Mandy Botlik's Blog, page 4

Chapter one of my Upcoming Novel, as requested.

I had some people asking for the first chapter of the book since the release date is still unknown. Here it is, I hope you all like it. (Fair warning there is violence in this chapter.)

Shadows of Memories By: Mandy Botlik

Chapter 1

Nature’s Summons

            The tall waving grass brushed the wheels and floor of the weathered caravan. All the faded paint ran in streaks down the sides of the once gaily colored boards. One deep emerald eye peered through a crack in the boards, watching as the pale gray sky tinged pink and faded into the brightening mist that clung to the ground. The barn odor of horses wafted through the cracks in the boards briefly replacing the stench of damp and rotten wood. Goosebumps rose on Taenen’s arms and a shiver jostled his clothes that hung heavy with dew.

Chains rattled as he sat back against the wall. The pale light from the crack bathed his tawny features in dappled sun. His shaking hand unplastered a dark strand of hair from his face. Light danced across the runes etched in rusted chains. Taenen eyed the chains remembering…

The floorboards tugged at his threadbare clothes. He pushed harder against the boards tearing the cloth and bringing his head out from under the wagon. Pin pricks of stars shown in the sky but no moon. Thump, with a final pull his feet came through and hardened dirt greeted him. Laying half under the wagon half out he stilled. The wind swayed the creaking boughs and crickets chirped but all else was silence.

The chains rattled as he pulled himself to his feet and moved foxlike slinking into the forest. “No turning back,” he whispered through clenched teeth a stinging sensation like an icy morning moving through him. His foot stubbed a rock here and a root tripped there. Hands out ready to catch himself or feel the bark, he moved on. The forest spoke in a language all its own but one that he understood. It whispered where the rivers ran and where caves delved deep. Quieter it spoke of roots and rocks and creatures of the night. He listened intently, his steps fell soundless and even but for the rattle of his wrists. The stinging sensation built, flame-like, from icy morning to knife turning raging fire. Taenen leaned against a tree feeling the rough bark dampened by his sweat. Ragged gasps issued from his lips, “Not back,” he hissed.

With each step he watched his feet lost in the near darkness of the forest floor. An owl hooted overhead and Taenen felt the cave entrance descending not far off. The fire that tore through his limbs wouldn’t be ignored any longer. Taenen’s choked sobs muffled as he dropped to his knees and then to the ground unconscious.

Cool breeze ruffled his hair and sunlight warmed his eye lids. Movement stumbling and uneven jostled him. Sighing, he opened his eyes. His legs moved of their own accord carrying him along. The caravan loomed before him dark against the bright clearing beyond the forest. The man next to the wagon locked eyes with Taenen. A grin contorted his features resembling a wolf stalking a rabbit. Taenen felt his legs moving in constant even beats towards this man, his master.  The tanned hand closed round a fist full of auburn hair, and yanked. Taenen stumbled the mud splashing and caking his clothes as he fell. The calloused hand enclosed his chained wrist. Heat coming from something other than the hand warmed dangerously near his skin. He looked through mud spattered eye lashes in time to see the glowing white blade. A wave of nausea washed over him as the blade sizzled against his finger. He heard a dull splash; his finger lay in the puddle swirling blood and mud as he watched the patterns.

“Thought you could run, huh.” The master chuckled. “These chains,” they rattled as he nudged them with his boot. “They aren’t normal chains. These runes, there’s a spell in ‘em they bind your power, an’ keep you from getting’ away or hurtin’ others.” A boot caught Taenen in the ribs. His knees tried to curl but couldn’t as black spots filled his vision. The smell of burnt flesh was everywhere, and his finger throbbed in time to his heart. Things went black he felt the clubbed fist descending then nothing.

What else he remembered of that first escape was fragmented and dim. Taenen wasn’t sure how long it took him to recover. He remembered his sweat soaked face pressed against the boards while his skin burned as hot as that knife. He remembered sleeping often and eating little. Perhaps it was a dream, but he was sure he had felt an icy breath upon his hot skin and a sweat rotten smell of death. The cold deep darkened soil beckoned in the language only he could hear.

Taenen touched the scared stump of his left ring finger. He looked past it to his matching scars on each foot where a toe should be. His eyes swept the interior of the caravan, motes of light shone through the gaps in the boards. At the other end of the caravan mounds of dirty tunics and robes sat curled like a pile of puppies, the others still slept. Taenen shuddered, nature beckoning distantly to him, not urgent yet. His chains rattled as he stretched his legs out and dropped his arms. Eyes looked back at him from the pile of dirty cloth and limbs. The eyes tightened as they recognized him, and brow furrowed into a glare. “Ellaen,” the voice hissed. “Keep away wild creature.” Taenen looked away staring at the wall once more.

Rocking along the road Taenen swayed in rhythm and wiped his brow. The stifling stagnant air bore little resemblance to the morning cool. Taenen and the others lurched forward as the rocking stopped suddenly. Taenen glanced at the others who were once again lulling against the walls at the other end of the wagon.

Hinges creaked, Taenen shielded his eyes with his hand and blinked blindly at daylight. Two shadows partially blocked the light. “In you go,” shouted the master. The smaller shadow stumbled boots scuffing against the wood landing on his knees. The door closed leaving the red after image of the shapes in the doorway. Taenen blinked till it faded.

The new boy, neat in his patched tunic and clean fawn colored arms, sat on his knees. His hands thumping weakly against the thick doors. Tears streaked their way down his cheeks as he sniffled.

Taenen looked on folding his arms and furrowing his brow. With one hand he massaged his chest the other gripped his stomach. His breathing came faster as his heart raced hammering against his ribs. Thunder rumbled distantly calling him to join the storm. He clenched his eyes shut, blocking out the new boy pounding on the door. His body folded in on itself and tears streamed down his cheeks. Every breath tore at him coming in ragged gasps. He gave a stifled cry and heard another cry echo back. His fingertips white from his clenched fists trembled as he wept. His blood whooshed in his ears sounding like the wind of a storm. His tunic clung to his sweat.

A bright flash lit the inside of the caravan, and thunder rumbled shaking the caravan from the ground and up through the wheels. The groan of wood followed by a crash sounded near the wagon. The smell of smoldering wood wafted in around them as the rain fell in sheets beating the walls. Taenen felt it all grow distant and his thoughts slowed till unconsciousness enfolded him. A hand on his shoulder shook him while a small voice asked, “what’s the matter?” Taenen heard none of it not even the other’s shouting “Don’t touch the monster!”

Birds sang beyond the boards, Taenen felt the rough grain of the floor. He groaned unfolding himself from his ball. Slowly he sat up grimacing at the sharp pull of recent stitches on his back. He rubbed his eyes and his sleeve slipped down his arm revealing purple yellowed bruises and thick scabs.

Taenen took a deep breath inhaling the stench of sweat and filth that had grown strong in the heat of the day. The other slaves sat at the opposite end swaying with the rise and fall of the road some whispered but most just sat staring vacantly.

“Are you ok?” Someone near him asked. The others turned and glared in his direction. Taenen looked across form where he sat. The new boy leaned forward squinting at him. “Are you ok?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Taenen answered and turned his gaze to the door.

“Are you sure? It looked like it hurt,” The boy said scooting closer.

Taenen took in his overall cleanness and his open expression. “Sore, but ok for now,” he said. As he spoke, he could hear whispers and the others moving further away at the other end of the wagon.

“Where are we going?” the boy asked his voice shaking as he spoke. He sat up on his knees trying to peek through the slats to see out.

“It feels like we’re still on a road,” Taenen responded. “Which means the next town should be Undertheow.”

The boy’s jaw tightened, and he sat back down. “What will we do when we get there?”

“It’s Undertheow,” said Taenen his tone flat. “I would think he’ll sell at least some of us.”

“What do you usually do for the master,” the boy asked now running his finger along the grain of the boards.

“Music mostly but I’ve done fortune telling too. Not all towns will allow fortune telling.”

The boy nodded. “My village thought fortune telling was magic and dangerous…” He trailed off eyeing Taenen’s rune covered chains.

“The master makes his money however he can,” Taenen added clenching his jaw and ignoring the boy’s comment about magic.

Looking away from the chains the boy smiled, “My family were farmers. We rented the land. A few bad years with the crops and we owed rent. My father made a deal with our landowner. If he couldn’t pay the debts, by the time I was ten summers old, he would take me in payment.” The boy sniffled but no tears fell. “Well you see me here. The harvest never got better. They named me Owen.” The smile was back like the sun trying to get through a rain cloud. “What’s your name?”

Taenen held Owen’s gaze until he looked away in discomfort. “A name is a dangerous thing to give away so easily Owen.” Taenen watched Owen’s cheeks color and relented. “You may call me what everyone else does, when their being halfway kind, Ellaen.”

“Ellaen,” Owen asked raising his eyebrows. His gaze wandered to the chains with runes etched in them and his eyes went wide. “Oh, I see… I’ve never met an Ellaen before. I heard they were all dead, nothing more than a legend.” His eyes flicked between Taenen and the floor quickly his tone tense.

Taenen crossed his arms in a clatter of chains and his eyes narrowed. “As you can see you were wrong.” I believe you have better things to worry about right now. Maybe you should think on who the master might sell. He doesn’t need a farmer; he has no land.” Taenen glared at Owen.

“I meant no offense Ellaen.” Owen held Taenen’s gaze, “I’m just a simple farmer. I’ve never been anywhere, and I don’t know anything about people outside the village where I was born.” Owen reached toward Taenen’s outstretched leg and laid a comforting hand on his shin. “Please don’t be angry… Where did you live before all of this?” He gestured around at the boards. “How did you end up here?”

Taenen watched the unasked-for hand on his shin and his features softened. The others at the end of the caravan had gone back to their own conversations ignoring the new boy and Taenen. “I don’t remember,” his voice soft but mournful like the coo of a dove. “All I remember is waking up behind iron bars in the slave market, in Undertheow. I think there was magic involved in the chains and the binding.” Then he let out a tight chuckle that made the others jump and stare for a moment. “Well, there would have to be, wouldn’t there, to bind me. I remember smelling ash. The air had a weight to it like a mail coat and it was charged like a lightning storm on the plains or the dessert.” Taenen rubbed a hand across his face and smoothed his auburn waves back. “I don’t know how I got here or anything before. All I know is I’m bound and there is no escape for me. Believe me I’ve tried.” Taenen rubbed the stump of his left ring finger.

Owen shrugged, “At least you don’t miss the forest, your home before.” His voice grew thick again, “probably didn’t have family to miss either.”

Taenen sighed, “You would be wrong to envy me. I don’t remember my home, but nature still calls me and tries to pull me where I can’t follow with theses,” he pointed to the chains. “You saw what happened when the storm came?” Owen nodded. “Tear you self in half and that is what it feels like.” Taenen clenched his teeth just thinking about it.

Wagon wheels rattled and the quiet hum of voices at the other end of the wagon continued. “You know,” said Owen breaking the brittle silence, “you are the only one that will talk to me Ellaen?” Owen fiddled with the hem of his patched shirt his dark brown hair hanging in a curtain before his eyes. “The others, they just ignore me.”

Taenen glanced at the others lost in their own conversations one or two noticed him and glared back. He turned back to Owen. “They don’t usually talk to new people until they get to know them. But they don’t like me and may not decide to get to know you because you’re talking to me.”

Owen glanced at the others and then back to Taenen. “Why don’t they like you?”

Taenen smiled and shook his head, “I’m an Ellaen, that’s enough reason for them.”

“This could be a problem for me,” Owen said. “I talk when I’m nervous or scared. It keeps me from thinking too much.” Owen brightened, “So now you’re stuck with me if they won’t talk.”

Cocking his head to the side Taenen considered Owen. “I suppose they have their own problems and would be reminded too much of their past with your innocent questions. The past is something we try not to dwell on. Not even the recent past.”

“I don’t mean to cause you pain,” Owen lowered his gaze.

Taenen shrugged, “You’re forgiven, after all you’re the first to really speak to me much in years. What would occupy you that doesn’t have to do with the past?”

Owen raised his head, his eyes alight. For many miles after he spoke of the farm he grew up on, his family, the weather, his childhood, and a rather bad-tempered mule named Olm. This one-sided conversation needed only the occasional word or nod to show Owen he was listening. Taenen, lost in his own thoughts of the trip to Undertheow and what it might mean for him, did not attempt to add to the conversation. Looking at his fingers he wished he could count up the years since the master had bought him. The master’s recent words echoed in his mind, “You’re nothing but trouble a curse on my business and a waste of daylight.” He could see him as he had been not so many days ago. Light reflecting off the dagger, far to near his chin, making him squint. The foul breath of the master. His face so close that Taenen could make out each little stubble of his freshly trimmed black beard. Taenen laid his head back against the boards.

“Ahem,” Owen cleared his throat.

Taenen sat up a bit and looked at Owen.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Oh, yes, please go on,” Taenen nodded.

Owen launched back into some story about a sister and a creek. Taenen stroked the band of his shackles and tried to look at Owen but only succeeded in looking through him. Touching the chains, he could always feel the power like chainmail hanging over him. He sighed heavily wishing he could remember anything about the spell.

“Do I bore you?” Owen was leaning forward again.

“What?” Taenen started realizing he had lost the train of Owen’s story again. “Oh no, I’m just tired. Your stories are actually quite interesting.” Owen carried on for a bit longer before tiring of it himself.

The caravan rocked to and fro as it rattled to a halt. Owen sat up from the floor rubbing his eyes while Taenen braced himself with practiced ease. The horses snorted and the master’s feet banged against the walls of the wagon as he climbed down from the seat. Taenen peered through the slats and saw all was in shadow. The walls of Undertheow loomed ahead.

A Poem from the winter of 2012

I wrote this on a icy snowy night in 2012, in the early hours of the morning while everyone else slept. The photo was taken after an ice storm in 2017.

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Falling

Stars sway on the breeze;

strewn on the ground.

Glistening, still.

Dream-dark and silent.

Dance in the void.

veiled, dryad’s

Frigid fetters glint, moonlit.

Frozen slumber,

shimmering, fragile.

-Mandy Botlik

First Illustrated Children’s Book

Exciting news, I just finished submitting my mom’s children’s book to amazon for review before publication. I illustrated this one for her. It was great fun. She wanted to share her love of gardening with my niece and nephew. After writing it, she decided to publish it so that anyone could enjoy it. This has been a dream of hers as long as I can remember. When I was little, she would write and put it aside when life happened. When I was in upper elementary, she took a ‘how to write a children’s book’ class online. She wrote a fun story about our cat Garfield called samurai cat. But I wasn’t skilled at illustration yet, and neither was she. The story got put aside and lost in a move. Which brings me to today. She’s been retired for a while now and has time to write. I have my art degree put it together and you get…

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Here are some of the illustrations before we put words with them, enjoy.

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Secrets of the Sea

By: Mandy Botlik

(Below is a short story I wrote some years ago, enjoy.)

            The Deepest sapphire-gloom encapsulates me. It is wet and piercing cold everywhere. I feel the pressure steadily increasing as I am pulled deeper and deeper. Here, it is so quiet and has a sort of eerie serenity to it.

            Something moves in the salty deep. I feel it against my skin; the way one might feel the wind as it moves through the trees. If I listen, I can hear it move too; a deep thrump as it passes. What is it doing? Circling me, I think. After all, I am in its home. I am the invader or guest.

            I try to remember how I came to be here. My mind is muffled by the throbbing pressure on my skull, feels as though it might explode. I feel the creature move around me again. Opening my eyes, I catch a glimpse of a silvery blue tail.

            —I remember now, I was in my kayak paddling out alone. The day was clear, and the sea sparkled in the sunlight. It was my first day off in months. I spotted a dolphin tail and stopped to watch. Dolphin’s were common out here. They often came to play alongside the commercial fishing boats and the other boats from the harbor.  Its tail slapped the water spraying me on my kayak. The water rippled as it moved beneath me in the depths.

            I leaned ever so slightly to see it below me. I saw the silvery glint of scales, not a dolphin I realized, but couldn’t make out what kind of fish it was. It began to circle my kayak moving swiftly. The small vessel began to rock violently in the waves it made. My heat pounded as I realized whatever it was didn’t want me here.

            Tentatively I placed my paddle in the water intending to turn my kayak and leave. Suddenly, the paddle was wrenched from my grasp and I felt the kayak tipping. I plunged into the water. A shadowy form shrieked in the water moving around me, pulling me down. —

            What was it I wondered, as I continued to sink? I looked behind me trying to make out its shape. Salt stung my eyes, but the fish wasn’t there. The water rushed against my face and I turned.

            Words cannot describe the beauty and horror of it. Deep blue eyes stared unblinking at me. It shimmered with the silvery scales that covered it from head to tail. The tail was like any other fish, but that is where it ended. The rest of the creature resembled a woman, a scaly woman, but a woman all the same. Around her head danced a halo of silvery white hair that fluoresce in the deep. Gills on her neck worked to change the water into something breathable.

            We stared at one another transfixed; well, at least I was. Mermaids aren’t real! I must be dying. Yes, I inhaled some sea water and I’m dying, that’s it. She turned my head in her slippery hands from side to side feeling my smooth neck. Then she looked into my eyes.

            I’ll never forget what I saw in those eyes. They seemed to hold within them the vastness of the waters around us and all its secrets. My mouth fell open in shock. Bubbles drifted up to the surface.

            She turned her gaze to the bubbles. Then she touched my lips with her fingertips as I struggled not to breath. She must have seen it on my face; that aching need for air. She pressed her lips to mine. The gills on her neck pulsed rhythmically and she exhaled air into my mouth. I inhaled deeply. I could almost taste it salty and fishy.

            She pulled away from me and effortlessly swam to my feet. She prodded them and pressed them flat against her hand. Without warning, she grabbed the back of my t-shirt and pulled me along. Were we going deeper or rising? I wasn’t sure. After a while the pressure seemed to lessen. Rising, I thought.

            Light filtered through the blue haze; the water tugged at me as he picked up speed. Water splashed as she broke the surface arcing over my kayak and diving back in. I lay across my kayak coughing and gasping. After a moment I looked for her. Only her head poked out of the water. Swimming forward she nudged my paddle towards me. I grasped the paddle and attempted to thank her as I coughed. She smiled revealing razor-sharp pointed teeth. I felt my heart begin to race again.

            “just this once,” she said in a voice that was human, but also seemed to carry like the eerie whale-songs. “And only because you weren’t fishing.” Her smile vanished and so did she beneath the waves.

            It was a long time before I collected myself enough to paddle back; longer still before I could admit that it wasn’t a dream. There are times when I still wonder, but then I remember her and that eerie voice, and I know.

My upcoming book

I am in the process of getting my book self published. Today I filed paperwork for a copyright. I don’t know if it was completely necessary as Amazon publishing doesn’t require one, but I would like to protect my work. The book is titled Shadows of Memories (see my books tab on my page for full synopsis). It is the story of a nature spirit, named Taenen, trying to survive in the aftermath of genocidal war that targeted his kind along with others.

If you like character focused stories that are dark and full of imagery, this is for you.

I hope you will go and read the full synopsis. I also hope you enjoy the book once it’s published. I started this book back in 2010. I’ve held onto it and rewritten it more times than I can recall. I sought an agent/publisher to no avail. They always encouraged me to resubmit in the future but my work wasn’t right for them. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that most publishers would prefer an author self publish first unless the piece is just the right one at the right time with the right person. So, now I am moving forward with self publishing.

I don’t have cover art yet but here is the place holder art, my photograph.

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Release date and all that info to follow when I’ve figured it out.

The Strange Summer of 2020

This has been the strangest summer I’ve ever lived through. Many people have told me they feel the same. In March my work shut down. They never shut down 365 day a year, if there’s power we’re open. But this is not your ordinary summer. I filed for unemployment for the first time in my life.

My niece and nephew stayed with my family to get help finishing the school year online while my sister and her husband still worked. It was hard for the kids not to see their parents for so long but there were some great memories. We read every night at bedtime. We worked through all the picture books then we read Matilda by Ronald Dahl, Fortunately the Milk by Neil Gaiman, Amber Brown is Not a Crayon by Paula Danziger, Odd and the Frost Giants by Neil Gaiman, Ma and Pa Dracula by Ann M. Martin, Meet Kirsten: An American Girl by Janet Beeler Shaw.

This was wonderful to share so many stories with them and to watch them engage and enjoy these books that I liked as a child. I also handled their art and history lessons. We did so much and it was great.

Under all of this was the undercurrent of anxiety and uncertainty. My nephew and my dad were high risk of COVID1-19 due to their breathing problems. Since March I haven’t been in a store or visited anyone outside of my family in an indoor setting. Our summer vacation plans have been canceled and all of our smaller plans. I miss normalcy.

I’m a germaphobe and during the flu season I deal with that anxiety every year. This was a whole new level of panic for me. I spend a lot of time trying to decide how best to protect myself and those I love. It’s be hard. I’ve had more panic attacks than ever before this summer. Still I’m getting through it.

I find myself wondering what the Spanish flu was like for my grandpa Botlik. Both his parents died in the Spanish flu in 1918. He had to go live with his grandparents. I also wonder what it was like to live through the great depression as he did and other relative did. All these people in my life have passed years before and I can’t ask them my questions. It makes me wish I had done so while they were still here. It wasn’t something they volunteered and I never pressed for the answers.

On a positive note, I spent this summer reading so many books. I decided to diversify my reading list and have picked up books by authors who are members of minority groups. I’ve enjoyed their styles and stories. Their books have broadened my world view. Here are some that I’ve read so far this year (there are many more on my to be read pile for the year):

Their Eyes were Watching God by: Zora Neale HurstonThe Fifth Sun: A New History of the Aztecs by: Camilla TownsendWe Should All be Feminist by: Adichie Chimamanda NgoziAn American Sunrise: Poems by: Joy HarjoIf Not Winter Fragments of Sappho by: SapphoPoems, Protest, and A Dream: Selected Writings by: Sor Juana Inez de la CruzFinding My Voice by: Nadiya HussainThe Hopes and Triumphs of the Amir Sisters by: Nadiya HussainGods of Jade and Shadow by: Silvia Moreno-Garcia

I spent my time making art and writing (doing a massive rewrite on my book). I’ve done some art photography on our farm. In some ways this time has been wonderful and it others not. The strangest most surreal summer ever. I hope it’s the last summer of this sort in my lifetime.

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A Poem from My Middle School Days

I wrote this in 8th grade as part of a descriptive poetry project. I hope you like it.

Lemonade

The hot summer days,

Sitting on the porch in that green old rocking chair,

paint chipping from years of use

sweat dripping down my face,

the sweltering heat paralyzing me in the chair.

I reach for the glass, the cool glass,

looking promisingly at me with eyes of

dew dripping down the side.

The rim touches my lip.

The glass it’s self is so cool and comforting,

yet my mouth begs for liquid, within,

that tangy sweet yellow liquid which

makes these days bearable.

At long last the cool yellow juices of

the Earth reach my tongue,

My mouth is flooded with no the tangy sweet I love,

but the sourness of this hot summer day.

-Mandy Botlik