Amanda Cook's Blog, page 7

A Poem by Today’s Woman for Today’s Women

A poem I wrote today, some of it while I was in the shower.

Thoughts A Modern Woman Has While Showering

You look great.  I don’t always feel great. You look like half of you has disappeared. Not half, but enough. Too much. As Austen might say, it was unconsciously done. You look so pretty when you wear makeup. My makeup is the disguise I wear when I want to feel pretty. When I don’t feel like being my everyday self. My unpretty self. When I want to butterfly myself. For me. Perhaps for you too.

Did someone break your nose? Your eyes are too small to wear eye liner.  It’s funny because when I started wearing glasses, I discovered they weren’t only for my eyesight. They hide my beak. They anime my eyes. They softened the smokey shadow I tried for fun, but was too much for a night out.

No one sees the double hills, the deep valley, the tiny volcano of my navel when I suck in my stomach. No one sees my deflated balloons, the healed scars from four months of bad latching and toothless gums. No one sees the rivulets in my epidermis or the vanished scars under the forest. No one sees them, but me.

What is it we say to our toddlers in packed malls or busy playgrounds? If you can’t see me, I can’t see you. You don’t see me. I don’t see you.

The beautiful flower on my very pregnant belly above was painted in 2010 by my friend Norita.

Thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: empathy, feminism, kids, parenting, poetry, Uncategorized Tagged: being a woman, disguises, hiding, I see you, parenting, poetry, prose poetry, scars, writing

Get The Golden Orb For Free!

The Golden Orb Cover Copyright (c) 2014 Devin Night, http://www.immortalnights.com

 

Hello, fair readers!

I know it’s been a few months since I last updated the old blog. I wanted to send out a quick announcement that the Kindle edition of The Golden Orb is currently FREE at Amazon.com. It’s true! The promotion runs until June 17, 2016, so if you’ve been waiting to get a copy for yourself, now might be a good time to go for it. If you already own it, thanks! Perhaps you can spread the word to your friends and family and let them know about this amazing deal.

In other news, Summer Break officially started at the end of May. The last few months of my boys’ school year were filled with play dates and school board obligations an end of the year frivolity, leaving me little time to get much writing done. My editor sent back her final edits on When We Were Forgotten on Mother’s Day. I’ve managed to squeak out about three hours of revisions since then, but that’s it. Now that the boys are out of school, I’m finding less time (and less motivation) to write. Isn’t it funny? I should have more time during these long, lazy days, but I’ve actually been busier. Or, in reality, I’ve just been letting Mom Guilt take over, forcing myself to stop whatever unimportant thing I’m doing to focus on my kids. It’s been good for all of us, I think.

Last week was a little different, however. From Saturday, June 4, to Wednesday, June 8, I attended the Indiana University Writer’s Conference here in my hometown. It was a new experience for me, both eye-opening and exhausting. I’ve attended writing seminars at Gen Con over the years, and I took a creative writing course in college back in the day, but I’d never spent five consecutive days at an event dedicated solely to the art of writing before last week. It was intense, like being back in school with my pens and notebooks, feverishly taking notes while the lecturer at the front of the class tries to cram his or her area of expertise into a limited amount of time. I learned a lot about myself during those five short days, especially about “Amanda, the Writer.”

Each morning of the conference, I participated in a speculative fiction workshop with eight other people and our workshop leader, the science fiction author Wesley Chu. We critiqued each others’ sci-fi and fantasy manuscripts (I wrote a short story specifically for the workshop) and discussed the business of writing and how to get published. We also spent some time free writing using prompts Wesley gave us. It was nerve wracking having my short story critiqued by people I didn’t know, but they all had great advice and found lots of ways I could improve the manuscript. Many in the group thought I could expand it into a novella or even a novel. Maybe it will be the next thing I work on after I’m finished with When We Were Forgotten.

The afternoons of the conference were spent in classes about prose poetry, essay writing, memoir writing/storytelling, and making accurate word choices. I particularly enjoyed the prose poetry class and the storytelling class. Both gave me the opportunity to write from the heart, something I don’t do anywhere except here on the old blog. Also, both classes were led by such enthusiastic and animated educators, poet Amelia Martens and performer/writer David Crabb. The entire conference itself was a safe space for writers and their craft, so much so that I felt comfortable enough to read aloud one of the poems I wrote during Amelia’s class. It’s an epistle entitled “Dear Joss Whedon”:

Dear Joss Whedon, You are the man to write women, women who can be anything, do anything, feel anything. Your men are just as manly as your women are womanly. Let’s go have a tea together, or perhaps some shawarma. We can talk about what it is to delve into our brains, our souls, our heartbreaks, how we can put them on the page or screen so they’re no longer in the dark but in the open. We can think and feel and talk and be open without worry, without criticism. Just us and the shawarma sellers.

Another poem I’m kind of proud of is one in which Amelia asked us to take a headline or a small phrase from an article and use it as a seed for a poem. There is a sentence in an essay our lecturer on essay writing, Walton Muyumba, had us read that really struck me. The essay, called “The Google Bus” by Rebecca Solnit, begins one paragraph with “Where orchards grew, Apple stands.” I took that line and ran with it:

Where orchards grew, Apple stands. Where a rock once picked from the shore now lives in the water, a mollusk’s shell lays serenely among the grains of sand. Where a forest once canopied the floor, a city smokes and spews and groans. Where a field once knew battle, grass ripples. Headstones sit quietly where a meadow once opened green, waiting. It all waits. Waits until it has nothing to wait for, because there is something else there to sit and wait and live or die.

I love how prose poems can be fun and silly while still diving deep into our minds and souls. They’re powerful stuff, and I may continue to write them over the summer, because they don’t need a lot of time. They’re great for letting the mind wander and the fingers move until words become clear on the page.

I could go on and on about the conference, about how Salvatore Scibona showed us how to pick apart our work at the sentence level, choosing the right words and moving them into the right place for full impact. How Walton Muyumba blew my mind as he discussed various essays and demonstrated what the essay writers were trying to do in their work. How Wesley Chu spent time breaking down the route to getting traditionally published and encouraged us all to keep writing. How I made new friends and read some amazing pieces in the speculative fiction workshop. How my hands shook as I read a very personal prose poem to a bar full of conference attendees. I could go on and on, but this blog post is long enough as it is. Just know that I had a life-changing experience, and I highly recommend the IU Writers’ Conference (or any conference, really) to anyone who writes. You’ll come away a better writer … and a better person.

That’s it for now. I’ll try to update when I’m close to publishing When We Were Forgotten. My goal of having it done by my birthday is not going to happen, but I’m not worried about it. In fact, I’ve been seriously thinking about shopping the manuscript around with some agents and seeing if it’ll take. If not, I’ll go back to self-publishing it as I had originally planned. In the meantime, I’ll also try to get the rest of The Fae Agent short stories (what I’m calling the stories I wrote as prequels to The Golden Orb) up on the blog.

Have a great summer, and thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: sci-fi, short story, storytelling, Uncategorized, writers' conference, writing Tagged: Amelia Martens, David Crabb, essays, free promotion, IU Writers' Conference, kids, poetry, prose poetry, Salvatore Scibona, school, Self-publishing, short stories, storytelling, Summer Break, The Golden Orb, Walton Muyumba, Wesley Chu, writing, writing break, writing conferences

The Harp Job: Part Four

It’s the finale! If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much. If you just got here, check out Parts One, Two, and Three before proceeding. Trust me. You’ll want to know what’s happened before now.

This part’s a bit longer than the others, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!

 

The Harp Job: Part Four

Copyright (c) Amanda Cook 2016

 

Gabby gaped at the bald, pockmarked head, the yelp in her throat a feeble squeak compared to the harp’s muffled screeches.

“That not yours,” the giant repeated. Despite the implied threat, he made no move to stand or even reach for her. In fact, she couldn’t see his hands at all in the gloom surrounding the bed.

“I … I know,” she finally managed, desperate to run but too paralyzed by fear to move. Seeing the quizzical lift of his unibrow, Gabby’s heart lightened somewhat. Perhaps talking to the enormous, ugly man would keep him from growing enraged. He frowned at her, but otherwise seemed calm enough to listen, at least for the moment. After a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and firmed her grip on the harp hidden under her arm.

“I-it’s just … someone wants to borrow it. For only a little while,” she added hastily, as though that would make up for her getting caught in the act of actually stealing his precious harp.

“Borrow?” The giant scoffed, the wind of his foul breath almost knocking Gabby off her feet. “More like steal.”

“N-no! No, not steal. Steal’s such an ugly word.” She attempted nonchalance, but failed miserably as her voice shook and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

The giant rolled his eyes. “Hm. Who want harp, then?” he asked.

“Um, my boss,” Gabby said, deciding honesty was probably the best tactic when confronted with a vexed giant. “Top Hat, I mean.”

The giant grunted in surprised amusement. “Top Hat? Why little man need Harold’s harp?”

Gabby bit her lip as she tried to come up with a good answer, wondering the same thing. When nothing emerged from her blurred memories, she sighed and shrugged.

“I honestly don’t know, um, sir. He said he wanted to experiment with it.”

“But Top Hat has plenty coin. Could get own harp at market. Why take Harold’s?”

In whatever way Gabby had expected the giant to react, this was not it. He wasn’t furious with her or even mildly irritated, merely … interested. Shocked and more than a little curious about this new information, Gabby took an unconscious step toward the bed.

“You mean … there are other magic harps out there?”

“‘Course,” the giant said, as if everyone knew. “At market. All kinds of magic things there. Make music too.”

Gabby paused, considering. She was inclined to believe he was lying to keep her from taking his harp, but then she remembered her quick jaunt through the market with Jack. There had been so many marvelous tents, so many things being bought and sold: food, clothing, jewelry. She hadn’t had time to see it all, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility someone was selling musical instruments there too. And where else would a giant procure a magical harp but at a fairy tale market?

“Wow.” She glanced down at her bulging hoodie, simultaneously ashamed and no longer afraid of the gentle giant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She slunk back to the shelf and returned the harp to its dusty spot where it emitted a happy squeak.

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” Gabby mumbled over her shoulder as she rushed to the door. “I’ll just get outta here and leave you alone.”

“Before go, will little woman help Harold?”

She stopped on the threshold and turned, confused by the giant’s shy request. “Harold? Who’s Harold?” Then … “Oh, you’re Harold! But, why do you need help?”

“Come closer and see.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes, doubtful, before inching toward the bed, the footboard’s corner post towering above her like a branchless tree. As she neared it, her boot snagged on something snaking across the floorboards. She bent, groped around, and picked up a leafy vine reminiscent of the beanstalk hanging from the giant’s land. Squinting, she realized there were thousands of the green ropes piled on the floor in front of her, many of them slithering up the side of the bed and disappearing into the shadows.

“Climb foot of bed,” the giant encouraged. “Light lantern on post. You see then.”

Still nervous about his motives, Gabby hesitated, but her curiosity soon won out, and she scrambled up the footboard, climbing its rungs like a ladder. At the top, she tight-rope walked along the wide rail until she found the lantern hanging on the far post, low enough for her to reach its sofa-sized key. With all her strength, she turned the key until the tiny flame inside glowed bright white. The nearby shadows dispersed, revealing the giant’s colossal body anchored to his bed by the entangling vines.

“My God! What happened to you?”

“Little man,” the giant grumbled through clenched teeth. His puffed cheeks and knobby nose flushed with fury. “Came in house when Harold asleep. Put beans in Harold’s nose. Harold wake up like this.”

“Little man?” Gabby’s mind flashed to a pile of beans in a young man’s fist. “Jack,” she murmured. “You saw Jack?”

Harold tried to nod, but the vines swarmed and encircled his head, forcing it back onto a feather-filled pillow the length of a football field. “Dog chase little man out back door,” he said. “Little woman see Dog outside?”

Gabby shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see any dogs. But maybe I can help you.” She dropped down onto the bed and pulled at the vines, breaking them when she could. Where they tore away, new vines grew back in their place, thicker than ever. After only a few minutes of struggle, she knew she was wasting her time.

“Well, that’s not going to work,” she growled under her breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much experience with magic. Do you know how to get rid of these things?”

“Beans my specialty.” The giant smiled proudly, revealing yellow teeth behind his wide lips. “Little man’s beans dark magic. Vines only shrink in sun.”

“And your window was too dirty to let enough light in.”

“Yes.”

Gabby slid down the footboard to the floor and, without a second thought about what she was doing, went to work. She found a chair under the window and climbed its back rungs, then shed her hoodie and stretched on her tiptoes to wipe the grime off the glass with her thick sweatshirt. The panes were huge, and she could only reach the lower ones, but as she cleaned, sunlight streamed into the room. The instant the sun’s rays touched the bed, the vines shriveled and browned. Gabby jumped off the chair and raced to the door. With her back to its rough outer surface, she pushed and pushed until it slowly swung inward. More light spilled into the room, causing dust motes disturbed by the door’s movement to dance and sparkle like swirling snowflakes.

Harold’s huge blue eyes squinted against the sun. He jerked his head away as the vines shrunk toward the middle of the bed. Elated, Gabby climbed back up onto the footboard to watch the last of the blackened ropes disappear into the giant’s navel, which was protruding below the hem of a tunic that couldn’t contain his round, hill-like paunch.

Harold sat up and stretched his apish arms. “Thank you,” he said, arching his back until it cracked loudly. “Harold owe little woman favor.”

“Oh, no, really. I was happy to help.” While it was fascinating the stories in her world allowed such lies to persist, she was only too relieved to know she wasn’t going to become the giant’s dinner. Hopefully.

“No,” the giant said, his resonant voice quiet, but firm. “Harold must give little woman favor. Only fair. What would little woman like?”

Gabby spun on the footboard slowly, gazing around the giant’s home. The single long room was the extent of it, and with the sun streaming through the door now, Gabby could see a well-kept iron stove next to a cupboard full of pies, sausages, and of course, jars of beans. Her eyes roamed over the high wooden table and chair on the other side of the stove; a round, thick cushion the size of a swimming pool on the floor (she assumed it was Dog’s bed); and the shelves next to the expansive hearth. The golden ball glittered from the lowest shelf, catching her eye again. She climbed down and jogged over to it.

She didn’t know why, but she was drawn to the sphere, maybe because it was so shiny and flawless. When she picked it up, appreciating its heft in her hand, how it filled the hollow of her palm, she had an intense moment of déjà vu, the shadow of a memory tickling her mind, there and gone in an instant.

And she wanted the ball even more.

“Can I have this?”

Harold’s sloped forehead wrinkled as his unibrow lifted high. “Gold bead?”

“This is a bead?” Gabby gawked at it with newfound awe. The golden sphere was at least twice as big as a baseball, and definitely much heavier than one.

“Harold broke necklace, found only one bead.” He shrugged his lumpy shoulder. “If little woman want bead, she can have bead.”

“Thank you, Harold. I’ll take good care of it.” Gabby slipped on her now grungy hoodie and stuffed the bead into one of its pockets as best she could.

“Stay for dinner?” Harold asked, waving at his overflowing cupboard.

Gabby’s mouth watered at the sight of the glistening pies and sausages. There was enough glorious food in Harold’s larder to feed a human army, and as a breeze blew through the door, the sweet tang of the berries outside hit her nose. She was on the verge of saying yes when she looked back up at the giant, and her heart skipped. As gentle and gracious as he’d been with her, the old fears remained. Would he turn her into his main course the moment she sat down at his table? Because who knew how long he’d been strapped to his bed and how hungry he might be.

“Oh, no,” she said with a jittery laugh. “I really should be going. But, thank you.”

Harold nodded and smiled. “Come again,” he said as he walked her to his door.

“Sure. I’ll try.”

Gabby waved good-bye on the threshold and practically skipped to the front gate, the golden ball bouncing against her hip. As soon as she was through the gate, she broke into a run across the grassy field and leaped down the hole with her hands barely touching the beanstalk. She slid through the clouds and the portal and landed on her butt in a mass of tree roots.

“Ouch!”

“Did ya ge’ it?” Jack asked from where he leaned against a nearby tree, looking extremely bored.

“Um, not exactly.” Gabby stood up and rubbed her sore hips. She was going to have a few bruises in the morning, but she didn’t care one bit. Sidestepping Jack, she headed in the direction of the fairy tale market.

“Wai’. Whut do ya mean ‘no exac’ly’?”

Gabby glanced at the sky. The light was growing dim. She hurried through the forest, Jack crashing through underbrush and cursing behind her. When they finally broke through the trees, they found the market disintegrating. The crowd had thinned, and vendors on either side of the road were packing up their wares, taking down their tents and booths, and disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

Gabby groaned. “I hope I’m not too late. Do they take American money?” she asked Jack, who was wiping his sweaty forehead with a grubby handkerchief.

He stopped and eyed her for a moment before answering. “Yeh. Whut of it?”

“Good, because I need you to help me find someone who sells magic harps.”

*****

Gabby blinked. Once again, she was standing on a narrow porch, but this time, the sky was dark and pricked with stars, and she was wearing her winter parka.

How long was I out? she wondered. Unzipping her coat, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She remembered something heavy had been stuffed inside one of them once, but she couldn’t remember what it was, and now it was gone.

She did, however, find a small leather pouch that jingled with the clink of coins when she shook it. Her memory of the day was foggy, but bright bits gleamed here and there. The yellow-toothed smile of a grateful giant. The smell of berries and honeysuckle. The burn of a tattoo.

Pushing up her coat sleeve, she ran a finger over the rose blossoming on her skin. The tingle of the beanstalk portal lingered within its lines, an echo of a journey far away into the clouds.

“C’mon,” Jack said from the bottom of the marble steps. “I’m suppose’ to take ya to the Earthplane portal.”

She looked up, seeing him for the first time.

“Hey, what color’s my hair?”

His green eyes narrowed. “Like it was before. Blonde. Why?”

“Never mind.” She gave him a small smile. “Just checking.”

Jack glared at her, annoyed. “Yer an odd one, ya know tha’?” With a huff and a shake of his shaggy head, he turned on his heel. “C’mon, then. It’s gettin’ late. Don’ wanna make the Minotaur cross.”

Gabby grinned at his back and followed him down the road, away from Top Hat’s mansion. Despite a bruised hip and sore muscles, she felt good, like it had been a job well done … whatever the job had been. Regardless, she had apparently been useful to her new boss, because he had paid her well. The heavy coin purse bounced against her thigh with every step, reminding her of her apparent usefulness.

When they reached the end of the road, where a menacing Minotaur stood on guard, she smiled again, this time to herself.

I think I’m going to like it here, she thought, taking one last glimpse of the empty market road before crossing the portal to home.

 

The End

 

That’s it for Gabby’s adventure up the beanstalk. If you liked this short story, you can read more about Gabby and her journey through the Fae Realms in my novel, The Golden Orb. This was but the first of six short stories I wrote as prequels to the novel. The next short story, “The Road to Granny’s,” will be up on the blog as soon as I finish revising it.

As always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: fantasy, self-published novel, short story, storytelling, Uncategorized, writing Tagged: beans, beanstalks, giants, harps, Jack, Self-publishing, short stories, storytelling, The Golden Orb, The Harp Job, writing

The Harp Job: Part Three

Hello, new readers! If you’re just joining us, you might want to pop over to Parts One and Two before continuing on to Part Three.

All caught up? Good. Onward!

 

The Harp Job: Part Three

Copyright (c) Amanda Cook 2016

 

Hand over hand, boots clinging to the beanstalk and legs straining against gravity, Gabby finally cleared the clouds. To her astonishment, the giant’s land materialized twenty feet above her, blocking out the sky. The knotted roots of trees poked and snaked through dark, rich soil stretching for miles in all directions. She glanced down again but could see nothing of the world she had left behind, only acres of cotton puff clouds.

“Well, that’s some forced perspective for you,” she muttered and forced her aching limbs up the last several feet to a convenient hole in the ground.

Worming her way through a short tunnel in the earth, she flopped out onto a lawn of soft grass and sprawled there for a while, giving her thumping heartbeat a chance to slow. The sky was a marvelous Technicolor blue, and from either side of her, the emerald grass reached to the horizon, broken by an occasional hill or patch of wild flowers. A light breeze cooled her flushed face, bringing with it the soft scents of lilac and honeysuckle, while butterfly-like insects with feathery antennae flitted around her head, their translucent wings shimmering silver in the light of an unseen sun.

After a deep gulp of the cleansing air, Gabby sat up to get a better look at the landscape. An imposing wooden house surrounded by a stone fence loomed a quarter of a mile behind her, and behind it grew an orchard of the tallest trees she had ever seen. If she squinted, she could barely make out several birdlike creatures hopping and darting between the branches, their warbling voices carried to her ears on the breeze. She huffed out a resigned sigh, stood up, brushed the grass from her jeans, and began the short trek to what she presumed was the giant’s home.

“Although, don’t giants live in castles?” she murmured to herself. She spun in a slow circle to make certain she hadn’t missed anything, but the gigantic house was the only building she could see in that vast field of green. Shrugging, she continued on toward the stone fence. If the house didn’t belong to the giant, maybe whoever lived there could tell her where to find him.

From where she had drug herself up through the hole, the fence had looked about her height, but as she neared it, she realized the perspective of this place—like the beanstalk—was misleading. What she had thought were large river rocks balanced precariously on top of one another were actually huge, blocky boulders, similar to the limestone jutting at odd angles in the quarries near her home. The cracks between the boulders had been haphazardly grouted with something that looked like mud, and the entire thing stood well above Gabby’s head, obstructing her view of the house, except at the wooden gate about halfway down the fence’s meandering line. Realizing the gate was built from whole tree trunks, Gabby slowed. How was she going to open it without drawing attention to herself? And would she be able to open it at all? As she drew nearer, she was relieved to find it already ajar.

She slipped through the gap between gate and fence and crept down a neat brick path leading to mud steps and the front door of the house. The structure itself had to be at least twenty feet tall, constructed from wide, rustic planks chinked with the same substance as the fence, all topped with a heavily thatched roof. Really, it was little more than a hut with a single four-paned window and a rough wooden door for an entrance. A small garden (Well, small for the space, Gabby thought) took up the entirety of the front yard, bushes brimming with purple berries the size of her fists to her left and the leaves of new plants poking out of the black earth to her right.

Gabby’s stomach rumbled at the sight and tangy-sweet smell of the berries, reminding her it was probably breakfast time at home, or at the very least, time for a midnight snack. She almost left the path to pluck some of the ripe fruit but thought better of it. If the giant was reasonable—were they ever reasonable in the stories, though?—maybe he’d allow her a quick bite before she left. If she ran into him at all, that is, because at that moment the place felt utterly vacant.

Like the gate, the door of the hut had been left open a little, revealing a dim interior. Gabby stopped, waffling between knocking and walking right in. If this was the giant’s home, though, as the size of the building and its immediate surroundings suggested, shouldn’t she try to sneak in? Top Hat was adamant he wanted to borrow the harp, not steal it, but her gut told her a giant probably wouldn’t hand over something so precious, at least not without a fight. Then again, Top Hat might have been right about giants, which meant everything she learned from the stories was wrong. Maybe the giant was nice. Maybe she could convince him to let her take the harp with the promise of bringing it back in the future.

But didn’t Jack say something about watching the giant’s boots? That didn’t sound like a kind, reasonable giant at all. Also, would a giant leave his door and gate open if he wasn’t home? Was this a warm welcome to his next visitor, or was he still inside, waiting in the darkness for his next victim?

Or did Jack forget to close them after his own “visit” with the giant?

Her hand trembling, Gabby stretched as far as she could to pound on the door, her tentative wrap on the splintered surface like the drill of a woodpecker in a distant tree. Nothing happened. She knocked again, louder. Still nothing. Tiptoeing to the threshold, she leaned in and listened. A loud, steady whooshing followed by a rush of air like a strong wind through a forest ruffled her hair. Someone—a very large someone—was still inside, and from the sound of their breathing, they were asleep.

Gabby lifted a foot over the threshold, ready to walk into the giant’s home and take the harp right out from under his sleeping nose, when she suddenly stopped.

Wait a minute. What am I doing here? she thought with a little shake of her head. This is insane. Just a couple of hours ago, I was on my way home from the library, and now I’m standing outside a giant’s house, ready to steal a magic harp from him. I mean, is this even possible? I must be dreaming.

She pinched her forearm, waiting to wake up, but nothing changed. She was still standing at the door of a giant’s hut in a magic, floating land that she climbed to on a beanstalk from a completely different magic land.

Gabby shook her head again.

How can I not be dreaming? And if I’m not dreaming, why did I just go along with everything Top Hat said? He acted crazy down there. They all kinda do, and yet, they all totally believe in this place … er, these places. They believe every word they say. They believe everything they see.

So, does that mean I believe in it all too?

Back in Top Hat’s office, with the magic of his quill thrilling her veins, Gabby had believed in a heartbeat, but there on the threshold of possible danger, she was having second thoughts.

I should go back. Tell Top Hat he picked the wrong person for the job. I don’t really want to steal anything, especially from a giant. Maybe he’ll give Jack another chance. He seemed like he’d be better at this kind of thing. Better than me, anyway.

She turned to step back onto the path, but her foot froze in midair. Squeezing her leg muscles, she tried to force her boot to move, but it kept hovering, stopped by some invisible force. Another breeze blew through the garden, lifting her hair and filling her nose with forest and wildflowers and fresh, ripe berries. A whisper floated on the wind, an echoing missive that slid into her head and rushed through her veins like magic.

It belongs to no other but me .

Stunned, Gabby lowered her foot and turned back to the entrance. She walked—or rather, was pushed—as though on hidden marionette strings into the dark room. Lit only by sunbeams straining through a thick layer of grime on the window, the ceiling and corners were blanketed in shadow, making the room feel taller and wider than it probably was. Gabby waited for her eyes to adjust before wandering the room in search of the golden harp. The sound of snoring continued from one of the darker corners, where the footboard of a bed carved from tree trunks jutted into the faint sunlight. A hairy, calloused foot, as big as she was tall, twitched at the end of the bed.

Gabby tiptoed to the cold fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling shelves. The sun shifted, and a single ray of light, piercing the dirt on the window pane, fell on a shiny object set on a bottom shelf. Curious, she reached for it. Strings as insubstantial as the music they played answered her questioning touch with a sweet, haunting melody. The giant snorted and snuffled loudly, and Gabby jerked her hand back. She held her breath, listening. After a long, tense silence, the giant sputtered out a sigh that quickly changed to snoring again, giving Gabby the chance to grab the harp.

It was much smaller than she had feared it would be, more like a lap harp than the huge instruments she was used to at home. Fitting comfortably in her hand, it made the tiniest of squeaks when she lifted it from the shelf, like a terrified mouse. She unzipped her hoodie and stuffed the harp under her arm, further dampening any other noises it tried to make. She stood up to leave, and as she turned, a second glint of gold caught her eye.

At the end of the same shelf, a small gilt ball lay on a velvet cloth, its surface as polished and smooth as a mirror’s. Gabby raised it into the light and gazed at her blonde bob and blue eyes, both a shade of olive in the ball’s ochre skin. Shaking her head, she put it back on the shelf.

You’re here for the harp, she reminded herself and turned toward the door. A foot away from the threshold, she realized the room had gone much quieter. The snoring had stopped, replaced by breaths like rolling thunder on a distant horizon. Cringing, she slowly turned around. The sunlight had shifted again, this time revealing one ostrich egg-sized eye peering down at her from the edge of the mammoth bed.

“That not yours,” a voice rumbled from the bedclothes.

 

Come back in about a week for Part Five!

And, as always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: fantasy, short story, storytelling, Uncategorized, writing Tagged: beanstalks, fairy tales, giants, Jack, Self-publishing, short stories, storytelling, The Golden Orb, The Harp Job, writing

The Harp Job: Part Two

If you’re new here, you might want to read Part One first. Otherwise, onward to Part Two!

 

The Harp Job: Part Two

Copyright (c) Amanda Cook 2016

 

Gabby blinked and found herself standing on a narrow porch lined with Doric columns. A wide marble staircase at her feet descended to a dirt road that disappeared into the horizon. It had been evening in Blossom when Viktor brought her to Top Hat’s office, but here the sun was climbing to its peak in a bright blue sky, shining through the jade leaves of ancient trees lining the road.

When did it become daytime? Gabby wondered. She must have blacked out, but for how long? She remembered Top Hat speaking to her, something about a giant and a harp, but after that, her memories fuzzed into a blur.

Rubbing her temples, she turned to get a better sense of her new surroundings. Two massive wooden doors, so polished she could see the vague outline of her body in their surface, stood in a marble wall behind her amidst a row of stained glass windows. The colorful cut glass glinted where sunlight could reach the covered porch, hiding the rooms beyond from an outsider’s view.

Wondering if Top Hat was inside, Gabby raised a hand to the brass knocker molded into the shape of a lion’s head. Maybe he would remind her of what she was supposed to do next. Her fingers lifted the ring hanging from the cat’s mouth, but they stopped mid-knock and let go. She dropped her hand. Something told her not to try, to leave well enough alone.

“So, are we goin’, or whut?” a male voice clipped behind her.

Jumping in surprise, Gabby spun around. A pale, youngish-looking man stood on the top step of the porch staring at her, his face peppered with freckles and his pumpkin orange curls sticking to his forehead from a nasty accumulation of grease and sweat. A faint aura of alcohol wafted from his leather vest and stained T-shirt, which had to have been white at some point. His scowl conjured a sudden memory of Top Hat explaining why he had picked Gabby for the harp job.

“Jack?” she asked.

“Yeh. Whut of it?” The young man’s voice was thick and gravelly, the voice of a smoker or drinker. It was heavily accented too, although Gabby couldn’t place his origins exactly. Irish? Scottish? Definitely from the British Isles.

“You’re supposed to lead me to the beanstalk?” She arched an eyebrow at his dusty jeans and boots. He looked as though he would fit more comfortably in a biker bar than in the pages of a fairy tale book.

“Of course. You’re Top Hat’s new Agent, aintcha?” he asked, wiping his nose on the back of his filthy hand. He sniffed loudly and looked her up and down, his green eyes lingering on the band name printed across the chest of her black hoodie. Wandering down her skinny jeans to her feet, he nodded approvingly at her thick-soled combat boots, the ones she liked to wear during the harsh Midwestern winters. Gabby realized then she wasn’t wearing her winter parka. She wondered what had happened to it and if it would be returned to her before she went back home. If she was ever going to go back home.

Jack whistled low, interrupting her thoughts. “Mus’ say, Top Hat always did have excellent taste.”

He wagged his unkempt eyebrows at her with a chuckle, and Gabby grimaced as the stink of too much whiskey and rotting teeth hit her nose. Suddenly remembering the illusion Top Hat had given her, she ran a hand through her hair. It still felt long, but that wouldn’t tell her anything. If only she were more of a girly girl and kept a mirror in her pocket.

“What color is my hair?” she asked, anxious she had lost her new gift before she had a chance to use it.

Jack narrowed his eyes in wary confusion. “Blonde. Why?”

“Good,” she said and sighed in relief. The hairs on the back of her neck had prickled the moment she had set eyes on Jack; something about him told her not to trust him completely. Best to keep the illusion going as long as she could.

I wonder how long that will be, she thought. Do I have to do something to drop the illusion, or will it eventually go away on its own? Or am I stuck like this forever? Top Hat should’ve given me an instructional manual for this thing.

“Well, c’mon then. We haven’ got all day,” Jack griped. He launched himself down the marble stairs without looking back to see if she was following him. With one last glance at the foreboding doors, Gabby ran to catch up, stirring wisps of dust with each clomping step. Jack strode ahead, soon slowing to a lumbering swagger despite seeming to be in a rush only moments earlier.

They had gone a little way before Gabby dared to look over her shoulder again, and she almost stumbled into Jack’s back at the sight behind her. The monstrous building attached to the long, narrow porch was like a museum, with the columns along the facade giving the limestone structure a classical, almost mythical, appearance. Stone gargoyles crouched on the roof’s edge, their jaws open wide, revealing long, hideous tongues. One of the statues moved, propelling itself into the air and disappearing among the treetops. Shuddering, Gabby turned her attention back to the road.

“So, you’re the Jack?” she asked after a long, dull silence.

Her grimy companion gave her a sidelong look. “Whut do ya mean, ‘the Jack’?”

“You know,” she said, grinning conspiratorially. “The Jack. The one from the stories?”

Jack stopped and glared at her, his eyes flashing. “Whut stories? Who ya been talkin’ to?” The edge in his hushed voice warned her that she was dangerously close to making him mad. She backed away, hands lifted in a sign of peace or surrender.

“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “No one. Forget I said anything.”

He eyed her for a long, apprehensive moment before starting down the road again.

“Where did ya say ya was from?” he grumbled after another uncomfortable lull.

“I didn’t. I’m from … Earth, I guess you’d say?” Gabby stared at their surroundings, fairly certain she wasn’t in Indiana anymore … or anywhere else on her home planet, for that matter. With her mind still reeling with the idea that fairy tales and magic were real, she thought the area did sort of look like something from a storybook. The sky was too blue, the leaves too green, the clouds too marshmallow white, as if someone had increased every color’s saturation level by 50 percent.

“Oh, ya mean the Earthplane, yeh?” Jack said.

“Sure. Whatever.”

Gabby squinted into the shadows between the dense growth of trees on her side of the road. The forest was oddly quiet for a forest. No birds were singing, no animals scurrying in the underbrush. Just the occasional breeze whispering through the branches overhead.

“So, um, where are we going anyway?” she asked.

Jack smiled, revealing yellowed, cavity-riddled teeth. “You’ll see.”

They walked on, Gabby’s head full of questions she was afraid to ask her sullen companion. After what must have been an hour, the sound of voices up ahead—hundreds of voices, talking or laughing or clamoring to be heard over everyone else—broke the interminable quiet. Gabby glanced over at Jack, who sped up, and she matched his pace, eager to see who—or what—was making so much racket. They climbed a small hill, and at the crest, Gabby stopped, her jaw dropping at the sight on the other side.

Below them, spread out along both sides of the road, stood an extensive, boisterous, vibrant fair. The forest had been cut back so that booths of every shape and size could be erected. Some were huge, elaborate tents with billowing awnings covering ware-filled tables while others were little more than rugs on the ground, their vendors seated on rickety stools as they hawked the latest in “magical wonders.” Gabby blinked, amazed that such a thing actually existed. She remembered going to the renaissance fair as a child, where she ate sugary elephant ears and watched jousting knights on white horses, but this fair and its marvelous booths made that faux-Elizabethan carnival pale in comparison.

And it wasn’t just the booths. All kinds of magical creatures wandered up and down the dirt road, filling it with a sparkling, roaring, wildly musical throng. There were unicorns eating apples, witches perusing spell books, dwarfs buying pickaxes, pixies (tall and wingless, Gabby noticed) tittering over some secret joke, even a jinn selling Persian lamps. Pausing to take it all in, Gabby stepped aside to allow a small contingent of wizards pass by, their gray heads bent in conversation. She watched them disappear into a dark tent with a crescent moon and six-pointed star affixed to its awning. When she turned to say something to Jack, she realized he was gone, lost somewhere in the crowd.

“Over here!” he called, waving his hands to get her attention. He was across the road from her at a booth adorned with multi-hued ribbons. Gabby wound her way through the crowd to the booth’s table, where Jack stood gazing at the beautiful array of gemstones and baubles on display. The warm, sweet scents of cinnamon and nutmeg and something else drifted to her nose from somewhere inside the tent, and Gabby slowly found herself entranced by a necklace dangling between the ribbons along the tent’s awning. Its delicate chain was weighted down by a silver pendant in the shape of a skull, which glinted as it spun in the cool afternoon breeze.

“May I help you find something, love?”

As if she’d been dreaming, Gabby blinked and tore her gaze away from the sparkling sapphires embedded in the skull’s eye sockets. A tall, willowy woman stood on the other side of the table, her gauzy lavender dress rippling around her slender ankles and wrists as she moved closer to her customers. Her golden hair had been pulled back into a braid, revealing delicate ears tapered to a point. She eyed Gabby with a mixture of curiosity and kindness, a smile playing around her pale pink lips.

“Um …” Gabby stopped, unable to find her voice.

“She’s wif me, Krystal,” Jack said without looking up. “An’ she don’t need nuffin’ right now, thanks.”

Krystal frowned slightly at the curly-headed lad, her eyes flashing. “Are you sure, Jack?”

“Positif. Now, what can I gif ya for this nice lil ring?” He held up a silver band set with a large black onyx.

“Three Fae gold pieces,” she said. Her frown deepened into a grimace, and Gabby wondered if she was really going to sell the ring to Jack.

“Wha’ abou’ these, instead?” With an eager grin splitting his face, Jack reached into one of the many pockets on his vest and pulled out three lima beans. Krystal’s pale eyebrows shot up in horror.

“Get those away from here!” she shouted, pointing a finger toward the road. “I do not deal in such black magic.”

Jack leaped away from her finger, hands raised in apology. “Awright, awright. I hear ya. ‘S your loss, lady.” He grabbed Gabby’s elbow to lead her away. “C’mon, missy,” he muttered in her ear. “We don’ need anyfin’ she’s sellin’, anyway.”

Gabby yanked her arm out of his hand and was about to step away from the tent when long, gentle fingers encircled her wrist, stopping her mid-stride. She looked back over her shoulder and found Krystal’s lilac eyes full of concern.

“Please be careful with him, love,” she murmured. “He is nothing but trouble.”

Gabby nodded, unsure of how to respond to such a warning, and Krystal, relief glowing in her pearly cheeks, released Gabby’s wrist with a nod in return. The waifish woman gave a slight bow before disappearing into her tent, and Gabby turned in time to see Jack walking into the trees nearby.

“Hey!”

She ran into the forest after him, the gnarled tree roots and broad trunks making it difficult to keep up with his clipped pace. “Where are we going?” she puffed out behind him.

“To the portal.”

They hiked for only a few minutes when Jack halted so abruptly, Gabby bumped into his bony back. She glanced around, wondering why they had stopped. Nothing seemed different here than anywhere else in the forest, just trees, trees, and more trees.

“What was all that about back there at the booth?” she asked, her skin prickling from Krystal’s warning.

“Ah, nuffin’. The Druid’s go’ a rod up her arse, is all,” he mumbled, his attention on the treetops. He turned in a slow circle, his eyes on the branches as though he was searching for something. Scratching his whiskered chin, he stopped and stepped up to a nearby tree (sort of a walnut, Gabby thought), knocking on the trunk with his bare knuckles. Nothing happened, but he nodded to himself in satisfaction anyway, then grabbed Gabby by the wrist and pulled her to the tree.

“Here,” he said, pushing back the sleeve of her hoodie. He held her wrist against the rough bark, and the fresh ink of her rose tattoo began to glow, the skin around it pricking and burning with an unseen fire. Gabby jerked her arm, but Jack held her firmly. He pointed at the sky, and she looked up. As the burning increased, the treetops rippled and blurred, eventually disappearing behind a sizable hole ten feet above their heads.

Gabby’s mouth fell open, and she forgot all about her burning wrist. Instead of darkness, there was land on the other side of the hole, land floating far, far away in a sky different than the azure bowl above the forest. It was green land and brown and obscured by gray-white clouds scuttling beneath it … and exactly like she imagined a giant’s homeland would look from underneath. Her heart beat rapidly, and her stomach lurched with excitement and anticipation. As her mind whirled, trying to figure out how they were going to get there, a vine the width of her forearm dropped through the hole to the ground at their feet.

“That’s the beanstalk?” Gabby asked after a moment’s shock.

“Yup.”

She peered back up through the hole, her heart pounding more fiercely against her ribcage.

“And we’ve gotta climb all the way up there?”

“No’ we,” Jack pointed out. “You.”

“Me!” Gabby cried. “By myself? You mean, you’re not coming too?”

Jack shook his head, his carrot-colored curls brushing against his shoulders. “Nope. Top Hat wan’s me to stay put. Says I disappoin’ed him las’ time.”

“Last time?” Gabby’s eyes narrowed. He had said it as though it hadn’t been a big deal, that disappointing their boss didn’t really matter to him. And maybe it didn’t matter. But how could he be so apathetic about failing to steal a harp from a giant, a giant who probably could have eaten him in one gulp? And why hadn’t he been eaten in the first place? How had he escaped?

“Don’ worry,” he said, slapping her on the arm with a wry grin. “It ain’t tha’ bad up there.” He leaned in, his eyes twinkling. “Jus’ try to stay away from the giant’s boots, ya hear?”

Gabby gulped and nodded, suddenly paralyzed by the prospect of climbing a vine that didn’t look like it would hold her to an unknown land where a human-eating giant wearing evil boots lived.

“Up ya go, then.”

Jack linked his fingers and knelt, giving Gabby a leg up onto the vine. Grateful for the rope climbing she’d done in high school gym class, she wrapped her stiff legs around the stringy beanstalk and started the slow, steady ascent to the portal.

“Try no’ to fall!” She hadn’t been climbing long, but Jack’s voice sounded oddly distant. Once she crossed the portal, she looked down. Jack and the forest had disappeared below a clump of clouds at her feet.

 

That’s it for now. Come back in a week or so for Part Three of “The Harp Job.”

And as always, thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: fantasy, self-published novel, short story, Uncategorized, writing Tagged: Self-publishing, short stories, storytelling, The Golden Orb, The Harp Job, writing

The Harp Job: Part One

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear readers! I know it’s been a while since I last posted here on the old blog. While my editor works her magic on When We Were Forgotten, I thought I’d take a little break from writing to refresh my head space. It’s been a couple of months of reading, relaxing, playing, and sewing, but now, break time’s over.

As I’ve been promising over the past year so, I’m going to post the six short stories I wrote back in 2014 — the prequels to The Golden Orb — as serialized installments here on the blog. As a Valentine’s gift to all of you, here is the first part of the first short story, entitled “The Harp Job,” in which Gabby takes her first job as a Fae Agent for her Fae Realms employer, Top Hat.

Enjoy!

The Harp Job: Part One

Copyright © Amanda Cook 2016

 

Gabby stood awkwardly in the dark-paneled room. The walls were lined with clocks of all shapes and sizes—tiny alarm clocks on high shelves, tall grandfathers guarding the doors—all of them ready to strike midnight. A large cherry wood desk anchored the room, and behind it sat a small black-haired man in a purple suit and top hat. He smirked as he finished his short speech.

“But fairy tales aren’t real,” Gabby protested. “They’re just stories. Myths and legends written by old men hundreds of years ago. They’re just morality tales, entertainment for little kids. They’re no more real than the magic they’re written about.”

“Ah, m’dear.” Top Hat smiled and adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “But you see, they are real. The ‘old men’ you speak of wrote those tales because they could see the magic. They could touch it and smell it—and taste it. They wanted to share its joy with their world. With your world. The magic within those stories was very real indeed. And it exists even to this day.” He stood up and walked around the desk, his black eyes twinkling. “Allow me to show you.”

He grabbed her right arm and pulled back the sleeve of her hoodie, revealing her pale inner wrist. Taking a peacock feather quill from an inkstand on his desk, he touched its point to her skin. It pinched like a hypodermic needle.

He released her but kept his mad eyes glued to her wrist. Her skin tingled around the blood that bubbled up from where the quill had touched her. The bubble then oozed into a thin, crimson line, which snaked and swerved along her wrist until it resembled the shape of a full-blown rose. Once finished, it seeped back into her veins, leaving a black-red stain behind.

The stain burned itself into her skin, its fire freezing her bloodstream and filling her with a wonderful euphoria. When the fire died out, an unfamiliar sensation remained, a feeling that thrilled her even more than the euphoria. Magic. Power. All those mysterious and beautiful things she’d read about but never quite believed in.

Weighty words buzzed in her ears, then wound their way onto her tongue:

“From sunlit day

To starlit night,

Rose’s thorn seeks blood,

Hides my face from sight.”

The charm echoed in the dim room as she moved her hands instinctively over her face. When she opened her eyes, another woman stared back at her in the glass of a grandfather clock, a woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes. Gabby smiled. The blue-eyed woman smiled back.

And for the first time, Gabby believed.

“Bravo!” Top Hat clapped with glee. “Well done!” His wide grin almost divided his face in two. “And now, m’dear,” he said, his eyes sparkling with pride and greed, “I have a little job for you.” (Excerpt from The Golden Orb, Copyright (c) Amanda Cook 2014)

“What job?” Gabby asked absently, still entranced by her new reflection. Where had her long, brown hair and gray eyes gone? Then, as if hearing Top Hat’s words for the first time, she blinked and shot a confused look over her shoulder at the impish man behind her. “What do you mean, ‘a job’? I already have a job.”

“Yes, a job on the Earthplane. A rather boring one, from what I hear. Computers and the like? I honestly do not understand that sort of thing.” He grimaced and shook his head as though the very thought of IT work was disgusting and beneath him.

Gabby whipped around, her new blue eyes wide. “Wait, how do you know what I do? Have you been spying on me? Are you a hacker?”

“Please, Gabriela, dear. There is no need to be so dramatic,” Top Hat replied, his tone gentle and reassuring. “I have some interest in your … shall I say … family tree, or at the very least, in one or two of its branches.” His small grin was polite, but his dark eyes flashed with some private secret. “It is my interest in those branches that eventually led me to you. After discovering your particular … talents were being wasted daily in that mundane world of yours, I asked my dear Viktor to bring you here. I thought perhaps you would like to try something more … challenging.” Top Hat paused, his smile widening until his pearly teeth shone behind pale lips. “And possibly more dangerous.”

“Dangerous, huh?” Gabby glanced at her reflection again, fingering her new blonde bob. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Doesn’t sound like any job I’d do.”

“Ah, I thought you might say something like that. But please, hear me out.” The little man bounced on his toes to peer around her at her reflection, his spectacles gleaming in the room’s soft candlelight, hiding his eyes from view. “This particular job requires some finesse while acquiring a number of special … items for me, if you will. And I know for a fact that you are very good at finding things.”

Gabby smiled in spite of herself, remembering all the times her flighty mother would lose something important, like her keys or wallet. She’d ask her daughter to search the house for her instead of attempting it herself, because Gabby never failed once she was on the case. She had an almost scary memory and sharp eyes and loved solving a good mystery whenever the opportunity arose. Her peculiarities sometimes frightened her harried mother and alienated twenty-three-year-old Gabby from others her own age, but she didn’t mind anymore. Being a little quirky meant more quiet time to finish a good book while cuddling with her cat.

Still …

“So, um, what’s this interesting and possibly dangerous job you want me to do, then?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing too difficult.” Top Hat waved his hand dismissively, spectacles still shining. “I just need a tiny golden harp from a not-so-tiny giant.”

“A giant!” Gabby spun, almost knocking Top Hot over in the process. He had to be kidding, right? And yet, the ache of the tattoo on her wrist and the soothing hum of the magic flowing through her veins were not a lie. If they could exist, why couldn’t a giant? “I’ve never seen a giant before in my life.” Her eyes suddenly widened in horror, remembering the fairy tales. “But don’t they eat humans?”

Top Hat barked out a high-pitched laugh. “Nonsense. That is just a myth.”

“Um, okay.” She drew the words out slowly, still dubious. Didn’t he just say myths were actually real? “Well, then. How am I supposed to steal a harp from a giant? I’ve never done anything remotely like that before.”

“Not steal, my dear,” Top Hat clarified with another irritated twist of his mouth. He took up the carved ivory pipe laying on his desk and puffed on it thoughtfully, the musky smoke encircling his hat and glowing like a halo made of clouds. “Such an ugly word, that. No, no, no. I merely want to borrow the item in question. It has a few magical properties I would like to … experiment with, so to speak.”

Gabby’s piercing blue eyes narrowed as she wondered what types of experiments could be done with magic. Helpful, productive ones, she hoped. She almost asked Top Hat to explain himself, but the way he glared at her through his pipe smoke told her that maybe it would be best not to know too much at first. Everyone has their secrets, and the job he was offering sounded so exciting and weird and impossible. She didn’t want to screw up her chance to take it—and possibly get herself whisked back to that snowy sidewalk in Blossom, back to her boring life—by asking the wrong kind of questions.

“Okay. Not steal, then. So how am I supposed to find this giant?” she asked, trying her best to look and sound professional, whatever that meant for this strange employer in this even stranger office. “Up a beanstalk?” she added with smirk.

Top Hat’s pale grin split his face, reminding her of a Cheshire cat. “Very perceptive, my dear. See, Viktor? Did I not tell you she had a brilliant mind, this one?”

Viktor, who had sat down in one of the wingback chairs facing Top Hat’s desk, rolled his golden eyes before turning his attention on the pulsing ruby ring enveloping one of his skeletal fingers. Gabby shuddered at the blood-like gem and returned to staring at herself in the grandfather clock.

“Where is this beanstalk I’m supposed to climb, then?”

“Ah, straight to the point. I do like that about a fresh Agent.” Top Hat chittered gleefully to himself before clearing his throat and straightening the mother-of-pearl pin in his ascot. “There is a young man waiting for you just outside the mansion doors. He has some experience with the giant in question and can lead you to the beanstalk portal.”

Gabby paused in her preening. “Wait, if he has so much experience, why doesn’t he get the harp himself? Why have me do it?”

“Well, Miss Gabriela,” Top Hat said as he laid his pipe on the polished surface of his desk, “let us just say that Jack … disappointed me. He used to be one of my finest Agents, but … well, he has not been himself of late.”

“Jack?” Gabby snorted. “His name is Jack?”

The minuscule man blinked in surprise. “Why, yes. Do you take issue with his name?”

“No,” she replied hastily. “No, of course not.” She combed her fingers through the short strands of her new hairstyle and gasped in delight. Her longer, heavier, brown locks were still there, but she could not see them, only feel their heft in her hands.

“Excellent.” Top Hat nodded in satisfaction, the feather in his hat bobbing with his head. “Now, before I set you off on your new adventure, there is one more matter of business to which we must attend. Would you please have a seat, my dear?”

Viktor shot up from his chair and stepped to the side, allowing Gabby to sit down. The chair cushion was cold, as though it had been empty all evening, and the scents of cinnamon and cardamom clung faintly to the velvet fabric. As Gabby settled into a more comfortable position, her feet left the floor and dangled over the plush rug covering the floorboards. She was struck with a sudden memory from childhood, of climbing and nestling into the corner of her father’s overstuffed easy chair, as chilled and vacant as Top Hat’s was before she sat down.

Her new, little employer took his place behind the desk in a leather rollaway chair. He laid his arms across the desk’s glossy surface, his palms up and waiting.

“Take my hands, please.” It was more a command than a request, but gentle, subtle.

Gabby stared back at him as a chill slithered down her spine, warning her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Why?”

“Oh, there is no need to be alarmed, my dear.” Top Hat’s soft tenor voice was cloyingly sweet. “This is just a part of the contract process. A way for me to gain your signature. So to speak.” The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Gabby glanced over at Viktor next to her, suddenly tall and looming in the dim room. His eyes remained on his ring, casually inspecting it, but he stood too close to the chair for her comfort.

“Come, now, my dear,” Top hat encouraged. “Time is wasting away as we sit here.”

With a shuddering sigh and a lingering doubt, Gabby leaned forward and dropped her clammy palms into Top Hat’s gloved ones.

“Now, gaze into my eyes.”

She stared back at him and, almost immediately, felt herself slip away into darkness as a thick, black fog clouded her mind. Yanking hard, she tried to free herself from Top Hat’s grip, but strong hands grasped her shoulders from behind, and she lost herself to the void.

 

That’s it for today. Come back in about a week for Part Two. And if you like what you’ve read so far, you can read more of Gabby’s later adventures as a Fae Agent in  The Golden Orb .

Thanks for reading.

A. Cook

 

Filed under: fantasy, self-published novel, short story, storytelling, Uncategorized, writing Tagged: beanstalks, clocks, fairy tales, fantasy, giants, Jack, myths, portals, prequels, Self-publishing, short stories, The Golden Orb, The Harp Job, Top Hat, Valentine's Day, writing

Happy Holidays!

To all my readers, family, and friends: Happy Belated Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus, Happy Solstice, or Happy Whatever-You-Prefer-To-Celebrate! I hope you’ve had a wonderful holiday filled with laughter, love, and peace.

Speaking of peace, I finished the revisions on the latest draft of When We Were Forgotten in early December and sent it off to my editor. My mind and soul have been deliciously light ever since, making this year’s holiday season truly joyous. I know there will be more to do once she hands the draft back to me, but I’m fairly certain after I work through her edit suggestions, the book will be done and ready to publish. So far, I’m really proud of it, and I hope you all like it too. I’ll let you know when I have a release date, so look out for that as well as upcoming info on the prequels to The Golden Orb, which I hope to revise in January and begin releasing some time in the Spring.

Thanks for all the love and support in 2015. I hope you and yours have a fabulous holiday and fantastic start to 2016!

Thanks for reading.

A. Cook

Filed under: holiday greetings, self-published novel, Uncategorized, writing Tagged: celebrate, feeling lucky, Happy Festivus, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, Happy Solstice, holidays, Merry Chrismas, revisions are done, was writing, writing break

This Is What I Look Like In November

I’ll admit it. I’m struggling.

That’s not to say I haven’t been writing. I’m further in my revisions of When We Were Forgotten than I thought possible a couple of months ago. I’m not finished yet, but still. That’s a huge accomplishment, considering I revised nothing during June, July, and even part of August. I hope to be done by the end of November, but it is November, and that’s why I’m struggling. (And I’m not even doing NaNoWriMo this year.)

I’m struggling because I am exhausted. It’s nothing new, really. Being the wife of a very busy physician (he’s an OB/Gyn, so Busy), I’ve always taken on most of the parenting duties. I’m the stay-at-home-parent. It’s my job. I do try to make certain things like conferences are scheduled during times when he’s available, because I want him to be as involved in his kids’ lives as I am. I also know that it’s not always possible for him to be physically present. That’s why I stay at home. We are privileged in so many ways, like me being able to stay home, living in a large, sound house, driving functional vehicles, buying enough food that our pantry and fridge overflow, sending our kids to a great school, etc., etc., etc.

Knowing we are privileged, I feel guilty saying aloud, “I’m struggling. I’m exhausted.” But as someone reminded me once, we all have our different struggles in life, so here I am, telling the world, “I’m struggling.”

My husband knows, by the way, and he always helps when and where he can, but he’s exhausted too. His exhaustion comes from a physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding job for which lack of sleep is the norm and emotions run high. Babies come when they want to come, folks, and not always how we want them to come. I know that. I accepted it a long time ago and have always supported him. I may have to deal with sick kids on my own sometimes or spend an occasional holiday or weekend without him, but he will never have to worry about unemployment. Well, unless something unforeseen or tragic happens … like the Zombie Apocalypse, and even then, there’ll be babies born among the survivors for sure.

Anyway…

While he’s exhausted being a physician on top of everything else, I’m exhausted because … why?

Because the days are shorter, and there’s not enough daylight to soak in? Most likely.

Because I’m trying to keep up with housework and meals and getting kids to and from school and homework and bath times and bedtimes and play times and sick times, sometimes all by myself? Definitely.

Because I’m trying to finish a novel that, for a while, I didn’t believe in (I do now)? Most definitely. (For anyone wondering why I’m writing when I don’t seem to have the time: I have to. I just have to.)

Because I lost some weight earlier in the year and still don’t know why? I don’t know. (That’s a new one. I was supposed to have some tests back in September, but one of my sons got sick the day before I was supposed to prep. I’m thinking about rescheduling the tests at some point, though.)

On top of all that, I added some extra duties at my boys’ school, which I’m loving by the way. And I try to play with our weekly board game group once or twice a month to get some adult time in. And my husband and I try to get out together occasionally. And at some point, I need to start working on costumes for a couple of conventions next year. And the holidays are almost upon us, which means trying to live up to everyone’s expectations of being available and sociable when we both probably just want to go back to bed. And …

My eyelid started twitching. I’m not making that up.

Yep, it’s November, and realizing I’m feeling this way means it’s time to make an appointment to see my therapist again. It’s been awhile since we last spoke. I was doing okay in June, July, August, September, and October for the most part, but it’s November now. Winter is coming. It’s time to focus on my well-being, so I can be well for everyone else. (An upcoming conference trip with my husband sans kids will help. So much hotel and beach time means so much sleeping and writing and reading will be getting done.)

I’ll let you all know how everything’s going after New Year’s, although there may be a celebratory post in the between time when I’ve finally finished my revisions.

Thanks for reading and putting up with my shit.

A. Cook

Filed under: kids, parenting, self-published novel, writing Tagged: kids, NaNoWriMo, November, parenting, revising, school, struggling, writing

Get The Golden Orb For Free!

The Golden Orb Cover
Copyright (c) 2014 Devin Night, http://www.immortalnights.com

I’m just popping my head up from life to let everyone know that the Kindle edition of The Golden Orb is available for free at Amazon.com. I’m trying out a new program in which I’ll be selling the e-book version exclusively at Amazon for the next few months. If it gains traction there, I may keep it as a Kindle only e-book. The paperback is still available at my CreateSpace store, at Amazon.com, and at Barnes&Noble.com for anyone who likes to turn real pages.

And now … to writing. I’m not quite halfway through my revisions on When We Were Forgotten. It’s taking me way too long to get back into the swing of things, but like I said above, LIFE. I’ll let you all know more when I can catch my breath, which will probably be after WWWF is in the hands (or, more accurately, in the inbox) of my editor. Hopefully after that, I can get some short stories all up in this blog.

While you’re waiting, why not go grab The Golden Orb for free? The promotion ends on October 26, 2015.

Thanks for reading!

A. Cook

Filed under: Uncategorized

Am I The Problem?

I don’t know if it’s the post-Gen Con blues or the stress of another school year starting or the current slog through revisions on my latest novel, but I’ve been particularly sensitive to stuff of late. Facebook used to be my oasis of crazy, funny, weird, and joy. Cat videos. Geeky web comics. Thoughtful commentary on motherhood or cosplay or writing. Even the more serious posts would slide through my brain after a quiet nod of agreement, replaced by the next thing and the next and the next. Facebook — and other social media — was my distraction from the difficulties of real life.

Then, last weekend, the organization Black Lives Matter interrupted a rally for presidential hopeful Bernie Sanders, and posts about the event started blowing up my Facebook feed. One particular friend kept the posts coming, encouraging his followers to read and think about the event. I did, and came out on the other side both humiliated and confused.

Humiliated (and hurt, really), because I fear I’ve contributed in some way to the racism those young protesters and their brothers and sisters experience every day; confused, because I have no idea how to fix it.

One evening during Gen Con, my husband and I were walking back to our hotel from an amazing concert. I had spent the entire day in costume cosplaying as Marvel’s Agent Carter. My feet hurt and we were hungry, searching for some late night eats before getting some shuteye. As we were walking along the sidewalk, I noticed two black men — one old, one young — sleeping up against the buildings we passed. Milling around us were other gamers and cosplayers in town for the convention as well as hordes of tweens and teenagers who had just left a One Direction concert. It struck me seeing those two men on the sidewalk while people passed them by without a second glance that this was par for the course for them. Maybe they spent their day in a similar fashion, awake and asking for change or help while the rest of the world moved on by, heads down or eyes front.

It also struck me later that night in our luxurious hotel room that my life is absurd. I spent four days playing board games, eating street food, and dressing up as fictional characters while those two men and countless others slept or begged on the street. I had been fixated on how much my feet hurt from wearing heels all day, when their feet were probably in much worse shape because they’d been walking for days or weeks on tattered soles (and souls). And the only reason I was able to play and they couldn’t was because of my privilege.

My white, upper-middle class existence is probably the reason a black or brown woman didn’t get a job when I was job-searching myself after college. My white, upper-middle class existence is the reason my boys can go to whatever school my husband and I choose, including the private Montessori school they’re currently attending, while a child of color attends the least funded, most problematic public school in town.* My white, upper-middle class existence funds my closet full of clothes and my sewing and writing habits and our basement board game library, while a woman of color somewhere nearby is working three jobs just to feed her family.

As a physician, my husband works extremely hard. He spent twelve years training for the job he has now. He loves delivering babies and helping his patients, and I wouldn’t deny him that for the world. But when it comes right down to it, the difference between our high standard of living and many others’ low standard of living is either the color of our skin or the number of digits on his paycheck … or both. And that’s why I’m humiliated and confused.

How can I live this spectacular life I’m living and feel any good about it when there are so many people who can’t even come close to what we have? I am so desperately grateful that my kids will never know starvation or homelessness because we can provide for them, but I am also so desperately ashamed of the fact that we can provide for them when so many can’t.

I just …

I don’t …

What can I do? How can I fix it short of denying my own existence, short of leaving it all behind? Because I can’t do that. I love my husband and my children too much to entirely give up what we have. Like all parents, I believe my sons deserve every opportunity they’re given to better themselves, but I also feel that children who are homeless or living in sub par situations deserve even more than my own sons, because they’ve already been denied so much.

What is there to do?

We give to charity every chance we get. I’ve made blankets and gathered clothing for our local community center for the homeless. I vote. But is it all enough? Am I thoroughly playing my part? What more can I do while I have two young children at home who need my love just as much as the rest of the world deserves to have it?

I’m truly asking for answers, because I don’t want to be the problem anymore. I don’t want to be the reason those two black men are still sleeping on the street.

I want to be a better human being.

Thanks for reading. Please share your own thoughts or advice below, because I would love to have some honest, world-changing answers.

A. Cook

*For what it’s worth, the public school system where I live is exceptional, and our boys’ school created a scholarship to allow a child from a lower socioeconomic background to attend preschool there each year. It’s a step, and hopefully in the right direction, but I’m not sure if it’s making a difference, especially for children of color. Only time will tell.

Filed under: cosplay, gaming, Gen Con, kids, parenting, racism Tagged: being a better human being, cosplayers, gamers, Gen Con, homelessness, kids, racism, school, society's problems, white privilege