Cage Dunn's Blog, page 92
July 15, 2016
The Journey of Shadow
Chapter 7 – A Task
Chapter 8 – Ulamba
Chapter 9 – The Cave of Purples
All now available at Smashwords and on Shadow’s Page.
Enjoy (more chapters will go up on Sunday 17 July 2016).
Chapter 10 – Moolanda, the Other Side
Chapter 11 – A Strange Land
Chapter 12 – The War Wizard.
July 14, 2016
Another One of Those Storms
We had storms last week – trees uprooted, roofs shattered, houses flooded. And what was my major concern – no internet.
The phone worked, the power was on, TV and cable – all okay. No internet.
It’s very sad that my whole life revolves around this technology, but it does. Without that connection to the outside world, I have no real life. This connection enables me to put my stories out ‘there’; to connect with friends and family regardless of distance; to order whatever I need (and some things I don’t need). It’s sad, because I don’t get out much. The fold-art issues with arfa-ritis (yes, I give it a name that is childish and non-harmful) and pain associated with such means I spend too much time in my mind, and not enough time outside.
The big tree that crashed to the ground outside my ‘writer’ window made a sound of deathness – a boom and crash and shudder – that I ignored until branches hit the roof above my head. ‘Oh, shit’ I said, when I saw how close it had come to causing some serious problems, but then I went back inside and back to work on my ‘other’ world.
No internet – catastrophe! What can I do?
This is the time when all the things I’ve put off because there are so many other important things to be done – they get to be first cab off the rank, highest priority. The things I don’t like doing, are hard work, or simply things I can’t quite figure out (need more time to cogitate in the mind first – lots of time).
The worst thing for me is: Pictures!! Slightly colour-blind (yeh, yeh, I know – but I choose how to ‘adapt’ to this and I can call it how I like), can’t draw a straight line to save my life (or a bent one, for that matter), don’t understand depth or scale or any of those things picturely people talk about. If I like it, I can’t figure out why I like it; if I don’t like it, I move on to find something else. If I decide to go out and take pictures of things – blurry, furry, fuzzy (always – I blame thyroid, but it’s been like that my whole life).
Is it because I was extremely short-sighted as a kid? Didn’t see the world the way everyone else did? Can’t be – what about Claude Monet (the reason I like his works is because that’s how I saw the world as a child – so he must have been ever so slightly short-sighted)? So I get pictures from friends and family and others (through the connection to the internet) so that I can have the same beauty, the same level of joy, from the things out there in the world.
My world is cut off like a skink’s tail when there’s no internet. The patience it takes to wait while it regrows, to go on, to do other things that matter – now, that can teach me something. To value the time, embark on things difficult and consuming, to see beyond my own needs and desires, to be FREE.
But only until it comes back.
July 12, 2016
A Guest
I am a guest in this life, and the rules are simple:
Treat the house you are in as if it were your home (with respect);
Treat your hosts as if they were your family (and you love them);
Treat your food as if it is your first meal after a long and hard journey (and delicious);
Clothe yourself to reflect the expectations of your hosts (yes, I know, but when in Rome . . .);
Don’t swear, blaspheme, lose your temper or throw a tanty;
Don’t use physical violence or the threat of such;
Don’t force words or physical affections on others;
Don’t break the rules of the society you are residing in.
A person with a reasonable expectation of these rules would be broken-hearted, wouldn’t they, if they could see what really happens in the world?
When a young adult comes to visit, sits at the table with the e-gadgets, responds with grunts and mumbles and disappears as soon as possible – without any words of . . . (what? As an adult, I would say words of apology, or excuse, or reason – but I am no longer young, and cannot expect the young I meet today to have the social sameness of my youth);
When a young child comes to visit, opens every cupboard, pores through the fridge and pantry, drags out dozens of items and empties the contents all over the place – what should I do? What should I say? The parent/s say nothing, do nothing, treat it as if this is the way it always is.
The rules of my life no longer apply.
The rules of the new world are here.
What are they? I’m in the dark. Don’t know how to respond appropriately to young people, children, or the adults who accompany them.
Should I do what my parents would have done? No, because they would have told the children to go outside and make a mess out there, and then would have chastised the parent as if they had the right to chastise anyone younger than them. And is it still safe to play outside?
Should I do what my peers would do? No, because they would roll their eyes and use body language to express their dissatisfaction with the situation, their disdain for the parents/young adults/children in words that can cut as deeply and permanently as a knife – a blunt knife.
Should I do what the parents do? No, because they have not done what it takes to earn the respect of their offspring – they only tread the ground as a provider, not as a mentor/advisor. Children need more than that. Structure, boundaries, security, CONNECTION to the whole.
Should I do what is right? And what is right? For that particular child, in that particular situation, at that particular time? And how will I know what is right? Right by whose standards? Mine? I don’t know the rules of society as they stand at the moment (and they change every day). I don’t know what to do . . . do you?
What am I going to do? This is what I will do:
Treat every person I meet with a level of ‘equal-ness’ – respect and openness, pleasure and interest, courtesy and joy. Because this is what I would like from other people, this is what I will offer the people I meet – ALL the people I meet, regardless of age, gender, social situation, employment situation, location, eye-colour, foot-size, etc. etc. etc. I can only hope that you will do the same. Please, CONNECT with the people around you – all of them. We reflect –
July 10, 2016
The Journey Continues
Shadow’s Journey – Chapter 4: A Jar of Failure and Chapter 5: The Dry Soak —
Both available now (free). Chapter six will find Iranisa – one dragon, or the only dragon?
July 9, 2016
A Wise Word
Nan always told me to be true to my inner self. I didn’t understand, and she died a long time ago – so no chance to check what she really meant after I grew up enough to think about it. I saw her picture yesterday – a young woman (tin-type, uploaded on someone’s genealogy site, so a relative?) with dark hair and straight fingers; tall and proud and dark-skinned. A tan? No.
Do my relatives who uploaded her picture really understand who she was? Did they find the piece of paper – a card – that gave permission for her to associate with ‘citizens’ (read white people) and to work in that city?
As a young kid, I always thought she was brown because she worked outside a lot – gardening, walking to the beach to collect the crab pots and seaweed (for the garden); cleaning for ‘old’ people (usually younger than she was). I didn’t understand. I didn’t think anything of it, and I thought the people who treated her ‘that way’ did it because she was a cleaner.
Now I see a different picture. I see how things have not changed. On the surface, maybe, but in depth? Not at all.
In Australia, how many people are unemployed? White, or non-Aboriginal >25yo is approx. 5-7%; 25yo is approx. 53% + 27% non-participant (something wrong with those numbers? Check employment figures of 2% for aboriginal people);
The numbers are not presented in the same manner or construct as the ‘normal’ stats. Why? Is it so bad? What are the problems?
Education, training, skills – yes; perception – big problem! Location – yes; but the biggest problem? Discrimination and poor health.
Only once in my life did I put on a job application form the tick that identified me as ‘ATSI’ – can you guess what happened? It got me an interview. It got me rudeness (‘you don’t look Aboriginal’ and that sideways look that says ‘you’re a liar’). Job? No.
This is only one example. There are many examples out there: discrimination by race, by accent, by age, by locale, by educational institution (or lack of), friends (yep, you gotta know somebody) – still happening.
Parochialism – the idea that if a person isn’t local, they aren’t good enough – is rampant. In sports, in housing, in employment. It also applies to community, race and level of courtesy extended.
We are all one – humans who originated in the same place, from the same moment of history. Marking difference marks the one who makes the difference! Different is only difference, it is not separateness. We (the other) are not aliens, not from another planet, not going to eat your children or steal your food or kill you in your bed.
Think – if you were the one who was in a situation where you are one of the few (oh, so few), would you like someone to help you stand up? Support you in your need to be independent? Help you become part of the community?
Yes?! So do it. Not words – actions! Now.
July 8, 2016
The Next Chapter
The Journey of Shadow:
Chapter 3: As Told to Darkan. Next week, chapter 4: A Jar of Failure and Chapter 5: The Dry Soak. The following week, in Chapter 6, meet Iranisa. One dragon, or The Dragon?
July 6, 2016
A Story: Monis Glinker, Unburdened
Copyright CS Dunn (beware present tense).
The steps come faster and faster, louder and louder, echoed in a double staccato off the stone alley. The breathing is harsh, jagged, loud. Takes the steps two, no, three at a time; slides on the rail; move – move – move. The shadow lurches over the flagstones, over the runner, larger than life, larger than death. It moves closer, limbs raised – crash. The body falls, inert; no sound but the last huff of breath that dissipates into the dew of the morning. It is over. For now.
Sunlight uncovers the deed. People turn their heads away as they walk past. Too busy, too careful. The lord has his ways, and the occasional body in the streets was the price they paid for his protection. Soon, soon the street cleaners would come and the body would go, and they could all pretend it was nothing; that nothing happened.
Only one person stops, kneels. The shoulders shudder, the keening sharp and raw. No one stops, no one pauses. They continue on their chosen path. It was not their child, it was not their concern.
Monis turned to look out over the river. The river that gave them fish for food, that gave them water to drink and wash with, and the monster. The monster that killed her eldest daughter. The body beneath her hands, the child she bore and birthed, the child she had trained to take over her task. Nothing. It had all come to nothing.
Did the beast know? Did it choose this sacrifice specifically to thwart her plans? Could it be intelligent enough to know? It was a beast, a monster. It kept enemies at bay, but was the price worth what it offered? Monis did not think so. She had planned for decades; her mother had planned for decades. They had mated with the magic of earth and fire to find the right soul to capture it, hold it prisoner as it held them prisoner.
The trade routes closed for four generations. Not even pirates came to their port; not even the desert caravans passed this way now. The whole community – closed to outsiders. More people left each year, sneaking away with the darkness. How many of them made it? Or did they, too, end up lying somewhere with their soul sucked from their bodies?
In the now, she would take the child of her body. Monis would not put her on a pyre; she would not leave the body for the street cleaners. Her baby would go home with her; laid out on the stones of the God of Strength; her hair brushed by the bones of the God of the Sea; her body washed by the God of the lower Waters, and the God of Delusion would take her by the hand and lead her child away from this plane. Where the body was taken after that was a mystery even to the high priestess of All the Gods. Monis would be stripped of that position now. Her protégé was gone. Her prospects for the future – gone.
Tomorrow, she would be gone from here, gone from her obligations, gone. Forever. But she would not stop searching for the answer. And when she had it, when she knew the secret, she would return. Vengeance would be hers.
An idea for a novel (already partly underway) – due for release in 2017.
July 4, 2016
July 2, 2016
The Triptych is Complete
Speculations of a Dark Nature – the triptych – is complete. The three pieces are available individually and in combination. Enjoy.
How did it come about?
Well, it’s a long story, see, and it started so long ago that I’m not really sure. But . . . my first published story happened when I was 8 (yep, eight years old and published – non-fiction). Of course, I’d been telling stories for a long time before that, but that was when I realised it was important.
And once I realised how important it was, the stories just kept jumping up at me. “Pick me, pick me,” they all screamed at me. They can’t be ignored; they come at you when you sleep, when your mind wanders even the littlest, tiniest bit; when you’re supposed to be doing something else (important of course, or boring, you know – that stuff). They can’t be ignored, or they get louder and more insistent and more determined to get you right where it hurts you most.
So, what to do?
Sit down and write the bits that come out hardest, fastest. Give them a covering of words that will settle them down for a while. Wait and watch and see what happens to the seed. Some of them take a long time to germinate, to pop up the next piece of their growth. Some burst up immediately and you have to feed and tend and nurture and train and trim and nourish – until the fruit bursts forth and can be picked and shared.
That’s what this triptych is: some of the more insistent stories that wouldn’t wait; the stories that wanted to be out there and part of the world.
Of course, some of the stories are already part of bigger things (See the Shadow serial and Beasts and Dragons for examples), and there are already hundreds more waiting for their chance to shine.
Short stories, even though they’re here and visible, are very hard for me. To give enough words to show the feel of what’s happening without too many of those precious words; to stop myself from filling out the bits and pieces and turning it into a novel (it will happen to some of the stories, though; that’s inevitable). I also have to leave room for the reader to think through some of those pieces – why does Inasit have to wait until her friend understands? Why doesn’t she just tell him? You know what, maybe in the long story, she will tell him, and tell him and tell him – and I can show exactly why he can’t hear the meaning behind the words; why so many of us don’t hear the meaning behind the words.
My job, as the story-smith, is to let these stories find a way to have meaning and reality and substance – for you. All of you.
And for me.
See About for e-stores
June 30, 2016
Vol III – Beasts and Dragons
Speculations of a Dark Nature, 
Shorts Vol III: Beasts and Dragons
Out now at Smashwords. Soon to be at all the other places.
Are you a wolf at heart? Courageous, loyal, willing to give your life for pack? Or a cat? A guardian of a feline nature – steely, determined, willing to kill? Are you human or beast? Is it the beast that frightens you? Or the human? Is the soul of a dragon the soul of fear? Or redemption?
