Anne Elisabeth Stengl's Blog, page 32

Blaming Disney

We hear plenty of talk--both joking and otherwise--blaming Disney and its poor princesses for our generation's unrealistic expectations of romance, beauty, gender roles etc. etc.

Personally, I've decided to start blaming Disney for something else entirely . . . this.

 Do you know who that is? That is Dinah, Alice's charming little orange kitten from Alice in Wonderland, her faithful companion and confidant, who appears only for a few moments at the beginning and again at the end of the film.

And who changed my world and expectations forever!

This summer, my Rohan and I read Lewis Carrol's ridiculous and wonderful Alice books out loud together, and sometime during the midst of the first novel, Rohan confessed that he'd never seen the Disney movie. Well, when I was growing up, do you think my obsession was with Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Ariel, or any of the other lovely princesses in the Disney cannon?

Nope. I was obsessed with Dinah the cat. I begged to watch Alice in Wonderland every single day, purely because I wanted to enjoy the delightful relationship shared between Alice and her kitten, and I would spend the bulk of the movie fantasizing over how much more interesting it all would be had Dinah happened to fall down the rabbit hole along with Alice. When the film credits rolled, I would go on with my day, pretending that I had my own invisible Dinah keeping me company wherever I went, and promising myself that, when I grew up, I would have as many cats as I wanted.

So yesterday, Rohan and I watched my childhood favorite together, and I was just as charmed by it as I was when I was small. Yes, it's bizarre. Well, bizarre kind of suits me!

And I turned to Rohan and said, "Do you want to know the source of my crazy-cat-lady-ness?"

 And you know, I drink a lot of tea, and I do invent my own worlds . . . so while I may have watched for Dinah, a lot of other things probably sank in as well. Thus, while sitting here with Magrat Fat Cat in my lap this morning, I thought I'd share with all of you. Did you watch Disney movies growing up? Which ones are your favorites? Do you think they influenced you, either for good or ill?

Scared of the Manuscript

Some days (like yesterday), I adore my manuscript-in-progress. I think about it all the time, I dream about it, I can scarcely pull myself away from the screen. On these days I'll write anywhere between 7,000 to 10,000 words, and it'll scarcely feel like work at all, so deeply am I invested in the story, the characters, the themes.

Other days (like today) I find myself utterly terrified to look at the thing.

Seriously, I've been so bad all day. Everything went so beautifully yesterday, I should have leapt out of bed this morning, rushed to the manuscript, and breezed through another several thousand words. Instead, I've been making excuses. The dog needs to go out. The cats need brushing. The dishes need washing. I should probably make the bed now. Don't I have some edits that need looking over? Surely there's something wonderful happening on twitter! The bathroom needs cleaning.

(I cleaned a bathroom rather than write. What is wrong with me?)

I even drove half an hour away to meet my husband for lunch--partly because I wanted to see his handsome face, but mostly (truth be told) because I wanted to escape the manuscript, which sits in my laptop, accusing me in silence.

Often these scared days come a day or two after an adoration day--something to do with the balance of nature, I would imagine. Actions and equal-and-opposite-reactions, etc.

There is no moral or message to this post, dear readers. It is simply an observation. Please (please!) tell me I am not the only one . . . .

Blog Tour: BLEEDING HEART

Dear imps, today I have the pleasure of hosting debut novelist, Amber Stokes for an interview!

Amber is a young writer who will, I believe, prove an inspiration to many more aspiring novelists. She sets a fantastic example for others who might wish to follow in her footsteps. She has invested her time wisely by getting a solid education and working hard to grow her writing skills. She built a loyal blog following by creating a blog where readers know they can find thoughtful reviews, entertaining interviews, and the occasional "for fun" post about daily life and experiences. She has participated in writing contests, hosted giveaways, and invested in her reading audience. She has started her own editing business, Editing Through the Seasons, and used this as a way to help other writers on their publication journeys. She has networked with professionals by offering features and forming true friendships.

In short, she has, by virtue of being a lovely, hardworking, and friendly young woman, set herself up to make a splash with her debut novel! Young writers would do very well to follow her lead, whether they intend to pursue traditional or self-publishing.

 Earlier this month, Amber's novel Bleeding Heart released, and the blogging world has been abuzz with news. And you may have seen the cover featured here a few months ago . . . but here it is again anyway, because it's so pretty!

_________
 Five bleeding hearts. One profound journey.

Summer 1886

Sally Clay’s livelihood has been snatched away, but in its place arises an opportunity to escape from her sordid past and an unrelenting, unwanted suitor. Boarding a train with a heartsick rancher and an enigmatic miner, she leaves Virginia City behind and heads to Northern California, waiting for the chance to make right what went wrong three long years before.

But the road to revenge is far from smooth. Sally soon learns that the jagged pieces of a broken heart can far too easily wound the hearts of others – and hers isn’t the only heart that’s broken. Tragedy and fear dog her steps as she flees from the redwood forests to the high desert and back again. Will her bleeding heart ever find a way and a place to heal?

A desperate soiled dove. Three men who come to care for her. One man determined to claim her.

All on a journey that will show them what true love really involves.

Inspirational Historical Romance


Here is a little about the author herself too:


Amber Stokes has a Bachelor of Science degree in English and a passion for the written word - from blogging to writing poetry, short stories, and novels. After her brief time at college in Oregon, she is now back home among the redwoods of Northern California, living life one day at a time and pursuing her passion via freelance editingand self-publishing her debut novel, Bleeding Heart   ____________  INTERVIEW 1. Would you mind telling us a little about yourself? Hobbies, personality . . . tea or coffee?  Amber: My name is Amber Stokes, and I am a book addict. *wink* Besides blogging about books, reading and reviewing books, writing books, and editing and publicizing books (and talking about them more than my family and friends probably care to hear!), I love to spend time with my family, quote movies, sing and dance (in the privacy of my room, generally, although I love going to dances when I can!), and do touristy things, even in my own home county. As for tea or coffee, I prefer tea – usually a fruity flavor, although peppermint can be good! And if there’s a third option, hot chocolate is always nice. *grin*  2. What led you into the writing life? Were you always a storyteller?  Amber: I’m not quite sure when it all began…perhaps with my mama reading me stories as a little girl? I fell in love with reading at a young age, and I’m sure it was my passion for reading that bled into my passion for writing. I had an affinity for poetry in my younger years (which hasn’t completely gone away!), so I wrote a lot of poems as gifts for my family and friends for birthdays and holidays. I did try to write some “novels,” if you will (short stories or story beginnings that should never see the light of day again), when I was in middle school, but it was in high school that a story idea hit me that hasn’t let me go. That story was Forget Me Not, my first inspirational historical romance novel. I finished the first draft my first year of college, and I have hopes of going back and editing it in order to publish it as the prequel to Bleeding Heart. I wasn’t ready to edit when I finished that first draft, but I think maybe it’s about time. 
3. Tell us a little about your debut novel, Bleeding Heart. How long have you been working on it? Can you recall what inspired you initially?
 
Amber: I’ve been working on it for about two years, ever since I finished Forget Me Not. I wasn’t ready to face edits for Forget Me Not then, so I turned to writing a sequel, taking some of the feedback I had received for the first book and applying it to the second. The story was inspired by some secondary characters from the first book, some settings I love, the title I chose, and some fears and questions I had about love that I wanted to work through. 
4. Can you pick a favorite character from this novel?  Amber: As I’m sure practically every author answers this, I love all of the characters for various reasons. *grin* But I think one of my favorites – if not my favorite – is Myghal, a redheaded Cornish man who is sort of the “best friend” character in both Forget Me Not and Bleeding Heart. I wrote him into the first book after visiting an archaeological dig in Virginia City one summer and learning that the town’s highest street back in the day used to be where the Cornish miners lived. I just thought it would be fun to include a Cornish character after learning that, but ever since I introduced him, he’s been stealing scenes and stealing little bits of my heart.  5. What inspires your work? Where do you turn when you need a renewal of inspiration?  
Amber: I think one of my main sources of inspiration – beyond my own experiences and the places I’ve visited – is music. For this series, that’s mainly bluegrass and folk music. I actually compiled a “soundtrack” for Bleeding Heart of songs that seem to capture my characters’ emotions at various points in the story, which you can find HERE. The order of the songs can be found on that page, and the Pinterest link will take you to YouTube videos of the songs.  6. What are your favorite and least favorite parts of the writing process?  Amber: After my initial reaction to receiving feedback on Forget Me Not, I seriously thought editing would be my least favorite aspect of the process. I mean, even with college papers I generally just worked really hard on one draft (usually last-minute…) and didn’t go through various drafts. (Not saying this is the best way to go – it’s just how I approached them!) But once I finished Bleeding Heart, I felt ready to polish it and to make it ready for publication. I actually enjoyed editing (despite getting frustrated at times) and seeing the story come together and become better than it had been. I guess it’s hard to pick a favorite part of the process now! I love daydreaming about a story and discovering it as I write. Maybe my least favorite part is the waiting – waiting for feedback, and then finding the courage to face the edits, or even the strength to just sit down and write. And for Bleeding Heart, the formatting (for the Kindle version) gave me some grief. Once I could see the goal so close to being realized, it was hard to push through the finalizing process when I was ready for the “fun part” (these interviews, working on the blog tour, having actual readers, etc.). But I knew it was important to make sure it was polished, especially since it would be my first impression on readers and the publishing world!  7. Which authors inspire you as you develop your own storytelling voice? Any historical romance novelists you would consider a particular influence?  
Amber: A few of Tracie Peterson and Linda Lee Chaikin’s books hooked me on Christian historical romance back in elementary school. I think the “Yukon Quest” series and the “Buccaneers” series showed me how exciting and engaging stories from that genre could be. More recently, I’ve been especially inspired by MaryLu Tyndall, Laura Frantz, Karen Witemeyer, Tamera Alexander, Joanne Bischof, and Elizabeth Camden – although I’m sure I could list many more who have made me fall deeper in love with the genre through their books! I think just reading a ton of books, writing my thoughts on them in reviews, and seeing how other authors succeed in the genre has influenced me and my writing a great deal. Oh, and I for sure have to mention author Elizabeth Ludwig and Rachelle Rea (not yet published, but hopefully in the not-too-distant future!) – my editor and my proofreader – as they certainly influenced my writing for the better in the editing stages.  8. So what is next on your publishing horizons? Can we look forward to more fiction from you soon?  
Amber I sure hope so! (In answer to the second question.) My goal is to edit Forget Me Not and publish it as the prequel Winter 2014. After that, I’d like to write another sequel and publish it later in 2014 – maybe next August? I guess that depends on how fast I can write now that I have a book out there and self-imposed deadlines, LOL. I’m also planning on writing a companion short story that I may or may not enter in your Cinderella contest… *grin* 
9. What are you actively writing right now?  
Amber: Sadly, nothing at the moment. I’m writing these responses! I haven’t really had a chance to start on a new writing project since I got Bleeding Heart up on Amazon… However, I hope to start in on that companion short story very soon. An early reviewer inspired me, and some ideas have been eager to get from my mind to the page! 10. Can you share a short snippet from Bleeding Heart? 
Amber: Of course! This is from Chapter 2 – a little background on the heroine, and a glimpse at why I love Myghal so much… Excerpt fromBLEEDING HEARTChapter 2 California looked like gold as it sped by the window of the train. The summer-warmed hills of the interior might seem dry and barren to some, but to Sally the tan interspersed with some light green spoke of promise. A desire to begin anew rushed up from her heart, but it was a foolish notion. She would never break free from the sins of her past, nor would she be able to find peace until she confronted the reason she was out here in this beautiful but savage land in the first place. The admission caused an ache so deep she was sure she felt it in her bones.“It’s nice to get out of the Nevada desert, isn’t it?” She glanced over at Joe, but he just stared out the window, and she wondered if he had even uttered the question. The words sounded hopeful, but she could tell they were hollow inside, empty of life. For what reason, she could never guess. Nor did she want to try.“Here.” The man named Myghal handed her his tattered coat. She shook her head. “I don’t need it. I’m not cold.”“It’s not for the cold.”Her hand went to her neck, then slid down to where her fingers brushed her collar bone. She squinted up at him through her long lashes and smiled – a slow, seductive smirk that came as naturally to her now as her girlish giggles used to do. “My dress bother you, Myghal?”He shrugged his bony shoulders, unblinking. “No, ma’am, but I think it’s drawing unnecessary attention.”Not bothering to acknowledge the leering gazes aimed her way, she tilted her head and chuckled. “Maybe I like attention.” He would never know that she was once a shy, albeit determined, girl who only craved the attention of one man. “Well, humor me, will ya?” He leaned forward and placed the coat around her shoulders. His gentle touch and the protective gesture confused her. This was the same miner who had dumped a pitcher of water on her when she’d tried to comfort a dark-haired, lonely man in the only way she knew how anymore. The man had appeared so lost as he downed his whiskey, speaking angrily with her boss but obviously searching for a distraction to whatever was causing his eyes to glisten in the low light of the barroom. In that moment she had felt a kinship with him that she didn’t want to let go. But Myghal had stopped them cold with a splash of water and taken the dark-haired man away, leaving her in that awful room, drenched and alone. So very, very alone.Tears came to her eyes unbidden. While she had learned long ago to cry whenever the act was needed, this was different. She didn’t want to cry.  Amber: Thank you so much for hosting me, Anne Elisabeth ! I’ve so appreciated your support during this time as I’ve prepared to share Bleeding Heart with readers. ***** You are most welcome, Amber! It has been my pleasure! :)Dear readers, if Bleeding Heart looks like the book for you, be certain to enter your name in this generous giveaway (US only). So many fun goodies listed here! Also, be certain to continue reading along the rest of the tour.

Tuesday, August 20th
Review at The Librarian's BookshelfInterview at Tales of Goldstone Wood Wednesday, August 21stReview at The Lore-MistressReview at Inspiring Daring"Outside the Author's Studio" interview at Edgy Inspirational Romance Thursday, August 22ndInterview at A Novel RealityInterview and review at Black 'n Gold Girl's Book Spot Friday, August 23rdReview at The Overweight BookshelfInterview & e-book giveaway at Writing for Christ Saturday, August 24thReview at labor not in vainSpotlight at Philosophy of RomanceSunday,  August 25thReview at Christian NovelsReview at Christian Bookshelf ReviewsInterview at Too Read or Not Too ReadMonday, August 26thReview at Sweet Treats & InspirationReview at The Ramblings of Two ReadersInterview & e-book giveaway at A Christian Writer's WorldTuesday, August 27thReview at The Other WorldTuesday Tea interview & review at Sherida StewartInterview (SPOILERS) & review at The Curried NutWednesday, August 28thReview at Carissa's BookshelfReview & giveaway at Best Reads (2010-2013)Interview & review at Literary and LaceThursday, August 29thReview at Writer Off the LeashReview at West of Newbury StreetInterview & review at FictionallyFriday, August 30thReview at Backing BooksReview at The Wonderings of One PersonInterview at Returning to EdenSaturday, August 31stConclusion of the tour at Seasons of Humility Be sure to congratulate Amber on her debut release! Such an exciting time for a novelist!   http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/15cee38/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway

  
 

Introducing: Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

Dear Imps, I have the pleasure of introducing to you today a new fantasy novelist! I met Jenelle for the first time at my most recent book signing for Dragonwitch, and we chatted a bit about fantasy, writing . . . you know, all my favorite topics. And she graciously agreed to come visit my blog today and tell you a little about her debut novel! I hope you will enjoy. And don't forget to enter your names in the giveaway at the end of the post!

First a little about the book:

When Dark Warriors invade her country, it is up to Princess Kamarie to seek out the legendary king’s warrior and request his aid. The feisty princess has spent her life dreaming of adventure and is thrilled to be tasked with such a quest. However, the adventure merely begins when she meets Brant: a warrior with a mysterious past. He joins her cause readily, his heart smoldering with a vendetta Kamarie cannot completely understand. But whether she trusts him or not, the hope of their world rests on the steel he wears at his side….


And Jenelle herself:

Jenelle grew up the oldest of four children. Every night before bedtime her father read to her and her siblings, and it was during these times that her love for adventure and fantasy were forged. While she adored the stories of the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Prydain, the Wheel of Time, and the Chronicles of Narnia; it wasn’t long before her imagination led her to the creation of a world and story all her own.
In 2001, Jenelle completed King’s Warrior, originally titled The Dragon’s Eye, as a project for her father who wanted something new and fun to read to the family at night. This first endeavor gave way to the completion of a four book series that is full of the same adventure that Jenelle grew to love in literature as a little girl. Jenelle graduated from Taylor University in Indiana in 2004 with a bachelor’s degree in English Education.
Jenelle has written numerous short stories and many poems, as well as some full length work within the realm of science fiction. King’s Warrior is her first published work and she is currently working on bringing the rest of the series to public availability. Jenelle lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband Derek and two little girls Leiana Arwen and Nathalie Eowyn.
 INTERVIEW   Would you mind telling us a little about yourself? Hobbies, personality . . . tea or coffee?   Jenelle: I am first and foremost a Christian. I have a wonderful husband and two adorable little girls (ages 4 and 1) that I stay at home with. I am an outgoing introvert, which basically means that I’m very shy, but I enjoy being around people, especially people I know well like good friends and family. I’m not much for tea or coffee, actually. But I love hot chocolate. When it comes to hobbies, my kids keep me pretty busy, but I love reading, watching movies, and cheering for the Cubs, even though they let me down every year. I love being outside: hiking, throwing a frisbee around, kicking a soccer ball. And I have recently been getting back into indoor rock climbing with some friends.
What led you into the writing life? Were you always a storyteller?  Jenelle: I’ve sort of always been a storyteller. I was writing little stories from the moment I could string sentences together in my awkward, child’s handwriting at the age of 6. A good friend and I co-authored a science fiction novel in high school. It took us three years to put together, but it was a lot of fun (and probably atrocious, but we thought it was awesome). My real writing career, however, began when I came home from college during the summer after my freshman year and my dad said to me one morning, “If you want to be a writer, then you should be writing.” He then challenged me to write an adventure story that he could read out loud to the family over the summer. He asked for “ten pages a night” and said he would pay me a dollar per page and an extra $1,000 if I managed to finish the book before I returned to school. It was a crazy summer of writing and editing and printing pages, but I managed to do it. I loved the instant feedback from my parents and younger siblings each night. They had quite a lot of input, and the story began to take on a life of its own. One of the best things ever was when my dad would finish reading the last page for that night, and everyone would say, “That’s it?! We need more!!!”  Tell us a little about your debut novel, King’s Warrior. How long did you work on this story? How did the idea come to you? Is it part of a series?  Jenelle: I wrote King’s Warrior in a single summer (and then spent several years editing it). The story sort of started to take shape when I was looking for ideas in my old creative writing journals from high school. There is a pond across the street from my parents’ house, and one morning before school there was all this steam rising up off of it as the sun started to rise over the horizon. I got this mental picture of the sun being a dragon, flying up out of its cave in the morning, and returning to it at night. That image sparked the idea of a myth that a people could have told and a world in which the “sun” was instead called “the dragon’s eye.” From there, the story began to take shape throughout the summer... and it ended up being absolutely nothing like I had expected. I got so much instant feedback from my family that the story and characters just took on a life of their own. For example: Brant, who is the title character, wasn’t really supposed to make it past the first chapter. He was going to be a bit role, not even a secondary character... but at the behest of my family he ends up being the star of the series. Which brings me to your other question: yes, King’s Warrior is part of a series. It is the first in a four book series (which I’ve been calling a quadrilogy, even though that’s not a real word) called “The Minstrel’s Song.”  Can you pick a favorite character from this story?  Jenelle: Absolutely not. I keep getting asked this question and I try to answer it, and then I feel my other characters’ feelings being hurt when I don’t say their name. I love them all. Brant, Kamarie, Oraeyn, Dylanna, Yole, Arnaud, Zara, Leila, and of course Kiernan Kane, the bumbling minstrel who is more than he seems. They are all my favorites. Kamarie is the one who represents the most of myself, though. She is who I would hope to be if I were a princess in her time faced with the challenges she faces.  What inspires your work? Where do you turn when you need a renewal of inspiration?  Jenelle: I get a lot of inspiration from being outside. I like to at least be near a window when I write. I also get inspiration from real-life people and things that happen around me. When none of that works and I need a renewal of inspiration, I tend to talk things out with my husband or my dad. They are both excellent sounding-boards and so incredibly supportive and eager to be helpful. When all else fails, though, I turn to something a little odd. I crank up the Christmas music - usually something like Manheim Steamroller, Jim Brickman, or Collin Raye. I don’t know why it works, but something about it always helps break down the walls and let out the torrent of words.  What are your favorite and least favorite parts of the writing process?  Jenelle: I love the planning stages. Those moments when the ideas are flowing and the next story could be about anything at all. I also really enjoy the actual writing. My favorite thing during the writing process is when the story takes off and suddenly something happens that I didn’t plan or intend: a character does something unexpected, or a bit of dialogue takes place that reveals part of the end to me that I didn’t know yet, those moments are pure joy, when the story takes on a life of its own. My least favorite parts of the writing process would have to be the waiting (waiting to get my editor’s comments, waiting for the book cover to be finished, waiting for my beta readers to finish reading it), and the marketing/promotional stuff. I hate promoting myself. I much prefer promoting others.  If you were forced to pick a single favorite author, who would it be?  Jenelle: Your questions are so hard! I am totally going to cheat on this one. I’d be sorely tempted to say J.R.R. Tolkien, as he inspired a love of fantasy in my heart at a very young age. But if I were forced to pick, I would have to go with Gwen Walker. She was my grandma, and she wrote my favorite book in the world. Ultimately, I would have to credit her with being at least part of the reason I became an author. I believe that my grandparents’ love of the written word permeated the entire family and is at least partially responsible for my love of reading - and, by extension, my love of writing. So what is next on your publishing horizons? Can we look forward to a sequel to King’s Warrior? Or perhaps something completely new? Jenelle: The next thing on my horizon is the prequel to King’s Warrior. It is titled Second Son, and should be available in September. Book three (the title is being revealed at the end of Second Son) will be coming in 2014.  What are you actively writing right now?  Jenelle: I am currently writing a completely new series. I just finished the rough draft and am working my way through it once, adding dialogue and various bits that got left out in the first go-round, and then I will send it to my content editor.
Would you share a short snippet from King’s Warrior? This is my favorite scene in the entire book. It’s from near the beginning of the story:  EXCERPT FROMKING'S WARRIOR    “And which way do you think we should follow the river, your highness?” Oraeyn asked through gritted teeth.       “That way, of course,” Kamarie said, pointing upstream, which she knew full well was the wrong direction, back towards the palace, just to annoy him; it worked.       “Fine!” Oraeyn exploded. “Have it your way! But when we show up back at the palace, I’m not going to take the blame for getting us lost, I know which way we are supposed to go, and you, apparently, have no experience in following directions at all! You want to go up-river… then… you... go up-river!” He knew he was sputtering, but he no longer cared, “I, on the other hand, am going to go down-river, through the Mountains of Dusk, and into the village called Peak’s Shadow, to find your father’s friend and explain why you are not with me. But I won’t have to explain that will I? Because you know where you’re going. You knowyour way around, don’t you?”       “Of course I knew we had to head down-river, stable boy,” Kamarie said in a chilly tone. As he began his tirade, Kamarie was simply amused, but by the time he finished, she was no longer amused and in no mood to explain that she had been teasing.       At that, Oraeyn completely lost any and all grip he had on his loosely controlled frustration. What right did she have to treat him like this? She was only a princess, after all. And he was a squire, in training to become a defender of her nation. Without people like him, she might have been born a peasant’s daughter. The nerve of her referring to him as a stable boy!       He dismounted from his chestnut horse and marched over to her. Glaring up at her through the rain that had been pouring down on them all day, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the saddle. She let out a startled yelp and started beating on him with her fists. He had to admit, the girl could throw a punch. He swung her into his arms and turned as she started yelling and protesting.       “Now, young man…” Darby started, but stopped when he threw her a withering glare.       “I am not going to hurt her. I am just going to teach her that she can’t treat people the way she does and get away with it,” he said.              He slowly and deliberately carried Kamarie to the riverbank and dumped her into the four feet of chilly, slow-moving water. He watched until she came up, making sure that she was not hurt. Then he turned and walked back to his horse. ___________ LOL! That was fun!So what do you think, Imps? Are you eager to read Jenelle's novel now and get ready for the sequel? Well, you are in luck! She is offering a giveaway for one lucky winner. Be sure to enter your name below . . . and also, check out her website and facebook page for more information on this exciting series. Many thanks, Jenelle, for stopping by today!GIVEAWAYhttp://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/0cd52414/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway
     

Doings at Rooglewood

Dear Imps, I have been so lax in my postings lately, so I thought I'd take the time this afternoon to let you know some of my doings various. Hopefully this will explain a little why I haven't been as faithful a blogger of late . . .

1. I've been working tremendously on getting Goddess Tithe ready for publication! Most of you have seen the title reveal banner already, but I figured I'd share it again . . .


I just received proofs of the book this afternoon, and Oh! They are so pretty! I think with just a few more tweaks, it's going to be ready to go to press.

I'll be planning the official cover reveal for Monday, September 23rd. And, because I was sent an extra proof copy, I am happy to announce that I will be offering it as a giveaway prize to celebrate the cover reveal. Is that not exciting???

If you'd like to be part of the cover reveal and giveaway next month, email me (aestengl@gmail.com), and I'll add you to the list. I'll be sharing not only the cover and story summary, but also a short excerpt and one of the interior illustrations (because, yes, Goddess Tithe is my first illustrated story!).

So that's that project . . .

2. I've also been working like crazy on my manuscript for Book 7 in the Tales of Goldstone Wood which is called . . . Oh, right. I haven't revealed the title yet, have I? Actually, it's not officially titled, and you'll have to wait another  few months to learn it. But I'm hoping to reveal that to all of you by about November 1st, so be watching!

The manuscript itself is just hitting that most fun and exciting stage: I'm over the halfway point, and all the storylines are really starting to gel. This is, I think, my most charismatic cast of characters yet. My heroine is possibly my very favorite of all time, and she spends a lot of time in company with a certain cat whom she is quite convinced is a devil in disguise. She also has dogs . . . three busy little fluffy dogs who look a lot like this:

And their names are Dumpling, Rice Cake, and Sticky Bun.
And they think they are lions.You can well imagine the trials in store for a certain feline character . . . Too much fun. Really, I should not be enjoying this story so much. So yes, possible title reveal coming up in November. 3. I have, this last week, begun reading submissions for the Five Glass Slippers contest.   Don't worry, those of you still planning to submit! The deadline is still December 31st. You have lots of time left! But the stories are already piling up, and since I don't want to drown in them come this Christmas, I decided I should probably start reading. And I am so glad that I did! You would not believe the imagination and tremendously fun storytelling I'm encountering, just in this first week's worth of stories! I am so excited . . . and a little nervous. If these are any indication of what is to come, I'm going to have quite a time of it trying to select only five. It's going to be an amazing collection, though, I can tell you that much right now. So looking forward to seeing it come together! 4. I've been working on a few other fun projects for Rooglewood Press as well. The historical romance (mentioned on the site) is in its final stages of cover design, and I should be doing a cover reveal for that author come late November. I'll remind all of you about it then so you can jump on board with that one too. I think it's going to be very pretty. The author has already told me that she thinks it's the prettiest cover she's ever had! :) I have also been working a debut novelist on an exciting YA sci-fi adventure novel. Nothing is official on that one quite yet, but it looks like we might be having a neat new project coming out late next summer. Keep your eyes peeled! 5. And, of course, I have been enjoying my mentoring students. This has been a full summer for mentoring, and each student has intrigued me with her exciting story and unique writing abilities. Every month, I look forward to continuing the various adventures I'm in the midst of reading. And I love seeing the talents of my students on display as they come up with solutions to the exercises I give them. So impressive . . . I learn a lot from this crew! 6. And I must mention the Fan Fiction Contest currently running! Don't forget to vote. We have 34 wonderful stories on display, and there will be prizes for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place! But you need to vote for winners to be chosen. 7. Two of you wonderful imps--Maid Hannah and Maid Beka--have been hard at work on a little side project for me, which I hope to be able to share with all of in another few weeks! I can't tell you too much about it just yet . . . except that it's called Dame Imraldera's Library. And I think you're going to love it!!! 8. Next week, we have several fun features coming up. First, I am hosting an interview of a new fantasy novelist, Jenelle Leanne Schmidt, and you will get to learn about her debut novel, King's Warrior. And on Tuesday, we have the blog tour for Amber Stoke's debut novel, Bleeding Heart. There's a fun giveaway to go along with both of those features, so don't miss out! Click here to learn more about this! 9. The other thing that's kept me busy . . . I've been sick. Quite, quite sick. With a bit of a mysterious malady that knocks me flat for two weeks at a time, vanishes, then returns two months later to knock me flat again. The doctor has run tests and can find nothing wrong with me. I'm healthy as a horse, according to all the blood work! And yet this sickness continues to knock me out every now and then. I think it might be stress-related. I do tend to overdo the work hours now and then. But, if you think of it, prayers for health would be appreciated! Currently, I'm on an upswing from the most recent bout of illness, and feeling great to be back to my normal, busy self. But I've been struck with it five times this year, and it's more than a little frustrating. So yes, prayers would be welcome! 10. Kitties and doggy are all doing well. Minerva has been up to her usual wickednesses, but I haven't had opportunity to allow her to blog. I do apologize for that! I'm sure she'll tell you all about it when next she gets a chance. If you didn't hear, we adopted a fifth cat this year, a handsome gray-and-white fluffy named Makoose;  Makoose: "I am very handsome." He is quite the charmer, completely incapable of believing that anyone could ever dislike him. He has taken this attitude into his relationship with Milly and, despite her initial protests, as convinced her that she must indeed adore him because he is, in fact, adorable.   They have been caught spooning on more than one occasion, so I think his persuasions must have worked. So there you have it. My collection of cats has grown, and I make no apologies. I had an opportunity to talk about my Crazy Cat Lady-ness on J.L. Mbewe's blog, so if you get a chance, you should go read it!  There, my dears. I think that is all I have to say. It's all I can think of, anyway! It's been quite a busy summer, and is shaping up to be an even busier fall and winter. But I wouldn't miss a moment of it! Okay, I must go. Tonight, my Rohan is taking me dancing, so I need to finish my work, put myself together, and discover why my dog is barking her head off even as I type . . . Until next time!

Friday Tidbits: The Mask of Mary Sue

Absolutely ages ago, I promised to write up a Friday Tidbit dealing with the issue of Mary Sue. In response to a post where I urged writers to use pieces of themselves to create believable characters, readers asked me how they can do this without falling into the clutches of Mary Sue. Here (at last!) is my tidbit on that topic.
First of all, for those of you who don’t know Mary Sue . . . 
 “Mary Sue” is a term used to described an idealized character used to represent the author in a story (often fan fiction) of wish-fulfillment. The character is typically the youngest, smartest, prettiest, best-liked, most awesomest character, who never ceases to impress those around her with her brilliance and know-how, not to mention fantastic good looks.
 There are variations on the Mary Sue theme, of course. Some Mary Sues suffer from an inexplicable case of Nobody Likes Me Syndrome (which I will discuss in a future post). Some Mary Sues are feisty and sharp-tempered, lashing out at anyone and everyone around them for no particular reason. Some Mary Sues are geniuses, able to solve every problem that comes their way while the rest of the cast looks on, baffled. Some Mary Sues, by contrast, emotional, helpless, prone to weeping, and need to be rescued by the handsome hero.
 The point is, Mary Sue represents how the author wishes to be viewed. She is distinctly lacking in motivation, but is possessed of singular skills in—you name it. Art. Karate. Science. Fill in the blank.But here’s the thing: Mary Sue is never an honest representation of her author. She is a proxy. She is an idealization. She is a dream and wish. She is not a character.
 By contrast, when I talk about taking a piece of myself and putting it into one of my characters, I’m talking about an honest piece of myself. You notice that Princess Una is not an exquisitely beautiful dancer/singer/swordswoman. She’s not an opportunity for me to write myself, in an idealized form, enjoying the attentions of invented suitors. She’s not a fantasy . . . she’s a person. And I gave her a piece of me—the immature, waiting-for-prince-charming to ride to the door piece of me. The spoiled piece of me that wants my own way, even when my own way would prove harmful.

There is nothing flattering about the bits of my heart which Una represents. There is nothing "Mary Sue" about her.

A little more flattering, perhaps, is Dame Imraldera. For I gave her what my husband calls my, “stray-kitten complex.” Imraldera has an enormous sense of empathy, and she wants to rescue and save any “stray kitten” that comes her way—be it a Black Dog, a selfish Faerie cat, a cowardly prince, a traitor etc. This is a virtue in me, and it is also a virtue in her.  But, like most virtues, when taken out of proper context, it can quickly overbalance and become a vice. It’s happened to me before! And it will happen to Imraldera, quite soon. Thus, she will continue to be an honestcharacter, not an idealization.

But do you see the difference here between Mary Sue and a piece of your heart? Mary Sue is a mask, a dishonesty. A character truly based on yourself is a revelation. It’s even an embarrassment. It takes courage to write an honest character—to expose yourself to ridicule. Take a glance through my one-star reviews on Heartless, and look at the hatred spewed my Una’s way. My Una, who was an honest representation of a not-so virtuous part of my heart.

Mary Sue does not stimulate hatred. Mary Sue is safe . . . because she stimulates nothing.

So what do you think, dear readers? Any other thoughts to share on our friend Mary Sue? Do you feel more at liberty to use yourself as a “character reference” in the future? Are you currently writing a Mary Sue? I’m all ears!
 

Fan Fiction Contest 2013: Vanquishing Venom

  
            The blow smarted, but he merely tilted his head away in a differential manner.
            The muscular man looming over him snarled and stomped away.  He stood staring out a window for a moment, his great figure black against the pale sky.  Then he pivoted around, his arms crossed over his massive chest.  “Last I knew, Sir Eanrin,” the man growled.  “You were missing only your eyes, not your tongue.”
            The prisoner in the center of the room was clad in scarlet and his eyes were covered by red patches.  Notwithstanding the fact that his hands were bound behind his back and that he was kneeling on the floor, the prisoner held himself with poise, even authority.  He tossed his head, flicking golden hair off his brow, and gave the man a slight smirk.  “On the contrary, your majesty.  My tongue remains firmly fixed inside my mouth.”
            The large man stalked towards him, his pace slow and measured.  “Then why?” he hissed, “Can you not explain why you suddenly showed up again in my kingdom?”
            “Would you believe that it was an innocent mistake?”
            Bending down, he leveled his face with Sir Eanrin’s.  His blue eyes burned, and his breath was heavy and putrid.  “Was the lasttime you came an innocent mistake?”
            “Oh no,” Eanrin laughed.  “That was completely intentional, great king.”
            The king swore again, as a king never should, and swung his fist at the blind prisoner’s face.  But Eanrin dodged the blow as if he had eyes to see it coming.  “Careful, your majesty,” he said, and now his voice had lost all cheerfulness.  He spoke in a low tone, but there was a certain bite to it that would make anyone pause.  “Careful.  If you strike me again, you’ll not hear another word from my mouth ever after.”
            The king sneered.  “Fool.  You’rein no position to make threats.”
            “Agree to disagree.” The knight cocked his head to the side and flashed a cold smile.  “You’re the one who’s so desperate for information.  I can choose not to say a word.  I actually do know how to hold my tongue.”
            “That’s hard to believe,” the king grumbled, but he stepped back and lowered his hand.
            They remained there, staring at each other, one with eyes, the other with no eyes at all.  The king exhaled in a long vibrating growl, before signaling to the guards who stood at the far side of the hall.  “Take him away and lock him in the dungeon, no food or water.  He can talk or he can die, I don’t care.”
            Grabbing Eanrin by the upper arms, the guards yanked him to his feet, then pushed him towards the exit.  The knight looked back over his shoulder and gave one last parting jab.  “You’re a poor representation of a Faerie King, Cozalimar!”
            The king snarled in his throat, but said nothing more.
 
            The dungeon was dark, dank, and cold.  The darkness bothered the blind knight not a bit, but the smell and chill was unpleasant.  As the guards dragged him down to the under-story of the faerie castle, he wasn’t worried.  Eanrin, knight of Farthestshore, Chief-Poet of Rudiobus, romantic bard of all history, could work his way out of any situation, in human shape or another.
            But he had not counted on the iron chains.
            Iron weakened faeries so that they were nearly powerless against it, some more than others. Iron was banned in faerie realms; it was carried by only the shadiest of dealers, such as Torkem of Arpiar.
            But even as corrupt as Cozalimar’s kingdom had become, Eanrin still hadn’t supposed that they would have stooped to something so low-down as iron.
            They had.
            Eanrin found that out as they shoved him against the stone wall, and locked his wrists in iron shackles.  He caught his breath at the icy fire that sliced through his body as the iron bands closed around his skin.  “Dragon’s teeth,” he muttered through a clenched smile.
            After the guards left, dead silence imploded.
            Eanrin hung completely still for a few moments, unsure of his next move.  He tried to swivel his wrists in the shackles, but they were far too tight and any movement only prompted greater pain. 
            His mind flew back over the centuries, back to when King Cozalimar’s kingdom of Teltethma had been a faerie demesne of joy and beauty.  Before Life-in-Death had entered the king’s mind.  Before he’d been driven mad.  Before he had started slaughtering every follower of the Prince of Farthestshore within his borders.  The people of Teltethma, terrified and bewildered, had cried out to the Farthestshore for aid.  The rescue of the Teltethma believers had been one of the largest feats the Knights of Farthestshore had ever attempted.  To succeed, someone had to distract Cozalimar and his court.
            Eanrin smirked at the memory.
            Apparently, the Faerie Lord had never forgiven him for it.
            Suddenly, Eanrin felt something cold, smooth, and strong coil around his arm, and something flickered against his throat.  Before he could even feel his skin crawl, a voice spoke close to his ear.  A voice velvety and smooth, but not without an insidious hiss.  “There was once a cat with no eyesss; he fooled the whole court with his liessss.”
            Eanrin drew his breath in sharply and didn’t even try to suppress the shiver that swept over him.  “Dragon’s teeth,” he said again.  “What are you doing here, Kasela?”
            “What are you doing here, pussy?” the female voice replied.
            The knight let out a little growl.  “Forgive me if I never informed you that I detest being called pussy.”
            “Blame it on my memory.  How’d you get in this little messss?”
            He knew better then to remind her that he had asked first, so he took a deep breath and began.  “I’ve been recently deployed in Parumvir.  There was a prince there, Felix, who was filled with dragon poison.  I went to bring him back to Dame Imraldera for healing.”
            “Dear Dame Imraldera,” the woman’s voice said in a sarcastic tone.
            Eanrin ignored her.  “I arrived only in time for the boy to be called away by a Fallen.”
            “Hmmm, unexpected.”
            “Yes, and I don’t know why he was called.  I can guess, but why Felix?  I wonder…  Anyway, he went to the old crossing to Arpiar and stepped onto the Far Side.  I was chasing him, and it was too late for me to stop my pursuit, so I touched ground on the other side.  Where he went, I’m not certain, but I landed in the middle of Cozalimar’s guards.  Figure thatout.  I couldn’t fight my way out, so to make a long story short, I ended up here.  Now,” he sighed.  “What are you doing here?”
            “Sssssight-seeing,” Kasela purred.
            “In this dark?”  Eanrin snorted.  “Seriously though, what are you doing here?”
            “My business isss my own.”
            He shuddered a little, and he shrugged his shoulders, trying to remove the sinuous coils that wound around his arm and neck.  “Interested in helping me out?”
            “Twill require touching iron.  You’ll have to say please.”
            He huffed.  “Please?”
            The snake slid down to the ground, and the next moment, she morphed into a woman with pale skin, black hair, and black clothes.  Her serpentine fingers slide into her belt, and she pulled out something gleaming.  When she slid it into the iron lock, she gave a tiny hiss of pain, for even indirect touch hurt.  But in only a few seconds, both shackles snapped open.
            Eanrin let out a gasp of relief and jerked forward, rubbing his wrists.  “Thanks,” he mumbled.
            The woman slipped back into snake form and slithered out of the cell.  She looked back, her black tongue flickering.  “Coming, kitty-cat?”
            “How come you make everything sound like an insult?” he growled, switching into cat form. 
The cat followed the snake up the stairs out of the heavy blackness.  At last they reached the first upper-floor of Teltethma’s castle, and paused near one of the many tall windows in the long gilded hallway.  When the light touched Kasela’s sin-black scales, a blue shimmer passed over her winding body.  The cat froze for a moment; one paw upraised, and sniffed the clean air appreciatively, his whiskers twitching.  “Cozalimar won’t be too happy to find me gone,” he remarked.
The corners of Kasela’s mouth turned up, and her white fangs gleamed.  A change had come over her as she had traveled upwards.  Her coy style had given way to something darker, and Eanrin had picked up a tenseness radiating from her.  “He’ll never find out,” she whispered.
            She hadn’t intended for him to hear, but when Eanrin had lost his sight, his other senses had improved.  “What was that?” he asked, his voice as sharp as a knife.
            She did not answer but slid away so silently he did not know she left.  Only when she had gotten a fair distance down the hall did she swivel her head back to face him.  “It is time for me to finish him,” she hissed.  Then she took off in an obsidian streak.
            Eanrin’s heart gave one great thud.  Did she mean it?  She’d never killed before, but considering her shady history, he did not doubt that she did mean it.  And would do it.  But why? 
            The next moment, he was flying after her, an orange blaze.  “Kasela!” he shouted.
            She ignored him.
            His ears pinned back on his head, he sped up.  The snake was fast, but the cat was faster.  Pouncing, he pinned her down with his paws, his claws digging into the wood floor around her.  She writhed, hissing, her nostrils flaring.  “Let me go!” she spat.
            “Kasela, you cannot--”
            She struck at him. 
            She did not make contact, but she came close enough for him to smell the venom on her fangs.  “One bite will be all it takes to kill Cozalimar.  The same goes for you,” she panted.
            Without warning, she was a woman, and with a thrust of her knee, she sent the cat flying into the air.
            Eanrin hit the ground as a man, and after regaining his footing, he sprinted after her fleeing figure.  In a few seconds, he caught up and grabbed her by the arm.  “Kasela, you--”
            She whirled around, her eyes afire, and laid a naked blade across his throat.
            They both froze.
            Slowly, Eanrin let go of her arm and dropped both hands to his side.  Kasela kept the knife at his neck, her face wild and her chest heaving.  “I’m going to kill him!” she hissed. 
            “But Kasela,” he reasoned. “That’s not like you.”
            “Isn’t it?” she cried.  “Isn’t it?  Then why were you so quick to guess my intent?  You know me as a street-world, slanderous, sinister snake.  Well, I’m more!  Or I was!  My family was one of the hundreds who were killed in Cozalimar’s reign of terror.  You don’t think I have a quarrel with him?  You’re wrong!  I would have killed him long ago, but I haven’t been able to find a Crossing since you rescued me.  Today I found a Crossing.  Today I shall have my revenge.  I don’t want to kill you, Eanrin, but if you stand in my way, I will!”
            He kept still and made his voice soft.  “I’m sorry about your family,” he said gently.  “I did not know…I…understand your hate and your pain.”
            “NO, YOU DON’T!” she screamed, her knife hard into his skin. 
            “Very well, maybe I don’t,” he allowed.  “But I do know that revenge is not worth two lives.”
            Her eyes flickered.  “Two?” She scowled in confusion.  “All it takes is one.  Cozalimar’s!”
            “Wrong,” the knight said.  “Revenge destroys both the lives of the avenger and their victim.  I know it will ruin your already broken life, Kasela.  The Prince of Farthestshore has offered you forgiveness and redemption, but you--”
            “SHUT UP!”
            Eanrin shut his mouth.
            Kasela looked down, and closed her shadowed eyes.  The strength of her anger was beginning to drain, and the hand holding the knife began to tremble.  “Look,” she whispered.  “I admire you Knights of Farthestshore.  Yes, I even envy you.  I envy you, Eanrin.  I envy Imoo.  I envy Oeric.  I envy Imraldera, and not because she’s the only woman you truly love.”
            “Now hold on just a se—
            “I envy your happiness, your nobility.  I appreciate how you’ve always treated me like a fellow person.  None of you seem swayed by my appearance, even when I’ve tried to get attention.  None of you shun me for my sins.  Most people do.  Even some followers of the Prince.  I love you Knights of Farthestshore.  Perhaps I wish I was like you.”  Her voice shook.  “But I’m not.  It’s too late for me.  All that is left in me is hurt.  All that is left for me to do is hurt.  I must kill Cozalimar.  Get out of my way.”  She seemed to recover herself then, and she pressed the knife in deeper, her teeth clenched.
            Eanrin let no emotion flicker across his face.  His voice stayed level.  “Were you challenging him to a fair dual, I would not interfere, though I might strongly advise against it.  But I cannot let you murder him.  I won’t let you destroy yourself.  If you wish to continue…you must kill me first.”
            Kasela stared at him, her eyes huge, and her breath came in rapid little gasps.  Suddenly with a cry, she drew back her arm and thrust the knife forward.
            Her fist rested on his chest, and he did not move.  For she had slid the knife’s blade up through her hand till only the tip pricked through the side that rested on Eanrin’s breast.
            A sobbing shudder convulsed her body as her final will collapsed.  The knife clattered to the ground.  Eanrin pulled her into one arm and led her away.  The fight seemed to have bled out of her, and she weakly sank into him. 
            “We’re getting out of here,” he said quietly.
They did not meet anyone as they left, for Cozalimar’s was a dying kingdom, and few still lived in his borders.
Eanrin walked the Faerie Paths with more ease then those with sight, and he soon found a Crossing out of Teltethma.  They paused at the joint between worlds, but Kasela offered no resistance, so he stepped over.
            The next instant, they stood in the Wood Between.  Twilight hung over the trees, and an evening fog threaded through the trunks.  The branches and leaves rustled, and a stream whispered a gentle song.
            After some time, Kasela pulled away and stood still, head hanging, fists clenched. She glared at the ground.  “As soon as you leave, I could go right back.  I know my way now.  You won’t always be here to stop me.”
            Eanrin shrugged.
            She didn’t seem to know what else to say.  The Wood watched them with thoughtful eyes.  At last, she turned and walked away.  For a moment she paused and looked back, her black eyes glistening.  “Eanrin…”  Her mouth hung loose for a moment, and then she shut it.  The next instant, she was a snake gliding away into the forest.
            Eanrin stared after her, still trying to calm his racing heart. 
            The Wood was silent and morose, and the light faded to deep amber, the last sunrays the day had to offer.  A slight tenseness hung in the air, a feeling of expectancy.  He frowned, and tuned his senses to pick up if something was wrong…
            “Sir Eanrin.”
            The knight smiled in relief and turned to where the Prince of Farthestshore stood.  The poet dropped to one knee.  “My prince!  I admit you surprised me this time.”  He licked his lips somewhat nervously.  “Um…how long have you been watching?”
            “I am always watching,” the Prince said softly.  “Well done.”
            “Ah…uh…thank you,” Eanrin stammered.  “I wasn’t sure.  Cozalimar is so evil.  I half wanted her to kill him.”
            The Prince’s eyes shone compassionately.  “One day Cozalimar will be stopped.  But not that way and not by her.  You did right.”
            “I wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t kill me,” he admitted.  “She seemed so full of hate.”
            “She is full of pain.”
            “Will she ever heal?”
            “I will never give up on her,” the Prince answered.
            This seemed to satisfy Eanrin, and they both lapsed into silence. 
            Then the Prince said, “Eanrin, I have a new mission for you.”
            The bard’s famous smile secured itself back on his face, and he gave a merry laugh.  “Just when I thought my life might get boring,” he teased.
            The Prince laughed with him, and Eanrin continued, “So where next?  Shall I go in search of Felix?”
            “No.”  The Prince shook his head, a warm smile on his mouth.  “I want you to go to Hill House, Southlands.”
            The poet’s brilliant smile almost flickered out.  “Huh?”
            A sober look entered the Prince’s face.  “Prince Lionheart is in despair.  He needs your guidance.”
            Now the smile plunged into oblivion.  “Excuse me?” He coughed; almost gagged.  “Prince WHO?”
            “Lionheart.”
            “But…but…” Eanrin stuttered, completely discombobulated.  “That…that no-good…scoundrel?”
            The Prince smiled again, rather amused.  “Weren’t you just talking to Kasela about letting go of hate?”
            “But…” Eanrin’s voice trailed away, and he scowled. 
            “I need you to help Lionheart.  Will you do this for me?”
            The knight puffed a sigh, but swept a flashy bow, resigned to his fate.  “As you wish.”
            And the next instant, Eanrin stood all alone in Goldstone Wood.  Somewhere, far away, a wood thrush sang.

 THE ENDIf you would like to vote on this or any other Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction, email me at aestengl@gmail.com with the titles of your top three picks. Winners will be announced September 1st.

           

Fan Fiction Contest 2013: Sir Miles's Quest

            Sir Miles Leitflauer decided that such a thing as “general bustle” did not exist; rather, bustle was comprised of a devious series of strategic maneuvers plotted and choreographed by a large number of people (under the vise of busyness, of course) in order to prevent one very desperate tutor from reaching the palace gardens.
          Wonderful! He ought to write that one down; it certainly belonged in his dictionary of exceptional definitions.
          “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy ox!” A gentleman with a waxed and curled moustache, and clad in green garments—which were trimmed with entirely too much lace—turned back to glare at Miles and promptly walked into a marble pillar. Iubdan’s beard, what wasall this hurry? People in the palace were so easily distracted today.
All I have to do is make my way out of this crowd to the gardens and find that beautiful red rose, he thought with a wistful sigh.
And what then? Sit there and stare at it until you get “inspired?”
Sir Miles was not in the mood to argue with his logical side today. Romance leaves no room for logic or other such nonsense.
Yes,he replied, sniffing in defiance. Sit there and stare at it until I get inspired.
The hard walls and elegantly tiled floors refused to stifle sound, instead throwing each word and crash at each other and bouncing them around carelessly. It seemed impossible to think in the midst of such a cacophony. Sir Miles remembered just in time to turn down a side hallway that would lead to the gardens before the evil bustle pushed him further away from his destination.“You clumsy ox! Watch where you’re going!” Clumsy ox…again. Really, what was it about Miles that brought cattle to mind? This man was dressed in blue and dark brown, and while his clothes had significantly less lace, the shortage was more than made up for by the countless jewels that made him sparkle like a dragon-kissed pixie.
“I’ve no time to be jostled like a jar of cheese curds,” continued the man impatiently. The jewels on his sleeve flash as he motioned his hand toward the direction of the palace gates. “The Twelve-Year Market has arrived, and if I can’t get there soon, there will be nothing left but goblin’s footprints.  Good day, sir.” Really, the audacity of ending such a lecture with a wish for his well-being! Sir Miles stomped on, pushing through the bustle like a man walking upstream in a river.
          “Meow!”
A strange coincidence had occurred: that ugly, senseless cat had managed to make an appearance without tripping Miles flat on his face. Good thing, too, or these scurrying crowds would have soon turned him into a floor mat without so much as a “Pardon me.” The fat, orange fluff was not about to let Sir Miles by, though. He trotted in circles around Miles’ legs, forcing him to perform the most ridiculous dance in an effort to avoid tripping until he had been pushed against the palace wall.


*****
Cat: The embodiment of pure evil. Wears fur coat to veil identity.
Perfect. That belonged in his dictionary as well. If the cat—rightly named Monster—had not alerted him earlier to the presence of that singularly stunning rose, Sir Miles Leitflauer would have helped himself to the fur coat. Miles’ face was singed with the mocking stares and snickers that came from those members of the crowd who had witness his embarrassing pirouettes.
Worst of all, any inspiration that could have turned into poetry at the moment Miles’ fingers brushed against the velvety rose was gone—utterly gone.
          “Go take a bath, tabby,” growled Miles, glancing back at the bustle and searching for a place to reenter. “I’m trying to think about poetry, and you are singularly the most unpoetic, unromantic—”
          “Meow!” The cat, who had trotted ahead and now stood at the edge of the rushing crowd like one about to cross a river, turned back and looked at Miles. How did he manage to stare so intently without eyes? But stare he did, and the “Meow” that ensued could not have been stated more clearly by a “Follow me.” Miles saw that the cat’s presence caused people to step around him, creating an opening through which he might be able to break. Sunshine came through an open door at the end of the hallway—some dragon-eaten fool must have forgotten to close it—and light warmed the shining, jewel-gilded floor beneath like flowing gold. The brightness of the reflecting daylight caused Sir Miles to squint his watering eyes, but through the blurry haze he recognized the door to the palace gardens.
          Only a crowd and a cat stood between Miles and his rose. He took a deep, confident breath and began striding toward Monster—unlike a cat-lover in every way because, of course, he wasn’t truly following him. He merely happened to be going his way.
          The cat made an approving flick of his tail and thrust himself into the bustle. Strange, how a blind creature could have such an uncanny sense of direction and movement, but nevertheless he flawlessly navigated the crowded hallway. As Miles followed him, he could not discern if the masses parted for the cat or if they somehow opened behind him, for although a visible difference was not present, he could breathe easily and not worry about bumping into others as long as he remained in Monster’s footsteps. It seemed as though the crowd was a river churning against Miles, and that the cat could see invisible stepping stones that no one else found. Sir Miles Leitflauer refused to let any feelings of gratitude toward the cat enter his mind, but instead focused on the relief of having shaken the title of “clumsy ox.”
          By the time that Miles had arrived at the door (the cat was there too, but that was a coincidence), the crowds were beginning to thin. At least they took the distracting chaos and noise with them, but why would one go through the trouble of attending a Twelve-Year Market when one could learn everything there was to know about such an event in history books? Some mysteries could not be solved, but Miles took comfort in the fact that this mystery added romance to the world.
Romance! The rose! It was out here somewhere, in these gardens.
          Come find it, whispered a gentle wind as it crept through the shady bushes and ornamental trees. It’s here. Keep looking. Miles’ eyes skipped across the large garden, dotted with bushes and flowers. The white marble statue of some king or other gleamed brightly on a pedestal some distance away. Being a history tutor, Miles felt that he should know the king’s name, but he could not reach the shelf of history books in his mind at such a critical moment in romantic poetry. He simply had to find that rose.
          What dragon-eaten fellow made these gardens so large? Really, there seemed no logical place to begin, as his mind had captured the image of the rose in all its beauty but not a bit of surrounding foliage that would have given him a hint as to where he should search.
          “Meow!”
Miles found that, to his surprise, he had begun to associate the cat’s voice less with foreboding evil and more with…well, more with general fluffiness, he supposed.
          And?
His logical side again. But it was right this time.
          “Alright, andwith a general sense of romantic adventure.”
Many cats are too daft to know how to look smug, and most do not grin. But Monster looked at Miles and smugly grinned. This unnerved the tutor. Not even a fortune-teller could have read his mind so well, and the cat clearly had taken a compliment that Sir Miles had never intended to give.
          The cat sauntered forward and began picking his way through the prickly shrubbery. Miles, remembering what had happened in the hallway, decided to follow him.
          I don’t know what that creature knows that I don’t, but I swear he’s got the strangest—
Miles gasped and suddenly sat down in a patch of grass and blossoms. His heart pounded fiercely, startled by the explosion of soft yet blinding splendor that burst upon him. What did the blossoms upon which he sat matter, anyway? In the midst of the garden, the rose was like a blazing ruby glinting atop a pile of ashes. He stared at the silky crimson rose for a full two minutes, his eyes feasting on the pure, glistening redness of its petals like a starving man tasting bread for his first time.
My book. Where is it?
Keeping his eyes fastened on the bloom, Sir Miles fumbled in his coat pocket until his fingers touched the smooth bumpiness of leather. The cold, thin feeling beside it was surely his pen. He quickly removed them and opened the notebook. Miles did not wish to remove his gaze from the rose; it was so breathtakingly exquisite, and an eerie worry pressed at the back of his mind that the rose would disappear if he did not watch it. Indeed, even as he glanced down at the paper to find a starting place for his pen, a gray and shadowy veil seemed to pass over the rose, partly hiding it and attempting to pull it away. He quickly looked back up, and the shadow vaporized, leaving the rose’s magnificence bright and bare. Did a wind steal by that he did not feel, or did the rose turn its head away? His heart thumped nervously against his ribs, but Miles pushed out his uneasiness with a forced breath. No time for speculation now.
As smooth droplets of dew glittered on the rose, Sir Miles could not get over what a vibrant shade of ruby draped over the smooth green stem like royal robes.
If I can think of nothing but the color, than it must be a good place to begin, decided Miles. He pressed his hovering pen to the paper, the words Rose Redfloating through his mind. The smooth, inky point dragged across the paper.
Sir Miles Leitflauer stopped writing.
Which never happened.
 Dragon’s teeth, he never stopped writing! But his mind wandered back over the day, recalling three things.
          First, the cat meowing, alerting his presence to the rose. Second, the cat leading him over an unseen pathway through the evil bustle. Third, the cat escorting him directly to the rose. All leading to the unparalleled sonnet about to unfold upon the very parchment in his lap.
Sir Earnin the Great could hardly have done more to assist the development of a romantic poem,thought Miles. Although most cats seemed interested only in dishes of milk and the procedure of leg-rubbing, Miles somehow knew that this cat deserved a thank-you. His logical side, strangely enough, did not argue this idea. Sir Miles turned around.
          Although the tutor had not heard so much as a rustle, the wind-stirred, murmuring gardens were empty. The soft and peaceful sunshine quietly slept amongst the leaves, which concealed no orange fur or tail. A wood thrush sang three soft notes before flitting away toward the fields like a leaf blown in the wind. When Miles looked to the door from which he had entered the gardens, he saw only a tall, golden-haired man clad in shimmering red silk as bright as the rose itself slipping silently into the palace.
 THE ENDIf you would like to vote on this or any other Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction, email me at aestengl@gmail.com with the titles of your top three picks. Winners will be announced September 1st.         

Fan Fiction Contest 2013: For Love of a Princess

    Princess Una of Parumvir and Prince Aethelbald of Farthestshore were married beside the sea.
   Una, much to Nurse’s disgust, refused to wear the ornate, many-layered gown designed especially for her by the Parumvir fashion experts.
   “Do you have any notion of what this silk cost?” Nurse demanded. “It was imported from Noorhitam!” She ran her fingers lovingly over the embroidered flowers and sparkling beadwork. “Princess?”
   Una sat smiling before the window in her small room, clutching a small nosegay of white flox in her hands. “Oh, Nurse,” she said, hardly able to keep laughter from her voice, “It is such a glorious world.”
   Nurse humphed. “You’re not listening to a word I say.”
  Una pressed the flowers to her face. “I’ll not wear it, and you can send the tailors away.”
“Well!” Nurse said. “If you are to be so obstinate, I suppose you intend to be married in your nightdress?”
   The princess laughed. “No, no.” She turned in her seat, and the morning light caught all the golden strands in her hair. “Don’t be cross with me, Nurse.”
   Nurse wondered if the girl had any idea how impossible it was to be cross with her. She couldn’t help but recall another day, another morning, so much like this one. She remembered another young woman with stars in her eyes and a laugh on her lips. Nurse turned away before Una could see the tears that threatened her gruff manner. “I’ll be cross if I wish too,” she said. “It’s no less than you deserve.”
   “I do not deserve anything,” Una answered cheerfully. “I haven’t a thing in the world that wasn’t given to me by love or grace.” She rose from her seat and planted a kiss on Nurse’s cheek.
   “You’re determined to be sentimental, I see,” Nurse huffed, moving away. She took the shimmering gown back to the wardrobe. “Such a waste,” she murmured as she shut the oak doors.
    “It isn’t!” Una said. “You may have it if you like it.”
    “Like it?” Nurse scoffed. “And what would I do with such a piece of fluffery? I suppose I could wear a royal wedding gown the next time I go down to the market.” She took Una by the shoulders and marched her back to the window.
   Una allowed herself to be paraded to her seat, and laughed to find it occupied. “Oh, Monster!” she said, running a hand over his head.
   “Meerowl?” he replied, stretching out across the padded bench.
   “Scat!” Nurse hissed, swatting at him. “I know exactly what you are, little fiend!” She chased the ruffled animal to the window, where he glared at her from the sill with sightless but menacing eyes. “It isn’t decent!” she declared, and gave him a shove. The cat leapt down to the ground outside with the air of one who had decided to leave anyway. Nurse moved to shut the window, but Una held up a hand.
   “Oh, please don’t!” she said. “I love the sound of the sea!”
   “You,” Nurse said, prodding her subject into position, “like the sound of a particular wood thrush.”
   “He’s not coming anywhere near here,” Una retorted, blushing. “He promised. He won’t see me ‘til I’m perfectly ready.”
   “Well, he’ll never see you again, at this rate,” Nurse replied. She tilted Una’s chin slightly up. “Hold still.”
   “You won’t put all my hair up, will you?” Una asked.
   “And what heathen ideas will you insist on now?” Nurse demanded. She threw her hands in the air. “I suppose you’ll tell me you don’t want your crown?”
    Una smiled. “No, Nurse, I don’t.”
   “I suppose I’m to let you wander bare-headed out to your own wedding?” Nurse said. “As if everyone watching wouldn’t blame me for your indecorous appearance!”
   “Dear, dear,” Una reached up to clasp Nurse’s hand. “I didn’t say that. I thought you would perhaps…” She held up the flox. “Wouldn’t these make a fine crown?”
    Nurse sighed, frustrated to find her will so malleable to the girl’s smile. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, “but only if you will vow to quit pestering me with any more notions.”
   “I won’t,” Una promised. “Truly, I won’t.” She held very still and looked into the mirror.
   Nurse’s eyes met hers, and her heart thudded to a stop. “I suppose,” she admitted sharply, “that you would look very well with a few simple flowers.”
   “Oh, do you think so?”
   “I do.” Nurse sniffed. She began to weave Una’s hair into a suitable coronet. “It’s just the sort of thing your mother would have liked.”
    Princess Una went very still. Nurse hardly ever mentioned the late Queen, and certainly would never have allowed her to share anyone’s opinions but her own. Nurse felt a sense of guilt when she saw the eagerness in the girl’s eyes.
   “I haven’t told you much about her, have I?” Nurse asked gently.
   Una shook her head.
   “Oh, child!” Nurse lost her hold and the shining hair tumbled down. Still, she laughed while swatting Una’s shoulder. Una laughed and covered her mouth with her hands.
   Nurse took a deep breath and began again. “You look so like her,” she said, gathering the soft tresses. “You’re nose and brow are too strong, too much like the King, to see it often. But oh, child, when you smile. Your smile is hers.”
   “Did you ever put up her hair?” Una asked.
   “I did for her just as I am for you,” Nurse answered, surprised to find that the husky tears in her voice had vanished. It gave her joy to think of the Queen now, and joy to see the Princess smile. “I was there on her wedding day. She, of course, had the good manners to wear the dress made for her.”
   Una sighed. “Oh, Nurse.”
  “She was the finest lady,” Nurse went on, but relented. “You are a very fine lady too.”
   “I will miss you,” Una said. “I can’t really think I’ll be unhappy if I’m… with him…” Her eyes went shiny and soft. “But I will miss you.”
   “Nonsense,” Nurse said shortly, pulling a few pins from her apron. “You are to do no such thing. You’ll be far too busy running about Faerie lands and all manner of things.”
   “Will you miss me?”
   “Certainly not.”
   “Not even a little?”
   “Not a jot.”
   “What about when you wear the dress? Will you miss me then?”
   “Dear child!” Nurse cried, exasperated. “Hold still!” She pinned a lock into place. “I will certainly not miss you then, for I will certainly never wear a dress like that!”
   “But you should wear it when you are married,” Una insisted.
   Nurse harrumphed. “I have no intention of being married.”
   Una subsided into silence until Nurse had finished securing her hair.
 “And now, the flowers,” Nurse said.
   Una handed them up to her. “Have you never been in love at all?”
   ”I certainly have.” Nurse couldn’t fathom what made her answer so frankly. “Hold still.”
   “But!” Una squeaked. “You were in love? Nurse! What happened? Who was he? Why – “
   “Too many questions!” Nurse interrupted. “I was in love, yes. He was a captain in the army. And I gave him up.” She patted the first flower, pleased that it was firmly in place.
   “But… why?” Una asked, horrified.
   “Don’t frown,” Nurse ordered. “You’ll wrinkle.”
    “But WHY?” Una begged.
    “Because,” Nurse answered. “I loved someone else more.”
    “Oh, Nurse!” Una’s mouth dropped open. “You gave him up for someone else?”
    Nurse had to answer through the four pins she held in her mouth. “I - certainly – did.”
   “Who?” Una demanded. She turned her head, ignoring Nurse’s frantic hands. “Tell me what happened!”
     Nurse removed the pins from her teeth and sighed. “I told you, I loved someone else more. And so I couldn’t get married and have babies and be constantly moving all around Parumvir.”
    Una held up a hand. “You’ll not get another pin in my hair until you tell me who it was, Nurse.”
   Nurse recognized that expression. She couldn’t help but smile at how much the girl resembled her father when she was obstinate. “Dearest child, I loved you.”
    Una blinked, and her fierce gaze faltered. “Me?”
   “Yes.” Nurse’s smile faded at the painful memories that rose from her admission. “I loved you, child, and you needed me. So I sent the man on his way.”
    “But - !”
   “Your mother was so young, Una.” Nurse cupped the creamy cheek in one hand. How old her hand was now! “I was there when you were born, and you took your first steps. I was there when the little prince was born and I was there when she died. And I couldn’t leave you.”
   Una’s mouth twisted. “She made you promise to stay with me?” she asked guiltily.
   “She didn’t have to.” Nurse bent and kissed Una’s forehead. “Enough of this stuff and nonsense. Turn around and let me finish or you’ll never be married.” She tried to sound brisk, but she knew it failed. Una turned back in her seat with that dangerously thoughtful expression that warned Nurse she was concocting some romantic scheme.
   When Una’s hair was finished, the princess went to the wardrobe herself and moved aside the swaths of heavily laced gowns until she found what she was looking for. “Ah-hah!” She pulled it free and clutched it to her slender figure with delight. “What do you think?”
  Nurse gaped. “But there’s no lace!”
  “None!” Una agreed triumphantly.
“It’s white!” Nurse accused, thinking of all the glorious colors in the wardrobe.
“I like it white.”
“Why, it doesn’t even sparkle!”
“No,” Una sighed, looking into the long mirror with a face of pure delight.
Nurse harrumphed. “It’s far too plain.”
“It’s simple,” Una answered. “It’s perfect.” She put a hand up to her hair. “Every bit of it is perfect.”
   Nurse couldn’t argue. While the princess appeared far too simply dressed for the discerning tastes, she had to admit that there was a certain elegance to the picture. She helped Una into the gown and brought a pair of soft slippers for her feet.
   “Nurse,” Una said as she stepped into the shoes, “I’d wish you as happy as me.”
  “I’m very happy,” Nurse answered truthfully. “You are well and safe and about to be married to the only man that I knew – from the beginning! – would be perfect for you.”
   Una rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you are right.”
  “I usually am.” Nurse stepped back. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a set of diamonds?”
  “No, nothing like that.” Una smiled. “Is he married now?”
   “What?”
   “That captian you loved. Is he married?”
 “What in the moon’s name are you talking about?” Nurse was exasperated. “It’s time we went to meet your guests!”
   “I want to know what happened to the captain!” Una insisted. ”Where is he now?”
   “That was a very long time ago,” Nurse answered at last. “I haven’t the faintest idea. He’s not a captain anymore.”
   “Do you still love him?”
   “I’m not as changeable as you might think.”
  “And he’s not married?”
  “He is not.”
   Una clasped Nurse’s hands in her own. “Then you must go to him!”
  “Stuff and nonsense!” Nurse declared, pulling her hands away. “I’ll do no such thing.”
   “But – “
   “Princess,” Nurse interrupted. “I’m an old maid. I’ve been an old maid a goodly time now, and I don’t mind it as much as you might think.”
  “But –“
  “Princess,” Nurse snapped, “I said he wasn’t married. It doesn’t mean that he isn’t planning on very soon being so!”
   “But…. But…” Una stammered. “But how could he marry someone else?”
  “Because there’s no good reason to wait eighteen years for a girl who broke her promise.”
  “Didn’t he love you?”
  “I suppose he did,” Nurse answered, “but I am glad that he has found a chance to be happy. He is a good man and deserves happiness.”
   “But - I can’t bear the thought that I – “ Una’s lip quivered. “That I was the cause of your unhappiness.”
  “You,” Nurse said, “were never any such thing.”
   Una was silent.
  “You have been my joy,” Nurse said softly, “and as dear to me as any child of my own.”
  Una suddenly leaped forward and caught Nurse in a crushing embrace. “I love you too, Nurse,” she said in a hoarse voice.
   Nurse patted her back. ”Yes, well, very well, there’s a dear.” She cleared her throat, stepped back, and smoothed Una’s sleeves. “That’s enough of that for one day.”
   Una sniffed but nodded. “I’m ready now.”
   They went out together into the tiny courtyard of the house that was temporarily King Fidel’s seat. A dozen dignitaries in bright silks and white collars of lace were already milling about. Amid the shadows of lemon trees and flowering bushes, they looked like a flock of exotic birds.
   The guests hurried to make space as the Princess went to her father, and Nurse rolled her eyes as a few of the flowers crushed beneath the king’s embrace.  She went back into the house to remove her apron and stopped by the hall mirror to adjust her hair.
   The face that peered back at her was pale from a year of war and dragons, a year of terror for her princess. Her cheeks and chin appeared a good deal sharper than she had remembered, and soft lines had appeared around her brows and eyes. But her eyes were still clear and dark, and Nurse couldn’t help a sense of vanity. He had always loved her eyes.
    “Camilla,” he had said. “I like your eyes a great deal.”
    He had never been much of a poet, Nurse recalled. The day beneath the spreading oak came rushing back to her. She had been plumper then, a fine upright figure as her captain bowed over her hand. He had been so nervous that day, harrumphing and coughing until she had begun to worry that he was ill. But they had walked away from the palace, deep into the gardens.   She had stopped at last and turned to face him. She had asked him what he was thinking of.
   And he, in a rush of embarrassed silence, had leaned down and kissed her.
    Nurse shook her head and pushed the memories away. “They’ll be processing to the shore any minute now,” she scolded herself. She felt she had to scold someone, and regretted that no one else was nearby. She checked the mirror again and adjusted her blue and grey silk gown.
    “Pardon me, miss.”
  Nurse turned on the small servant girl with her most authoritative look. “Yes, well, what is it?”
   “If you please, miss, the prince Felix is nearly dressed. The family will be going down in another minute.”
    Nurse allowed herself a half-smile at the poor prince’s demise. She was sure that, having been turned away from the princess’s chambers, the royal tailors would extract a bejeweled vengeance. “He is dawdling on his sister’s wedding day?”
   “Oh, no, miss!” the servant girl giggled. “He was refusing to wear anything at all, or so I heard. He was brandishing his sword and bawling for the army!”
    Nurse frowned. “He did what?”
   “And in come General Argus,” the girl went on, “and a fine figure of a man he is too, miss, and he up and tells the prince to get down off the dresser and behave.” She giggled again. “I heard it from one of the tailors, and he was there you know.”
   “General Argus… is here?” Nurse asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.
   “Well yes, miss. He’s recovering beautifully, so I hear tell, and I suppose the Lady Venetia is glad of it.”
    “I daresay she is.”
    “Her being so properly put out that the Dragon,” the girl shuddered, “ruined all their plans and left her waiting all this time. She’s not a patient one, the Lady Venetia.”
    “I don’t see how her virtues or vices are any business of yours!” Nurse snapped.
   The servant girl bobbed a curtsy, suddenly terrified that her familiar gossip had doomed her to a long speech on decorum from Nurse.
   But Nurse waved her away. She moved to the door of the courtyard and took a deep breath to steady herself. Then she straightened her head and descended the stairs into the sunlight.
   He was here. He was here, in the house! She had not considered that his recovery would be so swift, or that he would risk traveling so soon after his injuries. She had heard tales of his brave defense of the king, had trembled at the news of his wounds. But he was alive, the gossips said.
   “He is here,” Nurse murmured. She settled on a stone bench in the shadows, glad that she was ignored by the over-stuffed guests who chattered around the royal family. She tried desperately to steel herself to what she knew would be an unavoidable meeting.
   Instead, she felt her thoughts drawn back to another day in a courtyard, when she had sat beneath a tree at Oriana. In a flash, she could feel the chill wind of that moment, the tears that she had fought down as she had said, again, that she could not marry him.
   He had traveled so far to see her, unwilling to accept the refusal she had written on pale parchment. He had stumbled over his words, begging her to reconsider. He had swallowed down his pride and declared that he loved her and would wait. At the end, he had crumpled the letter slowly in his fist as she explained that he could not wait, that she could not give him any promise. She had, she had tried, to crush any hope.
   “I have no regrets,” Nurse muttered to herself, smoothing her long skirt. The gathered guests were forming a line now, jostling for position as courtly etiquette dictated. She waited near the back, only just able to glimpse the gleam on King Fidel’s golden crown as the procession began. Far ahead, a set of trumpets bugled their advance.
    Nurse was still fidgeting in the courtyard, waiting for the line to move, when the door on the north side opened. Her heart leapt, terrified and yet hopeful. How she wished she had the breath to scold herself for stuff and nonsense!
   General Argus stepped out of the house. He was dressed in a scarlet uniform trimmed in gold, and a series of shining medals caught the sun. One arm was wrapped in a black silk sling. An aide assisted him down the stairs, but Argus pulled his arm away when he reached the bottom. And then he turned.
   He saw her.
   Argus looked away, back to his aide. “I’ll walk from here,” he said.
   “Sir?”
    Argus crossed the courtyard to where Nurse stood and bowed stiffly. “Madame Nurse,” he said. “I trust you are in good health.”
   Nurse curtsied with all the precision she had been so desperate to teach the princess for years. “General Argus,” she said, “the kingdom rejoices in your return to health.”
    The courtyard was nearly empty now, and the couple ahead of Nurse had started to move.
   “May I -?” General Argus interrupted his words with a cough. He cleared his throat and grumbled something to himself. “May I have the honor of escorting you to the wedding?”
     “You are very kind, sir,” Nurse answered, taking his offered good arm. They formed the rearguard of the processional party, and Nurse was glad that no one walked behind them. She walked carefully, aware that the general was trying not to show the stiffness of his gait.
   Nurse knew that silence was far more dangerous than words and said, “You must not walk so quickly.”
   General Argus turned a stern face to hers. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I – “
   “I mean,” Nurse lied beautifully, “that I cannot possibly keep up.”
   “Oh.” He slowed, appearing at once to be more comfortable. He risked a glance at her and found her watching him. “I am glad to see you looking well,” he said.
   “We are all of us well now,” Nurse answered. “We owe you a great deal.”
   “We are all of us in the debt of the Prince,” Argus answered. “A fine man is Aethelbald of Farthestshore.”
   “Indeed,” Nurse said. She couldn’t help adding, “I liked him from the very beginning.”
   “You have always been an excellent judge of character,” he allowed.
   It was too close to a compliment for Nurse to be at ease. She blurted the first thing that came to her head. “I hear I am to offer you congratulations,” she said too loudly.
   “Oh?” His face was a perfect blank.
   Nurse hated that blank expression. “On your upcoming nuptials,” she added. “Congratulations.”
  “I see,” he said, “and I thank you for them. I’ll be sure to pass them along to the groom.”
   Nurse stumbled on the edge of her gown, and she was astonished by the agility in which the general caught her. His strong arms steadied her until she had regained her balance, sputtering and embarrassed. She pulled her hands away from his and brushed at her skirt.  “I – I – I thank you,” she stammered, blushing.
   “Are you well?” he asked kindly.
   “Fine, thank you!” she snapped. Nurse looked up into his round, smiling face. “I cannot understand what you mean by… my congratulations were for you. You are getting married!”
   “I am?” He appeared perfectly astonished.
   “To the Lady Venetia!”
   “Oh, that.” He offered his arm. She had no choice but to take it. They moved on. “I’m afraid that the Lady Venetia was no longer amenable to the life of a soldier’s wife,” he said. “Not after the work of the last year. She has removed herself to the more dragon-free beaches of Beauclair and found a more excellent candidate for husband in the person of my younger brother.”
   Nurse barely concealed her shock. “I am… I am…” She harrumphed. The procession was far ahead of them now, and there was no one to hear her but the sea breeze. “Well, frankly, I’m scandalized!”
   General Argus laughed. It was a glorious sound, Nurse thought, with all the round and artless sound of his disposition. Only a brave man could laugh so, and use the laugh often in the face of danger. He smiled down at her, and Nurse was forced to shake off such thoughts and face the sea.
   “I am sorry indeed to see you scandalized,” he said, chuckling.
   “We are falling behind!” Nurse stated. “We’ll miss the wedding!”
   “I doubt it,” he answered. “These things never begin in a timely manner.”
   “I cannot miss the wedding of my princess,” Nurse said hotly.
   “You are to be congratulated,” he said. “She is a fine young woman.” He turned his gaze on her again. “Her virtues, I am certain, are owed greatly to you.”
    Nurse shook her head. “It was my honor to be her nurse.”
    “And now?”
   “What of now?” Nurse asked.
  “She is to go with the Prince,” General Argus said. “Your work is done. What of you?”
  “I will remain,” Nurse answered. “Parumvir is the only home for me.”
 “What will you do?”
  Nurse bristled. “It is hardly any business of yours,” she said. “I have skills enough!”
  “I’m sure.”
 “There are plenty of posts for a woman of my accomplishments!”
 “I’ve no doubt.”
 “I’ll certainly not hang about the palace as a pathetic relic, if that’s what you mean – “
  “My dear lady,” General Argus interrupted, “that was the furthest thing from my mind.”
   Nurse fell silent. In the horrible, dangerous silence, she felt the pulse of his arm beneath her hand. He was so close, walking in step with her, more real than all the memories she had tried to bury for eighteen years.
  “I’m sorry,” she gasped at last. “I’m sorry, Argus.”
   He stopped walking when she said his name. They stood in the center of the wide, grassy plain, still a hundred yards from the throng that milled on the sandy bluff of the shore. Nurse looked at the ground, where his shining boots stopped at the tip of her blue silk skirt. She could not bring herself to face him. “I shouldn’t… have… snapped,” she said.
   “Are you angry with me?” he asked gently.
   She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
   “I have never, never wanted to hurt you,” he said.
   Nurse gasped. “But I… I tried to hurt you!”
   “I know.” General Argus still held her arm, and he turned so that he could press her hand to his chest. “But you never fooled me.”
   “I can’t imagine what you – “
   “You wanted me to be married. You wanted me to be happy, and I know that was the only reason you cast me off.”
    Nurse looked up sharply, uncaring that her face was so near to his. “Never say that! I never cast you off!” she said. “I… I returned your heart to you! I gave it back!”
   He chuckled softly. “Did you think I wanted it back?”
   Nurse was horrified by the tears that stung her eyes. She looked away from him, toward the sea, where the trumpeters had nearly reached the line of knights around the groom. “I told you I would marry you,” she said, “and then I told you I wouldn’t. I betrayed you.”
   “I never saw it that way,” he said. “I’m sorry that you did.”
   Nurse pulled her hands away from him and took a step back. She brushed at the silk over her hips and said in her coldest voice, “Then how did you see it?”
   Argus considered for only a moment before he cleared his throat. “My dear lady,” he said sternly, “I have only ever had the highest regard for your sense of duty.”
   “What?”
“Your sense of duty,” he said. “When the good Queen died, I knew at once that you were lost to me. I never thought it possible that you would abandon the little princess, much less the baby prince. You are a woman of honor.”
    Nurse was flattered, but she held her chin high. “I would be greatly insulted if you thought me so cold!” she said. “I certainly did not stay at the palace purely out of duty!”
   “Of course not,” General Argus said, harrumphing under her stern gaze. “You stayed because you loved them.”
   Nurse clenched her fists. Then she unclenched them. Then she put them on her hips. “I didn’t stay because I loved them more than I love you! It was never that.”
   “I know, Camilla,” he answered.
   She froze, unable to move either forward or back. Her pride held her in check, and her heart broke at what she saw in his face.
   He saw it all, and a tentative smile played at his lips. “Dearest,” he said, and stepped toward her. He took her hand in his and kissed it firmly. “I knew that you loved me.”
   Nurse hiccupped, appalled by her tears. “Stuff… and nonsense,” she said softly.
  “Yes,” he agreed, pulling her closer. “It is.”
   “General Argus,” she maintained a desperately civil tone, “We’ll be late.” She looked toward the shore.
   “Indeed we will be,” he answered. “I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to go any further.”
   Nurse snapped her attention back to him. “What can you mean?”
   He gripped her hand more firmly in his. “I mean, that I will let not you go again. I love you, Camilla. I have loved you more every day of every year, I love you now, and I will love you.”
   She trembled, in just the feminine manner she found appalling in other women. “Sir,” she said at last, “it is highly inappropriate for you to speak to me in such a manner unless you intend for us to be wed immediately.”
   He nodded, stern and dignified. “Madam, you are, as always, right,” he said. “Therefore, I do intend that we be married immediately.”
   Nurse gasped again, but she couldn’t help the ridiculous smile that broke past her defenses. “You’re quite mad to propose marriage in the middle of another wedding.”
   “I suppose I am,” he answered, “but I have always cherished the thought that we would be excellently mad together. Come,” he said, offering his arm again. “We must away. There is a wedding to attend.”
   “Well!” Nurse huffed, taking his arm with shaking fingers. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
   “And very well, too,” he said.
   “Don’t you try to flatter me!” she warned. “I won’t speak another word of my love for you if I miss the princess’s vows!”
   “Then you do love me,” he surmised.
  “Perhaps,” Nurse said. “I may love you wildly. Passionately. Even metaphorically.”
   “I see.” He walked faster, and his moustache twitched, betraying a smile. “I see.”
  “But it would be highly inappropriate for me to declare my love to you without a proper proposal,” Nurse said, “And it certainly wouldn’t be proper here.”
   “Of course not.”
   “And not at the reception.”
   “No.” The general’s grin was almost boyish. “But, perhaps, after the reception?”
   “Perhaps,” Nurse answered.
  They arrived at the edges of the crowd just as the ceremony began. Nurse very nearly collided with a enormous white lion, but she decided better of scolding the small child it attended. With all the fantastical people and creatures, one could hardly be scandalized by the appearance of a lion.
   And at last, the ceremony was complete. Aethelbald and his bride stood together as voices rose from the sea, singing: “Beyond the final water falling, The Songs of Spheres recalling….”
   General Argus leaned down and whispered gently into her ear, “Won’t you return to me?”
  And Nurse, despite what was proper, smiled up at him and answered, “Yes.”



 THE ENDIf you would like to vote on this or any other Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction, email me at aestengl@gmail.com with the titles of your top three picks. Winners will be announced September 1st.

Fan Fiction Contest 2013: True Name

 
             The panther snarled, its breath heavy behind her.
            She could make no sound; she could only run and delay the inevitable. Soon the great cat would grow weary of its hunt and pounce. Then all would be over. Perhaps death in itself would not be so painful. Panthers were quick in the kill; she had seen it before. But what happened after? What happened after the dark veil fell over her eyes? What would she see beyond it?
            A glance over her shoulder revealed that cat had picked up its pace, its eyes beginning to gleam with impatience.
            It was a powerful beast with glossy black fur that stretched over its muscles. Over the course of its life, it had fought many battles and severed many lives short. Scars raked its body, and shoulders knived up and down as it moved with the fluid grace common to its kind. Only yesterday it had eaten its fill of a plump deer, but instead of growing lax, the cat had become bored, seeking amusement. The maid it had discovered alone in the forest was perfect sport.
            The girl had seen it since it had made no effort to disguise itself. Slowly, she had begun to back away. As she had retreated, it had followed. In fear and desperation, she had begun to run. It trailed her, moving along fallen boughs or in the tree tops.
            She knew she would never make it back to her village. She was tiring, and sweat beaded her skin, slicking back her thick, black hair.
            The branches of the jungle caught at her clothes, tripping her. With a ragged gasp, she climbed a steep ridge, but as she crested it, her foot caught on an exposed root.
            No cry escaped her lips as she tumbled down the slope. Her head cracked against a rock, and stars exploded in front of her vision.
            The panther’s head rose above the ridge, and with calm finality, she knew the end had come.
            But the stars continued to dance in front of her eyes, and instead of fading, the light grew in potency, filling up all of her sight and mind, till even the growling of the wildcat faded away.
            And it was then that she first heard the Songs.
            At the time, she could discern no words or even understand the music. But the beauty of it and the peace it brought to her heart filled her to overflowing. The light began to pull back; it was still there, but no longer directly in her eyes. As other images began to appear, she suddenly realized she no longer lay at the bottom of the ditch.
            The air was crisp and cold, so she knew she stood on a mountaintop, yet somehow she did not feel the chill. Below her stretched the Land, the valley lush and green, the forests dark and thick, the river in the gorges. It was beautiful, and for a moment, she wished she did not know it. Then she might admire all she wished without the knowledge of the inhabitants—the warring men, the women treated as slaves. She wished she did not know that the Beast ruled the Land.
            With an inward groan, she turned away—and saw the Hound.
            He stood upon a rise and the light shone from him. He was a creature beyond bearing, his silky white fur gleaming with gold, his slender body powerful, his limbs gracille, and his noble head erect. Majesty dwelled in him.
            Trembling, she dropped to her knees. All her life she had known the Beast, the fear, the hatred, and the despair. She knew it so well, she could not help but recognize its complete opposite.
            The Hound was love, grace, mercy, but also justice and total power.
            Now that she had seen him, she wished never to look away. But how could she look upon one so pure, so perfect? She—a mortal, decaying in her own sin, a woman, enslaved and hopeless. She trembled and began to turn away, knowing that the love she saw could not possibly be meant for her.
            The Hound spoke. “My child.”
            She froze, hope rushing through her like living water. No…no…could it be? There was no one else on the mountaintop was there? She turned and saw those liquid black eyes gazing deep into her own.
            “My Lord?” she asked, her fingers forming her silent language.
            “Walk with me,” he said. To her surprise, she realized he also spoke without words, yet she heard him clearly. She came alongside him, her head not even reaching to his shoulders. He looked upon the Land. “Is this your home?” he asked.
            She nodded.
            “Do you love it?”
            Here she hesitated. How could she love it when it contained such evil? So she did not answer.
            “Do you wish to love it and all the lives therein?”
            The question amazed her. Did he not know the selfish, cruel way people lived? How could she love all that darkness?
            “I do not ask you to love their darkness. Far from it,” said the Hound, firm but gentle. “I ask do you wish to love them?”
            Regardless of their deeds? She saw in his eyes that he loved them. How could he? Yet he loved her, and she was no more deserving. “I do not know,” she replied, forming the words with her mind. “I don’t think I could have so much power.”
            “By yourself, no. But you have the beginnings of my love. I have seen it in the way you treat your family, when you care for the animals. You’re filled with my love, and if you follow me, it shall be opened to you.”
            “I do not know if I dare.”
            “It is not to be taken lightly. There are those who will despise you for it and call you weak. But in your weakness, I will make you strong.”
            She gazed up into his face and saw then not a Hound, but someone of even greater power and magnificence.
            “Why me, my Lord?”
            “Because you have always longed to hear my voice. And I see no one better to raise the one whom I shall lead to deliver this land from the Beast.”
            “I have no husband.”
            “One day soon, you will have one, and the child you bear shall follow me and save these people.”
            “This child shall be mine?” she said in wonderment. “I shall raise such a son?”
            “Not a son. A daughter.”
            She gasped, not believing. How could a woman-child rise to such greatness? It was impossible.
            “With me, nothing is impossible. She shall speak the names she has learned aloud, and in that day she shall be stronger than Death or Life-Death.”
            “What names?”
            “True names. Ones I will begin to teach you, and you must teach her.”
            “When will you teach me?”
            “I will begin with yours.”
            He spoke her true name.
 *****
            The lights dazzled her, but as they danced out of sight, she focused on the panther coming down the ridge, its fangs flashing. She gasped, her head aching. Had it all been a dream? Did her Lord not exist? Was there nothing but this impending doom?
            A shout rang in her ears, and at that moment, she heard the twang of a bowstring. An arrow cut through the air and burned itself in the muscular shoulder of the panther.
            Vision still blurred by the pain in her head, the girl watched as a young man of her own village came charging forward from her left.
            The wounded wildcat, mad with rage, sprang for her.
            The young man slammed into it mid-air, and they tumbled to the ground.
            The girl gasped, struggling to her feet, not sure how she could help. Snarling, the panther rose above the youth, but he clutched a stone dagger in his hand, and with a savage yell, he drove it forward. The panther growled a gurgling curdle, before slumping forward. Chest heaving, the young man pushed the beast off him and sat up.
            She recognized him.
            It was Panther, the son of the Eldest of her village. For the past few years, he’d seemed to take an interest in her. She guessed he was the one responsible for the clumps of starflowers left where she would find them. She did not mind his attention. He was kinder than most of the young men, and he seemed to focus on her, instead of bouncing his gaze from woman to woman.
But she never guessed he would risk his life for her.
The panther’s claws had scored across his shoulder and chest, and blood oozed out from the cuts. She hurried over to him, and to her surprise, he grinned, not at all like he’d just been wounded. “What are you doing so far from the village?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He stood and surprising her again, he said, “You aren’t hurt are you?”
She shook her head.
Satisfied, he bent down to inspect his kill. “I did this,” he said, awed by his own valor. “I slew this monster.”
She did not mind his pride; he deserved it, she had never imagined one to tackle a wildcat. But he’d suffered for his bravery, and he did not seem to know it. Hesitating, she tugged his arm.
He looked down on his own blood and flinched. “Yes, I didn’t come through unscathed, did I?”Impatient, she tugged again, and this time he came along with her. She could just hear the bubble of a brook, and she led him there, sitting him down on a rock, dangling their feet in the water. There she washed his cuts and dressed it with herbs.When she was done, she dared look into his face, and she saw a warm glow in his eyes. He smiled gently, and she smiled in return.“Come,” he said. “I must bring back this beast to the village.”
He hefted the panther onto his broad shoulders, and they trekked back together.
As Panther had no doubt hoped, the men of the village were greatly impressed by his dead. “So Panther,” his father boomed. “I suppose you will want to be called Panther Master now, hmm?”
But the maiden had no part in such revelry. She slipped away, but as she left, she saw Panther’s eyes searching for her. She smiled at him, and he flashed a grin back in return.
She continued on quietly, reflecting on what she had seen and heard. Had the Hound been a vision? How then, could she explain the peace she felt, the call that tugged her heart? To love those such as Panther would be no hard task—would she have the courage to love those who would show her no kindness?
She looked up into the sky. And again, she heard the Sphere Songs. Her heart lifted as she understood the songs they sang. Again, she saw the Hound before her eyes.
And she heard him whisper her true name. 
 THE ENDIf you would like to vote on this or any other Goldstone Wood Fan Fiction, email me at aestengl@gmail.com with the titles of your top three picks. Winners will be announced September 1st.