Today upon this Drabble Wednesday we come not to mourn, but
to unearth those things that should stay buried…
Dead and Buried
The hour grew late, and the church bells chimed their dirge.
I watched the funeral procession slowly climb the hill to the graveyard, the
closing rays of sunlight dancing with lengthening shadows. The mourners were
few: the pallbearers hoisting the shiny mahogany casket, the dry-eyed widow,
and a few backstabbing family members. A pitiful parade, but one to be expected
given the decreased.
You see, I was a most horrible person in life, cruel,
ruthless, vindictive. I took great pleasure in tormenting any hapless creature
that crossed my path.
That shall not change. In death, I will truly haunt them.
~*~
Nevermore
One black feather.
It floated with the puff of winter air, a capricious thing,
and settled tenderly upon the cold ground.
A raven’s feather.
Shed from the wing of a soaring bird, fled from war and
towards a far distant shore. In its wake came a fading echo; the keening cries
of the dying and the lasting silence of the dead. It preceded the howling
tempest…
Soon, the sun peered from behind the clouds; the storm had
passed. In its aftermath the land remained, blanketed with snow, the shroud to
cover the decaying bones and the crumbling ruins of kingdoms.
~*~
Waiting
Dust, earth, smoke and bone.
Interred deep, below the soil, overgrown.
I still breathe, this timeworn air, here in my box, thin of
flesh and coil of hair.
They called me mad, called me witch. Bound me up, left me to
twitch. It didn’t work, no, not one tiny bit. For I’m still here, though worse
for wear, I’ll admit.
I’ve been patient, I’ve been calm. I believe I’ve shown some
aplomb. Yes, through the ages, I’ve lain
so silent. Nary one peep, nothing violent.
But my time is coming, I can feel. Soon from my grave, I
will steal.
Today on Drabble Wednesday come read of oddities, things out
of place, and not quite right…
The Tree of Life
The emerald leaves of the deciduous tree fluttered in the
breeze wafting off the lake. It appeared fresh and vibrant as the first day of
spring, though all around bare branched fauna shed their leaves, shadowing the
ground in a red and orange shroud.
A strange site to behold indeed, yet the tree existed, lush
and green throughout winter and spring and all seasons in-between. Perpetual
mist caressed it bark, fed from the lake or perhaps something more unearthly. And its branches were ripe
with crimson fruit, sweet and waiting to be eaten.
The perfect temptation for all unwary fools.
~*~
Emissary
The tiny creature in the crib breathed the sweetest rhythm,
a soft inhale to exhale. Its chest rose and fell in time with its heart, life
expelled and renewed. Pale rose pinked its cheeks, lending a cherub look,
enhanced by a perfection nose and chin. Velvet fuzz of chestnut hue and curls
adorned its small head.
The loving family doted on the new addition, marvelling at
its disposition, for it rarely cried or fussed. They showed it off proudly and
all visitors cooed, declaring it the loveliest baby ever.
And it was, save for one small thing.
It wasn’t human.
~*~
Pages
Voices leaked from between the bindings, and the smell of
ancient ink and old leather. Garbled whispers wafted from the paper and hide,
and sometimes screams. Its gilt—along the spine and leaf edge—glowed in unearthly
tones, shifting with the tide of the air. The manuscript stood an enigma, a
macabre mystery upon the dusty shelves of the library archives. It nestled in a
nook, flanked by unused tomes and folios, avoided by all.
Yes, no one ever touched the book.
For the last sorry soul to lay hands on it died a madman,
babbling of demons and devils.
I stand on creaking, swaying planks of wood fashioned into a
worthy vessel, gazing beyond the edge of the world. Across the liquid horizon,
upon the tranquil, yet undulating, surface of the sea. So peaceful, so calm,
reflecting the sweet blue sky, whilst harbouring its own hint of emerald green.
On days like this it is my mistress, my true love. We are
one.
Even so, I give all respect to the coiling fury beneath, with
its bones of lovers past. Turn your back, become complacent, and the ferocity
will strike.
Still, I’d not give it up, not for anything.
~*~
The Mountain
Standing solid within the scope of time, a stalwart backbone
of primeval earth, this mountain stretched to converse with the sky. It cast
its shadow over the village, and generations of people took comfort in its
presence. In turn it had played god, protector, inspiration, and obstacle.
In the winter it isolated, snows often blocking the pass and
road that led to the next kingdom. In summer it provided, the slopes giving
fertility to fields and harvests, its trees yielding fruit, nuts, or wood
stockpiled for the cold weather.
Standing strong despite time’s passage, the mountain would outlast
them all.
~*~
Starlight
Stars
Dots on the black canvas, illuminated frippery, adorning the
universe. We stare—in awe, seeking knowledge, simply to idle away the hours. They
are an eternal muse, imprinted, indelibly part of humanity’s eons.
What are they, truly?
A touch of things
unknown, alien light reflected from another existent past, a farewell and hello
from faraway places. They are a call to frontiers beyond, and memories we’ll
never know, time travel held in celestial particles.
They are the beacons in the darkest night, whispering we are
part of a universal something.
For those of you following along, you will remember the cover reveal for The Bookminder, and the inclusion of a sneak peek of the novel in my holiday book list. Well, it's been lauched and is (along with its author) on tour to celebrate the release. I have a look at the book and a short interview with the author M. K. Wiseman, plus a Rafflecopter Giveaway.
How did you come up with the concept of your story?
In 2004 I had a very vivid dream that, afterward, wouldn't leave
me alone. Said dream basically detailed out one scene from the story, something
so different and captivating for me that it stuck. Now, it must be noted that I
was not writing at that time, nor did I intend to write in any professional
capacity. But as this one nugget of an idea would not let me be, I started to
form a story around it – Why were these people doing what they were doing? Who
were they?
I think that working in the Preservation Dept of the campus
library system had bled into my subconscious and that is where the magick
system that rules The Bookminder developed.
How did you come up with the title?
Haha, well, I had to actually do a bit of research to check my
brain on this as, over time, there have been several incarnations, besides the
working title of Wizard's Librarian. As a (former(?)) librarian, I was
really hoping to keep the working title, as homage to my career and the work
that had sparked the initial idea. But then we wanted to go with something
simpler, brighter, and more “fantasy”.
The 'research' I allude to above? I just unearthed a Facebook
exchange between a librarian friend and I from last March. In it she says she
quite likes the new title and then asks “Who came up with that?”
My answer? “Honestly I don't remember . . . might have been my
editor. We just started throwing things together.” Words that felt
book-binder-y but not quite so literal. Things like “Spellbinder / Spellbound”
seemed a bit too on the nose.
Please provide some insight into or a secret or two about
your story.
The locations in Bookminder are real. Parentino truly did
fall to ruins, while its twin fortification flourished. And while the town
known as Dvigrad in the story did have another name, Moncastello, in keeping
with the attitude of the characters in the story, I dropped the name from their
fortification and merely called it Dvigrad. Call it a decision of character
politics, if you will.
The tales of what actually happened to Dvigrad are a little
muddled but history has the town mixed up in the middle of the Venice and
Austrian conflict of the sixteenth century. And the town truly was abandoned
due to plague—though history has that date at 1630 and Bookminder has it
coming some 50-odd years later.
Who is your favorite author? Who has most influenced your
work?
Two questions. Two answers:
Fav author? Have to go with Douglas Adams. His humor is superb.
And while my brain tends to go a little sideways when reading his stories,
that's part of my enjoyment of his very unique work. I appreciate that there
really is no other author with his touch.
As for who has most influenced my work: Brian Jacques. While
this may not seem the most obvious choice, hear me out. His Mariel of Redwall is the very
first book that I remember being completely in love with. I read, of course,
before that. Quite a bit. But this one book seemed to change reading for me. It
became more than merely enjoyable. Stories could be transcendent, not mere
personal experiences. Reading could link you to others. Maybe it was just the
right book at a certain moment in my life. But I was a lucky enough kid to meet
Mr. Jacques on more than one occasion at bookstore readings/signings. He became
my author rockstar and it was his stories that changed how I thought of books
which, in turn, has influenced my writing at a very deep level.
What activities best give your brain a break? How do you
unwind?
Sudoku. I love (so called) “killer” sudoku. Meditation. Running
(which, unfortunately, sometimes puts my brain right back into production mode
as much as it allows me a break.) I like video games and play pinball whenever
I can get my hands on a good machine. Reading, of course. A hard or two of
poker is like a brain-vacation. And, weirdly enough, I like to just stare out
the window at the scenery watching birds, rain falling, tree branches moving .
. . Oh! I almost forgot: Fishing. I have really gotten into that in recent
years. Especially ice fishing. That's good stuff.
What are some of your other published works?
I have three short stories out through Xchyler—two steampunk and
one paranormal. Those were a blast to write. And if we “count” stories that I
published to my blogs for fun, then I also lay claim to two (currently
haitus-ed) continuing stories: one steampunk, one . . . not. :)
And here's a just for fun nerd list from our author:
Star Wars or Star Trek? Star Wars (Though I am a sucker for Voyager.)
Hunger Games or Divergent? Neither? I know that sounds terrible.
I just never got into the 'dystopian' thing. Too intense for me.
James Bond or Jack Ryan? Erm, *embarrassed blush* I haven't ever
read or seen a James Bond novel or movie and actually had to Google “Jack Ryan”
to find out who that was.
Sherlock: Robert Downey, Jr. or Benedict Cumberbatch? Jeremy
Brett. :)
Spock: Leonard Nimoy or Zachary Quinto? Leonard Nimoy.
X-Men or Avengers? That has changed for me very recently,
actually. Avengers now has the lead because of the excellence of the recent
movies—great dynamics.
Aliens or Predators? Cue another embarrassed blush . . .
Complete and total unfamiliarity here for me.
Minions or Penguins? Penguins.
Batman or Superman? Batman *But only because he has such cool
toys!
Harry Potter or Pirates of the Caribbean? That's a tough one
because I never really got into Harry Potter in the way that I'm sure
this question is asking about and I loved “Pirates” so long as we stick only
to the first movie.
Beatles or Rolling Stones? Beatles.
Peter Jackson or James Cameron? Peter Jackson. But only because
I am largely unfamiliar with the main body of James Cameron's work.
Steven Spielberg or George Lucas? George Lucas.
Vampires or Werewolves? Vampires
LARP or MORPG? LARP – always wanted to try one.
THE BLOG TOUR
We're celebrating the release of THE BOOKMINDER by M. K. Wiseman with a blog tour and Rafflecopter give-away! Visit each blog each day for more chances to win lots of great prizes. If you like epic fantasy, you'll love this coming-of-age tale of magic and wizards set in the Renaissance era.
Don't forget to enter our blog tour Rafflecopter give-away below, on the blogs above, on our Facebook page, or on Rafflecopter, with daily chances to win!
This week, Drabble Wednesday steps beyond the realm of the existent
into worlds beyond…
Debt Collector
The man in the black coat waited. At the end of the street,
his white gloved hands resting on his walking stick, a derby hat upon his head.
He stood still, though the wind plucked at his coat, his silver eyes staring.
I remembered those silver eyes.
I remembered the last night he stood waiting. The night of
my unholy bargain. Now it’s time to pay my due.
Well, he won’t collect
anything from me. I shan’t go out tonight.
I take my tea into the drawing room. Silver eyes stared at
me.
“Hello, James. I was tired of waiting.”
~*~
The Visitor
My sister died a year ago.
Horribly.
My family shut away her existence, even refuses to whisper
her name. They shush me when I try to talk of her, and I see their looks of pity.
I ignore them now. I am simply glad they granted me the gift of her mirror.
I hung it on my bedroom wall, over my dressing table, where
the sun can catch the gilt finish and make it shine. Where I sit and stare into
the polished glass, remembering. Where I smile, laugh, and cast her name to the
heavens.
Where she answers me.
~*~
Sunshine
Skittered particles of dust, like sparkles on a lake
surface, shifting, shattering inside sunbeams. Suspended in air, visible as the
light passes giving form to the insubstantial. Whispers of what went before,
the aged dust of humanity, hovering, lingering.
Caught.
In the gossamer net of the sun, exposed. A minuscule river,
flowing, bobbing, desiccated powdered remains, of what was once flesh and life.
We were washed away, but now reborn specks of matter again, fragments to be
certain, but alive, aware. For one moment in the sun. Before we disappear to
the nether beyond.
