Marian Allen's Blog, page 397

My New Award for #7DayStory

I got an award for finishing my 7 Day Story! I’ll take it!

‘Course it ain’t shaped like a woman’s leg in fishnet tights, so it ain’t a MAJOR award, but it’s an award, right?

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A character receives an award he or she considers thrilling.

MA

 

New Best Beer

I was desolate when my bottled boyfriend (Bell’s Double-Cream Stout) went off the menu at Point Blank Brewing Company. So Nathan, mine host at Point Blank, introduced me to another, whom I love just as much.

Check it out, my friends. Chocolate. Oatmeal. Stout. With a LOCOMOTIVE ON THE LABEL!

Here is the back label, bearing a story which I don’t even care if it’s true or not. Friends, this is an excellent brew! Not sweet, by any means, but not bitter, it’s complex and well-blended, rich and full.

I had this with a pizza, but I think it would be equally delish with a fish sandwich. Mmmm….

If you’re in the Louisville area, come on over to Point Blank and check things out. They’ll be brewing their own before too long, and you may imagine how I look forward to that!

I’m posting at Fatal Foodies today with my Top 5 List of Fun With Broccoli.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Make up some lie to put on the back of your favorite beverage.

MA

K. A. DaVur and Her “Horrible” Book

K. A. DaVur is the pen name of a lovely woman — or maybe the lovely woman I met at ConGlomeration is the secret identity of a ghastly creature of the undead persuasion. Here are the bio and two pictures she sent me. Which is the real K. A. DaVur? You be the judge:

K.A. DaVur was born and raised in an extremely haunted house near the wild and wooded banks of Lake Michigan. She won her first writing competition at the age of six and has never looked back, filling a seemingly endless series of notebooks and journals with fantastical stories and even a poem or two.

She next attended Transylvania University in Lexington, Kentucky, the only university in the United States to boast no less than two former faculty members entombed under the steps of the administration building.

After completing her studies, Ms. DaVur met the man who was everything she never knew she always wanted, and was engaged within six weeks. Before settling down as a full time wife and mom, K.A. worked as a belly dance instructor, midwife, and therapist in a residential mental facility, all of which gave her wonderful stories and not a few nightmares.

Her first book to be published was “Meanwhile Miles,” a picture book about a little boy whose daydreams keep backfiring until he is saved each time by the magic of the word “meanwhile.”

Ms. DaVur has traveled extensively throughout the Midwest leading writing workshops based on that book at youth camps, elementary schools, and children’s museums. Now, she lives in Indiana where she enjoys writing novels, working on her hobby farm and homeschooling her four miniature vampire stalkers. Other obsessions include Edmund Blair Leighton art, sharks, dismantling antique machinery to make steampunk goodies, and anything Firefly. Said stalkers range from one year to eight and are known as Fat Baby, Bean, Diesel, and the Ragin’ Asian in ascending order. They are the absolute joys of her life.

Ms. DaVur’s first novel, a middle grade thriller entitled “Hunter the Horrible” is due for release in July from Hydra Publications.

Meanwhile, keep up with her — if you dare — at the Hunter The Horrible website.

BLURB:

“I think there’s something wrong with Miss Hunter.” With that sentence six children are inducted into a mysterious organization that has been covertly fighting the undead for centuries. Of course, they don’t know that. All they know is that their creepy new teacher, the one who falls asleep in class, trips kids with her staff, and always smells a little like very old dirt, needs to go. However, when a note is passed around the room, signed only by the mysterious StakesandStones,” she and her classmates set out to prove the truth: that Miss Hunter is not just cold-hearted, but cold-blooded. Hilarious mishaps abound as Jack O’Helsing, Clara Summers, Tony Brooks-Rizzoni, Peyton Edwards, and Mackenzie Selene each take a turn to prove their theory but end up only in detention. With his friends grounded for life it’s up to video game junkie Matt Kau, the class brain who knows everything except why he can’t seem to make friends, to come to the rescue. On Halloween, lit by a harvest moon, one of their plans actually goes right and the Horrible Miss Hunter is left suspended in a net eight feet above the ground. That, unfortunately, is when the real vampires attack. Can six scared kids, one trained warrior of a teacher, and two surprising allies come together in time to save the town, and their necks?

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Get it out of your system: Who, among those you know or have known, is probably a creature of the ghastly persuasion?

MA

#SampleSunday Rhu and Andrin from SILVER AND IRON

All three books of the SAGE trilogy are out for Kindle and in paper. Here’s an excerpt from Book 3, SILVER AND IRON.

Rhu and Andrin (excerpt from SILVER AND IRON)

by Marian Allen

The Chamberlain had altered. When Andrin last saw him, he had been dressed for the chase, with his long black hair in a hunting braid. Now, he wore a light woolen tunic of blue over linen hose and a cape of red, fastened with a brooch shaped and painted like the shield of Sarpa. His hair was cropped to barely below his ears.

More than that: Andrin was overcome by an impression of evil. A deadly luster enveloped the Chamberlain. Rhu was steeped in wrongful death; he exuded poison.

“Andrin! How do you come to be here?”

Andrin’s heart sickened. “Rhu beren Robia, what have they done? What have they done to you?”

“What do you….” Rhu touched his hair self-consciously. “I did it myself. Childish.” His attempted laugh was awkward. “My Lady Oliva suggested I style it as the Swords do, but I didn’t cut my hair to be mistaken for a Sword.”

Andrin probed the haze that all but hid the Chamberlain and saw him through it, saw him standing clear and guiltless. The aura wasn’t his; he wore that foul atmosphere as a clean man might wear a dirty suit of clothes. “You cut your hair because you would not be mistaken for a proud man of Sarpa.”

“My Lady approved; she thinks I did it out of shame for failing in the quest she set me.”

“You did it out of shame for accepting her quest.”

“Ah,” said Rhu, and his manner added, “yes.”

“And now?”

“Now I bear letters from His Grace and his mother to Sorcha and Hayward and Audre beren Oda.”

“Letters…. Of course. Full of sweet words and secret venom.”

“So I believe,” said Rhu. “And so I will advise.”

Andrin was not surprised to hear of Sarpa’s perfidy – or of Rhu’s rejection of it.

“The House of Sarpa and I have parted ways,” Rhu said. “I can’t hide that when I deliver these letters. I can’t just pass along these messages and let Oakwood make of them what they will. Honest words are the only weapons I have.” Rhu was not a born warrior – his eyes showed fear, but less fear than fortitude. He held out a hand for Andrin’s clasp. “You and I may never meet again, outside the heart of the Way.”

“Here or there,” said Andrin. “It’s all the same. What matters is how we walk the path.”

~ * ~

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Someone is given a letter to deliver.

MA

#Caturday Intruder Alert

I was sitting on the couch next to Mom, helping her write a story, and I looked up and saw this! A cat! A cat that is not ME!

Mom said, “It’s okay. It’s just your Uncle Ozzie from my mom’s house.” She also thought it would comfort me to tell me he was outside and to promise that she wouldn’t let him come in, but he was there! On my porch! On my porch! Being not ME!

Just look at his evil laser-eyed wickedness!

I wasn’t just sitting there gazing, I can tell you. I used all my best cat curses. I hissed and growled and yowled and caterwauled at the top of my lungs.

Mom called me back over to the couch, and I went, because she was probably scared of him and she needed me to protect her. I kept looking back over, though, and he was still there, so I yelled at him some more, and he finally went away.

That night, I dreamed he was back, and I yelled so loud I woke everybody up! I wonder if he was dreaming that he was here. If so, I wonder if I woke him up!

I haven’t seen him back here since that day, so maybe he learned his lesson. Ha!

Thank you to Mom’s friend (and my friend) Jane Peyton (author of WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE) for making my beautiful gravatar. I think it looks just like me, only white instead of gray. But that’s all right. It would be hard to get just exactly the right shade of gray as my real fur. So thank you, Jane!

A WRITING PROMPT FOR CATS: A cat who is not you comes onto your porch. What do you do?

KG

 

Seniority Blog Hop

We’ve got a bit of an impromptu blog hop going on.

I follow Christine Campbell’s blog. She just posted a poem about aging and yet not aging called “I Look in the Mirror.”

Her inspiration was “Shadows of Youth,” a post by Yobial Marin, a blogger Christine follows. Yobial reminds us that those with the experience of years have much to teach us, if we can overcome our own fear of mortality long enough to pay attention.

Christine’s poem inspired me to post this poem, which originally appeared in the Southern Indiana Writers Group’s anthology DRAGON: OUR TALES.

The next move, dear reader, is yours.

.

THE TRANSFORMATION

by Marian Allen

Yesterday

I was a tender maid,

muscles firm, eyes bright.

Today

my skin is wrinkled leather

covered with rough white scales.

I make noise walking;

my body large, unwieldy.

And do I guard my treasure?

Hoard it with bitter jealousy,

gloating, pinning it firmly

beneath my reddened claws?

I do.

“I do.”

We spoke those words

of brightest power and the spell

began. The decades of enchantment

ended when the life of the enchanter

ended.

See what I have become.

And what is left but treasure?

Coin, jewels, artifacts, remembrances

still warm from the enthrallment,

charming my heart to holocaust,

burning my eyes with salt.

Dim are the eyes of my reflection,

smoke-dim from the flame

that burns inside,

consuming me

as once the flame consumed

the tender maid.

If you’re inspired to post an essay, short story, picture, or poem on the topic, do so; link back to us and leave your link on our blogs in the comments.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: age

MA

Need A Title

I’m working on a short story and I need a title. This is for the 7DayStory challenge, yo. I want the story to be 3000-5000 words, and I have it outlined and very rough drafted. The working title is Point Counterpoint, but that isn’t really appropriate, although it was when I first thought the idea up.

Miss Garnet Satin, the main character in “High Stakes”, a vampire who owns a nostalgia shop called The Retro Fit, is ordered by dangerous guy Vlad the Roumanian to investigate whether or not his friend’s daytime guardian is guarding him or abandoning him. The supposed guardian is not staying in the house when he’s supposed to, because he’s afraid. Something is creeping him out. Garnet discovers it’s a ghost and why it’s haunting the place, and puts it to rest. [addendum pursuant to Jim Hilton's comment: Vlad the Roumanian and his friend are also vampires; the guardian is not.]

So Point Counterpoint is not a good title, although I may hold it in reserve for a future story in the same … er … vein.

I had so little response on my challenge yesterday, I ain’t challenging you guys no more. Bleh!

Here is a picture of a butterfly box to remind you to plant milkweed this year if you live in North America. Monarch butterflies love milkweed, and planting some will give the li’l wingsters something to sustain themselves with as they migrate to and fro. Besides, remember how much fun it was when you were a kid to open dry milkweed pods and blow the fluff around?

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Write about something that flies.

MA

Alternate #6WSC From Marian With An A

My “sister” from The Netherlands, Marion Driessen (aka The DuTchess) posts a challenge every two weeks. Her next challenge will be posted on Wednesday, June 11. So Imma post a challenge on the alternate weeks!

The challenge: Write a story in six words, accompanied by a picture. Post the story and picture on your blog, then leave a link to it in the comments of this post.

The most famous six word story is one by Hemingway, whose friends are said to have bet he couldn’t write one. I think it’s more likely he thought one up, then maneuvered the drunken chumps into the bet. But perhaps I’m judging him by myself.

For sale: baby shoes, never used.

—Ernest Hemingway

Pretty good, eh? So how about it? Wanna play? I’ll add mine here tomorrow.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: alternate

Any pronunciation, any part of speech, any form of the word (alternatively, alternating, alteration).

MA

Steakmeister Z

My sister from across the sea in The Netherlands, the beauteous and most talented Marion Driessen, does Six Word Wednesday on every other Wednesday, so I’ve decided to move my food posting day to Tuesday, the same day I post about food at Fatal Foodies, and do my own Six Word Wednesday of every other other Wednesday. Then I’ll do hers every other Wednesday. See?

ANYWAY….

The awesome Mr. Zakary Kendall made me some OUTRAGEOUSLY delicious steak a couple of weeks ago. Yes, I’m practically vegetarian, so when I fall off the turnip truck, I make sure I fall good and hard.

I asked him for instructions, and got a series of photos and a narrative, which I have made into a brief video for your viewing pleasure.

Zak sez:

For zee steaks: I’m extremely flattered that you like them so much!! It’s quite easy to make them. Let us begin!

Get RIBEYES!!! They’re fatty, so that means that you can count on some AWESOME flavor and goodness. Compare all the ribeyes in the section. You want nice marbling, but not TOO much fat or TOO little fat. If you have a preferred cut of meat, no worries. This procedure will make a good eatin’ steak out of any! I just like a little bit of fat on mine.

That said, once they’re bought, home, and ready to make, I go ahead and turn the broiler setting on in the oven. The steaks will cook on the upper-most rack position. I usually work with 2 cuts of meat per session.

Get a nice, deep bowl out and fill with enough ‘Dale’s Steak Seasoning’ (found in every supermarket in ‘Merica by now) that you’ll have a little left over after the rub. “Rub”, you say? Yes, RUB! It’s more of a good bath n’ rub than a marinade. I take each cut and douse them in the Dale’s. I turn them over and over and really massage and try to push the seasoning deep into the meat. Honestly, I tried marinading some meat in the Dale’s for a half hour once and it was just TOO MUCH. Salt City! Like I said, a good, thick, dousing will do it (get the sides too).

Once I’ve accomplished the Dale-phase, I lay each cut on a broiling rack and I sprinkle the side facing up with a little garlic powder, steak seasoning, and oregano (the ‘Mrs. Dash’ varieties will serve you well). Time to cook!

I broil the first side for about 4-5 minutes before flipping because I likes ‘em medium rare-ish. Of course the cooking time will vary for the type of oven, preferred “done-ness”, and amount of meat. To be safe, I tend to vent the oven by broiling with the door slightly open and/or prompted with an oven mitt (so far, no fire dept issues ). Better to undercook on the first go-round than to overcook and waste the meat.

When the time’s up for the first side, take your meat out carefully!! The broiler rack is gonna be hot, and some of the molten Dale’s sauce might be swishing about in the bottom of it! At this point, flip your meat on the rack with a fork, or thongs, or what-have-ya, and put some of that leftover Dale’s seasoning on the uncooked side of the steaks (keeps ‘em juicy). Dash some more of the Mrs. Dash Trinity of goodness over this uncooked side and, POW! You’re ready to go in the oven again. This time cook for 4 minuets, and once more: vent your oven door. Take them out when the time’s up and you’re ready to chow down.

This should make steaks like the ones that we had the other night. The trick to any of this is figuring out your cook times with a given oven for the preferred done-ness. But it’s always easier to undercook and rebroil for a minute or two than to rescue an overcooked piece of meat. Of course you can regulate the second phase of cooking time if the first phase turned your meat a bit too black and nuked.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: You go visit someone for a meal, and catch him or her playing with knives in the kitchen.

MA

Like Clockwork

Steampunk has been around for a long time — some people date it back to H. G. Wells’ THE TIME MACHINE. Steampunk, in case you don’t know, is fiction with some mixture of Victoriana, steam engines, clockwork, alchemy, and modernity. There sometimes hot air balloons. There are sometimes sky pirates. There are generally modern inventions which run, as they would in days of old, by clockwork or steam power. Corsets are worn, also frock coats. The costumes are dead gorgeous.

And Karen Syed of Echelon Press has come up with a different wrinkle on it: an anthology of four novellas by four different writers, re-imagining four fairy tales as Steampunk.

The result is ONCE UPON A CLOCKWORK TALE.

Inspired by the excitement of the classic fairy tales, four outstanding authors offer their steampunk versions of four favorites. Adventure, intrigue, and deep emotions lead the reader into a different place and time, where almost anything can happen…if you believe.

Katina French, one of the authors, has not only written a funny, touching, frightening, and madly imaginative take on The Snow Queen (the anthology’s third tale, Bitter Cold), she has generously used her own blog to interview her three fellow writers:

Ella Grey interview

Robin Wyatt Dunn interview

Matt Mitrovich interview

ONCE UPON A CLOCKWORK TALE is available on Amazon, in paperback for $13.99 and eBook for $4.99, and at Smashwords in multiple electronic formats for $4.99.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Outline your favorite childhood book as Steampunk. Unless, of course, your favorite childhood book was Steampunk. In which case, you know, don’t.

MA