C.E. Huntingdon's Blog
May 13, 2025
April 27, 2025
An Excerpt from Ellen in Puzantium
March 28, 2023
A Year Later and A Few Words Longer
Well, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?
Last March we expected to be done with our next book and when we got there, we realized we needed a little bit longer. And here it is, March again and well, we need a little bit longer. Though, there’s been somewhat of a change to the original plan. When we set out in 2021 to write our next book, we thought it would be just that: our next book. But as we got going, and just kept on writing, we realized that before long we were on to our second book, and now it seems like we’re finishing up the third. Granted, that’s a lot of books for not having one published yet but you get the idea—that we’re not very good at finishing books.
In 2022 we had about 150,000 words. Today, we’re sitting somewhere over 400,000. There’s an extra 2 in there somewhere, but we’re trying to be modest. So, it seems like three books, or perhaps it’s just one really, really long novella, or maybe a couple thousand short magazine stories. Who knows?
Speaking of questions, we know what you're thinking: "That's a lot of words." (We know that's not a question but we're committed now and can’t go back). And you're not wrong. Sure we may have gotten carried away, but our characters are having the time of their lives, and we're so excited to share their story with you. Besides, who doesn't love a good fantasy series? (Please love ours, we’ve spent so long on it.)
So, without further delay—since you’ve been waiting on the very edge of your seat—say hello to Ellen in Puzantium, Ellen and the Squidgy Bits in the Middle, and Ellen and the Farce of Prophecy. Catchy titles, aren’t they? We probably won’t keep them.
Of course, we're not quite there yet. We're still in the rough draft phase, but the end is in sight. Just a few more pages to fill and plot holes to dig, then it’s on to the next exciting phase: Editing. That oh-so-joyous time when we’ll undoubtedly question some (if not most) of the life choices we’ve made. Rest assured, though, we’ll finish the book…unless of course, we don’t.
In all honesty, though, it's worth it. This writing process has been a much-needed source of therapy for us during these crazy times, allowing us to jump into a world of our own creation and pour our creativity into something positive and fulfilling.
But it's not just about the writing. Ellen has been hard at work (the writer, not the character) creating some incredible illustrations for the series. She's even taken some classes to up her game. Who knew drawing snailfolk, snooterwagons, and schmetterlins would require so much technical finesse? We do hope you enjoy the sneak peek into our world we’ve included for you below.
If all goes according to plan (fingers crossed), we hope by next March we won’t have to make any more excuses. But, what is it exactly you’re waiting for or half-eyeballing with feigned interest because you’re related to us? Well, I think the best way to describe Ellen in Puzantium is as a Narnia-type tale, but where the kids aren’t British and nothing else is the same.
You can expect exceedingly helpful comments like that all throughout our book. If you’re interested, we have a few short stories already on our website. You can check them out in our This & That blog.
Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being told we should probably be more formal than that. Ahem. We invite you to take a look at some of the early chapters for Ellen in Puzantium—there, now you don’t have to go looking.
We also have a fantastically regular email list that we send out once a year if you’d like to join and be really up-to-date on all our super cool writing stuff. Honestly though, just check the blog every once and a while, you’re not missing anything.
[image error][image error][image error]Go ahead, click on them, you know you want to!
And hey, don't be shy about giving us feedback! We're always open to hearing your thoughts on our writing samples. And if you know anyone who might enjoy our work, please feel free to share it with them, we’d love to hear their complaints as well.
Lastly, but certainly not leastly, we want to take a moment to express our sincere gratitude to you—our readers, our friends, our moms, that one Dad who hasn’t read anything we’ve done yet—for your support and interest. Without you, none of this would be possible. So, from the bottom of our hearts, we wish you all the best and are glad you’re alive to read this.
Happy late Midwinter Not Dead Yet Still Living Festival (that’s something from our book!)
—CE Huntingdon
March 19, 2022
Is it march already?
It’s hard to believe a whole year has passed since we first released A Simple Thought of Sanity!
We couldn’t have made it this far without the support from our family and friends, so before we go any farther, thank you! We cannot express enough gratitude for all the love and encouragement we’ve received.
It truly does take a village to accomplish any meaningful endeavor. We learned that and a lot more over this past year. We learned that random skills and life events—like having a graphic design teacher with a borderline unhealthy typography obsession—sometimes pays off. We learned that navigating the world of publishing is a daunting full-time job in and of itself, and we learned that dogs tend to get justifiably jealous when you spend more time typing on your laptop than you do scratching that perfect spot behind their ear. But most importantly, we learned that sometimes you just have to take a leap and share your story, and that wonderful things can happen from there.
It’s a funny thing, completing a story and leaving behind the characters to fend for themselves in the pages you’ve created for them, but we couldn’t be prouder of Brutus and the journey he’s taken. We hope it will be revisited and enjoyed for years to come.
[image error][image error][image error]Even though A Simple Thought of Sanity has come to a close, we’re still busy writing and making progress with our next project, which we’re lovingly referring to as, Ellen in Puzantium.
Looking back on where we were one year ago, our exceptionally optimistic hope was to have something to share or, dare we even thought to say, publish by this time. Well…let’s just say we counted our chickens and they still haven’t hatched. In fact, we keep adding eggs to the pile, making a real nest of confusion, so who knows what will blossom from there (eggs blossom, right?)
What we had originally planned to present as a fun little short trilogy has grown into something a little different. At over 150,000 words—albeit woefully under-edited words—we’re estimating that we’re a little over halfway through with what we originally planned to be only the first book of the series, and we’re finding that the people of Puzantium still have a lot left to say. They just won’t stop talking, actually. It’s a little overwhelming at times.
As Ellen’s Uncle Jack once wisely informed, “you’re not f-ing Tolstoy,” and boy do we agree with that, Jack. While Ellen in Puzantium will certainly never live up to War and Peace, we are having a hilariously good time writing it and we can only hope the hours we’ve spent cracking each other up may at the very least elicit a small chuckle here and there from our future readers.
Follow our blog here at cehuntingdon.com and our Facebook page for spasmodic updates. Thank you again for your support and encouragement as we continue to navigate through this journey, and hopefully, have something fun to share with you in the end.
—CE Huntingdon
December 14, 2021
Moist
Tig 'Ol Mitties
"LOOK AT THOSE TIG ‘OL MITTIES!!!" A squeal of delight rang out, echoing down the street.
It was enough to knock Porel out of her unpleasant ruminations, as the need to scold the child took precedence. Yet, upon bending down to administer the shoosh, Porel discovered only nubby footprints in the snow.
But Ellen hadn't gotten far. The trail of puppet-sized steps led across the snowy street and ended at a monk pressed up against the glass of a storefront window. A monk who looked like some sort of bird…some sort of bowl cut bird that had mistaken a window for a clear passage and had smashed against it with wings spread wide, and truly, Porel wished that this had been the case.
Long strides carried the Abbit across the street and lanky arms drifted by her sides.
"What are you doing?" The Abbit asked of Ellen, tired and confused.
"TIG. 'OL. MITTIES, Porel." The shop glass fogged with every exertion of wonderment. "They're so big! I've never seen such big mitties."
And just how big were they, you ask? Well, let's take a peek inside.
Stepping through the glass—as only we viewers can—on a display of puffed cotton resembling winter snow, a mitten of traditional style stands erect. Its brown cuff accentuates a green hand and thumb gusset (it was unnecessary for me to put in the gusset bit, but it's my favorite part of mitten anatomy.) The yarn count is impeccable, the kitchener stitch, imperceptible. And around it is a small, tiny, overpriced model village, depicting the absolute grandeur of the mitten as it towers over replica life. To get a sense of the true scale, take a look at your own hand. It's at least two, no, three times bigger than that! So, as you can see, it has Ellen's utter and complete admiration.
"They're absurd," The Abbit croaked out.
"You're absurd, Porel," Ellen mumbled with her nose still pressed firmly against the glass, unable to pull her eyes away, a glazed look upon her face.
"Just look at that flap, you could wiggle your pokers for days in there…" the child's fingers drummed against the glass, leaving a dappling of smudgy prints. "Porel, can you wipe the condensation away? I can't see."
"Do it yourself."
"Please?" The request was pathetic and soul-wrenching, and as if by some kind of magic, the Abbit complied. Forcing a talon downward between Ellen's nearly immovable and greasy forehead, Porel wiped left to right like a snooterwagon's automatic windshield.
Rheeeeeeeee. Rheeeeee.
"Thank you, Porel. Ahhhhhhh," Ellen exhaled softly at the renewed clarity. "You wouldn't happen to have any change on you, would you?"
"No."
"Papers twenty-two ten, Porel, 'Thow who haseth a treat should share it, and not hideth it behind their back from me.'"
"It's Bill forty-seven three, actually, and just because it's the only thing Brother Liopold decided to read doesn't mean you can quote it at me."
"I'm just saying, Porel, share and share alike. The monks got money for the bar."
"The monks were issued a dispensary wage to aid with their ministrations to the populace," The Abbit corrected.
"That's just beer money in monk-talk, Porel, whether you speak it or not."
"Petulant little child. I thought you were hungry?"
"How can you be hungry when there's a mitten that's soooooo big, right in front of you! Common, it's just a couple geezers."
"No. Mittens are a gateway purchase."
"Gateway purchase to what?"
"Other purchases. So it's best not to purchase anything at all. Ever."
"Porel, I've been across the entire map, and I can tell you these are the biggest mitties I've ever seen!" A single tear dripped from her left eye. "Biggest in Loot Land. Biggest in Weow Land. Biggest in Himelforth…"
"I don't need a geographical statistical analysis of the scale of purchasable mitties-ahck! Mittens. The answer is no, Ellen."
"You're gonna regret this, Porel," Ellen said as she pulled her face away from the window with a sucking pop, making eye contact through their reflection.
"When?" Porel asked sarcastically.
"When you need big mitties! Huuuuuuuuuuuuh," the little monk's exclamation fell into a mopish sigh. "Fine, let's go."
The blow to Ellen's desires was not a heavy one, as she quickly returned to skipping and hopping, a frivolity Porel allowed herself to tolerate for its pacifying effects on the child.
"Oooh, oooh, ooh! Buffet, let's go!" Ellen's finger jabbed wildly in the air.
"Ehhhnghh…Kingly Buffet? That looks gross," Porel winced as she stared at the yellow sign with grease-color orange lettering.
"Gross?! It's called Kingly Buffet!?" Ellen turned around, her face that of shock and confusion.
"No, I don't think so."
"Okay, fine. What about over there." Ellen said as the pair continued down the street and pointed at a storefront with purple curtains in the window.
"Regal Buffet? No."
"Uh, fine. Tsk." The child said, horrifically mimicking her chaperon with a sucking of teeth. Continuing to walk through the snowy streets, Ellen rubbed her little hands together, which lacked entirely any sort of mittie to keep them warm.
"It's friggin' cold, Porel. You better pick thsompth-Oooh, what about that one!" Ellen waved her frigid hands in the direction of yet another buffet.
"Monarch Buffet?"
"Sure, look! You get a free paper crown and butterfly coloring placemat with your plate!" Ellen turned to Porel and began to tug at her robes. “Double entendre, Porel, double entendre!”
"No, I'm not paying extra so you can have a paper crown."
"It's not extra, it's free!"
"It's included in the admission price," Porel whined snidely back to Ellen. "Besides, I can just cut you out one at the Abbey."
"You would never!" Ellen indignantly retorted. "Oh! How about that one?!"
"Ughnnn," the Abbit groaned. "Puzantium Imperical Buffet. Not only is it the wrong word, but it's misspelled. Absolutely not, solely on the principle of I will not support an establishment with such horrendous grammar."
"Whatever, Porel. It's a buffet, right? Everyone likes a buffet." Ellen's hands flopped open wide. "They're for…everyone in the…for everyone!"
"Contrary to your…Brothers…I like visiting establishments that have a focus on what they're serving. A jack of all trades is a master of none, Ellen," Porel said, turning her nose up proudly.
"But is oftentimes better than a master of one," Ellen grumpily muttered back.
"You dare use my own quote against me?" The Abbit shook her head. "Never mind, just…pick a restaurant."
Ellen then threw her hands into the air. "Waddda ya think I've been doin'!"
"A restaurant, Ellen. Not an open-air cesspit of mix-matched sustenance where everyone who wafts by leaves a part of themselves behind in the food."
"Well, when you put it that way…" Ellen wrinkled her nose and grimaced as the thought of dregs drifted through her head. "How about that one?"
Porel followed as Ellen's crooky finger extended to single out a surprisingly classy little place with a large pink sign that read, "Blending World."
"Mmmmmm… it's that fusion restaurant." Oddly enough, Porel was intrigued.
"I'm just gonna give you my initial impression right now, but 'blending' sounds awfully similar to 'buffet.'"
"And that's because you have an unrefined pallet, spoiled on monk buffets and Deez's over-seasoned cookies."
"It's called sugar, Porel."
"It's called, 'too much.'"
"Okay, sure. Whatever, Blending World sounds great. Let's eat at Blending World, Blending World sounds fabulous. Blended, blended, blended." Ellen threw her hands up in the air and crossed at the intersection.
...
