Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene's Blog, page 61
March 24, 2020
Laughter is good medicine — snorts are even better. #FreeBook
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
[image error]Deme & Honeybell, image by Teagan
Laughter, they say, is the best medicine. So, wouldn’t be even better when something makes you snort?
I write all sorts of stories. I’ve been told that I do some genre mash-ups. However, there’s one thing you can count on with my stories — whimsy. In the universe of Atonement, Tennessee, maybe in any of my story-verses, the most whimsical volume is The Glowing Pigs — Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee.
[image error]
It’s been hard for me to keep my spirits up during this pandemic. I know I’m certainly not the only one. Everybody could use a little “snort.” So, this Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday only, the Kindle version of this collection of short stories is free!
Or at least I hope so. Since I have WordPress launch my posts in the middle of my night, I have to rely on Amazon to have the pricing ready as promised. My expectation was that would be midnight in whatever time zone. However, as I write this, it is after midnight in the UK, and I don’t see the free pricing on the Amazon UK. So I apologize in advance if I’ve screwed it up.
Dyanna Wyndesong gave the collection this wonderful review. It made spirits soar for Deme and Honeybell — and especially me!
Fun and funny. Glowing pigs visit the little town of Atonement, Tennessee bringing their own brand of quirky magic to a town already steeped in magic. This wonderful little book give you a glimpse of the magic that Deme and Honeybell create and a quick peek at some of the residents of Atonement. It is a quick entertaining read guaranteed to bring a smile a snort and even giggle.
Here’s an Amazon universal link (all countries) for the Kindle version of this collection of “snorts” rxe.me/LTBDNH
Information about the rest of the Atonement, TN universe is below. Have a snortin’ good rest of the week. Be well, be happy. Hugs on the wing!
[image error]The Atonement, TN Collection. Image by Teagan Geneviene
The Atonement, TN universe of urban fantasies
Atonement, Tennessee
Kindle: rxe.me/HGSVA8A
The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee
Atonement in Bloom
Kindle: rxe.me/5RRBLH
Paperback: relinks.me/1726882128
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
March 20, 2020
The Delta Pearl 27 — Claim
Saturday, March 21, 2020
[image error]Image by Teagan R. Geneviene
Happy spring, my chuckaboos! I hope the vernal equinox brings all of us good health and happiness.
The “random reader thing” for this chapter comes from Jacquie Biggar — corset.
I made links to the previous chapter — and several others, just click here. Without further ado…
All aboard!
Last time
As I stared at the tiny landscape, I saw that what I had taken for a tree on the outcropping was a human figure. The tiny painted person moved to the edge and jumped off the cliff.
I gasped. It was impossible for something in a painting to move!
I was vaguely aware of hearing someone behind me, but I was so engrossed that I did not turn.
The Delta Pearl
Chapter 27 — Claim
[image error]Image by Teagan R. Geneviene, sourced via Pixabay
Perhaps I recognized a familiar energy, as Coral would say. The young woman who served as either maid or wait-person, depending on the need, was interested in all variations of spiritualism.
“Émeraude?”
Whatever the case, I would have known the voice anywhere, particularly with his dialect.
“Here thou art again, gazing at this picture,” the Mate commented, blue eyes twinkling. “Although I suppose it is better that you daydream over an old portrait than what you did the last time ye got upset over summat.”
“Blue, what ever do you mean?” I asked pretending ignorance.
I had been the butt of no small amount of teasing since the night the Cook got me tipsy. The fact that she meant to play matchmaker for Victor Elam and me made it all the worse. So of course, I knew that was what the Mate meant.
“Got y’usen puddle-drunk, you did. And there’s no telling what else thee might have done,” he said suggestively with wriggling eyebrows. “I hear that pretty governess even tried to take ye to her cabin.”
“Why Blue John Boulton! What an outrageous thing to suggest! As if I would dally with a passenger,” I cried, but instantly thought of Dr. Victor T. Elam with whom I would have very much liked to dally. “First, whatever Azalea Morton’s preferences may be, I am not attracted to other women. Secondly, my less than sober condition was all Agate’s fault.”
[image error]Kirk Douglas as Blue John Boulton
“Less than sober,” he chortled. “Puddle-drunk I say again! As for the Cook, the fault weren’t ern alone. I know Agate can be a mischievous little minx in getting folk to do as she thinks they ought. But a big part of the blame for that hangover was yourn,” the Mate teasingly chided me with a wagging finger.
“The question is, will thou be spiking some tea again after having to tell the Harvey couple they’re to be put off the Delta Pearl? And if ye are, would ye have the decency to invite me this time?” he added mournfully, but he was obviously trying not to laugh.
The exaggerated solemnity of his expression earned him an eye-roll. However, I sighed, relieved that unfortunate confrontation was actually finished. It had gone much better than I expected. I simply cowered behind the Dealer and let him do all the talking.
“I’m sorry, Mate. You’ve already missed the show,” I told him.
I had thought Hyacinth Harvey would engage in a high level of theatrics, so determined and often dramatic had she been in her attempts to get someone else to look after her nephew. However, one look at Jaspe’s stern countenance quelled any rebellion from her.
The Dealer was as fascinating to me as the portrait, actually more so, since he was a living being, right there in my own time and place. While his manners were perfect, and he was elegant and graceful, that was not what allowed him to handle the Harvey couple so smoothly.
No, Jaspe possessed a positively lethal grace, and I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. When he chose, the Dealer could project that quality quite clearly. If Jaspe got that look, only a fool would trifle with him. Witnessing the transition from mannerly to dangerous was chilling, even if one saw nothing more than the expression in his eyes.
[image error]Leslie Caron and Louis Jourdan 1958 Gigi Wikipedia
“Whatever the case,” Blue John continued. “I just thought you’d want to know that the Harveys and that little angel, Hershel, are safely gone ashore. They’re in a carriage as we speak, headed for dear old grandma’s house. And never to return to this fair riverboat again.”
“That’s a relief. Blue,” I began, wanting to ask if he really meant to leave the Delta Pearl for an extended time, perhaps forever. “Oh, never mind. It’s nothing,” I finished but he waited.
Blue John lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, silently nudging me to say what was on my mind. However, it simply was not my nature to pry. Instead, I found myself asking him about something else that weighed upon my mind — something about me.
“They say I’m ‘twice claimed’ by the Delta Pearl. What do you think that means? Rather what does it mean for me?” I asked in earnest.
He seemed surprised that I would ask. I supposed it was obvious to him. I realize I was in a state of denial. His extraordinary blue eyes held mine gravely. When he spoke, the strength of his odd dialect eased. Blue’s accent was heavier when he was being playful.
“Well, you know the Delta Pearl is no ordinary riverboat. The same applies to some of the items that are part of her. Artifacts, as Jaspe calls them. Anyhow, the Pearl tends to like folk with gemstone names. Her chosen feel a close bond with her. In your case, the portrait seems to have also taken a shine to you,” Blue John explained.
He paused, waiting for some acknowledgement from me. I was feeling unaccountably nervous. I took a deep breath ― or as deep of a breath as my corset would allow. I nodded for him to continue.
[image error]Warner Bro’s Corset ad circa 1900
“Doesn’t the long-ago lady look familiar to you?” the Mate asked, and motioned to the portrait.
“Yes. That’s what fascinates me most about the painting. But I can’t place her, or think of whom she reminds me,” I replied, wondering at the direction his words had taken.
The Mate started to chuckle. He shook his head and plopped his hands on my shoulders to make sure I remained facing him.
“Émeraude Perlezenn, you are the spitting image of the woman in the painting. You are connected to her in some way. Maybe she’s a relative. Maybe you were her in a past life and fate threw the twist of making you look alike. It could be any number of things! I don’t know how or why, but you are connected to the lady.”
The clang of a bell sounded outside. It signaled a shift change on deck. Blue John excused himself and left me pondering that revelation, while he went back to work.
A very quiet clicking sound drew my attention back to the portrait. When I turned back to the painting, Amethyst the clockwork spider sat upon the frame. She bunched her little mechanical legs, launched herself, and landed on my shoulder. I flinched, not expecting her to come to me so fast.
The purple spider emanated a series of clicks. It sounded like she was excited. Her speech capabilities were imperfect. I believed she could observe and understand far more than she was able to describe.
[image error]Pixabay image, tomfoolery by Teagan
She loved to spy, especially on the passengers. When she overheard a juicy tidbit, machine or not, Amethyst became excited to share the information. Unfortunately, it could require a good deal of interpretation due to her limited speech.
I moved several steps into the corridor where an elaborate mirror hung on the wall. Amethyst had to sit under my ear so she could whisper to me, which prevented any eye contact during the exchanges. The spider had long been captivated by being able to see both our reflections in the mirror while she whispered from her shoulder perch.
She had a row of four cabochon eyes, which were so dark a purple they were almost black. The two center eyes were larger. I looked at the four brightly shining orbs in the reflection. They eagerly sought my gaze via the mirror.
“Diamond,” the clockwork spider stretched to whisper in my ear and then turned back to observe my face in the looking glass.
My brows knitted. Many of the crew had gemstone names, but no one was called Diamond. I could only think of one diamond that would have interested Amethyst.
“Amethyst, you don’t mean Eliza Needleman’s big yellow diamond, do you? The Pharaoh Diamond?” I asked incredulous.
The mechanical spider bobbed her entire body up and down by straightening and then relaxing her legs. That was her equivalent of a nod.
I ran pell-mell for the Needleman suite of rooms. Passengers entrusted their personal safety and that of their valuables to the Delta Pearl and Captain Cecil Perlog. By extension that responsibility was also mine. If something was amiss with anything even half as valuable as the Pharaoh Diamond, I shuddered to think of the consequences.
Amethyst hooked her little feet into the shoulder of my gown and crouched down, hanging on as I ran.
[image error]Victoria-Transvaal Diamond 1951_Wikimedia
***
End Chapter 27
***
Yes, Amethyst is finally back! I wonder if she’s leading Émeraude to another red herring… I suppose we’ll know next time! Thanks for visiting. I hope you’ll leave a comment to say hello, before you leave, my chuckaboos.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 and 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
March 18, 2020
New Delta Pearl this weekend!
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
[image error]Image by Teagan R. Geneviene, sourced via Pixabay
Hello my chuckaboos! I’m just dropping in long enough to tell you that The Delta Pearl is on her way to the docks. I have a new chapter ready for this weekend.
Also, Amethyst, the clockwork spider, is back! We’ll be waiting for you at the riverboat dock.
March 13, 2020
The Delta Pearl — Past Chapters
Saturday, March 14, 2020
[image error] Photo by Dan Antion
Hello my chuckaboos! I’m happy you are here today.
I’ve gotten more than one kind of advice to extend my break a little longer. Don’t worry — I don’t have any kind of virus. I’m just trying to accomplish too many different things at once. Anyhow, the steampunk riverboat is not at the dock. Since The Delta Pearl has been on the river for so long, this can be a chance to catch up on chapters you missed, or to look for the little threads and clues I’ve left along the voyage.
The Delta Pearl 26 — Mesmerize
[image error]The Delta Pearl book cover created by Teagan R. Geneviene
Have a beautiful weekend, my chuckaboos! Hugs on the wing,
Teagan
March 6, 2020
The Delta Pearl — Taking a Break
Saturday, March 7, 2020
[image error]Clarence Alford at Pixabay
Hello my chuckaboos! I appreciate you coming here today.
However, the steampunk riverboat is not at the dock. I’m tired (in many ways) and decided to give myself a break.
Meanwhile, I’ll try to entertain you with my real-life adventure. A few of you may have seen it on Facebook.
Evidence that we came from apes…
[image error] Image by Chris Graham
What evidence? Me putting a patio chair together. If there had been a video it would have gone viral.
Day-1 attached seat to back. Had to use both feet and my chin to help hold it in place, while my hands attached nuts and bolts. There was more clanging and banging than the bells of a huge cathedral. (It’s all metal.)
Day-2 had to have a break from the clanging and banging so my ears could stop ringing.
And remind self that feet don’t have to be used instead of hands to open containers or eat soup.
I also had to remind myself that “Oo, Oo!” is not the phrase used for answering the phone. Experienced a strange craving for bananas.
Day-3 attached the U-shape (?) legs/arms to chair seat/back. Employed both feet again. Unfortunately the legs are not angled to fit the seat. They’re just straight. This caused one side to be six inches away from meeting the seat.
Solution? Employed butt.
My plumply padded posterior is good for something after all. I had to sit on the “bar” part of the leg to force it close enough to the chair-seat … Then lean down and twist sideways to hold bolt and Allen wrench (from underneath, where I couldn’t see) with one hand, and the nut and my adjustable wrench with the other.
There wasn’t enough room to make even a half-turn with the wrench. All the wrenches kept slipping… All this to the “tune” of endless clanging and banging. And the “dance” of neck and shoulder twisting… However, thanks to my feet, chin, and butt, I now have a chair on the patio.
It’s really weird to have sore muscles in the tops of your feet…
Oo, Oo! Woe is me, there are three more chairs — and a table, waiting to be put together.
I need a daiquiri! A banana daiquiri!
I’m sorry to be away. I truly hope you will be back next weekend for a new chapter of The Delta Pearl. Comments are closed. Like I said, I’m taking a little break.
Now, here’s Heart with “Dreamboat Annie.”
Hugs on the wing,
Teagan
March 3, 2020
Wednesday Books — Fiza Pathan, The Reclusive Writer and Reader of Bandra #RRBC #Bookreview
Wednesday, March 4, 2020
[image error]Crystal with Fiza’s book. Now she wants to go to India…
Welcome to the second installment of Wednesday Books! These are the reviews I agreed to do as part of my membership in the Rave Reviews Book Club (RRBC).
As I’ve said previously, I don’t think of myself as a book reviewer. However, I’ll do my version of a “review.” This time I really stepped outside my preferred fantasy genre and read a collection of personal essays. The book is by Fiza Pathan, and it is called “The Reclusive Writer and Reader of Bandra.” When Fiza described how libraries and bookshops became her sanctuary, how could I resist? She also includes those places and more throughout the book.
I read a lot of non-fiction with blogs and with the research I do for various things, but not usually for pleasure. So understand that it is a very high compliment to the author’s ability — for me to sit down and enjoy this kind of book. Fiza has many books available, but this is the first time I had read her work. You can find them at her Amazon author page.
This fun photo of the author with a stack of books is from her Facebook page. I wanted to give her this fantasy background of all the bookshelves towering into the sky.
[image error]Fiza Pathan. Background by Pixabay, image altered by Teagan Geneviene
I thought it would be fun to ask Fiza a couple of questions about specific things related to the book.
Questions for Fiza
1) Choose one library, bookstore, etc. mentioned in your book, and tell my readers a particular detail (about the building, setting, atmosphere, or other) that you liked and why.
I have always loved my school library. I studied at Bombay Scottish School (BSS), an I.C.S.E school which is in Mahim, in the beautiful city of Mumbai, India. I was introduced to my first classic Dracula by Bram Stoker in this place by the BSS librarian Mrs. Ratnaswami. One detail about the place which many people in the school as well as many students don’t know about is – that it has secret passages.
There are many secret passages, hidden doors behind bookcases, trap doors and hidden rooms in the BSS library. I have used these secret passages to enter the library without being caught by the teachers of the school.
I hated school, but I loved and worshipped my school library. I used these secret passages not only to enter but even escape from the library. I have been saved many a time from being caught reading during school hours in the library but always managed to escape through these passages, especially the secret doors. I used to hide away from the teachers & students in the school in this library. There are quite a few trap doors that I used to navigate to & from the library.
Teagan: I’ve always been infatuated with secret passages. How wonderful! Do tell us more, Fiza.
Sorry, no more details than that. I don’t want to let out these secret locations. This is to ensure that if there is any other little book worm in the BSS library who has stumbled onto these secret passages, their secret is safe with me.
However, I can tell you the history of these secret passages. It’s simple; the school has undergone a lot of changes over the past 167 years since its inception. The library was once the boarding house of the boys in the school, which was once an orphanage for British and Scottish children. It has since changed in several ways leading to hidden passages which were once real doors to different parts of the school.
Once Mrs. Ratnaswami, Aruna — the BSS library staff helper, and I stumbled upon a secret stone hiding place. Inside it was a stash of old novels, short story collections, school notebooks, et al., of a young British orphan boy who lived in the orphanage. All the books were printed in the late 19th century and smelled deliciously old. I don’t know what became of them, but I got to read the books – they were fun reads.
So, secret passages are the one feature of my school library at BSS which I love the most. Perfect hiding and escape routes for a reclusive and highly introverted book phoenix like me!
[image error]Pixabay
2) Who was an interesting, intriguing person, or just an odd stranger you met at one of the places in this book?
Once at the Victoria library-cum-second-hand bookstore run by the younger of the Merchant brothers, Mr. Arif Merchant, I ran into a very odd old man. He smelt of stale cigarette smoke and Earl Grey tea. He had come to sell off his used books to Arif sir. He had a whole cloth bag full of them. He was a left-handed man, a Muslim gentleman with a henna dyed dark brownish red beard. He had the usual run of thrillers in his dirty moth smelling cloth bag – books by James Patterson, Jefferey Archer, David Baldacci, Lee Child, Arthur Hailey, Mary Higgins Clark, Jo Nesbo, the usual.
He had a face that seemed to be etched to the bone with wrinkles. His hands were mere bones and his grey veins were prominent. Sadly, I saw that he was a drug addict – his puncture holes were visible for all to see. Some of the holes were so used up that they seemed to take some bizarre coal black shapes.
I was the one who bought some of the books from him. He spoke fluent Queen’s English. He sold them to me through Arif sir at dirt cheap prices – Indian Rupees twenty for a novel. We didn’t speak but I was mesmerized by the puncture marks in both his inner elbows.
He saw me looking at him but didn’t comment. He was frail as the wing of a dove. He was tanned and in many places on his right hand, the injection had left ugly scars where it had remained after he had shot himself.
But he had really great books. And more than that, he had eyes like Bambi.
I remember him well because he left many memorabilia in the books he sold to me – hand painted bookmarks, newspaper cuttings from the 1980s, a plane ticket of Indigo Airlines, many spatters of blood on the pages of the book, a bill of fare from a foreign book shop, an old library card from the University of Mumbai, a piece of a crow’s feather, and so much else.
The library card had his photograph and name, but I can’t divulge that information. It was the library card of a handsome, robust and younger Muslim man – a shadow of the person he had now become.
I liked him because of his injection puncture wounds.
They were like body art, the body art of a silent scream of pain.
Teagan: What a vivid portrait you just painted, Fiza. Beautifully told.
[image error]The Reclusive Reader and Writer of Bandra, by Fiza Pathan
Now, I’ll get to this review.
Here’s an excerpt from the blurb at Amazon
This book of personal essays documents the relationship Fiza Pathan has had with the many libraries, secondhand bookshops, boutique bookstores, and writing haunts that have made her into the writer, publisher, and teacher she is today. Fiza believes that she is an amalgamation of the books she has read over nearly twenty-seven years and the places that have provided her with excellent reading material.
Places have a way of making us into the people we become, and we take them along with us wherever we go. But what if all of those places are libraries, bookshops, and writing huts? What if you have used these places as launching pads to get to destinations beyond what you can see–places in your mind. And what if these places within you have defined the recluse you are–the recluse who has actually lived a thousand lives.
My Review
[image error]The Reclusive Writer & Reader of Bandra by Fiza Pathan
Many of us know how it is to have a moment of feeling unwanted. A few of us know what it’s like to experience that at a profound, core level. Some of us keep those feelings stomped down, denied, ignored, carrying the weight of it for decades. This author has transformed her pain into a passion for reading, a love of books, libraries, and bookstores. The mark life has emblazoned on her heart became a light that shines in this collection of essays.
When I saw the word “reclusive” in the title, I knew I had to read this book. It was not about me expecting to like it or not, it was an intuitive reaction. Besides, calling me a recluse would be an understatement!
Even so, I always enjoyed meeting people who were different from me, hearing their stories, learning about their day-to-day life. Reading this book felt like visiting all the bookstores and other places the author mentions, not just with a friend, but with a friend whose true thoughts you got to see.
Ms. Pathan paints the scenes simply yet vividly. Here’s one example.
“The women who sit at the temple’s entrance with their cows now know me well, and look at each other when I carry off a jute bag full of books to the waiting taxi.”
I could see, hear, and smell that scene. This book is very well written. I don’t say that lightly. Remember I had a long career as an editor, working for senior-level executives. It’s also personable. Despite the pain it conveys, it is also imbued with the warmth of this author’s personality.
I freely recommend this book.
Fiza, I appreciate the time you’ve spent here today. Wishing you huge success with The Reclusive Writer & Reader of Bandra, and all your books. I look forward to reading more of them.
Thanks to everyone for visiting. I love your comments, so be sure to stop and say hello. I hope you will also visit Fiza. Hugs on the wing!
Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
February 28, 2020
The Delta Pearl 26 — Mesmerize
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Welcome back to the #steampunk riverboat, my chuckaboos!
Sometimes a “random reader thing” comes from a comment that I just can’t resist. That’s what happened when John W. Howell mentioned conundrum.
It’s been quite a while since this riverboat first left the dock. Before reading this chapter, you might want to review Chapter 1 — Dance, or Chapter 10 — Cover. Without further ado…
All aboard!
The Delta Pearl
Chapter 26 — Mesmerize
[image error]Pixabay
Sunlight flashed into my eyes. An odd clicking caused me to look up into the sky. The fluttering sound of a bird came to my ears. I shielded my eyes with my hand. Then I spotted something brass colored as it streaked across the blue sky above the Delta Pearl.
Onyx!
I was happy to see the Captain’s clockwork owl. My joy quickly turned to concern. The brass owl’s flight was erratic. Onyx appeared to be headed for the pilot house. I rushed up the stairs to the highest part of the riverboat.
I was not surprised to find Captain Cecil Perlog with his head of unruly platinum hair bent over the clockwork creature. What I had not expected was to see Dr. Victor T. Elam there as well. Victor inspected the owl’s wing in minute detail. Although, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was brilliant inventor and good with any sort of mechanism.
“Don’t worry your head about Onyx, Emmie. He’s going to be just fine,” the Captain assured me.
“Emmie?” Victor asked, turning to me.
He raised his eyebrows in a way that was a sure threat of teasing about my despised nickname. The only people who could get away with calling me Emmie were the Captain and the Cook.
“I’ll battyfang you within an inch of your life if you ever even think of using that name,” I hissed at Victor.
[image error]Allison Scagliotti as Émeraude. Composite of Pixabay & public domain images by Teagan
I couldn’t persuade the Captain to tell me where Onyx had been. Although it was apparent that he would not tell Victor either, so I excused myself, saying I had to go back to my duties. However, that was not my intention.
The combination of sight and sound when I spotted Onyx flying back to the riverboat triggered an old memory. When I was a child on the riverbank, I had caught a glimpse of the clockwork owl. It was just before I saw the Delta Pearl for the first time.
Something about that day was buried, hidden from my memory. Jaspe had told me that there were holes in what I could remember from my childhood, particularly the ones that were near that time. He said that if I had kept myself from remembering things, that it was best to leave it alone.
“Why torture yourself, cher?” he had asked in that soft quasi French accent. “You are safe here with the Delta Pearl, and surrounded by those who care about you, n’est-ce pas? This conundrum is best left alone. C’est tout.”
Abruptly I wanted to check something in that beautiful old portrait. My stomach twisted around the idea that something in that painting related to that first day. Yet, I believed the Dealer was right. If I had misplaced the memory of something from that terrible time, it was likely best if I let it stay lost. The hairs on my arms stood up.
I wasn’t sure what I thought I would find, but I had to check that portrait.
[image error]Euphemia (Effie) Gray by Thomas Richmond 1865, Wikipedia
Perhaps the portrait mesmerized me. I don’t know how long I stood there gazing at the old painting of the beautiful woman. Of course, the model was unaccountably familiar to me, but everything else about the painting fascinated me as well. I couldn’t imagine how the artist painted the woman’s hair to make it shine with such luster.
Also, I was amazed by the generous number of interesting things in the background. Of course, they were done in tiny brush strokes, which seemed like an impossible task to one as lacking in artistic talent as myself.
To the model’s right was a grouping of buildings and a port. To her left was a depiction of a grassy outcropping that stood high above the river below. I doubt the details would be noticed without intense scrutiny of the portrait, but it was the presence of those minute additions that caused the painting to enthrall me.
Looking at the outcropping brought memories of long ago. It was so much like a place by the river at my childhood home. Unfortunately, all those memories were bad. Once again, goosebumps rose on my arms. I turned my attention back to the cameo that was nearly a duplicate of my own.
As I stared at the tiny landscape, I saw that what I had taken for a tree on the outcropping was a human figure. The tiny painted person moved to the edge and jumped off the cliff!
I gasped. It was impossible for something in a painting to move!
I was vaguely aware of hearing someone behind me, but I was so engrossed that I did not turn.
***
End Chapter 26
***
Transfixed by the movement inside a painting, goosebumps, hearing someone behind you… Émeraude, I think I’d turn around! Thanks for visiting. I hope you’ll leave a comment to say hello, before you leave, my chuckaboos.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 and 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
February 27, 2020
From a Modern Romance to the Jazz Age: Two Book Reviews — Annika Perry’s Writing Blog
Thursday, February 27, 2020
[image error]
I’m toasting Annika Perry, a delightful author who just did a fabulous review of my dictionary of Roaring Twenties slang, Speak Flapper.
[image error]Speak Flapper, Slang of the 1920s by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
Universal Purchase Links:
Kindle: relinks.me/B083HNK3BB
Paperback: relinks.me/1656168553
I’m also in great company there today with her review of Jill Weatherholt’s book.
Comments here are closed, because I hope you’ll click over and visit Annika. Explore her blog, learn about her marvelous books. She’s really the cat’s pajamas — and so are you! (Link below.)
These days I read a far wider variety of genres and it’s my joy to share the reviews of these two contrasting books – I hope you enjoy the eclectic mix! “A Mother for His Twins” by Jill Weatherholt The past and present collide to create the perfect scenario for this superb and engrossing romantic […]
via From a Modern Romance to the Jazz Age: Two Book Reviews — Annika Perry’s Writing Blog
February 25, 2020
Wednesday Writing — or Procrastination?
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Here we are at another halfway point, another hump day. I’m only halfway on one particular thing because of one evil villain — Procrastination. Or at least I’ve begun to think that is what’s to blame. I go round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel…
[image error]Michael Gaida, Pixabay
#AmWriting? Not… How do I get back on track? I’ve been trying so hard to get back to the National Novel Writing Month (#NaNoWriMo) novel I drafted in November. I shouldn’t have let anything derail me. But after an intense month, I thought a short break was in order. Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel…
I extended my break from that novel, because in December, I realized it was a good time to publish my fairytale, “Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam” (relinks.me/B082RFN9GF). Like a carousel that’s turning running rings around the moon…
[image error]Michael Seibt, Pixabay
Bedlam Thunder is a misfit faery. Most of my characters are misfits, outcasts, or just different in some way — so am I. Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own…
Then I had stomach flu for three weeks. While I was down with that, I put the finishing touches on “Speak Flapper” ( relinks.me/B083HNK3BB). In my particular circumstance, being sick for that long created new fears and depression. Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone…
Finally feeling stronger, I suddenly wanted to do a story for Valentine’s Day and published “Fiona Finch & the Pink Valentine” (relinks.me/B084NZFZ14). Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream…
[image error]Rob de Roy at Pixabay
With the November novel in mind, I tried to get myself back on track by taking part in things, participating, and the like. I promised myself I could do it. After all, on the surface, we “look like” the fact of aging farther into adulthood melts away the things that create misfits. As we get older the differences in location, upbringing, culture, race — all the stereotypes blend and blur (on the outside) into our general appearance. We “look like” we become similar and begin to fit with each other. Looks are deceiving — I saw that even though I’m at the far-end of adulthood, I still don’t fit in. I’m fine with that. Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face…
[image error]Maxmann at Pixabay
…And I just can’t find my way back to the November novel. Was I procrastinating? Most likely. Now, dozens of other story ideas keep jumping out in front of me. Even a new idea for Birdie and Jinx from “Brother Love – a Crossroad” relinks.me/B07V25SXFR). So many new ideas, all the time. Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head…
[image error]DarkWorkX at Pixabay
And all the while I just want to find the road back to my novel and to fictional “Fortune, Nevada.” Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind…
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind!
Excerpt from Windmills of Your Mind. Songwriters: Marilyn Bergman / Michel Legrand / Alan Bergman
From somewhere in the windmills of my mind, I send you hugs on the wing… or maybe the windmill!
***
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
February 21, 2020
The Delta Pearl 25 — Talk
Saturday, February 22, 2020
Welcome back to the #steampunk riverboat, my chuckaboos!
Many weeks ago Kevin Cooper left Christmas tree as a random reader thing. I’m almost certain that another reader also left that as a thing, but if that’s the case, I don’t have it in my story matrix — and I apologize.
I see the riverboat headed to the dock. Today the Captain has some business to attend.
All aboard!
The Delta Pearl
Chapter 25 — Talk
[image error]A Private View at the Royal Academy (1883) by William Powell Frith. Wikipedia
Talk that the Delta Pearl somehow kept the crew, or at least some of them, from leaving wasn’t limited to the conversation between the Captain and the Cook. It was practically a legend among the younger staff. It was a scary story to tell in a dark cargo hold by the light of a lone lantern.
I couldn’t help thinking of that overheard conversation again when I thought of the Mate. For some time, we had been concerned about Blue John Bolton’s mental wellbeing, and Captain Perlog had just called an all hands meeting.
It was extremely unusual for the Captain to hold a meeting of the entire crew, unless it was Christmastime, or some important or otherwise special event had occurred. However, there was no Christmas tree, no holiday or event of any sort. That could only mean the meeting was about something bad.
Inwardly I cringed. I was sure the Captain would announce Blue John’s departure. I really hated to see Blue leave. Although I recognized that it was selfish of me, I quietly hoped he would change his mind and stay.
Yet, that was not the topic of Cecil Perlog’s all hands meeting after all. When the Captain revealed the reason for convening the staff, it seemed like a strong reaction to a trivial matter. However, things had escalated.
[image error]Victorian boy, tin-type photo 1856-1900 Wikimedia
The Harveys’ deceptively cherubic looking nephew, Hershel, had become more than a pest. It was not just the black eye he caused the Chief Porter to get.
Mrs. Eliza Needleman cornered Blue, the Mate, insisting that a ranking crew member walk her dog each day — because Hershel followed her whenever she walked the animal, pleading to be allowed to take it elsewhere and play. I couldn’t blame Eliza a bit for not trusting the boy with her small dog.
Then there was Mrs. Harvey herself, forever trying to pawn the boy off on any and everyone else, crew and passengers a like.
Mrs. Needleman asked that the Captain or someone else of rank confront the Harvey couple and their nephew. She felt that would mean someone trustworthy, and she believed such a person could be firm enough with the little scoundrel to make him back down. Worse she implied that her wealthy husband had some business scheme in mind involving the Delta Pearl — a scheme she would back if the Captain did not comply with her request.
Eliza had hinted to me that her husband wanted the riverboat. Although I didn’t see how that could make good business sense to a man like Randal Needleman. I hated to think that she would take part in such a scheme.
Even that would not have caused the Captain to convene the entire crew of the riverboat. The Captain would have handled that sort of situation personally and quietly.
[image error]Photo by Dan Antion
His reason became abundantly clear when Cecil Perlog told us that the Delta Pearl would be making an emergency stop.
The “angelic” little Harvey boy sneaked into the kitchen while the staff was in the dining hall. Hershel pilfered the largest container of cooking oil that he could carry and poured it across a well trafficked part of the Chandelier Deck.
One passenger slipped and fell. However, he blamed it on his somewhat inebriated state and therefore said nothing about the slippery flooring. The next person to step into young Hershel’s trap broke his wrist and cracked the back of his head, much to the little imp’s delight. The Delta Pearl’s physician set the broken bone, but insisted that the guest be hospitalized for serious concussion the fall had given him, hence the emergency stop.
I myself had fallen over the banister of the upper deck. It might well have been a lethal accident. That happened before everyone was aware of the seriousness of the child’s so-called pranks.
However, word spread among the crew and everyone gave me significant and sympathetic looks. They all suspected Hershel as the cause of my incident. A cold, almost feral but protective gleam in Cecil Perlog’s eyes when he glanced my way told me he was sure the boy had been responsible.
In light of the badly injured passenger, the Captain decided a “talking to” was not sufficient. The newlyweds already realized what foul mischief the boy had done and did nothing to stop it.
While one certainly did not want to offend a customer, you couldn’t very well let them go about pestering another of your customers… particularly not passengers as wealthy and influential as Mr. and Mrs. Needleman, or an injured guest who might well instigate legal proceedings.
[image error]Robbie Coltrane as Cecil Perlog, aka The Captain
So, the Captain decreed that the Delta Pearl would make one more additional stop after leaving the injured passenger at the closest hospital. There was a location that was actually much closer to the town where the boy’s grandmother lived than the rendezvous point where the newlyweds planned to give Hershel to her. The couple was unaware of it, as it was not a usual stop for the riverboat.
The Harveys would disembark there and be “invited” not to return to the Delta Pearl. The Mate was already making arrangements for a carriage to take them to the grandmother’s home, and wiring her to make sure she was prepared for the schedule change. The Captain also said their passage would be refunded in full. That seemed too generous to me. However, Cecil Perlog was an astute businessman.
While there was nothing abusive, loud, or illegal about the Harvey couple, excepting what Hershel had done, they were the most stressful people I had ever encountered aboard the Delta Pearl.
I sat with my eyes firmly affixed to a spot behind and just to the left of the Captain’s head. I feared that if I made eye contact with him, then he would assign me the delicate task.
“How much longer until we reach the place where the brat is delivered to the grandmother? It’s gone too far. The little wanker’s theirn. The responsibility isn’t ourn,” Blue asked in the accent of his Derbyshire home.
[image error]Kirk Douglas as Blue John Boulton
The Captain gave the Mate a pointed look for his choice of words. Blue John Boulton was a good man, but he was not the most diplomatic.
I had tried to study Captain Cecil Perlog. His huge stature and unruly hair did not give a first impression of superior intelligence. Yet I had seen more than one fool be undone by underestimating the Captain. His reasoning was often unexpected, yet it was always flawless. I admired his quiet wisdom. I wanted to understand how his mind worked, and learn from it.
How would he handle this touchy situation? The Captain’s size and booming voice would make him seem overtly intimidating to the Harvey couple if he made any criticism, no matter how mild.
Perhaps the Mate… His appearance and manner were suitably professional. However, he was far too direct. He knew how to be diplomatic, but if annoyed, he would likely slip and say something offensive. Besides in his current state, he was sure to slip.
Perhaps someone whose sympathy was easily apparent. The Cook was always perceived as empathetic. Yet she was a force of nature and could stand her ground. Yes, perhaps Agate was the best choice. Although, she might well take the little imp and spank him.
As I gave myself that mental exercise of figuring out what the Captain would do, I was running out of choices. I sank in my chair, even more fearful that the Captain would hand the task to me, just because no one else would want it. He walked closer. As I stared at the floor, I heard him chuckle softly. Sometimes it seemed like he could read my thoughts.
[image error]Childe Hassam The Victorian Chair 1906 WikiMedia
“Jaspe, would you kindly ask the Harveys to keep a tight rein on the boy? Explain that they are ultimately responsible for his safety, not any of the other passengers,” he said to the Dealer.
Of course, I thought.
Jaspe was poised and polite. Yet his manner was so matter-of-fact that it would be difficult to take his words personally. I breathed a sigh of relief — but it caught in my throat.
“Émeraude,” the Captain called my name, deflating my momentary sense of security. “Go with the Dealer, if you please. In such a situation, it’s best to have a witness. Plus, it will be good experience for you. Just stand by, watch and listen.”
***
End Chapter 25
***
Well, that’s one problem soon to be resolved. Although on this magical riverboat, it’s hard to predict anything. Thanks for visiting. I hope you’ll leave a comment to say hello, before you leave, my chuckaboos.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 and 2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.
