-31T22:01:00.001-06:002020-12-31T22:01:17.911-06:00The Year of Bad and Lorelei<p><span style="font-size: large;">31DEC2020 - 01 JAN 2021</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It's typical to do an end of the year post, right? Well, I haven't posted in a little while, so not only is this a 2020 wrap-up, but it also contains a few other subjects that have been waiting for me to publish. It's a good thing I haven't posted in a bit, means I've been busier than usual.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>The Year of Bad</u></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This year...ugh. Started out pretty normal and then, the news started talking about a novel coronavirus. From China. I remember in March, listening to an African-American say, "I'm not worried about COVID, my Auntie told me Black people don't get COVID." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Little did we know back then. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I wasn't able to go to my normal work for several months, in fact all the way to summer. </span><span>COVID</span><span> meant <i>more work</i> as I adjusted to working from home, at least trying to. Learned a few new tricks, not bad for an old dog.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Summer was a time of worry instead of relaxation and renewal. What would Fall bring? And then when I was able to go back to work, I had to wear a mask all day. That was, is, a lot. It's not 'wear a gas mask for 8 hours' bad, which I've done before, but it is an extra distraction. Try talking through a mask for seven hours a day. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We still have toilet paper in the garage, and Clorox wipes, just in case another shortage hits. Kobe is gone. Our Christmas Tree ornament this year is a "dumpster fire" ornament. How appropriate.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In authoring news, I re-released a short story this year (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07J66G4BZ/" target="_blank">The Legacy</a>), an expansion of a previous release. One of my favorite stories actually, and one I hope to revisit again in the coming years to write a sequel or a prequel. I had so much fun expanding it that I might do the same for a few other stories. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have a few short story commitments to fulfill at the beginning of the year, one about dragons! Another one is about a time capsule, and a third one I can't say anything about yet, but it's right up my fantasy alley. I'm real happy to work with a publisher I've worked with before.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The short story compilation I am planning on releasing is still in the works, but my energies this year have been focused more on editing. I did several editing jobs for various clients this year, and am finishing out the year working on two more of them. All met with satisfaction and actually earned me more than my writing did this year. They were a lot of work. But of course editing is writing as well, as the editing jobs included all levels of editing, from straight proofing and copy editing all the way to d</span><span style="font-size: large;">evelopmental editing, structural editing and marketing material/blurb writing. I even did some decent graphical work. I really have to get back into that. I love graphics. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A piece of graphic work that probably won't see the light of day anywhere else (from The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer): </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRd56B0EeFr1lnhxUSEIuA40q_Bp-xeA-z9XqKjUIpfyMTI5xkqFL-Px6YnormFNXyMtDSw18LTLd_z26ailRT-Ned5HCaoPabRAE3ql-6dNA8iuGoeMsIO6azZY6dmDa10XnksGZRqc/s1920/Chaucer+Scrollwork.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="1920" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRd56B0EeFr1lnhxUSEIuA40q_Bp-xeA-z9XqKjUIpfyMTI5xkqFL-Px6YnormFNXyMtDSw18LTLd_z26ailRT-Ned5HCaoPabRAE3ql-6dNA8iuGoeMsIO6azZY6dmDa10XnksGZRqc/w640-h448/Chaucer+Scrollwork.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">And yes, it's all spelled correctly, at least for the English of that time. It's about as legible to us today as textspeak would be to Chaucer. I can't imagine what English will look like in a hundred years' time.</span><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So some good news and bad news. Good news, authoring/editing revenues are up. Bad news, not much of my own material released this year. I hope to release more next year! Come on 2021!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A bright spot of news in the Year of Bad! <a href="https://www.wolfsingerpubs.com/" target="_blank">Wolfsinger Publications</a> is ramping up publishing again! The owner, editor, publisher, wearer of all hats, Carol Hightshoe, is amazing and wonderful. She has some calls for anthologies out, and is releasing several books this year!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Another indie press outlet, one I haven't worked with yet, is </span><a href="https://www.blackharepress.com/" target="_blank">Black Hare Press</a><span>. They have several interesting anthologies out, but some of them are only available to authors they have published before. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Piece of secret knowledge for today: Dryads become air elementals after the death of their tree...They fly away fly away fly away free. Anyone who tells you otherwise is One of the Unknowing...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Picture for today: A scene from the ancient tale of Tristan and Isolde. Various spellings, languages and details aside, it is a tragic tale of love and betrayal. One of my favorite adaptations is actually a science fiction version of Camelot in the future that incorporates the doomed pair (</span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Camelot-3000-Deluxe-Mike-Barr/dp/140121942X" target="_blank">Camelot 3000</a><span>)! Here the two title characters are getting ready to drink a love potion together. For those interested, this picture is free to use, according to the Wikimedia commons. </span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZnQSYvEztR0uwEafEUXKc9FdiMUWPYeFgKZyWt_nJGjCFvnxKoU8Vvx2Ad_CZLjBkXc159u5POPnIde-bVwqpbvK8wVeDQO0RLOo0IrqERFcpYQAIendtbxcdTKVCEEJ-Y_rx91pCIk/s2048/John_william_waterhouse_tristan_and_isolde_with_the_potion.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1503" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZnQSYvEztR0uwEafEUXKc9FdiMUWPYeFgKZyWt_nJGjCFvnxKoU8Vvx2Ad_CZLjBkXc159u5POPnIde-bVwqpbvK8wVeDQO0RLOo0IrqERFcpYQAIendtbxcdTKVCEEJ-Y_rx91pCIk/w470-h640/John_william_waterhouse_tristan_and_isolde_with_the_potion.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">No resolutions for the coming year. Bring it on!<br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Love to all, hope your New Year is in all ways better than the old year! Salud!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-53875732655946590312020-10-24T20:39:00.001-05:002021-10-09T10:24:59.897-05:00Light is the Shadow of God<font size="5">I don't talk religion on here or anywhere else, so bear with me. Not going to really talk religion, but I'm going to get super close as I discuss a few words from an old philosopher. </font><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">Consider the following: </font></div><div><font size="5"><b>"Light is the Shadow of God." </b></font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">Plato, Greek philosopher from Athens said that. About 2,400 years ago, along with a bunch of other cool things.</font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">That God is so bright his shadow is what illuminates our world. Shooting stars, sparks from flint, lightning, the flame of a lowly match, sunlight, moonlight, bio-luminescence, any source of light is a glimpse of the shadow of God? </font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">That which what we see by is His shadow. That is pretty deep. Perhaps Plato believed people could not withstand the direct sight of God. I wonder what he would have thought about Marie Curie's discovery? Further emanations from God?</font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><b>Light is the Shadow of God.</b></font></div><div><font size="5">As writers, what can we get from this? </font></div><div><font size="5">Two things:</font></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font size="5">One, I think it talks to the process of showing not telling. Writers don't need to describe everything in detail, leave something to the imagination. Light is the Shadow of God. </font></li><li><span style="font-size: large;">Two, as writers we need to stretch our imaginations, use words and meanings for purposes and definitions they weren't meant for but that lead the reader to where you want them to go. Light is the Shadow of God.</span></li></ul></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="5">~*~</font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Picture for today is from Anthony Chapel, just outside of Hot Springs, Arkansas. I love this photograph. It is a delicate, abstract interplay of lines, light and shadow, and as a place where people come to be bonded together in the eyes of the Lord, I assume His direct emanations are in there too somewhere. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">We just can't see them.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">But they are there, nonetheless. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Look for them. Not with your eyes, for your eyes are unable to see, but with your soul. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">Contemplate. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Light is the Shadow of God...</b></span></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDa69s-jkCYTqS86s1ZqqtEHoXfyEL1OEuybEDDcpDxi8eHkQpxVOQR7rs0gaSEO9tYTk31TUUnj1JvvqHqANuKrFJz0mSn_xDUyBQUcZf0MFTydAvj-F7LWp1HPUUEhCZpz4E-HaFjAU/s2048/IMG_7631.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1422" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDa69s-jkCYTqS86s1ZqqtEHoXfyEL1OEuybEDDcpDxi8eHkQpxVOQR7rs0gaSEO9tYTk31TUUnj1JvvqHqANuKrFJz0mSn_xDUyBQUcZf0MFTydAvj-F7LWp1HPUUEhCZpz4E-HaFjAU/w445-h640/IMG_7631.jpg" width="445" /></a></div><br /><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">See, told you I wasn't going to talk about religion, but I did get really close.</font></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-59975210140847668912020-09-19T18:27:00.007-05:002021-03-13T07:49:48.324-06:00Songs in Stories - Stories in Song: Long Lankin<span style="font-size: large;">Howdy all you cool cats and kittens! Yes, I watched it, my wife made me, lol.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><b>Songs in Stories, Stories in Songs</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Something a little different today. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I stumbled across this old gem whilst wandering around the internets late one night. It's a ballad called Long Lankin. The most common versions are about a stonemason who takes revenge on a Lord for not paying the mason for his work. The mason enters the dwelling he built, sometimes through a secret catch or entry he designed, and lures the Lady downstairs by poking her infant over and over again with a needle, causing him to scream in pain of course. The wet nurse caring for the child calls for the madam to come down because she can't get the baby to stop crying. The mason then kills both the baby and the mother. He is punished for his deeds, usually through hanging, along with the wet nurse. Nothing more is said of the Lord whose refusal to pay caused all of this mess in the first place.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">That this was a popular ballad, sung by women no less, is something of a head-scratcher for me. Why would women want to sing a song about a treacherous nurse, the killing of a Lady, and hangings?</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">There are other notable versions and histories of the ballad out there, such as the roots of this ballad may have something to do with old rituals of 'blooding the foundations' of new buildings with a sacrifice, and the mason in some versions is a leper who used a silver basin to catch the blood of the baby as a possible cure for his disease. But I get ahead of myself... </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Here is the ballad, sung by the band <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSUH6YPM9oI" target="_blank">Steeleye Span</a>, for your ears to feast on. Lyrics below the lace picture, which I promise will make sense down the road.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXnErMBpsTEjxS21wSi9VH-Z51fOwE8k7xXFW63mUBfcxlz20RSTYPrd7e7cCSOjPh_ALaM0qaU6LYm85ucSeqHRHOA1-JRYQNoKhX8XomzDjlqqHYZkR8IsqNya-H-KuALtD48Nw5RUc/s2048/Lace_Its_Origin_and_History_Real_Duchesse.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1806" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXnErMBpsTEjxS21wSi9VH-Z51fOwE8k7xXFW63mUBfcxlz20RSTYPrd7e7cCSOjPh_ALaM0qaU6LYm85ucSeqHRHOA1-JRYQNoKhX8XomzDjlqqHYZkR8IsqNya-H-KuALtD48Nw5RUc/s320/Lace_Its_Origin_and_History_Real_Duchesse.png" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Long Lankin</u></span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span face="">Said my lord to my lady, as he mounted his horse:</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"Beware of Long Lankin that lives in the moss."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Said my lord to my lady, as he rode away:</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"Beware of Long Lankin that lives in the hay."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"Let the doors be all bolted and the windows all pinned,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And leave not a hole for a mouse to creep in."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">So he kissed his fair lady and he rode away,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And he was in fair London before the break of day.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">The doors were all bolted and the windows all pinned,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Except one little window where Long Lankin crept in.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"Where's the lord of this house?" Said Long Lankin,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"He's away in fair London." said the false [wet] nurse to him.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"Where's the little heir of this house ?" said Long Lankin.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"He's asleep in his cradle," said the false nurse to him.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"We'll prick him, we'll prick him all over with a pin,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And that'll make my lady to come down to him.'</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">So he pricked him, he pricked him all over with a pin,</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And the nurse held the basin for the blood to flow in.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"O nurse, how you slumber. O nurse, how you sleep.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">You leave my little son Johnson to cry and to weep."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"O nurse, how you slumber, O nurse how you snore.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">You leave my little son Johnson to cry and to roar."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"I've tried him with an apple, I've tried him with a pear.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Come down, my fair lady, and rock him in your chair."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"I've tried him with milk and I've tried him with pap.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Come down, my fair lady, and rock him in your lap."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"How durst I go down in the dead of the night</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Where there's no fire a-kindled and no candle alight?"</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"You have three silver mantles as bright as the sun.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Come down, my fair lady, all by the light of one."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">My lady came down, she was thinking no harm</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Long Lankin stood ready to catch her in his arm.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Here's blood in the kitchen. Here's blood in the hall</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Here's blood in the parlour where my lady did fall.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Her maiden looked out from the turret so high</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And she saw her master from London riding by.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">"O master, O master, don't lay the blame on me</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">'Twas the false nurse and Lankin that killed your lady."</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">Long Lankin was hung on a gibbet so high</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">And the false nurse was burnt in a fire close by.</span><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: "roboto condensed", verdana, sans-serif;" /><span face="">There are many versions of this song, once used by European lace workers in the 18th century as a 'lace tell', a tune to keep their fingers fiddling in correct cadence. The version above is from <b>The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs</b>, by Williams and Lloyd. The list of songs inside can be found <a href="https://mainlynorfolk.info/lloyd/books/penguinbookofenglishfolksongs.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Upon further diving, I discovered a few other possible meanings for the words of the song and came up with an interesting story idea. What if the song were a hidden lace pattern? See if you can follow the crumbs as I weave together true facts and fiction and create a story from a song, but not the one you hear...</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The name Lankin (in some versions the name changes to lambkin and other names which further muddle possible meanings) can be tied to Lanking pins, which are pins that have a conspicuous head, placed along the foot and the head of the lace in order to keep a firm edge. There are also Long Toms, which is a name for general purpose pins. Could the name Long Lankin be a combination of these two terms, and meant to tell a lace worker what pins to use? All without a non-lace worker's knowledge? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hyEaTbRCou1exUJ0VHjLh-nzq_vnjpQ4hXGAqJGrPyMf8hnUHE923I4q_NzTiLi9s2KztN0G9SwaP87b_U-C2OlChFaYzH5XKwVXObJBH7muqage8ejewMQIx5dHjC5d-6LWg6jTIpc/s600/whites-heritage-lace-table-runners-hl-1600w-s-64_600.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3hyEaTbRCou1exUJ0VHjLh-nzq_vnjpQ4hXGAqJGrPyMf8hnUHE923I4q_NzTiLi9s2KztN0G9SwaP87b_U-C2OlChFaYzH5XKwVXObJBH7muqage8ejewMQIx5dHjC5d-6LWg6jTIpc/s320/whites-heritage-lace-table-runners-hl-1600w-s-64_600.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The whole ballad then becomes a hidden lace pattern. Start working on the 'building', maybe some fundamental lace pattern that all lace workers would know. It has an lower and upper floor, so maybe it has two main portions or patterns? Then the lace worker stops at a certain point and 'asks for payment' (the main pattern is stopped and the lace worker switches to something else, maybe takes a break, maybe uses a different type of thread, starts a frill pattern or a simple pattern known as the Cheapskate). </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">No payment is forthcoming, so we sneak in (start a new lace that interlaces with the main base pattern at a certain point) and 'poke the baby' over and over (not sure what this would correspond with, maybe some very delicate or intricate work at the heart of the pattern or along the bottom portion of the main pattern). The wet nurse on the main floor (a specific lower portion of the main pattern such as a rose or design) calls the Lady down (maybe Lady refers to a rose or design that's fancier than the wet nurse, and calling the Lady down means attaching a portion of the upper part of the lace pattern with the invasive stitching)? </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Can you see the story and lace pattern coming together? Other key words in the ballad can direct the lace worker to add certain flourishes or details. I am not sure what this pattern creates, but I could see it being used in a story somewhere as a way for a seemingly harmless lady creating something plot-advancing.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">When writing tunes for your own manuscripts, keep in mind that they should do something more than entertain musically. Does the song move the plot along? Does it provide background, world-building, or another way to dump information? As long as it serves some function, then go ahead!</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">And now I got to get on this hidden lace story! </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Happy writing to all!</span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-3110332291564198382020-08-04T19:16:00.007-05:002021-03-20T17:41:25.976-05:00Tuberculosis versus COVID-19<font size="5">04 AUG 2020</font><br /><font size="2">[for those who care about this sort of thing, this was also put out on my FB page as well. I decided to include it here for wider coverage]. Sorry in advance for yelling...</font><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b><font size="6">Tuberculosis (TB) vs Covid-19</font></b></div><br /><font size="5">I've seen too many shared posts about this. So let me see if this former science teacher can spread some truth...</font><br /><br /><font size="5">There are posts going around saying "why are we shutting down the world for COVID-19 and not for TB?"</font><br /><br /><font size="5">SHORT VERSION: You should worry about COVID-19 way more than TB. How much you worry about COVID-19 is up to you. A little over five hundred TB deaths in the US for 2017. COVID-19 US deaths in the last seven months: 159,000 and counting...You do the math...</font><br /><br /><b><font size="5">*******************************************************</font><br /></b><br /><font size="5">Some TB data: About 1.5 million people died from TB in 2018. That's a lot! This works out to more than 4,000 deaths a day due to TB in 2018. So how come we're all up in arms about COVID-19? Why not shut down the world for TB?</font><br /><br /><font size="5">TB, if untreated, has a mortality rate of 45%! OH NO!</font><br /><br /><font size="5">What's the mortality rate of COVID-19 you ask? Well, the easy answer is COVID-19 is too new to nail down the mortality rate. We don't know exactly how many cases there are, for several reasons. For example, not everyone is getting tested before/after passing away. Some reports estimate mortality rates for COVID-19 anywhere from 1.5% to 20%, with 20% being the super high range of the estimates for Wuhan, China, where the virus first showed up. Until we get more accurate numbers for who does and doesn't die from COVID-19, we won't be able to nail down the mortality rate for COVID-19 for a while yet.</font><br /><br /><font size="5">But how about this to scare you a bit? The CDC is already pretty much guaranteeing COVID-19 is going to be one of the TOP TEN causes of death in the US for 2020. L.A. Country has already said this as well.</font><br /><br /><font size="5">FYI: Here are the top 15 causes of death in the US for 2017 (lots of bad things on the list to watch out for -TB is not one of them):</font><br /><font size="5"><br /><br />1. Diseases of heart (HEART DISEASE) 647,457 deaths</font><div><font size="5">2. Malignant neoplasms (CANCER)<br />3. Accidents (unintentional injuries, OOPSIES)<br />4. Chronic lower respiratory diseases 160,201 deaths</font><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>[current COVID-19 deaths in US is right here...]</b></span></div><font size="5">5. Cerebrovascular diseases (stroke) 146,383 deaths <br />6. Alzheimer disease<br />7. Diabetes mellitus (diabetes)<br />8. Influenza and pneumonia (FLU)<br />9. Nephritis, nephrotic syndrome and nephrosis<br />(kidney disease)<br />10. Intentional self-harm (SUICIDE)<br />11. Chronic liver disease & cirrhosis (some by over-drinking)<br />12. Septicemia (blood poisoning)<br />13. Essential hypertension and hypertensive renal<br />disease (hypertension, HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE)<br />14. Parkinson disease<br />15. Pneumonitis due to solids and liquids (LUNG INFECTIONS)<br /><br />TB, if untreated, has a mortality rate of 45%! Super deadly you say! BEWARE! But TB, unlike COVID-19, is not only PREVENTABLE, but it is also TREATABLE. WHO data says global success rate for people who started TB treatment in 2018 was 85%. The 45% mortality rate is for people who don't get treated for it.</font><br /><br /><font size="5">So, TB, if untreated, is technically way way deadlier than COVID-19. Nearly half of the people with active, untreated TB disease may die, much more than even the highest mortality estimates for COVID-19.</font><br /><br /><font size="5">So, how come we don't shut the world down for TB? Well, we have treatments that work for TB, even the drug-resistant varieties. Right now there are no proven treatments for COVID-19 except supportive treatment, however there are many trials underway right now that may lead to workable vaccines and care regimens.</font><br /></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-59039458463765839342020-07-28T18:43:00.004-05:002021-02-20T05:55:21.106-06:00New Story - Thieves' Oil<font size="5"><span>28 AUG 2020</span><br />
<br />[I started this post in May, but events, pandemic and otherwise, pushed it to the back burner until now...]<br /><br /></font><div style="text-align: left;"><font size="5"><span><b>Starting off this post with a pair of quotations: <br /></b><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font size="5"><span>*Author <b>Charles Godfrey Leland</b>: "<b>...witchcraft, like the truffle, grows best and has its raci[e]st flavour when most deeply hidden.</b>"</span></font></li><ul><li>What a great way to conjure up an image through comparison.</li></ul></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Lactantius</b> (an early Christian author who became an advisor to the first Christian Roman emperor, Constantine I): “<b>Devils so work that things which are not, appear to men as if they were real.</b>”</li><ul><li>What a great way description from back in the early beginning of the Christian religion.</li></ul></ul></span></font></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><font size="5"><span>New Story: What with all the news of the current pandemic, all the daily updates of confirmed infected, </span><span>the dead, and the treated, why not a new story about a plague? Or even an old story made new? Sure, why not. If I can write it fast enough maybe it will be a popular distraction during this time of social distancing. [EDIT: Yeah, the story is not being written fast enough! It was actually forgotten until I looked at this draft]</span><br />
<span><br /></span><span><b>Imagine...</b> The pathways of the city at night, like the day, were empty, abandoned. By law and lust for life, no sane person was on the streets. But there, in a dark alley, one of the shadows moved. A figure, short and lumpy, slinked along. </span></font></div><div><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div><div><font size="5"><span>At a clank, the figure froze, and returned to a careful circuit, treading a methodical path through and among the deadliness enveloping the city toward an unknown objective. The figure stopped at a darkened threshold littered with an unmoving body. The short figure reached down, rifled through the garments. Gloved hands reached into pockets, withdrew items and stashed them away. A silver necklace joined other items lifted. The thief rolled the body over, when suddenly the presumed corpse doubled over and coughed!</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>The thief jumped back,</span><span> whipped her arm in front of their face, inhaled the aroma clinging to her sleeve and prayed for protection. </span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>The cough echoed down the street. Footsteps in the distance announced the approach of the city guard. She tried to hide, to get away, but to no avail. All the surrounding doors and windows were locked and barred.</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>She was caught and brought before the magistrate. During the trial, she confessed to other robberies. </span></font></div><div><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div><div><font size="5"><span>[Need to think of some reason for the trial to talk about/focus on her other crimes. Maybe they need to go rescue her child? The abandoned child draws more attention to her case.]</span><br />
<span><br />During the trial the magistrate comments on her situation. "How, by the Grace of God, were you not stricken ill from handling the dead and the dying?"</span></font></div><div><font size="5"><span><br /></span></font></div><div><font size="5"><span>Her answer? "Thieves' Oil, your Honor."</span></font></div><div><font size="5"><span><br /></span></font></div><div><font size="5"><span>One of the police involved in the capture remembered the smell about her, acrid, and stinging a bit to the eyes.</span><br /><span><br />The magistrate inquired, and the thief's effects were brought forth. Inside a satchel, with a leather thong to secure it to the wrist, was an aromatic mixture of herbs. A small tonic bottle was also found, containing herbs soaking in a strong-smelling liquid bath.<br /><br /></span></font><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The aromatic vinegar preserved me from the influence of contagion."</span><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><font size="5"><span><br /></span></font><span style="font-size: x-large;">The magistrate gave the thief a choice. "Tell us the secret of your </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">concoction and I will grant some leniency."</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br style="font-size: x-large;" /><font size="5"><span><!--more--></span><span><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbPVOrA0jeiV_NkbtPNmKvOsvaldbZuOyvWseU4-b7l4yJ5-ZNPM0sdlcDSqExA95ehs73AwEgmT7mUk3wVthFKGWf24ewItnRkeGqqnkXWAUmYb5bi07HOtOcaxGwTxeR_V_5n40gzU/s512/four+thieves+DTbPBst-.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbPVOrA0jeiV_NkbtPNmKvOsvaldbZuOyvWseU4-b7l4yJ5-ZNPM0sdlcDSqExA95ehs73AwEgmT7mUk3wVthFKGWf24ewItnRkeGqqnkXWAUmYb5bi07HOtOcaxGwTxeR_V_5n40gzU/w205-h205/four+thieves+DTbPBst-.jpg" width="205" /></a></div><span>Where did this story start exactly? I came across a post about <b>Thieves' Oil</b>, which I had heard about at one time or another in the past, but never knew anything about. Definitely did not know why it was called Thieves' Oil. So I dug a little, came across some intriguing information, and then ran with it. </span><br />
<span><br /></span><span><b>Thieves Oil:</b> (also known as Marseilles Vinegar, Vinegar of the Four Thieves, Seven Thieves' Oil, etc...) </span><br />
<span>Rumoured to be worn by a group of French thieves (numbers vary, but usually four) as protection from illness while they were stealing from the sick and dying victims of the Bubonic Plague, the Black Death. </span><br />
<span><br /></span><span>Evil vapours were thought to cause some illnesses and the thinking was that the evil vapours could be stopped by other vapours, such as this liquid concoction. There were different recipes (listed later in this post for those interested).</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>"The aromatic vinegar preserves us from the influence of contagion."</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>When they were caught, the magistrate gave the thieves a choice:</span><span> divulge what the concoction was that protected them in order to receive a lighter sentence than death, which I assume is anything short of death.</span><br /><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span><u><b>FORMULAS</b></u></span><br />
<span>For those interested, here are some of the formulas given for the Thieves' Oil:</span><br />
</font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9a/55/cf/9a55cfbe6d0b89f06c4daa673b765ce3.gif" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="246" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9a/55/cf/9a55cfbe6d0b89f06c4daa673b765ce3.gif" width="328" /></a></div><ul>
<li><span><font size="5">Clove, rosemary, vinegar, and other botanicals</font></span></li>
<li><span><font size="5">Formula of Vinaigre des quatre voleurs (vinegar of four thieves): Fresh tops of common wormwood, Roman wormwood, rosemary, sage, mint and rue each ¾ ounce, lavender flowers 1 ounce, garlic, calamus aromaticus, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg each 1 drachm, camphor ½ ounce, alcohol or brandy 1 ounce, strong vinegar 4 pints.</font></span></li>
<li><span><font size="5">In the Edinburgh Pharmacopoeia there was contained a somewhat similar but weaker preparation, made with diluted acetic acid (distilled vinegar), in imitation of the celebrated Marseilles Vinegar, or Vinegar of the Four Thieves (Vinaigre des Quatre-Voleurs; Acetum quatuor Furum).</font></span></li>
<li><font size="5"><b>Marseilles vinegar:</b><span> a concoction of vinegar (either from red wine, white wine, cider, or distilled white) infused with herbs, spices or garlic believed to protect users from the plague.</span></font></li>
<li><span><font size="5"><b>The 'original' recipe:</b> Take three pints of strong white wine vinegar, add a handful of each of wormwood, meadowsweet, wild marjoram and sage, fifty cloves, two ounces of campanula roots, two ounces of angelic, rosemary and horehound and three large measures of camphor. Place the mixture in a container for fifteen days, strain and express, then bottle. Use by rubbing it on the hands, ears, and temples from time to time when approaching a plague victim. </font></span></li>
<li><span><font size="5">Another recipe called for dried rosemary, dried sage flowers, dried lavender flowers, fresh rue, camphor dissolved in spirit, sliced garlic, bruised cloves, and distilled wine vinegar.</font></span></li>
<li><span><font size="5">Modern-day versions of four thieves vinegar include various herbs, sage, lavender, thyme, and rosemary, along with garlic. Additional herbs sometimes include rue, mint, and wormwood (I believe you can find Four Thieves Vinegar or its equivalent in some European stores).</font></span></li>
<li><span><font size="5">It has become traditional to use four herbs in the recipe—one for each thief, though earlier recipes often have a dozen herbs or more. It is still sold in Provence.</font></span></li>
</ul><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><span><!--more--></span><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div>
<div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4r8S8Nvn4eHoQCkVWl_eFpOCw7IG0fiSG8pEmqYniHceqczH8-T61-FOW3sDc87Jdv614BHV1s_X3R9AD1Xfs6NaLZg5E_-BSDWBEPZF7yG09FLK4jDpg7QddhHpuSAb0VLbFvCNrLg/s508/thieves-woodcut.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="508" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4r8S8Nvn4eHoQCkVWl_eFpOCw7IG0fiSG8pEmqYniHceqczH8-T61-FOW3sDc87Jdv614BHV1s_X3R9AD1Xfs6NaLZg5E_-BSDWBEPZF7yG09FLK4jDpg7QddhHpuSAb0VLbFvCNrLg/w400-h236/thieves-woodcut.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><font size="5"><br /></font></b></div><div><font size="5"><b>History: </b><span>This vinegar composition is supposed to have been used during the medieval period when the black death was raging to prevent catching this dreaded disease. </span><br />
<span><br />In Toulouse, during an epidemic of plague 1628-1631, four thieves were arrested when robbing infested people. The four thieves revealed their “secret potion” against the promise to stay alive if they divulged, but were hung anyway. <span>It is on this account that the liquid is sometimes called ‘Le Vinaigre des quatre Voleurs.’ </span><br /><br />Other sources say the concoction was used before the plague of Marseilles, for it was the constant custom of Cardinal Wolsey to carry in his hand an orange, deprived of its contents and filled with a sponge soaked in vinegar impregnated with various spices, in order to preserve himself from infection, when passing through the crowds which his splendour of office attracted. The first plague raged in 1620's, whereas Wolsey died in 1531, so nearly a 100 years before. (paraphrased from a Paris Pharmacologia, 6th edition London, 1825).<br /><br />In 1720, when Marseilles got hit by the plague, once again, thieves used the same preparation. They drunk the concoction and rubbed their bodies with it, before committing their crimes. It is believed, that the recipe was posted on a Marseilles’ wall during this episode.<br /><br />In 1748, this elixir was recognized for its efficiency against diverse diagnoses and sold in pharmacies for the longest time as a natural antiseptic. Since then, 4 thieves’ vinegar has been used against different forms of contagions. It is still sold in stores today.<br /><br />Plausible reasons for not contracting the plague was that the herbal concoction contained natural flea repellents, since the flea is the carrier for the plague. Wormwood has properties like cedar, as an insect repellent, as aromatics such as sage, cloves, camphor, rosemary, and campanula. Meadowsweet, although known to contain salicylic acid, is mainly used to mask odors like decomposing bodies.</span></font></div><div><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7QrFSZYDUZg36dB16vh4DSSvSvlbUZbwL5Fkpw6VIN2xNEp0NTtHdEA7YciAX81WRzRuj-itF3OORgWPma3J-_3BIBtC6mvZ7HamaCmcFljgizoQsMLrKEzVm_nV_UbN3ofMaw2ubgw/s800/Thieves-Oil-Feature.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7QrFSZYDUZg36dB16vh4DSSvSvlbUZbwL5Fkpw6VIN2xNEp0NTtHdEA7YciAX81WRzRuj-itF3OORgWPma3J-_3BIBtC6mvZ7HamaCmcFljgizoQsMLrKEzVm_nV_UbN3ofMaw2ubgw/w256-h192/Thieves-Oil-Feature.jpg" width="256" /></a></span></div><div><span><div><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div><div><span><font size="5">Lastly, there is the idea that someone named Robert Forthaves came up with it, and his name was corrupted over the years. Forthaves ==> four thieves. So who knows.</font></span></div><div><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div><div><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></span></div>
</div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-71382589936548751932020-07-18T20:09:00.002-05:002020-07-25T11:56:52.050-05:00Through the Lens<font size="5">Well, I just posted a short story in progress, and I was pretty happy with that side of my creativity, so let's do something else. I haven't posted pictures in a while, so here's a post of things I've seen and wish to share with others. </font><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">First set are scenes from a chair. I believe this is slime mold. It was there after a long morning rain and vanished after a day of heat.</font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2xqUlFxp3DEqv7Jq2HbTmQiRKbSNqODz9g6CI_v_8IrXO226Mb1-DhndJQZrAMg5xYfydbdZ2rMs9JGlI_YUBhIqDSZNkAKq8YTFiomuKbU0dnJa5j9ynUnzrF3DBZ-fopcvIrEhAUk/s2048/Orange+Slime+Mold++IMG_7495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="2048" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2xqUlFxp3DEqv7Jq2HbTmQiRKbSNqODz9g6CI_v_8IrXO226Mb1-DhndJQZrAMg5xYfydbdZ2rMs9JGlI_YUBhIqDSZNkAKq8YTFiomuKbU0dnJa5j9ynUnzrF3DBZ-fopcvIrEhAUk/w400-h284/Orange+Slime+Mold++IMG_7495.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlyzt94EZfha1Zf94mPEF3q85W-SOxfdqwYH_MNN_lH5D-r8i3QdL-ICAB7YyM2p7qX8Phvs9LaUiZjYURHdW6MB-sU-iTJ0GPy0aLb0VHFCSp80zOUDveZo2esQjKDp2mcAMSOIjgQY/s2048/Orange+Slime+Mold++IMG_7504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlyzt94EZfha1Zf94mPEF3q85W-SOxfdqwYH_MNN_lH5D-r8i3QdL-ICAB7YyM2p7qX8Phvs9LaUiZjYURHdW6MB-sU-iTJ0GPy0aLb0VHFCSp80zOUDveZo2esQjKDp2mcAMSOIjgQY/w400-h266/Orange+Slime+Mold++IMG_7504.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rxRCgTbBAb9EhwS6jV-BoLruS0WyFzYc2TPnVIgwqxAnzxqiVyNjhcfWw0_oORcsaGtPAVqNEjMEBXFI5pVYNaDHOZXQv0djFDefXxt1uxFgAUnP_L7A3pLBRyltLdeaZeE8OiUoqqE/s2048/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1955" data-original-width="2048" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rxRCgTbBAb9EhwS6jV-BoLruS0WyFzYc2TPnVIgwqxAnzxqiVyNjhcfWw0_oORcsaGtPAVqNEjMEBXFI5pVYNaDHOZXQv0djFDefXxt1uxFgAUnP_L7A3pLBRyltLdeaZeE8OiUoqqE/w400-h381/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7486.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWzudY7xS2gpsXqnHF1eHAJEsnY2Df9w9uAVZV1bgGKVrpOEARydOkGxBFd9Zv_GgBOCY6q9QaHfcmHxFoDwm8P5AycSdMlpvZybfoWAOx-QJXsbw94hRmjG2mDRxPtbikCjbqviC33w/s2635/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1193" data-original-width="2635" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWzudY7xS2gpsXqnHF1eHAJEsnY2Df9w9uAVZV1bgGKVrpOEARydOkGxBFd9Zv_GgBOCY6q9QaHfcmHxFoDwm8P5AycSdMlpvZybfoWAOx-QJXsbw94hRmjG2mDRxPtbikCjbqviC33w/w625-h283/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7509.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYNOqSRPezPFsnDp2tcJ_RNnPkQeEAdxfB3Q1dCRbQCOJgKxLXD6ioerYAyFbKsKPmf7ZLx6ZbCc62QP5B-5XnvQJHsauiEwajQWcN9BpxyamOKXv4VCg8DJe7kUJFP0p06wMgzroXgc/s2048/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1654" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYNOqSRPezPFsnDp2tcJ_RNnPkQeEAdxfB3Q1dCRbQCOJgKxLXD6ioerYAyFbKsKPmf7ZLx6ZbCc62QP5B-5XnvQJHsauiEwajQWcN9BpxyamOKXv4VCg8DJe7kUJFP0p06wMgzroXgc/s320/Orange+Slime+Mold+IMG_7513.jpg" /></a></div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><font size="5">This next set are various creatures found in and around the house. One is my truck spider, an ordinary Yellow & Black Garden Spider that decided my truck bed would make a good home. He's logged some decent mileage and is still there. </font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">The next one is a young heron we think, that thought of using the swimming pool before changing his mind and flying off to greener pastures. In the picture he's standing on the diving board!</font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHCuGT8vB0PoyVLy9qj5roQLwblcbOJpZzxekUCrHo8BLq9dIkqYvIQsTAchiFnXI32qjivbJEfZltVS_z1D3rZKrgOsKi5CRrBoM_5fUuLsRaJZ0WO8neNZnNAj2Bqa8FE-9aPd5BkQ/s2048/truck+spider+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHCuGT8vB0PoyVLy9qj5roQLwblcbOJpZzxekUCrHo8BLq9dIkqYvIQsTAchiFnXI32qjivbJEfZltVS_z1D3rZKrgOsKi5CRrBoM_5fUuLsRaJZ0WO8neNZnNAj2Bqa8FE-9aPd5BkQ/s320/truck+spider+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOs-41BLd0NE8LshTKTVsQ70VpsitC7epcyDpAxZUm26llm2u8Q6QXb1i1gjq5btP-x-LXpN7ORaAyvSAuWRL_2UHkFWZ4yT9Z-oq1QS9m4nWtI0E5AdJDpFRzgalaO8bNDXeoLRA-RM/s1548/Backayrd+Bird+5a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1548" data-original-width="1293" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguOs-41BLd0NE8LshTKTVsQ70VpsitC7epcyDpAxZUm26llm2u8Q6QXb1i1gjq5btP-x-LXpN7ORaAyvSAuWRL_2UHkFWZ4yT9Z-oq1QS9m4nWtI0E5AdJDpFRzgalaO8bNDXeoLRA-RM/w334-h400/Backayrd+Bird+5a.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsolPzwII7FuxyEwcscAXnUFgpuLA4fogLR7IY4dFxnLir1DTzUS9JSqccuBaYQ9yFse4EeWrh-nX0zP6cyXpFdt9g4k7_kWFgH9tEjWq8wND4LjXLFOi-UMM04hyphenhyphenYfREFiXxfB_jBkiA/s2048/Bird+visitor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1773" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsolPzwII7FuxyEwcscAXnUFgpuLA4fogLR7IY4dFxnLir1DTzUS9JSqccuBaYQ9yFse4EeWrh-nX0zP6cyXpFdt9g4k7_kWFgH9tEjWq8wND4LjXLFOi-UMM04hyphenhyphenYfREFiXxfB_jBkiA/s320/Bird+visitor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="5">This guy is a baby Cattle Egret in the neighbor's yard. He started off in our window and then patrolled the neighborhood for a while. Someone said they thought his wing was injured and he was around until it healed enough to fly.</font></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyjLRtrx9rbfKbFIZd5WuZ_GNhogzJ5rxIjEZ1B_b0-w1BoT2zMfQ1Pk3rqkh8eqdZCaXWwQcnHu0ezI8eOVJcHmwiATyHU9JgecpYEBeeWkEArO4keQ-vtUH-Mamq0uYMxO2nfq31c4/s2048/bird+brown+single+good.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="2048" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyjLRtrx9rbfKbFIZd5WuZ_GNhogzJ5rxIjEZ1B_b0-w1BoT2zMfQ1Pk3rqkh8eqdZCaXWwQcnHu0ezI8eOVJcHmwiATyHU9JgecpYEBeeWkEArO4keQ-vtUH-Mamq0uYMxO2nfq31c4/w500-h356/bird+brown+single+good.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="5">Last ones. Here is a lovely little thing that sang his heart out for a gal on another part of the fence. He didn't even mind when I came up to him with my camera.</font></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="5">Here she is...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_KmbLCfY_rF8L58aMutoE1SgeAqPGg8MzVzg2lispzJHvTqvGLLoAPKC-XJRgQoaBud3dwDtiRJYntvaaP710_tSNv9U9r60DprL6xScobbupnPelivEV9p7ezOzB4skue1wc0Z6avU/s2048/bird+brown+single.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="2048" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_KmbLCfY_rF8L58aMutoE1SgeAqPGg8MzVzg2lispzJHvTqvGLLoAPKC-XJRgQoaBud3dwDtiRJYntvaaP710_tSNv9U9r60DprL6xScobbupnPelivEV9p7ezOzB4skue1wc0Z6avU/w500-h335/bird+brown+single.jpg" width="500" /></a></font></div><div><br /></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><font size="5">And then finally the two of them together...</font><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLHqFToMPx4zbJboQcEZJRlkLMoy2yo2d9Fy39Ujqt8xuTZTFKs4hMyAZeZ_kFYG7xETsuISm8fdtz9MPyUcBwTVt0NxjWVYsjvzWhZcTVQwmOaPDniwt9lAtOQokWsetBR6-1F6Vb4o/s2619/bird+brown+small+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="2619" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLHqFToMPx4zbJboQcEZJRlkLMoy2yo2d9Fy39Ujqt8xuTZTFKs4hMyAZeZ_kFYG7xETsuISm8fdtz9MPyUcBwTVt0NxjWVYsjvzWhZcTVQwmOaPDniwt9lAtOQokWsetBR6-1F6Vb4o/w625-h288/bird+brown+small+2.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-78066582347529309222020-07-18T16:18:00.001-05:002020-07-18T16:18:48.842-05:00Sun and Moon, Part II<font size="5">A few months ago, I posted the first steps I took toward a new story. You can find the original post <a href="https://smugglersnjugulars.blogspot.com/2020/05/sun-and-moon.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</font><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">Today I want to share with you where the story is now. So, for your reading pleasure, here is the second step in the evolution of a short story. Rough story first, and then the background knowledge/World rules after that. It is important to set the ground rules before you write the story so you know what you can and cannot do for climaxes, roadblocks, and solutions. </font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">Story: </font></div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /><b>Coronation and Ceremony <br /></b><br />The hermit measured his steps on the long road, leaning on his gnarled cane when needed. His robe was a worn, yellow-ish crème color, though he could easily afford a newer one. <br /><br />Apprentice Caden paced restlessly by his side. His robe was sparkling white. Even burdened by the pack on his back, Caden could have easily gone twice as fast, but he maintained a close distance to Father Barosh, who was also known by his official title, The Senior Emissary of the Sun. <br /><br />Just two week ago, Caden had been apprentice to the third assistant Chandler. His duties had included delivering candles to other temples and merchants, not people. But circumstances changed after the Coronation of the New Sun, and here he was, shepherding the oldest Emissary he had ever seen. It was something of an honor, as this same man had presided over the Coronation. They were now on their way to another. As witness only, this time. <br /><br />“Hurry up, Father. We don’t want to be late!” Other travelers, presumably headed to the same destination, passed them by. Some flew overhead, even though the sun was still above the horizon. It always puzzled the young apprentice how moonpower worked, even though the Sacred Sun was still in the sky. The Chandler had explained to him that it was because the moon was up in the heavens as well. As long as the moon was up there, moonpower worked. Caden looked, but saw no moon in the sky. Only the Sacred Sun. <br /><br />“They won’t start without us, son,” Father Barosh said, interrupting his search. “No need to worry or hurry.” <br /><br />“Where is the moon, Father?” <br /><br />Without looking up from the road, Father Barosh responded. “It is hidden from us. The Ceremony of Moons is always performed during what they call the New Moon, when the moon is hidden in the sky.” <br /><br />“Why?” <br /><br />“Their ways are different from ours, son. While we have a Sun until he loses the Challenge, their rulers can serve again and again, just not continuously. They change as the moon changes, and that includes returning to things as they once were, much like the moon changes yet looks the same.” <br /><br />“But why during the New Moon? Why are they doing it near the same time as the Challenge and Coronation? Why couldn’t they wait?” <br /><br />“Perhaps you will find the answer to your question during the ceremony, young one.” <br /><br />They continued walking. They had ridden much of the distance from the capitol, but the hermit insisted on walking the last stretch of the road. The ceremony would take place in the larger temple south of Trew, the nearest town. <br /><br />The sun was setting as the temple’s outer walls appeared ahead. Caden looked at the Emissary in confusion, unsure, thinking it blasphemous to perform the sacred rights so close to a moon temple, but Father Barosh impelled him to his task with a wave of his hand. A few of the other travelers paused and watched respectfully as the apprentice performed the Farewell to the Sun for both himself and the Emissary. No one joined in. The hermit rested behind him on a boulder. </font><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/cjF1ZZIfT1dvTU7a9H/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="320" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/cjF1ZZIfT1dvTU7a9H/giphy.gif" /></a><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /><br /><br /></font><div><font face="georgia" size="5">Hefting the pack back onto his shoulders, the apprentice and the Emissary continued on in the twilight. People were rushing passed them now, eager to get a good seat for the ceremony soon to commence. <br /><br />As the night grew stronger, it could be seen that the hermit was glowing slightly. <br /><br /> <br /><br />“Welcome honored guests. We are gathered here under the Hidden Luna, to change leadership from one to another. Just as Luna changes, so must we.” <br /><br />Father Barosh, in his official capacity as Senior Emissary of the Sun, bestows the gift to the New Moon Mother as part of the ceremony. Earlier in the month, he had presided over the Coronation of the New Sun. It was a special duty of the Senior Emissary to bear a gift and to witness the ceremonies when they both occur in the same month. <br /><br />Father Barosh and Apprentice Caden witness the peaceful turnover from old moon to new (coronation of the Moon mother). He had been present for the last four change overs occurring at the same time as the Challenge (24 years). [Dialogue here should foreshadow radiation discovery, and deterioration of the relationship between Sun and Moon] <br /><br />***Five years pass*** <br /><br />He ran toward the sunset, toward Death. <br /><br />Witches had flown out of the sky an hour after sunset, when even the last light of the Holy Sun was gone. <br /><br />With no warning they overthrew the defenses and ransacked the temple. They flew among the columns and the rooms open to the air. Amber was depleted defending the temple, but losses among the witches were few. No one expected the witches to attack this temple! There was no cause! It was a quiet place, away from the mainstream, just full of hermits. <br /><br /><b>The Invisible Sun <br /></b><br />He had dangerous knowledge, knowledge that would tip the balance in the Sun’s favor even more. His life was forfeit every night. In order to survive, he must find safe places, and workarounds for not being able to call on the sun in shade or shadow, and later on during the darkest nights. Stolen pieces of amber and sunflower seeds help. Sun magic can only be done while in sunlight. <br /><br />He saw them. Witches in the sky. He ran. As he ran, his mind flashed back to his fever dream. He had been out in the sun too long, become delirious, but in his delirium, he realized that the sun must give out invisible rays that make it through the clouds and other barriers. These invisible rays could be used by those who knew of them. They gave even greater power to the sun mages. This is the knowledge that would cost him his life if the witches and warlocks found him. <br /><br />He comes across a small village, where a mother is ready to give birth. He hides nearby and listens as he recovers and hydrates. <br /><br />“Hurry! It’s almost noon!” <br /><br />The midwife was an island of calm. “Nature must take its course, good sir. We cannot deliver the baby early or late, but only on time.” The hermit nodded, unseen. Countless stories are told of what happens if babies are forcibly born early or late. No power. The Sun does not like being played with. <br /><br />Another male tried to cheer up the expectant father. “Maybe the witch was wrong? We can hope, right?” <br /><br />The father-to-be stared at the stick. The stick’s shadow slowly disappeared. He yelled through the doorway to the midwife, “I don’t care what you have to do but get that baby out now!” <br /><br />“Push!” <br /><br />“Ahhh!” <br /><br />The high-pitched cry of a newborn babe came through the doorway. “Waa! Waa!” <br /><br />“It’s a girl.” He let out the breath he had been holding longer than he realized. <br /><br />His friend sighed. “Ah geez. All that effort for nothing! A girl! During the day even! What a waste.” <br /><br />“Uh-uh.” The father said nothing more as he paced back and forth, waiting to see his new child. <br /><br />“Damn. An Untouched. Maybe you can marry her off?” <br /><br />The father’s face told a different story. “I will love her, of course.” <br /><br />The infant is brought out. He holds the precious bundle in his arms. “She is perfect. Not a boy, but she is already my heart and soul.” He smiled while his best friend scowled. “We will call her Anna.” <br /><br />The hermit wasted some of his power and gave a blessing of invigoration and growth to the new child. She would be powerless, because women were not blessed with power from the Sun, and the moon was not in the sky, but she would be strong and healthy. <br /><br />The Hermit continued running. He hoped to make it to neutral ground. A stone marker caught his eye. It was half-buried in the dirt by the roadside. He rubbed his hand over the carving depicting a bundle of reeds. <br /><br />He was headed in the right direction. <br /><br />He limped along, digging deep into his reserves to find the strength to continue. <br /><br />Shadows appeared in the trees on either side of him. Unnatural shadows. They paced him, angling to intercept him before he reached his goal. <br /><br />He limped faster. <br /><br /> <br /><br /><b>The Place of the Reeds <br /></b><br />He collapsed on the cold stones. <br /><br />The shadows howled, but they dared not touch him now. Defeated, they slinked toward the large temple to the west. <br /><br /><br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sV5S3fV4Ndl0hfZjRvj_ZcUTgk3ILdvRBkGIq3327fRf7Ptq3HxetE2HA869ctN9U9ex8qvSxFOklKWugLG5SVx8aZcqsWMRqHQMtqXvJJ0hHfXa7LgbKJf7mWpxriCqf1EswG48yO4/s1500/Pyramid-of-the-Sun-Teotihuacan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="985" data-original-width="1500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sV5S3fV4Ndl0hfZjRvj_ZcUTgk3ILdvRBkGIq3327fRf7Ptq3HxetE2HA869ctN9U9ex8qvSxFOklKWugLG5SVx8aZcqsWMRqHQMtqXvJJ0hHfXa7LgbKJf7mWpxriCqf1EswG48yO4/s320/Pyramid-of-the-Sun-Teotihuacan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia" size="5">He rested there on the stones, enjoying the chill they brought to his bones. <br /><br />He knew where he was. He was on the Avenue of the Skies. It was a broad pathway of large stones that ran east to west, with a Temple of the Sun at the East end of the pathway and a Temple of the Moon at the west end. Smaller pyramids for the other powers in the sky were on either side of him, lining the pathway between the two large temples at the ends. The Sun temple ruins to his left was larger than all the other temples combined. This was the Place of Reeds, an ancient set of ruins built long ago. <br /><br />The ruins are neutral ground, where meetings used to be held between followers of the Sun and followers of the Moon. The hermit remembered his training. The original builders are unknown but assumed to be Sun worshippers because of the pyramids, which followers of the moon do not build. Many believe that Followers of the Sun built the entire place as a peace offering. <br /><br />The ruins were originally signified by carved images of a bundle of reeds tied together with a cord. The original name has been long lost. It has long been referred to as the Place of Reeds. It is thought that the carvings signified it was a good place for growing food and that many people were welcome. <br /><br /> <br /><br /><b>Eclipse <br /></b><br />The Day mages were charged with anger. “Chase the witches all the way to the ocean if you have to!” <br /><br />First rule of war: Choose the battlefield. They ‘retreated’ toward the shore, toward the ocean. <br /><br />The witches knew. They were in touch with the phases of the moon. They knew what was coming. The Heliomancers only cared that the sun would rise each day. <br /><br />The Old Moon, the Moon Aunts and the soon-to-be Moon Mother led the fight. <br /><br />The water crashed further inland, wiping out part of the solar forces. The moon mother’s knowledge of the tides had helped even the fight. <br /><br />Three more Day mages charged the lines with fire in their eyes. They yelled louder and louder and blew themselves up, taking out a dozen witches on the southern flank. <br /><br />All eyes were drawn toward the heavens. The skies grew dark as the Almighty Sun, the sun that always shines, was blocked and overpowered by the ever-changing Moon. Day turned into Night. The fireballs stopped. Men wept openly and were without power. <br /><br />Did the witches and warlocks manage the inconceivable, stopping Luna in her tracks to overpower the sun? </font></div><div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5aF2EaO_ik2lAe5l8l0Jtwc-D4FEC9UaURlXPLMoYZ5JHGT8cMrejaCGmqqVLKK4ajFw0IN1JzxAVDPjkNIrz7hzlwa4-L6MDPcPOrNitHjUm1h6Itm_Cxc1nOLbwczcR4ekvu-lkyY/s960/eclipse+960x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5aF2EaO_ik2lAe5l8l0Jtwc-D4FEC9UaURlXPLMoYZ5JHGT8cMrejaCGmqqVLKK4ajFw0IN1JzxAVDPjkNIrz7hzlwa4-L6MDPcPOrNitHjUm1h6Itm_Cxc1nOLbwczcR4ekvu-lkyY/s320/eclipse+960x0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /><br /><b>End</b></font><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><span><a name='more'></a></span>As you can see, the story is fleshed out, beginning, middle, and end are in there but still a lot of work to be done. Some of the terms are still in flux, as well as some of the hazards. But the main plot points are there. Now for the background. Some of this has changed a bit, but not by much, just some added details here and there. </font></div><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><font face="verdana" size="5"><br /><b>Background <br /></b><br />Our world back in the day (somewhere around Bronze Age perhaps), but magic exists. Magic is based solely on heavenly bodies, centered heavily around the Sun and Moon as the closest heavenly bodies. There are no other types of magic except those based on objects in the sky. <br /><br />Mages of the other heavenly bodies (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn) are too weak to be major players. They do have some powers though and will be used to reinforce the worldview. <br />Caste system <br /><br />* Highest caste - Day Mages: Men born during the day near specific times. Strong sun magic, no moon magic. Gleaming gold this and that. <br /><br />* Second highest caste - Moondaughters/Witches: Women born on specific nights. Strong in moon magic, depending. No sun magic. Silver this and mirror that. <br /><br />* Low caste - Moonsons/Warlocks: Men born on specific nights. Weak/medium moon magic, never as strong as moondaughters. No sun magic. Some don’t use magic out of embarrassment. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He was born at night.” <br /><br />* Lowest caste - The Untouched: Women born during the day. Weak moon magic if the moon is in the sky. No sun magic. <br /><br />So any family can have children of all caste levels. <br /><br />Two types of rulers, one Sun and one Moon. The sun ruler is kept or changed out by Challenge once a year at the summer solstice. Always male. A popular Sun can go many years without a Challenge, though the Challenge ritual is still performed. Suns rule as long as possible, until they are removed. This leads to a strong Sun who fights off challengers until he can no longer fight them off. They cannot rule again once removed and indeed, some do not survive the end of their reign. <br /><br />The moon ruler, always female, is changed out every tenth new moon for a previous ruler (not the current one) or a new ruler. This results in a rotating set of Moon Mothers and Moon Aunts waiting to become Moon Mother again. The time of the new moon is chosen as the moment for leadership change for ancient, forgotten reasons (because solar eclipses happen only happen during a new moon) <br /><br />Every six years, the Sun and Moon leadership change ceremonies happen at the same time: <br /><br />1st year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. October, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />2nd year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. August, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />3rd year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. June, moon ruler changes. SAME MONTH <br /><br />4th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. April, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />5th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. February, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />6th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. December, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />7th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. October, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />8th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. August, moon ruler changes. <br /><br />9th year: June Summer solstice, Sun changes/stays the same. June, moon ruler changes. SAME MONTH <br /><br /> <br /><b>The Sun: Source of the strongest magics <br /></b><br />The Glorious Sun is male, the wise ones say, since only males can use sun magic. Sun magic was first and is the most powerful. Ancient petroglyphs proclaim the use of the sun by Neanderthals and other species of primitive man. Sun magic can only be performed while the caster is bathed in the sacred Sun’s rays, and is accomplished through prayers to the sacred sun names, dances (always sunwise - to the right), and blood sacrifices (a la Aztecs but not to ensure the rising of the Sun). <br /><br />Sun worshippers are able to call for heat, fire, growth, beginnings, and illumination. Practitioners have been called at various times through history as: Sunservants / Daymages / Solars / Heliomancers / Pyretians? They are the most powerful magicians in the world, during the day. Their most powerful time is during the summer solstice, their weakest during the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some create displays of light at night to show the Sun’s power to banish the darkness. There is a dangerous side to Sun worship, but it is not predominant. <br /><br />How would our world change if sun and moon magic were real? Births outdoor during the day. maybe attempts to influence when babies are born. <br />Spells: <br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font face="verdana" size="5">Heat/Fire: damaging aspect of solar power</font></li><ul><li>Flame shield </li></ul><li>Immolation: Turn themselves into a fireball.</li><li>Energetic: growth aspect of solar power on living things </li><ul><li>Invigorate </li></ul><li>Enlighten: illuminating aspect of solar power </li><li>Can transmit Sun’s rays to another, perhaps to amplify the spell or send rays to someone in the shadows. Sunlight can be beamed from hilltop to hilltop in an emergency, like the war with the witches. </li><li>The Invisible Sun </li><ul><li>Explains why you can feel the sun’s heat even through clouds.</li></ul><li>MORE? </li></ul><br />Hilltops are sacred for sun magic. In some larger places, ziggurats (flat top pyramids) are built to honor the sun god. Clouds are their nemesis, and their worst fears can be found underground. Day mages come from babies born at sunrise, high noon, and sunset. Those born at sunrise are known as Dawners, nooners are strongest, and sunsetters are the longest-lasting. Efforts to influence the timing of births have backfired tremendously, though some families continue to try. Babies influenced to be born early or late end up having no ties to sun power. <br /><br />Pieces of golden amber and sunflowers are sacred. Bits of amber are fallen pieces of the sun and can be used to cast spells. Sunflowers follow the track of the sun after all. Both store sunpower and may be used to replenish solars when they are weak. Amber needs to be recharged through sunbathing and or direct pouring in of sunlight. Full pieces of amber glow with a soft, golden light. <br /><br /> <br /><b>The Moon: Second most powerful magic <br /></b><br />The Moon, second most powerful source of magic in the world. Those who worship the moon call on her for coolness, change, undead and other creatures of the night (bats), tides, hidden things. Undead can only be created at night. There is a dangerous side to moon magic but it is not predominant. Practitioners are called witches and warlocks. Some of the story hook will be from the 'traditional' aspect of the moon followers offset with the uniqueness of the Sun mages. <br /><br />The moon doesn’t play favorites, both men and women can use her power. But her magic is weaker than the Sun’s. Moon magic may be cast while the moon is above the horizon, whether seen or unseen, by men and women. This is a source of much questioning, because there are many days when the moon is in the sky. So, although weaker, moon magic can be used both during the day and the night. <br /><br />Men are the only ones who can cast either sun or moon magic, depending on when they are born (day or night), but women born during the day are powerless, unless the moon is in the sky when they are born. Women may only cast moon magic. <br /><br />Moon magic is accomplished through spells painfully crafted over the years and written down in secretive books of shadows compiled by covens. The moon does not give up her secrets easily. There are a few ‘raw’ spells that can be cast under moonlight, much like solar spells. But the majority of moon spells must be buttressed by the secret recipes of hand positions, prayers, and items (wands, incense burned, etc.). <br /><br />Sensitive moon mages can feel when the moon is in the sky. They are in touch with the phases and the rising and setting times, much more than Sun worshipers, who only watch the stretching of the day in the summer and its shrinking in the winter. This slow oscillation is seen as a constant battle between Day and Night. Babies born during the nights of the full moon and the new moon have power. Babies born at midnight of the full moon or midnight of the New Moon are stronger than others. A baby born during the new or full moon on the night of the winter solstice would be the strongest of all. <br /><br />Silver is sacred to moon people. <br />Spells: <br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font face="verdana" size="5">Darkness / Coolness: Dark/Anti-sun aspect of the moon</font></li><li>Change: Cyclical aspect of the moon </li><li>Undead: create, control, etc…: Night aspect of the moon. Some say this is based on the craterous, damaged aspect of the moon. </li><li>Control Creatures of the night (bats) </li><li>Control water, Influence tides, Tsunami, etc…: influencing aspect of the moon </li><li>Hidden things </li><li>Call lightning </li><li>Read shadows and Moonshadows: weak illuminating aspect of the moon. </li></ul><br /><b>The Other Players (Stars and the Little Wanderers): <br /></b><br />Stars: People born at night sometimes have additional connections to the brightest stars in the sky (think nova’s or comets, etc…). Very rarely will someone be born when a comet is bright enough to be seen in the daytime. If so, and they are male, then they have additional energy connections. <br /><br />The Planets (the Little Wanderers): <br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><font face="verdana" size="5">Mars: War</font></li><ul><li>Aggressive, muscular, </li><li>athletes, warriors </li></ul><li>Venus: Love </li><ul><li>Suave, smooth, pretty boys, girls </li></ul><li>Mercury: Messenger </li><ul><li>Some speed, quick of wit</li><li>runners </li></ul><li>Jupiter: Command </li><ul><li>Largeness? Though unknown why, lol.</li></ul><li>Combination: It is not uncommon for children to be born when one, two, or even three of the planets are in the sky. Even then however, the combined magic is nowhere near that of the Moon and definitely not approaching that of the almighty Sun.</li></ul></font></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-71792485945119827362020-07-05T13:13:00.006-05:002020-07-05T14:17:42.187-05:00Myths and Constellations<font size="5">So at least one of my daughters loves the imaginary patterns of stars in the skies. Enough so that she can spend an evening gazing through her telescope, purring away like a cream-fat kitten. </font><div><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">My favorite constellation is Orion, so one evening as we talked, she asked me to make up a new story about the constellations and the following is the result. Sit back and enjoy, all you stargazers, as I tell you an untold tale of Orion.</font></div><div><br /></div><div><font size="5"><span><a name='more'></a></span></font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiKA5rkADe7ku9yZHDl2jYzKrXq4nAoA61HHKfl5qYlqex0zo6NBJSSQ9NLjiSZGy-U-JjkDQxdWVrjiTqx5tJt3NfJXgDXNGBZVMWCr5Ig7pnwhBvZVLwmF-xsKowMLqBHWekQ_zZ4w/s365/orion-urania.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="255" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiKA5rkADe7ku9yZHDl2jYzKrXq4nAoA61HHKfl5qYlqex0zo6NBJSSQ9NLjiSZGy-U-JjkDQxdWVrjiTqx5tJt3NfJXgDXNGBZVMWCr5Ig7pnwhBvZVLwmF-xsKowMLqBHWekQ_zZ4w/w350-h500/orion-urania.jpg" width="350" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">The mighty hunter Orion is looking for some help. He has come up against an enemy that he cannot conquer. This creature is one of the evils unleashed when Pandora opened the forbidden pithos (jar). It is an ancient evil that the universe was better off without. It is a nameless, thinking piece of pure chaos. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">With no name, it cannot be compelled or commanded. </font></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">With no name, it cannot be bound by magic or divine power. </span></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">It can change shape at will into anything it wishes to and thus slip out of any confinements. IT prefers shapes with horns but is most comfy constantly changing shape from one THING to another. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">Orion has been tasked with returning it to the forbidden box. The mighty hunter battles the nameless thing for forty days and forty nights without success. Every time he gets a hold of it the nameless thing changes shape and slips away. Every time he swings his sword at it, the nameless thing shifts out of the way. He tries fighting it with all the weapons at his command, the club, spear, axe, and bow with no success. What is he to do? <br /><br />Zeus, the king of the gods, gives him some advice. "Strength is not what you need. This formless thing is stronger than you. No matter how keen the edge of your sword, it matters not to a changing monstrosity such as your prey." Zeus tells Orion he needs something to counter the creature's strengths. "A weapon that is not a weapon." <br /><br />Orion ponders Zeus' advice. A weapon that is not a weapon? He tries to solve this riddle but comes up empty. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">Orion visits Zeus' daughter Athena for additional wisdom. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">The Goddess of Wisdom loans him the eye of Fate, the one eye that all three Fates share and allows them to see through time and space as well as the true form of anything living or dead. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">Athena cautions Orion about looking directly at the Nameless Thing with it. "Madness is hidden behind the true face of chaos." </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">He scanned the skies with the Eye of Fate, and looked for the Nameless Thing. <i>I must know it's true form, surely that is how I will win this battle!</i> <br /><br />The power of the Eye fell upon the Nameless thing. Orion glimpsed the true face of the creature and his mind snapped at the churning image. Luckily for him the sight lasted but a moment as the Nameless Thing felt the power of the eye and fled, hiding in the Coalsack. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Orion fell to the ground, senseless. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Licking of Orion's beloved hunting dogs brought him back to his senses. Orion picked up Fate's Eye and dared to gaze through it once more. He turned it toward the Coalsack, that dark blot hiding place of the Nameless Thing. But Canis Major senses the danger and barked, nipping with his teeth before Orion got a good look. Orion scowled at the intervention, but then Orion saw something that caught his attention: he saw the true form of the nearby Southern Cross. It was a shield! </span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4YDs4jj-I3XUlP6a_TvNIO8Rkp_n2q-vJUl0z9JyEBYNF1rmQ4_6MokCq9Y4KsATi-e3u_3gSkJdiU4vMcr9AzkO6SlT383fXWbry9PQ7He2bTABWthmZZmq6vmfR3JtzmeTPEVO5Ng/s236/coalsack+Nebula.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="213" height="576" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4YDs4jj-I3XUlP6a_TvNIO8Rkp_n2q-vJUl0z9JyEBYNF1rmQ4_6MokCq9Y4KsATi-e3u_3gSkJdiU4vMcr9AzkO6SlT383fXWbry9PQ7He2bTABWthmZZmq6vmfR3JtzmeTPEVO5Ng/w520-h576/coalsack+Nebula.jpg" width="520" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">The Coalsack Nebula, a Dark patch in the sky</span></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Orion picks up the shield of the cross, just in time as the Nameless Thing came out of the Coalsack and attacked him! Orion blocked the creature's horns with the shield and the shield held! The Hunter used the shield as a battering force, beating the creature back with this weapon that was not a weapon. Zeus was right!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every bash with the shield freezes the form of the Nameless Thing. IT hates this! It drove the thing mad being locked, even temporarily, into any one shape. It shifted crazily, every second changing shape with the flesh that it can. It tried to flee from this horrid power. Orion lets slip his dog and the two give chase. </span></font></div><div><font size="5"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The game is on.</span><br /><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">Orion grabbed the forbidden box and continued the chase. The Nameless Thing knew fear. It does not want to return to captivity. IT gibbered and wailed, but Orion has found the weapon that is not a weapon. </font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;">He chased the creature in every direction, passing the four corners of the earth before finally trapping IT in Jerusalem, the last corner. and although they shake the earth to its very foundation, Orion uses the shield to scoop the nameless thing back into the forbidden box. <br /><br />Exhausted, Orion hung the northern cross back in the sky near the dark Coalsack, where it waits for the next hero that may need its powers. <br /><br />Orion returned to Zeus with the closed box, triumphant. <br /><br />And that, my lovely youngest child, is the tale of how Orion Captured the Nameless Thing.</font></div><div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /></font></div><div><span><!--more--></span><font face="helvetica" size="5">As an added bonus, here is another story, inspired again by my children. This one is dedicated to my youngest son. May he find a place for his many talents.</font></div><div><font face="georgia" size="5"><br /></font><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><font face="helvetica" size="6"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="708" height="54" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH0BHGT3r4w7cNMbMVRT1mV4tDjbd8HOfSpEoU5w0oRNUx4RCYRoNevxLkuZ04whfHVfYPfN4Q4ho7Z1b4u2YRLaeJ1BkK25M7dRtcCB5LWIrPMZy8TuWvSCnj4bYK3zztYbZl1jHW4v0/w37-h54/o_101_lg.gif" width="37" /></font><font size="5"><font face="georgia">nce upon a time there was a young man, an only child, </font><span style="font-family: georgia;">who came from a long line of warriors. He was built from the best warrior stock. Tall, strong, and lean. </span></font></div></div><div><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br />When he turned fifteen, his father, his uncles from his father's side, his grandfather, and even his great grandfather all came out to see him off to war in defense of the dukedom. <br /><br />They gifted him, the only son, the family sword and armor, both used for seven generations by the men in his family. He waved the heavy blade in the air and listened to all his family cheer him on as he left down the dirt road toward the castle. <br /><br />But once out of sight, he stripped off the armor and hid it in a hollow tree along with the sword. He had no intention of fighting for the duke. He couldn't tell his family though. They would be so disappointed! If he only had a brother who could carry on the family tradition! <br /><br />All he wanted to do, all he ever wanted to do, was build stuff. Barns, houses, rocking horses, anything made of wood. His favorite pastime was carving, but it was always done hidden away. Especially from his father. But as the story goes on it turns out his talents are what turns the tide in the battles to come… <br /></font><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzEghCt2zN3qUxfnJ4a0m-jko2yxlHW7WQ0mjwV_d6HiYTxBVGJKViG89puK0L9UHgMz1Ti6HaVZzADNUWTSrA0OjqgmxFF1KLIo8HC2UdnXzlBaSHsS8T_LCYopfrgD8L7TdAotlBks/s1024/Carvers+Bridge.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZzEghCt2zN3qUxfnJ4a0m-jko2yxlHW7WQ0mjwV_d6HiYTxBVGJKViG89puK0L9UHgMz1Ti6HaVZzADNUWTSrA0OjqgmxFF1KLIo8HC2UdnXzlBaSHsS8T_LCYopfrgD8L7TdAotlBks/w500-h375/Carvers+Bridge.JPG" width="500" /></a><font size="5" style="font-family: georgia;"><br />This is the bridge he designs and builds that wins the battle. He returns home with many accolades from the duke and his family honor intact. His relatives are none the wiser, they only know he returned victorious. Until one day a visitor comes from the castle… <br /><br />"I'm looking for Jacob the Carver"<br /><br />“The Carver! Now that’s a battle name.” <br /></font></div></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-70521098080448308032020-06-04T08:49:00.006-05:002020-07-15T09:56:56.303-05:00Music and Mock Man Press<font size="5"><br /></font><div style="text-align: center;"><span><b><font size="5">Looking from a window above, it's like a story of love</font></b></span></div><b><font size="5"><div style="text-align: center;">Can you hear me?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Came back only yesterday</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm moving further away</div><div style="text-align: center;">Want you near me</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">All I needed was the love you gave</div><div style="text-align: center;">All I needed for another day</div><div style="text-align: center;">And all I ever knew</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Only you</div></font></b><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div><font size="5">Oh how music can transport you! I was watching TV the other day with my wife and a song came on -immediately took me back decades. The song was from the band called Yaz in the states, Yazoo in the UK. Band members were also involved in Depeche Mode, Erasure, and some great solo works. <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvSzjPee89w">Only You</a> </b>was<b> </b>the song that blew the dust off past times, not to take away anything from another great <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5p2k55F-uag">Only You</a></b> song from 1968. Guess it's only fair to post the first two stanzas from The Platter's song as well: </font></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><b><font size="5"><br /></font></b></span></div><b><font size="5"><div style="text-align: center;">Only you can make all this world seem right</div><div style="text-align: center;">Only you can make the darkness bright</div><div style="text-align: center;">Only you and you alone</div><div style="text-align: center;">Can thrill me like you do</div><div style="text-align: center;">And fill my heart with love for only you</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Only you can make all this change in me</div><div style="text-align: center;">For it's true, you are my destiny</div><div style="text-align: center;">When you hold my hand</div><div style="text-align: center;">I understand the magic that you do</div><div style="text-align: center;">You're my dream come true</div><div style="text-align: center;">My one and only you</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></font></b><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="5"><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/dp/B000002KYC">Upstairs at Eric's</a> is the name of the Yaz/Yahoo album. If you like Adele then you will love the lead singer of Yaz, Alison Moyet. They are very much like her. The song is a nice electronic ballad, the rest of the album ranges from the great to the odd but all good. It hearkens back to the days when you searched the 'imports' section of your local record store. Sometimes you were able to buy the singles of your favorites if they offered them for sale. In fact I remember buying a singles of one of Alison Moyet's later solo songs. My how things have changed. </font></div><div style="text-align: left;"><font size="5"><br /></font></div><div style="text-align: left;"><font size="5">Both songs are wonderful examples of writing. The first song is minimal, impactful writing, the second more lyrical and scaffolded. I don't deal with love too much in my writing, not a fan of romance, but it is there of course. How can anyone not write about love? Love is one of the main driving forces in life! The seeking love of adventure, the passionate love between couples, the warmth of family ties. Maybe I should write more romancy stuff. It sells the best for sure. But that's not for me, I'll leave that to others. I write for me first, and hope that others enjoy my words. </font></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><font size="6">Picture for today:</font></b><font size="4"> </font><font size="5">A recent purchase I am very happy with. This one is mine, go get your own! Jason Thompson, also known as Mock Man, drew a great black and white graphic telling of the <b>Dream-quest of Unknown Kadath</b> and a few other HPL stories. The book is available <a href="https://mockman.myshopify.com/products/the-dream-quest-of-unknown-kadath-and-other-stories">here</a>. Follow the link to see beautiful pictures from the interior. The detail on each page is incredible and must be seen to be believed. One reason I love this purchase is I look forward to the day when drawings are made of my stories, whether it is from my own hand, my wife's considerable drawing talents, or from others.</font></div><div style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEl_1KxueTxTnyb8Ol-8IMZm8eEfEWTqmwebEQeml_osCf_HrnC6RqeaUR2VqFSGBDcI1df1oBFhu2XzA2OgU6cofkSRF3XaWi52_xL_OqQRbSJ50OTdZAbW6OZRQMauB-1I3BCjxNPs/s960/Dreamquest+of+Unknown+Kadath.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="HPL's The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath & Other Stories" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhEl_1KxueTxTnyb8Ol-8IMZm8eEfEWTqmwebEQeml_osCf_HrnC6RqeaUR2VqFSGBDcI1df1oBFhu2XzA2OgU6cofkSRF3XaWi52_xL_OqQRbSJ50OTdZAbW6OZRQMauB-1I3BCjxNPs/w360-h640/Dreamquest+of+Unknown+Kadath.jpg" title="Drawn by Jason Thompson" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="5">Mock Man as the great dreamer Randolph Carter<br /></font></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-81434616695092201472020-05-18T15:26:00.004-05:002020-06-25T14:52:32.821-05:00Rambo, Frankenstein, and Romeo & Juliet<font size="4">18 MAY 2020</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Today's post is inspiration for authors out there struggling to come up with new ideas. </font></div><div><font size="4">Point blank: There are no new ideas. </font></div><div><font size="4">Just write what you want to write and do it well! </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><b><u>Short example</u>:</b> Did you know that <b>Rambo</b> loosely follows the story of <b>Frankenstein</b>? Think on that! Looks like Rambo's growling a little bit in the picture below. </font></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_nraJzG4-djZSOrqYBAMQGLk7VHP1ypQ4-RwmWdE2ue2x5ygQyhLT_nUri4vzewL3sOJzs6MhhHyDk7Hu2J2ji_Y52ehiNV22raXs0uIIq9_1VL7TpY7SfO9lE-p9mv9t6HQZbW018s/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Rambo inspired by Frankenstein" border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="792" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_nraJzG4-djZSOrqYBAMQGLk7VHP1ypQ4-RwmWdE2ue2x5ygQyhLT_nUri4vzewL3sOJzs6MhhHyDk7Hu2J2ji_Y52ehiNV22raXs0uIIq9_1VL7TpY7SfO9lE-p9mv9t6HQZbW018s/w400-h245/Rambo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><b><u>Longer example</u>:</b> The classic tale of <b>Romeo & Juliet</b> takes its inspiration from an even older Greek Tale called Pyramus and Thisbe, which itself is based on an ancient tale set in a different city. Pyramis and Thisbe are neighbors that fall in love but are denied matrimonial union by their respective families. Tragedy ensues when they agree to meet but happenstance causes one to believe the other is already dead, which causes the other to commit suicide, which in turn leads to the other one to die as well. Tragic ending. </font><span style="font-size: large;">The stories are not exactly the same, but you can clearly see the inspiration.</span></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">In the earliest tales, their passion and endings are used to explain the color change from white to blood color of the mulberry tree under which they ended their lives. The Greeks were big on stories that explained natural phenomenon (called origin myths or etiological myths). </font></div><div><font size="4">"Why do mulberries change from white to red, Momma?" </font></div><div><font size="4">"Well..."</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Read on to see Ovid's telling, and be inspired by his word choices and turns of phrase.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><span> </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BH8skweqjNAE00NJCovRY6pYpuJj9FXYztMTzHf4V0s3pf3pxJJT3HrQGR4cdxV2yoxPuwgRLfDfYRIQbTW731Xs5x8CVSaB2oQqbkLsELD6tPsvJpmc4T9puF-Ix107ZGV0kMdbwtA/w225-h400/Thisbe_-_John_William_Waterhouse.jpg" width="225" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Thisbe, listening for her beau, Pyramus</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><b><u><font face="georgia" size="6">The Tale of Pyramus and Thisbe:</font></u></b></div><div style="font-size: large;"><font size="4">(From Ovid's Metamorphosis)</font></div><font face="trebuchet"><br /><font size="4">In Babylon, where first her queen, for state<br />Rais'd walls of brick magnificently great,<br />Liv'd Pyramus, and Thisbe, lovely pair!<br />He found no eastern youth his equal there,<br />And she beyond the fairest nymph was fair.<br />A closer neighbourhood was never known,<br />Tho' two the houses, yet the roof was one.<br />Acquaintance grew, th' acquaintance they improve<br />To friendship, friendship ripen'd into love:<br />Love had been crown'd, but impotently mad,<br />What parents could not hinder, they forbad.<br />For with fierce flames young Pyramus still burn'd,<br />And grateful Thisbe flames as fierce return'd.<br />Aloud in words their thoughts they dare not break,<br />But silent stand; and silent looks can speak.<br />The fire of love the more it is supprest,<br />The more it glows, and rages in the breast.<br /><br /></font></font><font face="trebuchet"><font size="4">When the division-wall was built, a chink<br />Was left, the cement unobserv'd to shrink.<br />So slight the cranny, that it still had been<br />For centuries unclos'd, because unseen.<br />But oh! what thing so small, so secret lies,<br />Which scapes, if form'd for love, a lover's eyes?<br />Ev'n in this narrow chink they quickly found<br />A friendly passage for a trackless sound.<br />Safely they told their sorrows, and their joys,<br />In whisper'd murmurs, and a dying noise,<br />By turns to catch each other's breath they strove,<br />And suck'd in all the balmy breeze of love.<br />Oft as on diff'rent sides they stood, they cry'd,<br />Malicious wall, thus lovers to divide!<br />Suppose, thou should'st a-while to us give place<br />To lock, and fasten in a close embrace:<br />But if too much to grant so sweet a bliss,<br />Indulge at least the pleasure of a kiss.<br />We scorn ingratitude: to thee, we know,<br />This safe conveyance of our minds we owe.<br /><br /><br /></font></font><font face="trebuchet"><font size="4"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="1000" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuZCTqgniG0yc2T3__AOZQUTVeYnOpFRE0HR6JdzHN6OEzxFeZ6qxCzMb14Gj9PtPQ4UfuN9tSSWg3UORs7Z-vUveqEAWoymKwWP1C32Q51zy96cE40kCMswST0Fhgzn22PB6_IGJW7o/w640-h332/pyramus+and+thisbe+00290392_001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pyramus and Thisbe conversing through a crack in the wall<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></font></font><font face="trebuchet"></font><font face="trebuchet"><font size="4"><br /><br /><br />Thus they their vain petition did renew<br />'Till night, and then they softly sigh'd adieu.<br />But first they strove to kiss, and that was all;<br />Their kisses dy'd untasted on the wall.<br />Soon as the morn had o'er the stars prevail'd,<br />And warm'd by Phoebus, flow'rs their dews exhal'd,<br />The lovers to their well-known place return,<br />Alike they suffer, and alike they mourn.<br />At last their parents they resolve to cheat<br />(If to deceive in love be call'd deceit),<br />To steal by night from home, and thence unknown<br />To seek the fields, and quit th' unfaithful town.<br />But, to prevent their wand'ring in the dark,<br />They both agree to fix upon a mark;<br />A mark, that could not their designs expose:<br />The tomb of Ninus was the mark they chose.<br />There they might rest secure beneath the shade,<br />Which boughs, with snowy fruit encumber'd, made:<br />A wide-spread mulberry its rise had took<br />Just on the margin of a gurgling brook.<br />Impatient for the friendly dusk they stay;<br />And chide the slowness of departing day;<br />In western seas down sunk at last the light,<br />From western seas up-rose the shades of night.<br />The loving Thisbe ev'n prevents the hour,<br />With cautious silence she unlocks the door,<br />And veils her face, and marching thro' the gloom<br />Swiftly arrives at th' assignation-tomb.<br />For still the fearful sex can fearless prove;<br />Boldly they act, if spirited by love.<br />When lo! a lioness rush'd o'er the plain,<br />Grimly besmear'd with blood of oxen slain:<br />And what to the dire sight new horrors brought,<br />To slake her thirst the neighb'ring spring she sought.<br />Which, by the moon, when trembling Thisbe spies,<br />Wing'd with her fear, swift, as the wind, she flies;<br />And in a cave recovers from her fright,<br />But drop'd her veil, confounded in her flight.<br />When sated with repeated draughts, again<br />The queen of beasts scour'd back along the plain,<br />She found the veil, and mouthing it all o'er,<br />With bloody jaws the lifeless prey she tore.<br /><br />The youth, who could not cheat his guards so soon,<br />Late came, and noted by the glimm'ring moon<br />Some savage feet, new printed on the ground,<br />His cheeks turn'd pale, his limbs no vigour found;<br />But when, advancing on, the veil he spied<br />Distain'd with blood, and ghastly torn, he cried,<br />One night shall death to two young lovers give,<br />But she deserv'd unnumber'd years to live!<br />'Tis I am guilty, I have thee betray'd,<br />Who came not early, as my charming maid.<br />Whatever slew thee, I the cause remain,<br />I nam'd, and fix'd the place where thou wast slain.<br />Ye lions from your neighb'ring dens repair,<br />Pity the wretch, this impious body tear!<br />But cowards thus for death can idly cry;<br />The brave still have it in their pow'r to die.<br />Then to th' appointed tree he hastes away,<br />The veil first gather'd, tho' all rent it lay:<br />The veil all rent yet still it self endears,<br />He kist, and kissing, wash'd it with his tears.<br />Tho' rich (he cry'd) with many a precious stain,<br />Still from my blood a deeper tincture gain.<br />Then in his breast his shining sword he drown'd,<br />And fell supine, extended on the ground.<br />As out again the blade lie dying drew,<br />Out spun the blood, and streaming upwards flew.<br />So if a conduit-pipe e'er burst you saw,<br />Swift spring the gushing waters thro' the flaw:<br />Then spouting in a bow, they rise on high,<br />And a new fountain plays amid the sky.<br />The berries, stain'd with blood, began to show<br />A dark complexion, and forgot their snow;<br />While fatten'd with the flowing gore, the root<br />Was doom'd for ever to a purple fruit.<br /><br />Mean-time poor Thisbe fear'd, so long she stay'd,<br />Her lover might suspect a perjur'd maid.<br />Her fright scarce o'er, she strove the youth to find<br />With ardent eyes, which spoke an ardent mind.<br />Already in his arms, she hears him sigh<br />At her destruction, which was once so nigh.<br />The tomb, the tree, but not the fruit she knew,<br />The fruit she doubted for its alter'd hue.<br />Still as she doubts, her eyes a body found<br />Quiv'ring in death, and gasping on the ground.<br />She started back, the red her cheeks forsook,<br />And ev'ry nerve with thrilling horrors shook.<br />So trembles the smooth surface of the seas,<br />If brush'd o'er gently with a rising breeze.<br />But when her view her bleeding love confest,<br />She shriek'd, she tore her hair, she beat her breast.<br />She rais'd the body, and embrac'd it round,<br />And bath'd with tears unfeign'd the gaping wound.<br />Then her warm lips to the cold face apply'd,<br />And is it thus, ah! thus we meet, she cry'd!<br />My Pyramus! whence sprung thy cruel fate?<br />My Pyramus!-ah! speak, ere 'tis too late.<br />I, thy own Thisbe, but one word implore,<br />One word thy Thisbe never ask'd before.<br />At Thisbe's name, awak'd, he open'd wide<br />His dying eyes; with dying eyes he try'd<br />On her to dwell, but clos'd them slow, and dy'd.<br /><br />The fatal cause was now at last explor'd,<br />Her veil she knew, and saw his sheathless sword:<br />From thy own hand thy ruin thou hast found,<br />She said, but love first taught that hand to wound,<br />Ev'n I for thee as bold a hand can show,<br />And love, which shall as true direct the blow.<br />I will against the woman's weakness strive,<br />And never thee, lamented youth, survive.<br />The world may say, I caus'd, alas! thy death,<br />But saw thee breathless, and resign'd my breath.<br />Fate, tho' it conquers, shall no triumph gain,<br />Fate, that divides us, still divides in vain.<br /><br />Now, both our cruel parents, hear my pray'r;<br />My pray'r to offer for us both I dare;<br />Oh! see our ashes in one urn confin'd,<br />Whom love at first, and fate at last has join'd.<br />The bliss, you envy'd, is not our request;<br />Lovers, when dead, may sure together rest.<br />Thou, tree, where now one lifeless lump is laid,<br />Ere-long o'er two shalt cast a friendly shade.<br />Still let our loves from thee be understood,<br />Still witness in thy purple fruit our blood.<br />She spoke, and in her bosom plung'd the sword,<br />All warm and reeking from its slaughter'd lord.<br />The pray'r, which dying Thisbe had preferr'd,<br />Both Gods, and parents, with compassion heard.<br />The whiteness of the mulberry soon fled,<br />And rip'ning, sadden'd in a dusky red:<br />While both their parents their lost children mourn,<br />And mix their ashes in one golden urn.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Thus did the melancholy tale conclude,<br />And a short, silent interval ensu'd.<br />The next in birth unloos'd her artful tongue,<br />And drew attentive all the sister-throng.<br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></font><br />Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-59355790037531662622020-05-16T18:02:00.002-05:002020-05-16T18:02:32.633-05:00Sun and Moon<div><font size="4">16 MAY 2020</font></div><div><font size="4">Today I'm going to be spit-balling a fantasy story idea. This blogpost will change as the story details become fine-tuned.</font></div><font size="4"><br />Imagine a world much like ours, but where magic exists. Magic based solely on heavenly bodies, with the Sun and Moon, as the closest heavenly bodies, being the dominant sources of magic. There are no other types of magic except those based on heavenly bodies. Mages of the other heavenly bodies (</font><span style="font-size: large;"> Mercury, </span><font size="4">Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn) are too weak to be major players. They do have some powers though and will be used to reinforce the worldview. </font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIqRTPCa6d_uBZvJfrQzIEGzTSaxlMSzTATCaCXPgAmSBxdZz2ojKeKkmMjCwGpaGveAOkwk6AMDU1ZsVp05-svkPxiJrOrtcx8bOrTomHUYoElCogymJn0CLZ__640x7WmI0t5xdtB4/"><img alt="The Sun. Source of the strongest magics" border="0" data-original-height="947" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIqRTPCa6d_uBZvJfrQzIEGzTSaxlMSzTATCaCXPgAmSBxdZz2ojKeKkmMjCwGpaGveAOkwk6AMDU1ZsVp05-svkPxiJrOrtcx8bOrTomHUYoElCogymJn0CLZ__640x7WmI0t5xdtB4/w520-h640/Garland-Tale+Of+The+Sun+And+The+Moon.jpg" title="The Sun" width="520" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font size="6"><b>The Sun</b></font></div><font size="4"><br />Sun worshippers are able to call for heat, fire, growth, beginnings, and illumination. Practitioners are called: Solars/Heliomancers/ Solmancers/ Daymages? Overall they are the most powerful magicians in the world. Their most powerful time is during the summer solstice, their weakest during the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year.</font><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">How would our world change if sun and moon magic were real? Births outdoor during the day. maybe attempts to influence when babies are born. </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><b><u>Loose caste system</u></b></font></div><div><font size="4">* Women who are born during the day have no magic at all.</font></div><div><font size="4">* Men born at night. They can be weak or strong in moon magic, but no sun magic.</font></div><div><font size="4">* Women born at night. Strongest in moon magic.</font></div><div><font size="4">* Men born during the day.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Two rulers, one sun and one moon. The sun ruler is kept or changed out by vote once a year at the summer solstice. And the moon ruler is always changed out every tenth new moon.</font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Sun magic can only be performed in sunlight, by men only, and is accomplished through prayers to the sacred sun names, dances (always sunwise - to the right), and blood sacrifices (a la Aztecs but not to ensure the Sun rose each day). Hilltops are favored, as are ziggurats (flattened tops). Clouds are their nemesis, and their worst fears can be found underground. Day mages come from babies born at sunrise, high noon, and sunset. Those born at sunrise are starters, nooners are strongest, and sunset babies are the longest-lasting.<br /><br />The story starts with a Sun mage on the run. He is better off during the day, but defenseless at night. </font><span style="font-size: large;">In order to survive, he must find workarounds for not being able to call on the sun in shade or shadow, and later on during the darkest nights. Not sure how he would do that yet. If the magic can only be done while in sunlight, then that means... </span></div><div><font size="4">Sunflowers are sacred. They do follow the sun after all. They store sunpower and may be used to replenish solars when they are weak. <br /><br /><br /></font></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQPjxX9eS2bH_TJIdZz6yqHD-HjGcOom9I_7U83PgEvJ2irDpM_RxQGUMQSJFyC7awfYHaHnN8HAWX7356jBGmpdGK1VM0NZTcpUdVN74Kw4JSqUZsuTaSIxm4eL1lqwFJVjn9xP6Umk/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The Moon, second most powerful source of magic" border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQPjxX9eS2bH_TJIdZz6yqHD-HjGcOom9I_7U83PgEvJ2irDpM_RxQGUMQSJFyC7awfYHaHnN8HAWX7356jBGmpdGK1VM0NZTcpUdVN74Kw4JSqUZsuTaSIxm4eL1lqwFJVjn9xP6Umk/w400-h300/Moon+Goddess.jpg" title="The Moon" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><font size="6">The Moon</font></b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Those who worship the moon call on her for coolness, change, undead and other creatures of the night (bats), tides, hidden things. Practitioners are called witches and warlocks. Some of the story hook will be the from the 'traditional' aspect of the moon followers offset with the uniqueness of the Sun mages.<br /><br />Moon magic may be cast while the moon is in the sky, whether seen or unseen, by men and women. This is a source of much questing. Men are the only ones who can cast either sun or moon magic, depending on when they are born (day or night), but women born during the day are powerless. Women may only cast moon magic. </font></div><div><font size="4"><br /></font></div><div><font size="4">Moon magic is accomplished through spells painfully crafted over the years and written down in secretive books of shadows compiled by covens. The moon does not give up its secrets easily. Sensitive moon mages can feel when the moon is in the sky. They are in touch with the phases and the rising and setting times, much more than Sun worshipers, who watch the stretching of the day in the summer and its shrinking in the winter. Babies born during the midnight of the night of the fullest moon or midnight of the the darkest night of the new moon are stronger than others.<br /><br />The climax of the story takes place during an eclipse. And ends there... Did the witches and warlocks manage the inconceivable, stopping the moon to overpower the sun?<br /><br />I’ll have to keep working on this, I like it.</font></div></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-69562498858933793062020-04-30T17:52:00.002-05:002020-07-15T10:21:59.701-05:00Shadows, Thieves, and Hidden Things<span><font size="4">30 APR 2020</font><br /><br /><font size="5">I will try and put today's blog into some semblance of order, though how that is possible I know not!<br /><br />If you ever wonder where stories come from, today's blog is one example of story formation.<br /><br />It all started with a little light reading. "The Double Shadow", a dark fantasy short story written in the 1930s by Clark Ashton Smith (also known by his initials CAS). The magical tale is available online <a href="http://www.eldritchdark.com/writings/short-stories/53/the-double-shadow">here</a>. </font></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pvOcMSDrxgYQFmXqSqB7I9L3w9JA9z3NGE9QAtCYucTB7eV-58hatFWzhpLLAAeLUBcAaaVno7qkw5DAMp4ItC5VOtLhZKQhmLOlgQLRwmgPEW28bprTNO6RjNX_fNUVhVRwrmdZaPA/s1600/Clark_Ashton_Smith_1912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pvOcMSDrxgYQFmXqSqB7I9L3w9JA9z3NGE9QAtCYucTB7eV-58hatFWzhpLLAAeLUBcAaaVno7qkw5DAMp4ItC5VOtLhZKQhmLOlgQLRwmgPEW28bprTNO6RjNX_fNUVhVRwrmdZaPA/s320/Clark_Ashton_Smith_1912.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Clark Ashton Smith in his younger days</b></div>
<span><br /><font size="5">Why did I read this piece? Shadows have always intrigued me and I have never read anything by CAS, though I've heard good things and I've read stories by several of his compatriots. He is considered one of the three top writers of Weird Fiction back in the day, along with H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. Every good writer should read to improve their craft, especially stories in a similar vein of what they want to produce in order to learn what's out there, what works, and what doesn't work. In this case, what I read was a bit creepy, a lot wordy, and somewhat satisfying for someone who enjoys fantasy. <br /><br />The story inspired me to tackle crafting my own short story about shadows. Want a sneak peak into it? I'll give you one of the ideas I ran with. What if the spell of the double shadow, while an evil and possessing <i>Thing</i> in Smith's story, could be used to strengthen, to bolster a magician in some key, mystical way? Hm... Instead of being an evil trap to seduce and take over other sorcerers who came across it, the spell had an actual purpose for those who could handle its seemingly malignant power. Hm indeed.<br /><br />If you're interested in other stories by Smith, some are available online at the <a href="http://www.eldritchdark.com/">Eldritch Dark</a>. Expect the weird...<br /><br />While I mused about shadows, my random music selection fell upon <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0awe6OJB0o">Moonshadow by Cat Stevens</a>. Serendipity? Who knows. What I do know is that the synchronicity of music and reading brought my thoughts hither and yon...<br /><br />What is a moonshadow? It's different from a regular shadow, which is the darkness formed when something blocks the sun’s </font></span><font size="5"><span>rays, a true outline. A moonshadow is the deeper darkness formed when something blocks the moon’s rays. But the moon’s rays are not the same as the sun’s. They are a reflection, a parody, a transmutation of the sun’s rays. </span><br />
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<span>So, a moonshadow, to those who can see them, shows not a person’s true outline. It is a weaker, more subtle light. And, unlike regular shadows formed by the Sun, moonshadow outlines are not true…</span><br />
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<font size="5"><span>For my shadow story, I decided Moonshadows can be seen naturally by some creatures. Others not so gifted may view moonshadows through moonglass, which can be created through several methods, including from a type of moonstone (from the moon), or by a simple spell and a drop of water from a source currently reflecting the moon’s light. Moonglass may also be manufactured through an alchemical process that coats normal glass with a special filter. </span><br />
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<span>Moonshadows in my story will be useful for a bit of foreshadowing...get it? See what I did there? All right, moving on!</span><br />
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<span><b>Can I Get a Hand?</b> As an author, I look up all sorts of things that probably have me on several government watch lists, lol. Joking of course, good thing I mainly write fantasy! My wife on the other hand, the murder mystery author, is probably on more lists than I am. Anyways, one of my searches while crafting my own shadow story was in regards to a Hand of Glory.</span><br /></font>
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<font size="5"><span>For those thankfully unfamiliar, a Hand of Glory is a grotesque, magical light used for thievery, allegedly. There are several actual Hands to be found around the world, including one that spent some time in a pub, so we've truly gone from the world of fantasy to a mix of fantasy and reality. All in the name of story research I promise!</span><br /></font>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkbIHgMqCYynBCv-yGePgRr5ULsPlVu03ATbthD4YzmN-CD0gtLOpFLXzH7P3WcZopQQAeFjw_lWEymTy9B-xPiQ9mxT7-ru-0_5kGilA-ZDgqWtaWb_540iVPEythyphenhyphen831IP_nXwR9tA/s1600/hand-of-glory-2.jpg" style="font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkbIHgMqCYynBCv-yGePgRr5ULsPlVu03ATbthD4YzmN-CD0gtLOpFLXzH7P3WcZopQQAeFjw_lWEymTy9B-xPiQ9mxT7-ru-0_5kGilA-ZDgqWtaWb_540iVPEythyphenhyphen831IP_nXwR9tA/s400/hand-of-glory-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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An intruder 'arm'ed with a Hand of Glory (which, by the way, is created by cutting off the hand of a hung murderer and using one or more of the fingers of the hand as candles) can open locked doors and see by the light of the Hand (which no else can see). In most stories involving a Hand of Glory, no one but the intruder is able to wake or move in the household either, facilitating the thievery. Here is a snippet of online Hand of Glory lore:</font></span><font size="5"><br /></font>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Hand of Glory</u> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Now open, lock!<br />To the Dead Man's knock!<br />Fly, bolt, and bar, and band!<br />Nor move, nor swerve,<br />Joint, muscle, or nerve,<br />At the spell of the Dead Man's hand!<br />Sleep, all who sleep! -- Wake, all who wake!<br />But be as the dead for the Dead Man's sake!</span></b><br />
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<font size="5"><span>A very powerful item indeed. What does this 'magic torch' have to do with the aforementioned shadow story? I was looking for something magical and useful to steal something at a certain plot point. And the Hand, also known as a corpse candle or thieve's light, was a perfect addition to an already fantastic story forming. </span><br />
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<span> Most of my stories are set in a fantasy setting, and one rule for my world is that undead exist during certain eras. While I was working on my shadow story plot, I thought, if undead exist, and if a Hand of Glory emits an invisible light, might that light be visible to the undead, considering it comes from a dead man's hand? Sort of a 'it belongs to the dead realm' kind of thing. That would be a good twist, even for those who are already aware of a Hand's supposed powers. </span><br />
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<span>Now that I've let you in on some of my thought processes, I must continue on my story!</span><br /><br />
<span> Be well, and may your days be good and long upon this Earth.</span></font></div>
Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-30194053028958513082020-04-25T11:06:00.000-05:002020-04-30T13:59:36.926-05:00Dark Worlds, Tarzan, and Conan, and the Tales of Biturian Varosh<span style="font-size: large;">25 APRIl 2020</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First off, I hope everyone is safe and well in this time of Pandemic and social distancing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Secondly, I haven't been posting very often recently. There are several blog posts built up, waiting to happen in the queue, life has just been rather upended lately! Not all in a bad way, which is good news, but still, time and energy to post has not been there. That said, it's Saturday, things are a little slower now that a busy night of torrential rain, tornado-strength winds, paparazzi lightning, and hail the size of quarters is over. We walked around and inspected for damage. All minor stuff. So, now time to relax a bit and get caught up on other things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I read an interesting article over at <a href="http://darkworldsquarterly.gwthomas.org/" target="_blank">Dark Worlds</a>. It detailed a loose comparison between the characters Tarzan and Conan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've never really thought of Tarzan and Conan in the same breath. To me they are totally different characters in different worlds. Yeah, okay, both savage, both strong men, both 'Kings', one of the jungle, and the other only at times. Thinking on it now, there are plenty of stories to write where their two worlds intersect, which is a very interesting thought as a writer. Maybe Conan has to find an ancient temple taken over by the jungle (not like that story has been done a million times), or Tarzan needed to venture out of the jungle for some reason and bumps into Conan. Presumably the character in his element would be the Alpha, but some interesting ideas arise from the pairing of the two. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The article showcased a bunch of comic book covers from ages past, mostly from Conan comics. I remember reading one of the issues shown, Conan the Barbarian's #113 "Satan had a Son" issue, many moons ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As you can see from the cover, the young 'man' in the bottom right is actually trying to protect the 'beast' that Conan is attacking! Why would he do that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The story reminded me obliquely of "The Travels of Biturian Varosh" in the wonderful Glorantha role-playing Cults of Prax supplement (the entire original suppleme</span><span style="font-size: large;">nt can be downloaded <a href="https://thetrove.net/Books/RuneQuest/RQ%20Chaosium/RuneQuest%20-%20Cults%20of%20Prax.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>, but one should really purchase the expanded version including forty religions originally printed in Cults of Prax, Cults of Terror, and Trollpak <a href="https://www.chaosium.com/cult-compendium-pdf/" target="_blank">here</a></span><span style="font-size: large;">). Great for gaming and just for fantasy inspiration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Travels were a series of short vignettes to help describe interactions between the cults detailed in the supplement. In there, a young, animalistic child named Morak is returned to his kind, sort of. A towering half-man, half-bull creature takes him as his own. I always liked the feel of this wild-child finding where he belongs, where his acting out and odd body bits were seen as the norm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">To end this post, here is one entry from The Travels of </span><span style="font-size: large;">Biturian Varosh as an example of the wonderful fantasy elements in there</span><span style="font-size: large;">:</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Three days out of Pimper's Block, the head of my baboon escort came to me and asked if he and his followers might retire to a ruin nearby to celebrate an ancient ritual of theirs. I said that I did not hire them to do rituals but to protect my mules. He replied that I could watch if I wished, since he trusted me, and that they would work for me for a week for free if I allowed them to celebrate. </b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">-Baboons requesting a short stop in order to worship. Biturian Varosh is on the horse, Norayeep the slave girl is standing next to him. Morak, Norayeep's half-brother,</b><b style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> is not pictured. </b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">[picture can be purchased <a href="https://www.redbubble.com/i/notebook/Cults-of-Prax-Steve-Swenston-cover-image-by-Chaosium/24706220.WX3NH" target="_blank">here</a>]</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><b><br /><span style="font-size: large;">They [the baboons] began by making a huge fire from rubble wood. One of them, whom I had thought to be a bearer, proved himself a shaman and threw something into the fire. The flames answered by spitting out a burst of green coals which burrowed into the ground where they hit. No one paid attention to them. By nightfall the flames had died, leaving only a heap of ashes and embers. The baboons growled and snarled in their beast speech, and set unlit torches about as wards. The leader asked if I would bless the ground, and I did. Some drank strong drink from gourds while others were sober. All of them smeared their fur with ashes. They began a twirling dance, clashing weapons and falling to the ground to wail like babies. Then two masked baboons appeared on the far side of the ash pile from me. One mask was red, and its wearer held a snake-tail rattle. The other was yellow, and held a staff surmounted by animal horns. These two acted out the ritual of the baboons' survival during the Great Darkness. They claim that Daka Fal went to them first in that awful period, and that all human worship was learned from baboons in the Dark. Their yowling dance reenacted that god's teachings to the Initiates who were present. I could not tell which was supposed to be Daka Fal and which was the baboon Founder. As it progressed, I noticed with surprise that the number of baboons had grown, and I realized that many spirits now were among the group, greedily looking upon the world they had left, mixing like friends among those still alive. Lust for a body was in them. Suddenly I saw the red-masked baboon seized and torn to shreds! The others, the living, panicked and fled behind the other masked creature. Yellow Mask screamed words of power, and all the spirits were forced to hover where the green stones had buried themselves earlier. Yellow Mask chittered to the baboons behind him, then went to the dead Red Mask and touched him in several places. Red Mask, whom I had seen torn limb from limb, sprang up alive again, screaming in triumph. All the others yelled too, and beat their chests in ragged victory until the sun came up. Two of them dug up something and ate it. The shaman, who had been wearing the red mask, dug also, and brought me a nut of a type I never had seen. He indicated I must eat it to get one use of the cult spell Summon Ancestor. Such was the magic of the baboons which I saw." - from The Travels of Biturian Varosh, in Cults of Prax ©2016 Chaosium Inc.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Awesome stuff. Makes the mind wander...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be safe, and may your days be good and long upon this Earth.</span>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-68673912523310793322020-03-15T08:55:00.003-05:002020-06-09T17:09:22.761-05:00Craigslist Killers<span style="font-size: large;">15 Mar 2020</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another short story is out! <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085X3KBVT/" target="_blank">The Craigslist Killers</a> is now available from Amazon. The Craigslist Killers makes my fifth book baby delivered to the world and marks the first urban, police procedural, slightly romance-y story I've written to date. It is priced at 99 cents, the same as all my other short stories. Just imagine, you could splurge and get all five stories for less than five bucks! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A much shorter version of the story was released as “The Symbol & the Ring” in the Summer: Magic & Mayhem Anthology from Wolfsinger Publications, June 20, 2016. For those unfamiliar, <a href="https://www.wolfsingerpubs.com/" target="_blank">Wolfsinger Publications</a> is a one-woman show that deserves all the love. She hasn't been as active lately, but she used to produce some great things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">While getting the killers ready for publication, I went back to one of my previous releases (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Black-Char-Crystal-Caves-Trap-ebook/dp/B07DHWLCTL/" target="_blank">Black Char & the Crystal Caves</a>). It was great to read the additional material I added for release. Black Char has a preface, to assist the reader in enjoying the story. Here it is: </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />THE WORLD OF BLACK CHAR IS SOMETHING ELSE, a break from our ordinary, everyday world and a deep dive into the different. <br /><br />He lives on the fringes of a fantastical world ruled by magic and mayhem, a world of wonder where anything is possible. Not to give anything away, but there are caves of magical crystals! And what is found in the depths will hopefully delight, amuse, and slightly confuse you. All will not be explained. Leaving the reader’s imagination working overtime is one of my goals. Bear with me though, because all mysteries will eventually be brought to light. If not here, then in another tale.<br /><br />So, those brave enough, come take a leap into the waters of my mind. Swim far away from the comfortable shore.</b><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">I look forward to getting back into the fantasy world of Black Char and Sea Dog from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B076DKV49Z/" target="_blank">Pirates & Demons</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Killers has a Thanks & Author's note section, which gives some more insight to the background of the story. No real preface needed because the story takes place in Los Angeles, not some mythical realm, though I can see how some people might confuse what happens in Los Angeles as stuff that only happens in magical places. I also recognized the contributions of a couple of really cool people, my wife Cheryl and my editor-in-friend Dave Owens, who several of you should be familiar with. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here is an excerpt from The Craigslist Killers. Hope you enjoy it!</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />With distractions out of the way, she focused on the doorframe. Tally marks were short, probably done by a left-hander from the angles. She fixated on the circled symbol. At first glance it reminded her of a patch written in Arabic or some design work. Done with the same marker and the same hand as the tallies. The border of the design was well done, a perfect circle about three inches across. The symbol inside the circle, well, there she had no idea at all. From the upper left quarter of the circle, it began as a short straight line, then curved around like those open-heart jewelry pieces they advertise on TV, and finished with small circles at the end of two points. Her eyes crossed uncontrollably. She shook her head and stared. For a second she thought the pattern shifted, wriggled like a worm on a hook. She blinked and the black marks froze in place, or had she imagined it? What could it mean? She held up her hand and reached out to trace the symbol in the air, trying to decipher its meaning. Well, she would take some pictures of it and then…she froze. <br /><br />Her ring was glowing. Her grandmother’s gold hand-me-down thing was glowing, plain as day.<br /><br />Not a bright glow, but enough to rattle her. She fanned her fingers slowly, careful not to disturb whatever was happening. The light warmed her soul, like the afterglow from the setting sun of a perfect day that makes you feel relaxed and mellow. Carol raised her hand and turned toward the open front door. A shout to Dave died in her throat as the glow dimmed. A second later and the light was gone, the ring once again just a hunk of metal. <br /><br />She frowned.<br /></span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>*****</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What happens next? Go on intrepid reader, and spend less than a buck to find out! Get your copy of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085X3KBVT/" target="_blank">The Craigslist Killers</a> today!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">p.s. While I was writing, Dave pointed out that there were people who used Craigslist to kill people. The story that I wrote has nothing to do with them. This is a work of true fiction. If you're interested about the real-life Craigslist Killers, click <a href="https://www.gq.com/story/craigslist-killers" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/craigslist-killers-overview-972194" target="_blank">here</a>.</span>
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</div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-42141467287882948452020-02-23T14:49:00.003-06:002021-07-09T07:53:15.765-05:00Latin and a Short Story<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Howdy all. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I stumbled across an old Latin phrase recently, which proved yet again there are no new ideas:</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><font face="georgia" size="6">Homo Homini Lupus</font></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><font face="georgia" size="6">Man is wolf to Man</font></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The phrase goes perfectly well with this last week's events at my day job as we finished our studies of World War II and watched the excellent Holocaust movie called <b>Life is Beautiful</b>. Man is truly Wolf to Man.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Picture lifted from <a href="https://www.behance.net/gallery/5326615/homo-homini-lupus" target="_blank">here</a> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">~*~</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Also for this post I moved over and edited a story from my Wattpad account. I would rather it be over here to keep my story babies all in the same location. I do this odd thing of looking over old posts and expanding them from time to time, which turns out to be a lot easier when they are in the same location. So here is Bullseye, a little piece born from a dream.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>BULLSEYE</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The officer went down the list. "Any distinguishing marks, tattoos?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Birth mark on left elbow, and I have a tattoo on my hand."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Which hand?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Left."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Show me." She talked as she typed. "Small tattoo, back of left hand, approximately half inch in diameter, bullseye with an arrow sticking out of it." A few more clicks of the keyboard. "Cute."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Thanks." My eyes brimmed with tears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was fifteen. I had a supervised visit with my dad and my brother Randy. Mom dropped me off just outside the main gate and dad honked when he saw me. His</span><span style="font-size: large;"> uniform was rough and smelled like the ocean and oil when we hugged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We rode in silence for the short drive to the parking lot in sight of the water. The sky was overcast and gray, the waves were little and it was a little windy but nice. Too cold to swim. I remember the MPs, parked two spots over in the lot, pretending to watch. My little brother Randy was only five and my dad had checked him out of pre-school so he could meet me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We sat down at a picnic table at the edge of the sand. We huddled around and Dad tried to light the candles on my cake. With a "Ta-da!" he gifted me a camouflage backpack filled with school supplies and a stuffed dog. I instantly hated both, but thanked him anyways. He tried for once. We licked the candles clean.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After eating cake and sipping punch, my brother showed me stickers he had gotten for being a good boy at school. They were those fake tattoos, the ones you put on with a wet cloth. It was an Army base pre-school, so the stickers were bullseyes, thumbs-ups, tanks, things like that. He wanted everyone to have a sticker, so we all got one. Helped break some of the awkwardness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mine was the bullseye, Dad picked a flag and Randy picked a little soldier. I still can feel the wet cloth sometimes. It was the first close contact I had with my dad in many years, him holding my hand on the tabletop and placing the temporary tattoo. I remember that moment any time the sky is gray and the wind chills my hands. I took Dad's wet napkin and put Randy's soldier on his hand. My little brother danced with joy and did his best salute to Dad. The sun shone bright as Dad returned the salute with a grin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The MPs honked. Randy gave me another hug and kissed the back of my hand. We headed back to the main gate, the return trip as quiet as the first ride. Mom was outside, pacing away. Dad gave me a kiss on the head as we hugged and then I trudged across No-Man's Land through the gate. Mom snubbed out her cigarette and ignored Dad's wave. "Get in," she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we got back home, I convinced my mom to let me get a tattoo for my birthday. I got a bullseye in the same spot as the sticker. Now every time I see my brother, that's our thing, the tattoo. No matter what trouble he is in, or how long it has been, he always grabs my hand and kisses my bullseye tattoo, just like when he was five.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The officer spoke, interrupting my thoughts. "Any other tattoos?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I glanced down and rubbed the bullseye. A tear hit the metal surface. I wiped my eyes with a clatter of chain, careful of my mascara. I had forgotten for a moment Randy was dead and would never kiss my hand again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"No. Just the one."</span></div><div data-p-id="456ce2b629fa9124502b9772d8e57303" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "source sans pro", "helvetica neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 24px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXJuKwx-AZYjOLIU0NxfceI-HC_sHL5L09RpGDjEhDuT-eyUdLEJ74czjHHviEHYelxL-_vXpRqhPCzA55FM_0krxQwy9h36cqAd_4ttbd6QcGkTgTmvCaYGPz1Dm2eRRiYhysRvGJSU/s512/Bullseye.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXJuKwx-AZYjOLIU0NxfceI-HC_sHL5L09RpGDjEhDuT-eyUdLEJ74czjHHviEHYelxL-_vXpRqhPCzA55FM_0krxQwy9h36cqAd_4ttbd6QcGkTgTmvCaYGPz1Dm2eRRiYhysRvGJSU/w320-h320/Bullseye.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">~*~</span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Until next time, may your days be long and well upon this Earth.</span></div>
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</div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-35975665853815692292020-02-13T19:56:00.001-06:002020-02-17T12:01:46.544-06:00Coronavirus<span style="font-size: large;">Coronavirus (now known as COVID-19).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93TcjVnuSKEa2d7h698Cu3iusJZUgCuh_rX5nSS6BcJrggkPih8qj5sl73m_ZQNakSAWa9UvknAANFdYsWqL4RIKnNxwZtNWpX-N755668-vdMM0-fvpjKZcW3Eu2LleEZLF2_bNvVbs/s1600/coronavirus+7c5916b2-7eb1-4910-9c0e-fa9e4d43f436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1100" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93TcjVnuSKEa2d7h698Cu3iusJZUgCuh_rX5nSS6BcJrggkPih8qj5sl73m_ZQNakSAWa9UvknAANFdYsWqL4RIKnNxwZtNWpX-N755668-vdMM0-fvpjKZcW3Eu2LleEZLF2_bNvVbs/s640/coronavirus+7c5916b2-7eb1-4910-9c0e-fa9e4d43f436.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have watched with a mix of horror and anxiety as the numbers of infected and deceased have grown and grown and grown. A doctor who was in the right place at the right time to help stunt the spread of the virus instead was silenced by the Chinese government and became another casualty of the deadly bug. A citizen reporter has disappeared. Silenced?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Predictions on where this epidemic will end are all over the place. Reporting criteria has changed. Scientists are still trying to figure out the various ways the virus can spread and how contagious it is. One new report is suggesting that it can travel through the pipes in apartments and infect people on other floors. Japan has just reported its first death from the virus, joining the Philippine Islands and Hong Kong as areas outside of mainland China as areas where people have died from the virus. One of the new worries is what will happen if/when the virus spreads to the African continent and other areas that haven't been affected yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For those who look for updated news, the following is a link to <a href="https://gisanddata.maps.arcgis.com/apps/opsdashboard/index.html?fbclid=IwAR22k4KCWK03Sqf8usJTivjQeAV-GGlocksfG8drGIeH7Db3p3htzYPJnuc#/bda7594740fd40299423467b48e9ecf6" target="_blank">Johns Hopkins University's data wall</a> about deaths, recovered, and infected. One set of data points not tracked by this dashboard are the deaths caused by resources being tied up with keeping this epidemic in check. For example, in areas of heavy infection, people may start dying from measles and other illnesses that could have been treated if the hospital staff weren't busy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am glad to be in Louisiana, away from the East and West coasts. I get sick enough from all the bugs my students bring in on a daily basis!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">May you be well. </span>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-41695439256106317162020-02-09T11:36:00.001-06:002020-02-09T11:36:03.620-06:00The Mermaid<span style="font-size: large;">09 FEB 2020</span><br />
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[Today's post is a continuation from the last post, with some more mermaid information gleaned from the internets and inspired by the Mythic Creatures exhibit at the Witte Museum in San Antonio, TX]<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One of the mythic creatures highlighted by the Witte Museum’s special exhibit was Lasirenn, the mermaid. This caught my eye, because the Spanish translation for mermaid is La Sirena. La Sirena is also one of the cards in </span><span style="font-size: large;">Lotería</span><span style="font-size: large;">, the traditional Spanish lottery game, also known as Mexican Bingo. She is card number six.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lotería</span><span style="font-size: large;"> is a lot like Bingo, but the caller not only calls out the number on the card, but he or she also says a little rhyme or riddle about the picture on the card as well. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Here's an example of what might be said when La Sirena is pulled: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXbJ960oEHeyvmHqUVD0yVbUPu5hqGri8SxdFoRDsxgR6bPCjA0E_KoOSpRyy9s6HyBJhgCEcAHH1rvk3YwnIRqXaOpajcreKxlj8pKye1570Yw3l2OythHKr7WBuKLFcYew9PzyaMZo/s1600/La+Sirenn.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="596" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXbJ960oEHeyvmHqUVD0yVbUPu5hqGri8SxdFoRDsxgR6bPCjA0E_KoOSpRyy9s6HyBJhgCEcAHH1rvk3YwnIRqXaOpajcreKxlj8pKye1570Yw3l2OythHKr7WBuKLFcYew9PzyaMZo/s640/La+Sirenn.png" width="474" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Numero Seis! La sirena! Con los cantos de sirena, no te vayas a marear."</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Number 6! The Mermaid! Don’t be swayed by the songs of the mermaid.</span></b></div>
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But the Spanish La Sirena of Lotería fame was not the La Sirenn at the Witte. This La Sirenn was the mermaid of the people of the island nation of Haiti. Lasirenn has various spellings: Lasiren, La Siren, or Lasyrene. She is one of the three Ezili sisters in Haitian mermaid myths. All three symbolize female power and problems but only Lasirenn is actually a mermaid. She is the mystical mermaid living underwater. There was a Haitian Voodoo chant about Lasirenn at the exhibit: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tlKceP0Zpz381QP2lxccHsflKdqQImT-4NLsqTwxr3ZRo6E3k7Qjt-0m4EUABlnw5vk1lpZYyQY67Xxr-mojauxnKsMxzTJR5XCdBnV62nCa0BLWOjQ4hSgs3Y_255IWHdcdJxY18N4/s1600/IMG_6423+%25286%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1206" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tlKceP0Zpz381QP2lxccHsflKdqQImT-4NLsqTwxr3ZRo6E3k7Qjt-0m4EUABlnw5vk1lpZYyQY67Xxr-mojauxnKsMxzTJR5XCdBnV62nCa0BLWOjQ4hSgs3Y_255IWHdcdJxY18N4/s640/IMG_6423+%25286%2529.jpg" width="482" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Original (Haitian French): <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lasyrenn, Labalenn,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">M’ap fé karés ak Lasyrenn,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">M’ap fe dodo ak Lasyrenn,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To see Lasirenn underwater is like catching a glimpse of
something mysterious, something huge, powerful and sudden. The repeated line in
the poem, " My hat falls into the sea" means you're about to be
consumed by an insight and/or drown!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Lasirenn is described in opposites: she is black and white.
She is also Labalenn, the whale (killer whales are also black and white). She
is usually nice, but she storms like the sea in her aspect as a whale. As a woman,
her hair is black or blonde, but always very long and shiny. She is always
combing her long hair, as in other mermaid myths. She is related to the African
goddess Mami Wata in form and attributes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In her mermaid myths, Lasirenn captures people and pulls
them underwater. As poetic as “My hat falls into the sea” sounds, it means to follow
Lasirenn underwater. Some merely drown, others return alive but altered by their time with the sea goddess. Most of the returnees are women. Those who
follow Lasirenn disappear for three days, three weeks, or three years and when
they return they are changed. Their skin is paler (a big deal in the Haitian culture), their hair longer and
straighter, and they have gained secret knowledge of healing. These returnees are disoriented after their time with Lasirenn. At first, they cannot speak and don't even remember what happened to them. After some time the story emerges, of being instructed by
Lasirenn under the water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Where does she live? Under the sea? No. She lives on the
other side of the mirror. She appears white and black. Where did you see her?
Ah, you were on the other side of the mirror! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHt5_ZTovgACWegBX5GlKonjwpmrw6HVgy5oiJ7KTGfhX7CUbdez_aYWrJVKDm0OZTtHl9KCBoIhXfMHjyUK8z-aArcDqK_HSwFj8D0BeO30w90FVX8eWWBjSiyS_2XO2ZxR0j1ZiGpc/s1600/Smithsonian+Haitian+Mermaid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="647" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipHt5_ZTovgACWegBX5GlKonjwpmrw6HVgy5oiJ7KTGfhX7CUbdez_aYWrJVKDm0OZTtHl9KCBoIhXfMHjyUK8z-aArcDqK_HSwFj8D0BeO30w90FVX8eWWBjSiyS_2XO2ZxR0j1ZiGpc/s640/Smithsonian+Haitian+Mermaid.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Artwork from the Smithsonian American Art Museum: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Michael Cummings, Haitian Mermaid # 2, 1996, machine pieced, quilted, and appliquéd commercial and hand-dyed cotton, synthetic and antique fabrics, found objects, sequins, and beads, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Dorothy Dent Goodson, 2002.59</span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Most images of La Sirenn show her with a mirror and a comb. Mr. Cummings displays an interesting take on the myth. I am ever grateful to the Witte Museum for opening up my eyes to this version of the mermaid myth. Who knows what stories I will spin based on my trip to the Witte, but I definitely will keep in mind that all creatures, even mermaids, can come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.</span></div>
Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-36096923422003806662020-01-26T08:12:00.001-06:002020-01-26T12:29:35.950-06:00Back to Fantasy<span style="font-size: large;">26JAN2020</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm ready to get back to fantasy! I've been working the last few months on a crime short with fantasy elements, but I am itching to get back to full-on fantasy story writing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Picture to the left was taken at the Mythical Creatures exhibit at the Witte Museum in San Antonio, Texas. Great place, and even greater exhibit. I learned so much! There were griffins there, dragons, Haitian mermaids, crazy sea stories (one of which I will detail later) and all other sorts of wonderful things. I went with family, which made it all the better.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6IoFBiYw8ivBEueh4NQUKl2qd28n0taArrG7i0P27p84gcm4PVLCv7IMfbrBPjpHkOH9bhM8eUGN0z2SN7qgU-4BcPdf3k_uWu1Cl8njML0RZCzuQIvnPP3eb_yaOLt-GoDIqOnv3l4/s1600/IMG_6424.CR2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6IoFBiYw8ivBEueh4NQUKl2qd28n0taArrG7i0P27p84gcm4PVLCv7IMfbrBPjpHkOH9bhM8eUGN0z2SN7qgU-4BcPdf3k_uWu1Cl8njML0RZCzuQIvnPP3eb_yaOLt-GoDIqOnv3l4/s400/IMG_6424.CR2" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Figurehead</u><span style="font-weight: bold;">:</span> </span><span style="font-size: large;">A classic ship's mermaid</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Sedna</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sedna was a strange tale. Not sure if I would classify it as a mermaid tale, but it is a tale of the ocean, and Sedna is pictured sometimes with webbed fingers, or no fingers, depending. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The story concerns a goddess that, depending on which version of the tale, is involved in various things, like getting married to a bird, or a dog, or not wanting to get married at all. At some point in all of the stories, Sedna travels by kayak with her father (or sometimes other beings). During the voyage, Sedna somehow ends up hanging over the side of the kayak, gripping onto it for dear life. But her father, caring person that he is, chops at her hands (in the tales, this is usually because the pair are caught in the middle of a storm and he is trying to save himself by getting rid of Sedna, or she has done something bad and this is her punishment). Sedna's plump fingers are chopped off one by one. Hack hack hack. Thanks Dad! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ig6uLYdnwlMbshbh2cZ8ZyFxbBvBap5kAt5lu_LvS2Di_0K_Ok-znodjZdXL2QDCUUXUlD9S2bSd9xg3Sm8skCSl3bDHjWKVvwdTdy_7Xo6HaMfWvAGWjhxhr-JYPR6CKTtubU3MJ6E/s1600/Sedna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="900" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ig6uLYdnwlMbshbh2cZ8ZyFxbBvBap5kAt5lu_LvS2Di_0K_Ok-znodjZdXL2QDCUUXUlD9S2bSd9xg3Sm8skCSl3bDHjWKVvwdTdy_7Xo6HaMfWvAGWjhxhr-JYPR6CKTtubU3MJ6E/s640/Sedna.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But the strangeness doesn't end there. Her bits of fingers, now bleeding and floating free in the ocean, turn into seals, walruses and whales. Bereft of her fingers, Sedna cannot hold onto the kayak and sinks to the ocean depths. She becomes a goddess of the sea and the Inuit underworld. Inuit hunters pray to her for a successful hunt of her 'fingers'. Inuit women perform a ritual of combing Sedna's hair in order to placate the angry goddess so she will release the seals and whales for the hunt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Also, though I have no idea why, the name Sedna has been given to a planetoid that wanders around our solar system, further out than Pluto. Go figure.</span></div>
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Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-42654885232254132372020-01-02T19:44:00.000-06:002020-01-12T12:19:21.699-06:00Mission San Jose & Alebrijes<span style="font-size: large;">01 JAN 2020</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Happy New Year!</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJR0fKGhwwdvn3GW2wcr3nA55rY8rSAYJkjHOjTHSkbbLgtxuQgOKh-hESoxJFBMjI1H-Ia2CPSpiQhyphenhyphenN9mOeFhCMV-FFBBdtYdp9CLe7d9Puy_7VBLas7mdRtsJYzXHnhOBZxq2uUEuc/s1600/San+Jose+Mission+Detail+Cupid+A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="422" data-original-width="776" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJR0fKGhwwdvn3GW2wcr3nA55rY8rSAYJkjHOjTHSkbbLgtxuQgOKh-hESoxJFBMjI1H-Ia2CPSpiQhyphenhyphenN9mOeFhCMV-FFBBdtYdp9CLe7d9Puy_7VBLas7mdRtsJYzXHnhOBZxq2uUEuc/s640/San+Jose+Mission+Detail+Cupid+A.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">To start the new year off right I have for you a fine selection of history and Hispanic culture. No story today though.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">First off, pictures from a recent Mission trip. We went down to San Antonio and toured the San Jose Mission just south of town. There are several missions in and around the city, but we only had time for one this trip. The mission was peaceful and beautiful. The place is huge, with a nice central square area protected by the walls. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We also saw, though I did not take pictures of, a beautiful young lady in a gigantic light blue dress, most likely celebrating her Quinceañera. She was a beautiful butterfly flitting around, landing here and there for pictures, complemented by the azure sky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The mission comes from the time when Spain was in charge of the Americas. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4BGJkBjIN2O_B5yuk3tgxOac5j1ftsoCSRynxL5YAMtDVSGrR1OHd1hO6fwqrHEQ69d2rZ9KrkOzKotYMHjdl6eBfDHvuJjZIBJwdeRnvaaV8UTNvyNylR5py9h64eihKXtkC3hCpZY/s1600/Mission+San+Jose+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4BGJkBjIN2O_B5yuk3tgxOac5j1ftsoCSRynxL5YAMtDVSGrR1OHd1hO6fwqrHEQ69d2rZ9KrkOzKotYMHjdl6eBfDHvuJjZIBJwdeRnvaaV8UTNvyNylR5py9h64eihKXtkC3hCpZY/s640/Mission+San+Jose+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Picture above is one of the corners of the church. Bottom left of the picture (lighter area) can be seen some of the original decorative outer coating of the church</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I enjoy going to missions. I could wander around them for hours. I don't like some of the history of the places, the enslavement and forced conversions of the Indians, but they are soothing places now. I've visited many missions in California, but I believe this is the first one I've been to outside of California.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbBZ4ZpWnWp0bBlO3TIaGTiZHbNBwSrERBBOMV0Eys-lc7laMPtkczUII-aNezfOzsA-J0vW55m_8YxW_m7zGG_d8gXGLvvFJ3Zc6Cp3A8uYIcKbPS-W8e_z6_2acjYXYMIhrhIGAmco/s1600/Mission+San+Jose+Crosses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbBZ4ZpWnWp0bBlO3TIaGTiZHbNBwSrERBBOMV0Eys-lc7laMPtkczUII-aNezfOzsA-J0vW55m_8YxW_m7zGG_d8gXGLvvFJ3Zc6Cp3A8uYIcKbPS-W8e_z6_2acjYXYMIhrhIGAmco/s640/Mission+San+Jose+Crosses.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">The small mission cemetery. </b></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">The sky was a perfect blue that day</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVisKwMij_rQSXh48gd8L-rGTfNHq4d1UjwogME9veWDhv97Ghq45z-XpxyzPhyk9UTs2E37kVX3J3EAjA9Yq7ImvVQDYEMupSgXmX5-ihldGkV0xGiqbIvfvQi8u07vKkzSEGmKeQdVA/s1600/Mission+San+Jose+Church+front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVisKwMij_rQSXh48gd8L-rGTfNHq4d1UjwogME9veWDhv97Ghq45z-XpxyzPhyk9UTs2E37kVX3J3EAjA9Yq7ImvVQDYEMupSgXmX5-ihldGkV0xGiqbIvfvQi8u07vKkzSEGmKeQdVA/s640/Mission+San+Jose+Church+front.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">The front of the church</b></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">The cemetery in the previous picture</b></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">can be seen in the bottom right</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcY7uvhhTWGnDs78CaCgTyanf8GjDjAP062hfDoetiXy_3PFoa3xxqoEwY99ATLZSkST14BB9UeD0R9ovkwCyp_Du9emy0voqQm57LfGK0ni6M4Bcn3tnMK5Npp2-mbN5eKiaanKQR5xo/s1600/Mission+San+Jose+Church+Front+Detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcY7uvhhTWGnDs78CaCgTyanf8GjDjAP062hfDoetiXy_3PFoa3xxqoEwY99ATLZSkST14BB9UeD0R9ovkwCyp_Du9emy0voqQm57LfGK0ni6M4Bcn3tnMK5Npp2-mbN5eKiaanKQR5xo/s640/Mission+San+Jose+Church+Front+Detail.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: x-large;">Detail above the church doors</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">~***~</span></b></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-size: large;">The next bit to share is about Alebrijes (pronounced ah-la-bree-hays). Here's the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alebrije" target="_blank">Wikipedia link</a> for those who want to know more, but basically they are fantastical creatures made of bits of this and that -wings, tails, claws etc... all colored crazily. Anything I can think of as a writer is nothing compared to these things!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Here's an example: </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gLFsfo_3zV0nwlSSLI0VsS8JX3aYynaV7O7KC1QzAjW51laDT0Pf-Nd8MEQ97KszM1qt-zPjk0mjePfRyFaVlt18PISMP14Pt8YoWuFJ6dm8Gj0e2idn9kmndIpMYFWBLNdOEd_z1IE/s1600/Abrije.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3gLFsfo_3zV0nwlSSLI0VsS8JX3aYynaV7O7KC1QzAjW51laDT0Pf-Nd8MEQ97KszM1qt-zPjk0mjePfRyFaVlt18PISMP14Pt8YoWuFJ6dm8Gj0e2idn9kmndIpMYFWBLNdOEd_z1IE/s640/Abrije.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Have a great New Year!!!! Here are some more images from the Mission.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2B2DFmYPePeFjcsdbQIqSel_Ba9f1OzthlCb_X4TplGJVsx9ikexz0hyphenhyphenYjaHq_lcHMu3TBuziDuRq3XrljtE8UcbUNe7UZ-ItkLPZCEACITkMYjGG7uIzCGBdxU7MLa8RSwkNHYv4eLM/s1600/009C83E4-73F2-482F-88E1-93846BCD004F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2B2DFmYPePeFjcsdbQIqSel_Ba9f1OzthlCb_X4TplGJVsx9ikexz0hyphenhyphenYjaHq_lcHMu3TBuziDuRq3XrljtE8UcbUNe7UZ-ItkLPZCEACITkMYjGG7uIzCGBdxU7MLa8RSwkNHYv4eLM/s320/009C83E4-73F2-482F-88E1-93846BCD004F.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-22997203555969581892019-12-25T20:12:00.004-06:002020-08-12T09:43:35.089-05:00Remember the Fallen25 DEC 2019<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This will probably be my last post of 2019. But who knows what the future holds. Anyways, I managed to pump out a grand of words on and off for the last few days. A thousand words may not be much for others in a span of days, but it's good enough to make me happy. Below is a sample which should remain relatively unchanged in the final proof. </span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Do I need a spoiler alert for a story that no one has read yet? </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">To set the scene, the characters are remembering a fallen comrade... </span><br /><br />
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sunday
afternoon, Dave, Carol and all non-essential police personnel listened with reverence
at the police station and in their vehicles as dispatch called out on the
radio.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Her
voice held a hint of urgency, of expectation. “Detective Morel, come in.” </span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Silence.
<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Again,
this time with desperation, with hope against all odds that he would answer. “Detective
Leonard Morel, come in.” Someone near the door choked back a tear.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">“She
does such a good job. I couldn’t do that.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">One
more time. Resignation. “Detective Leonard Morel. No response.” The dispatch operator
paused for a moment. “Let the log show Detective Leonard Morel, lost in service
to the citizens of Los Angeles. May god rest his soul.”</span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span><font size="5">If that scene piques your interest, the entire story can be found <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B085X3KBVT/" target="_blank"><b>here</b></a>. </font></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span><font size="5"><br /></font></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.3in;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><span><font size="5">Unless I am going for anger and outrage, my stories will show a proper reverence for the fallen. </font></span></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; text-indent: 0.3in;"><font size="5"><br /></font></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8522393891995214551.post-54015511928215627522019-12-24T09:29:00.001-06:002019-12-24T09:29:13.761-06:00Dave & the End of a Decade<span style="font-size: large;">24 DEC 2019</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Howdy all. As year's end is fast approaching, it seems fitting to finish the decade with another wonderful article by Dave. A decade </span><span style="font-size: large;">denouement if you will. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Sage wisdom and advice he always has in abundance. This time his inspiration comes from the good people over at </span><a href="https://www.writersdigest.com/" style="font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Writer's Digest</a><span style="font-size: large;">. Personally, I take away from this article my own struggle with never being satisfied with my writing, as he mentions just above the anecdote. I'm currently in the throes of battle with a story now light-years ahead of where it was months ago (see what I did there, movie-goers?). In other news, I am of two minds about trying my hand at some poetry, just so I can say my writing has gone from bad to verse... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Holiday!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;">~*~ </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The “Had Horrors” Redux</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">David Alan Owens<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In 1927 Laurence O’Dorsay wrote an
article for “The Writer’s Digest Guide to Good Writing.” I rediscovered the
article “The Had Horrors,” in November 2019. The 1994 Edition of “Guide To Good
Writing,” languished in my attic for fifteen years. I dusted the cover and
began to read again this wonderful compilation of WD articles. Fine advice from
seventy-five years inspired me again — but I read D’Orsay’s article with a
renewed interest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In D’Orsay’s article (page 25), he
wrote about when he, in 1927 found himself at the feet of Gamaliel, one of the
most famous fiction magazine editors of the day (I researched but found little
about this mysterious Gamaliel, and I am not sure whether D’Orsay referred to
the rabbinical legend, or the Jewish teacher of the same name, I think the name
is an allusion and honors the editor by comparison to the great Gamaliel). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In those days, editors often took
it upon themselves to develop writers. Editors and agents do not today reach
out to writers with obvious talent and help those new writers develop into the
professionals they might become. The concept demonstrates the writing and
publishing world’s decline. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today the object is money and fame
where the self-publishing world cranks out millions, yes millions, of poorly
written stories, stories without noticeable merit, and they are filled with
nothing but trope and cliché. Fame comes not often, and is a rare event in the
self-publishing world. Fame is also rare in traditional publishing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">D’Orsay sat in his office with
Gamaliel when a young “editor in training” entered the office and placed a
manuscript on the table. The young man voiced his complaints about the story.
“Something’s still wrong with it. You’ve sent it back to him five or six times.
He’s got a good opening now, and a good finish, but somehow it just doesn’t
register. It’s a good story, but he seems to take too long to get to the meat
of the thing after his dramatic start.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Gamaliel peeked into the manuscript
and announced, “It’s as plain as day. Snifkins (the author) has a bad attack of
the had horrors.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When questioned about this
“disease,” he replied, “Most of them have ‘em young. Just like children with
measles, best to have them young. They think they must stop the story for a
time and tell the reader what the hero and his heroine and the villain <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had
been doing</i></b> before the reader ever saw them. Causes the reader to start
guessing, right from the beginning. Snifkins leaves ‘em hung up in the air
until page four. He starts his puppets working, and then drops the strings
while he lectures about their past lives. Look at this damn thing! <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hads</i></b>
and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">had beens</b> scattered all over his
pages. He has the makings of a good writer, but we must cure him of his <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had
horrors</i></b>.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If a story is strong and contains
well-sustained entertainment value, an editor might overlook a few technical
flaws, but one thing he <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">will not</b>
overlook is a bad attack of the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had horrors</i></b>, Gamaliel observed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">D’Orsay relates how <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hads</i></b>
are like a stodgy lump of cold greasy fat served when you’ve finished the
appetizers. He explains how to solve the mess and produce better work (page
26). “The thing to do with this irreducible minimum of explanatory matter about
antecedent happenings is to link it with your <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">moving</i></b> story. Use action,
with dialogue, and with thoughts running through the minds of characters. In
this way, you can weave the whole thing into one pattern, connect the past with
what is present, and future, and turn the thing into entertainment. Keep the
dramatic conflict in the forefront and let your characters solve the eternal
problem — what happens and why. The process focuses upon the concept of writing
for the reader.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">A
true writer is never satisfied with his writing. John Dusfresne, professor in
the Master of Fine Arts Writing Program of the English Department of Florida
International University said, “<u>Show me a writer who is satisfied with their
work, and I’ll show you an amateur</u>.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anecdote<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the same 1994 Writer’s Digest 75<sup>th</sup>
anniversary issue, this short anecdote appears on page 30:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fred Kelly, the humorist and author
of the dog’s only book of philosophy, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You and Your Dog</i></b>, sat with the
famous writer Booth Tarkington, in Tarkington’s Indianapolis home. Tarkington
related how discouraged he often became when writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Are you ever conscious right at
the time of doing something good,” Kelly asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No,” Tarkington chuckled, “it all
seems fairly bad. You know, writing is about the most discouraging job of all.
One knows so well what he is trying to express, but all the words aren’t
available. This afternoon I tried to write a paragraph or two to describe a
scene in northern Africa but the words weren’t available. I tried to write
vivid description for my readers, but when I groped for the crystals all I
could pick up were a few smeary words — a meaningless mess. Yet all the time I
knew the right words were somewhere if I could only find them. It’ll never suit
me, I’ll still feel that I could do it better.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kelly later said, “When I came
away, I thought: So long as he has that attitude toward his work, no wonder
it’s good.” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dufresne’s wisdom</i>)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">References: Writer’s Digest Guide
To Good Writing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Copyright © 1994, by Writer’s
Digest Books - Edited by Thomas Clark <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Library of Congress ISBN
0-89879-640-7</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">~*~</span></div>
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Frank Montellanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06572735473482001829noreply@blogger.com0