Shadows, Thieves, and Hidden Things

30 APR 2020

I will try and put today's blog into some semblance of order, though how that is possible I know not!

If you ever wonder where stories come from, today's blog is one example of story formation.

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 here. 

Clark Ashton Smith in his younger days

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.

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 Thing 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.

If you're interested in other stories by Smith, some are available online at the Eldritch Dark. Expect the weird...

While I mused about shadows, my random music selection fell upon Moonshadow by Cat Stevens. Serendipity? Who knows. What I do know is that the synchronicity of music and reading brought my thoughts hither and yon...

What is a moonshadow? It's different from a regular shadow, which is the darkness formed when something blocks the sun’s 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. 

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…

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. 

Moonshadows in my story will be useful for a bit of foreshadowing...get it? See what I did there? All right, moving on!


Can I Get a Hand? 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.

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!

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:

Hand of Glory 
Now open, lock!
To the Dead Man's knock!
Fly, bolt, and bar, and band!
Nor move, nor swerve,
Joint, muscle, or nerve,
At the spell of the Dead Man's hand!
Sleep, all who sleep! -- Wake, all who wake!
But be as the dead for the Dead Man's sake!


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. 

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.

Now that I've let you in on some of my thought processes, I must continue on my story!

Be well, and may your days be good and long upon this Earth.

Dark Worlds, Tarzan, and Conan, and the Tales of Biturian Varosh

25 APRIl 2020

First off, I hope everyone is safe and well in this time of Pandemic and social distancing.

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.

I read an interesting article over at Dark Worlds. It detailed a loose comparison between the characters Tarzan and Conan. 

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. 

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. 

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?

The story reminded me obliquely of "The Travels of Biturian Varosh" in the wonderful Glorantha role-playing Cults of Prax supplement (the entire original supplement can be downloaded here, but one should really purchase the expanded version including forty religions originally printed in Cults of Prax, Cults of Terror, and Trollpak here). Great for gaming and just for fantasy inspiration. 

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.

To end this post, here is one entry from The Travels of Biturian Varosh as an example of the wonderful fantasy elements in there:

"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. 

-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, is not pictured. [picture can be purchased here]

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.

****

Awesome stuff. Makes the mind wander...
Be safe, and may your days be good and long upon this Earth.

Craigslist Killers

15 Mar 2020

Another short story is out! The Craigslist Killers 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! 

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, Wolfsinger Publications 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.


While getting the killers ready for publication, I went back to one of my previous releases (Black Char & the Crystal Caves). 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: 

THE WORLD OF BLACK CHAR IS SOMETHING ELSE, a break from our ordinary, everyday world and a deep dive into the different.

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.

So, those brave enough, come take a leap into the waters of my mind. Swim far away from the comfortable shore.

I look forward to getting back into the fantasy world of Black Char and Sea Dog from Pirates & Demons.

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. 

Here is an excerpt from The Craigslist Killers. Hope you enjoy it!

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.

Her ring was glowing. Her grandmother’s gold hand-me-down thing was glowing, plain as day.

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.

She frowned.
*****

What happens next? Go on intrepid reader, and spend less than a buck to find out! Get your copy of The Craigslist Killers today!

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 here and here.

Latin and a Short Story

Howdy all. I stumbled across an old Latin phrase recently, which proved yet again there are no new ideas:

Homo Homini Lupus

Man is wolf to Man

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 Life is Beautiful. Man is truly Wolf to Man.

Picture lifted from here 

~*~

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.

BULLSEYE

The officer went down the list. "Any distinguishing marks, tattoos?"

"Birth mark on left elbow, and I have a tattoo on my hand."

"Which hand?"

"Left."

"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."

"Thanks." My eyes brimmed with tears. 

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 uniform was rough and smelled like the ocean and oil when we hugged.

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. 

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

The officer spoke, interrupting my thoughts. "Any other tattoos?"

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. 

"No. Just the one."

~*~ 

Until next time, may your days be long and well upon this Earth.

Coronavirus

Coronavirus (now known as COVID-19).

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?

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. 


For those who look for updated news, the following is a link to Johns Hopkins University's data wall 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.

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!

May you be well. 

The Mermaid

09 FEB 2020

[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] 

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 Lotería, the traditional Spanish lottery game, also known as Mexican Bingo. She is card number six.

Lotería 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. Here's an example of what might be said when La Sirena is pulled: 

"Numero Seis! La sirena! Con los cantos de sirena, no te vayas a marear."

Number 6! The Mermaid! Don’t be swayed by the songs of the mermaid.

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: 

Original (Haitian French):

Lasyrenn, Labalenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

M’ap fé karés ak Lasyrenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

M’ap fe dodo ak Lasyrenn,

Chapo’m tombe nan lanme’.

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!

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.

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.

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! 

Artwork from the Smithsonian American Art Museum: 
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

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.

Back to Fantasy

26JAN2020

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. 

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.

Figurehead: A classic ship's mermaid

Sedna

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. 

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! 

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.

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.