MERRY a day late CHRISTMAS!

 *Jack stumbles in while balancing a plate of cookies which she somehow manages not to spill into the fire.* TADA! *She sets them on the table* That is talent for me!

 I'm here for a few reasons. One is to share the cookies, which I didn't make - good news for all of you - the other is to wish you all a Merry Little Christmas. And the third is to share my short, Christmas story! And that is all!

 The airship drifted lazily through the thick clouds. Snow drifted past the window, large flakes which made the world appear warmer then it actually was. Inside, though, the disillusion was easy to believe. Heat drifted through every inch of the Zeppelin, filling the Piloting Deck with warmth, which was made hot by the added heat of the packed bodies inside.

Balancing on chairs, Peter and Darcy were trying to hang up garland while Tony and Steed held to the chairs in the hopes that they wouldn't tip. At the wheel, Kirk leaned, pretending to steer though really he was just trying to keep awake. Peter saw him, from time to time, yawning so wide it looked as if his jaws were about to unhinge.

“Hey!” Darcy suddenly snapped when Peter again got distracted by Kirk's yawn. His eyes almost disappeared. “Watch it! You're going to get both our necks broken!”

Peter turned back to look at Darcy. He held one end of the garland, Darcy holding to the other and trying to hang it over the window at the same time. Nails were sticking in the tail end of his shirt and he clenched a hammer as if he planned to kill someone with it. (Peter wouldn't have put the hammer killing past him.)

“I'm holding the branches, just like you said,” Peter muttered. His arms were getting tired from holding to the long, prickly boroughs and he had pine needles stuck in his hair.

“Are you complaining, Pete?” Tony asked. He looked up, loosening his grip just a little on Darcy's chair. Peter was waiting for Tony to purposely tip Darcy over. How he had ended up holding his chair and Steed holding Peter's was beyond him.

“No,” Peter murmured. He didn't meet his friend's eye, just concentrated on keeping a firm hold on the garland.

“Good,” Steed muttered from the back of the chair, “because it is almost Christmas and it was your idea to string branches all over my airship.”

“It was Darcy's idea just as much as mine,” Peter pointed out.

Darcy said nothing, just stretched, balancing on tip toe as he tried to get the last of his end of the garland up into corner above the window. He was an inch too short to reach but refused to give up. Peter watched silently as he fought to keep upright, his tongue sticking out of one side of his mouth as he concentrated.

“Would you like me to do that for you?” Steed asked lazily.

“No,” Darcy grunted.

Tony shifted his feet and Steed glared at him, so Tony glared back. Peter dropped his arms just a little, which were getting sore from holding the branches up, and Kirk choice that moment to snap awake. Only he did more then that. He came out of his light doze fighting and spun the wheel so hard all those not attached to something dived head first into something else.

In the Piloting Deck, the chairs slid across the floor, out of Steed and Tony's grasps who were thrown to the ground. Peter fought to keep his balance but it was a lost cause when Darcy lost his and crashed into him. Both flew off the chairs and hit the floor, garland crashing down on top of them. The hammer flew out of Darcy's hand, coming dangerously close to smashing the window.

When Kirk managed to right the airship, Darcy and Peter crawled out from under each other and the mass of pine branches which were pricking through their shirts. Peter pushed himself to his feet and tried to brush some of the pine needles from his hair. Darcy was covered in green. The needles stuck upright in his hair and he had many poking in his clothing. He looked like a hedgehog.

“What are you trying to do, kill us?” Steed snapped as he too got to his feet. He glared hard at his yawning Pilot.

“Not intentionally,” Kirk murmured around another wide yawn. “I kind of fell asleep.”

“Really?” Darcy plucked pine needles from his shirt. “I never would have guessed.”

Peter silently examined the window. In their fall, he and Darcy had managed to pull down most of the garland. Bits of green were still up, where the nails held them in place, but most of the branches lay on the floor in a sorry state. Darcy eyed the slaughtered mess and rolled his eyes.

“Now we need more garland,” he muttered, scowling sideways at Kirk.

Kirk bit back another yawn. “We can get a tree when we land this time,” he pointed out.

Talking of a tree made Peter grin. He couldn't help but think of the tree he, Tony, Hannah, and O'Brien had put up last Christmas. Hopefully this time the tree gathering would cause less injuries.

His eyes drifted down to the battlefield of garland, then up to Darcy. On second thought, he figured he should prepare for an even bigger disaster.

***

Despite Peter's doubts and fears, chopping the tree down didn't land anyone in the medical room. They even got it safely on board, hung up the garland, strung popcorn, and lit the candles without anymore crashes.

As Peter and Tony draped the last of the popcorn strands about the tree's branches, Peter felt the same stab of doubt hit him. Should he be celebrating Christmas on board the Air Pirate Zeppelin? Surely this broke every rule in the book and sealed his fate as a traitor. Yet, he had celebrated Jesus' birth every Christmas for as long as he could remember. To skip a year of remembering the day his Savior had come to earth, the day He gave up His throne in Heaven to live as a man, didn't seem right.

That was how Peter Jones, former Aeropilot from the Scottish Royal Air Force, came to be lighting candles in the Piloting Deck on Christmas Eve. Tony was with him, as well as Darcy, Steed, Kirk, Alfie, and many of the other men. The cook had outdone himself and somehow managed to bake cookies which weren't as hard as rocks and black. The smell of hot chocolate filled the room as Darcy and Peter stuck the last of the candles into the tree.

“Don't catch it on fire, Jones,” Darcy warned.

Peering through the branches, Peter saw he was smirking. Darcy Steed was actually being nice to him. Peter smirked back, wondering how long it would last.

“I'll wait till after Christmas to blow us up,” he promised.

“Wouldn't put it past you,” Darcy replied.

Peter wished he could understand Darcy. Most of the time he acted as if he'd like nothing more then to take his head off with the sword he wore at his belt. Yet, when Peter was least expecting it, Darcy would show him kindness. Sometimes Peter wished they could be friends, other times he wished he could find one of Kirk's hiding places.

“Aren't you going to come and have some of the cookies?” Darcy asked. He moved from out behind the tree and picked wax off the shirt of his sleeve.

Sticking the last of his candles into its hold, Peter rubbed sap off of his hands while he nodded his head. “I'm right behind you,” he reassured.

Darcy strutted off and Peter trailed behind, glancing at the men around him. He decided it wouldn't hurt things if he, for one night at least, allowed himself to think of the pirates as friends.

Christmas Party - Inklings Style!

Hey you writing and reading buds!

To the Old Inklings, you should remember how these parties work! And to those who are new to the whole virtual partying Inklings style, it's time you find out! It starts with inviting mad aspiring authors and them inviting their characters/alter-egos (you won't find my alter-egos in this party. Inklings, remember Christy and Patience? They have returned to their proper place)! Bring a sword, a cloak, your imaginative sharpened mind, a special character you wish to introduce, and just have fun! The only things that I will ask you NOT to bring are a tazer and handcuffs! We will be chatting on a chatango box -- Inklings remember the chocolate box? I most certainly shall make one for this! -- The party will be at 6-8pm EST (5-7pm CST) on December 28th! I hope you can join and the only rules I will have on this chat will be: 1. No curse words 2. Be considerate of one another 3. HAVE FUN!

Note: Remember to bring some Christmas songs, and maybe some links to your Christmas writings! :-D

The Swashbuckler Disciple,

Arianna Schaffer/Mari J. Fahel

Songs from the Heart

A few of you know of my fascination of music and songs. If you know that, you should also know that I strive to write songs of my own. This is my latest shot at a song, I titled it The Cries of a Million Hearts! I hope you enjoy it!

V1: 
I lie here fully conscious
And yet the slumber drones on
In the suffocating depths, I hear
The cries of a million hearts

V2:
I lie here pierced by the darkness
While the bloodstained marks take form
Death, oh sweet death take hold of my soul
And join the cries of a million hearts

Chorus:
My child, don't you see?
I have you here right next to Me
Your heart is in the palm of My hands
And your tears like a sea
Are in My thoughts
Oh, what you could be
If you just allow me....
To wipe those tears from your eyes!
(My love has no disguise!)

V3:
I cry here fully aware
Of my faults that I am to bear
I throw my body in despair
To take on the cries of a million hearts

Bridge:
I am pulled out from the darkness
Into the light
My eyes are set on Christ in all His might
He takes me in and I lose sight
Of the agony in this small heart
To bring to Christ
Those million weeping hearts

Your fully blood bound sister-in-Christ,
Arianna Schaffer/Mari J. fahel

"I ask for a savior and what do I get? Captain Tall-and-Gangly!"

I wrote another piece in the story and it'll be posted in Wattpad at 8pm EST! Look for it here!

In the fort Jeniah saw Captain MacNell carrying a wrapped form in his arms, running towards the cabin. Jeniah kicked the stool from under Jat who sat, lazing back. He fell to the ground and glared up at Jeniah who nodded towards Willai’s hurrying figure. Jat hastened to stand up and helped lay the wrapped form on the bed. Willai breathed heavily as he stared into Jeniah’s eyes in concern.

“Where’s Morwynne?” Jeniah heard the hint of dread in her own voice when she spoke.

Willai seemed to hear the edge in her voice too so he looked down at Jeniah, “She’s--”

A loud clatter from behind the two of them alerted them of another, as Willai turned to face Morwynne picking up the mop and bucket that she tripped over, “She’s here.”

Morwynne lay the mop gently on the wall as it slid off and clattered to the floor again. She left it there and went to help Jeniah with the new patient. Jeniah unwrapped the cloak to reveal the sliced body which oozed blood and shadows. Morwynne stooped to touch it when the sound of a clearing throat, alerted her of Willai’s rising temper.

"If you would, Morwynne Aari Gael, follow me to my quarters,” Willai’s cool tone aired a sign of caution for Morwynne who bit her lower lip and looked, pleadingly at Jat and Jeniah as Willai stepped out the door. Jeniah shook her head, solemnly as Jat grinned widely and shrugged. Morwynne’s head lowered in shame as she turned and followed the Captain, as if marching to the death.

I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me who your favorite character from this snippet is or if none, tell me your favorite quote in it!

Preferring to look insane,
Mari J. Fahel

Why, hello there! Mischief, Loyalty, a wee bit of Ari has returned!

Hey, guys! I've been writing a story called The Witches' Assassin! It has characters based on people/beliefs that I've had in my life! Be prepared for a ride with adventure, fantasy, truth, romance, drama, and humor! Expecting the unexpected isn't what it's about, but the world isn't all as it seems!

Melody twisted in the shadows, suffocating. Cold and afraid she cried, “Traitor! Let me go! Let me free! Let me be!”

Tears streamed down her face and she tried to reach out of the shadows, “Help me! Please! Mercy!”

Suddenly a shout of victory echoed as if in a far off land and light pierced the darkness like a blade forged in the Heavenly Kingdom. A sweet song of a marching army, marching on to the victorious beats of love rang all around her and became nearer and closer as the light grew brighter. Two hands pulled her out of the shadows as she fell into the embrace of a warm cloak. Honey-brown curls cascaded into Melody’s face as deep sea-green eyes delved into hers.

“In the name of Jeshua, you will depart from these parts, Sorion!” a firm voice of one with authority spoke in the blurred forest. A scream of agony as Sorion sounded his retreat.

Melody’s body, exerted and in agony slumped onto the girl’s shoulder, as her weight started sliding to the ground. Blackness engulfed her vision once more and she saw no more.

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Give me critique! TIPS! TIPS! TIIIIIIPS! :-D

Preferring to look insane,
Mari J. Fahel

Christmas!

 So, it has been decided, fellow Inklings! 

 Over the next week or so, write a short Christmas story to share with everyone else on here. We shall have an Inklings Christmas! (Sorry, that is corney, but I'm worn out.)

 Even if your story isn't ready before Christmas you can share it afterward. 

 I'm eager to read all your stories!

 Jack

Christmas Stories!

 In honour of Christmas I have given us a more Christmasy look. I tried to get a hold of Mari to see if she would mind, but was unable to. So, if you do, I am very sorry. *Looks Sheepish* We can change it back later if you would like.

 But this is more then a post about the new template. This is also to ask, how many would like to take part in a short story Christmas contest? (I don't know what the winner would win, or if we should even have a winner...)

 Anyhow, how does this idea appeal to everyone? 

 Everyone write an one page Christmas story that we can all share on here by the 21st. How does that sound? 

 Jack and her sardine, Nemo

"Tooth, fingers out of mouth."

 *Trips through the front door and barely avoids crashing head first into the fire. Turns and shoves the door closed against the howling wind. Knocks snow from cloak. Pulls off boots. Sits by the fire. Pulls gloves over feet and waves feet at everyone.*

 Greetings, one and all! It is I, Jack! Back and last! (I'm a poet and YOU did not know it!)

 *Leans closer to the fire.*

 Well, I guess I should be posting something, eh? Rather then sit here rambling. Here is something, from a short story I wrote, a prequel to my first to be published book (which will be out on the 14th, by the way.) I hope you enjoy!

 Christmas morning dawned bright and cheerful, the sun sparkling down on freshly fallen snow. As of yet, no one had stirred from their homes. All over Berlin, families were tucked inside as they opened presents, sang carols, and ate hot breakfasts. The world was quiet, which didn't bother detective Isidore Thaddeus Reichmann any. He had stayed up late Christmas Eve, writing down his last case, and now he wished to sleep in late.

Lisbeth had other plans.

He knew the persisting pounding on his door could only be she. No one else would rush to his apartment on Christmas morning, not even with a case – unless they were crabs and hated the holiday, like him. Besides that, he recognized her knock.

Isidore ignored the pounding for as long as possible. His bedroom was cold, the air nipping at his nose, and he didn't wish to leave the warmth of his thick quilt. Jumping out of bed and hurrying barefoot across the icy floor while dodging the clothing he had thrown there last night didn't sound too appeasing.

*Bows grandly.*

 Adieu, my fellow Inklings!

 Jack and her sardine, Nemo

Merry Christmas, Inklings!

Hey, everyone!  It's nice to show my face once more.  My last day of finals is tomorrow, and I am very happy about Christmas break coming up!  Thus I am taking a pre-break break and posting this for you all.
Here are a couple of snippets from my latest venture, The Dragon Bstirvm.

Usually I sat in the corner of the smithy and watched Father work as I sewed or knitted.  There was always a good deal of sewing and knitting to be done, and as I was not particularly adventurous, I felt that there was no need to go out and roam the city streets with my other brothers and sisters. 

Father always said that I was a shadow, a slight thing that nobody noticed.  He did not particularly favor me above the other children, nor did he ever seem to notice that I spent hours in the corner of the dark, low room where he worked.

In fact, I was fascinated by fire.  It almost hypnotized me.  Never could I see a flame but it drew me to itself, beckoned me with its lurid flicker, and grasped at my mind with glowing fingers.  The smithy fire altered the whole dark cellar, turning it into some pit of enchantment from which I could hardly bear to tear myself.

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

I should probably add that this book is told from the perspective of Majay Mistrocoli, who lives in the royal city of Rusa.

My king’s name was King Edwin XIII.  I know not why that name survived for thirteen generations.  I would have extinguished it long ere the first.  Yet that was his name, and, let us be frank, he was rather mediocre as kings go.  I am not fond of speaking so of my leader, but the truth is the truth.  King Edwin was quite a disappointment, especially since his father had been a wise and generous king, beloved by all of his people for his benevolence and understanding.  King Edwin was not particularly cruel, as kings go, and Charantè had certainly seen baser monarchs in the course of its long existence, but he did make many foolish decisions.  For instance, he always tried to please everybody. 

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

I reached the tavern and had to step over a man slumbering in the doorway, the smell of strong ale emanating from his damp garments in a thick, choking reek.  I pressed my hand over my mouth and clutched the spits tightly under my other arm.  The sights and sounds from inside the tavern oppressed my senses.  A raucous song reverberated from the low ceiling, and men laughed and jostled each other as they swayed drunkenly to the music.  I wished that my older brothers were still living at home so that I would not have had to come to this place.  It was rather unfortunate that every last one of them was wed.

            The proprietor of the tavern leaned over the counter and leered at me.  I saw not a greasy, doughy man but an ogre preparing to leap among the rioters and devour them up.  Trembling, I held out the spits to him.

            “Mistrocoli made these for you as ordered,” I said.

            The man did not snarl at me as I half-expected him to do.  Instead he waddled out from behind the counter and took the spits from me.

~ The Dragon Bstirvm

Thanks for reading and God bless,

Kathryn

Awh, poor wee abandonned blog!

REVIVE! I will not see you perish, Inklings! REVIVE! I've been on you since I was almost 15! You can't die now! I will not allow it! **looks offended at the slowly moving blogposts** I see at least some of us is faithful to the end! Well, I know that you guys came to hear more than a madwoman ranting on how her favorite writing group shouldn't be dying...

Well, I actually came to do more than that, anyway! I have been inspired to write a series of time traveling stories called "Sunset Pilgrim Saga"! It is about how a girl steps through the sunset into time and imagined worlds! It all starts on December 21st, 2012, the time when most people believe the world is to end. However, the only thing that happened that day was that one person could step into the sunset and go through time or imagined worlds! But, if she is to die in either one of these areas, she's pretty much dead, even in the world of imagination! But, in the story she must find out when this sunset comes back, these sunsets are known only to the Time Masters and can only be found at a certain date in a certain place at the hour the sun sets. And sometimes the journey to the place is far and long, but she must get there on time, or she will not be able to go to the next place and time to find her home.

I hope that interests you guys! God bless and peace, folks!

opening excerpt of Shadows of Fire

Many apologies, dear friends, I've been awfully busy with college and writing and such. As an atonement, here's a little piece of what I've been working on. The full chapter is now available on Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/user/TheGaelicGuardian

Enjoy!

Once, the house could have been described as beautiful. Artistic, even. Before the accident had occurred, it clearly was one of the crown jewels of the neighborhood. Perhaps, in better days, it would have played host to shared lemonade amongst neighbors on its broad porch, watching the neighborhood kids play on the front lawn. Now, however, the place was a wreck.

Its white-paneled walls now were crumbled to rubble, streaked with ash and the rough red bricks now exposed. Only two battered stumps remained of the twin white columns that guarded the porch. The entire second floor was gone, leaving only the empty shell of the house’s walls, and a few charred remnants of the first floor. A badly burned book lying near the shattered hole in the wall that once was a window, near an almost unidentifiable lump that once was an armchair. A table leg, bold and battered, amidst a pile of collapsed ceiling tiles, almost like a shrine to its tenacity. However, despite the desolation of the ruins, there was still life present.

Crouching amidst the rubble, digging through the ashes was a young man. His cracked leather overcoat pooled at his feet, fanning out like a cape. Slung across his back was a broad, round shield, strips of steel reinforcing the body in a starburst pattern. His shaggy, rust-red hair was bound up in a pony-tail, covered up with a battered leather cowboy hat. Beneath the brim, stormy blue eyes glinted, and a determined expression on his face encompassed by a roughly-trimmed goatee and bushy sideburns. He looked young on the outside, but in his eyes, he was ancient with experience and hardship.

Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for, as he sat back on his heels, and pulled a burned, battered helmet from the wreckage. It was painted a faded fire-engine red, its cheek plates and T-slit visor delicately etched with silver Celtic knot-work. Across the dome, a Chinese dragon was emblazoned in gold, arching and looping in an endless weave. In the back, the aeration vent was battered and scratched, like the faceplate, but still mostly functional. The man handled the helmet with care and ease, as though he was quite familiar with it.

His lips wrinkled into a grim frown as he lifted it up, looking into its empty visor as though it held all the knowledge in the world. Suddenly, something imperceptible shifted, as though the world suddenly was holding its breath in anticipation. The man put down the helmet slowly, hesitantly, as though it were made of glass. Without looking back, he stood to his feet, with a soft clatter of concealed armor plates, and spoke.

“Hello Cassandra.”

"Aw yes, John Green." "Jason Grace." "Whatever."

 *Tries to step over the sword, fails, almost crashes into the wall. Sits in a chair and almost falls asleep.*

 WAIT! No, I'm awake. I'm good.

 Ahem, hello, Inklings. *Waves*

 I saw everyone was sharing snippets. And I figured I might as well join in. So, here is a snippet from my NaNo book, DragonSlayer. It is a rough, rough draft. So it is choppy and full of mistakes, but I am too worn out to think of more editing.

 I hope you enjoy it though.

 Jack and her sardine, Nemo

He knew the jagged peak was different, but not for the reasons he had always been told. When he left home to chase dragons, the mountain always came back to him, reminding him of all he had left behind. All he had given up because of one lie.

The mountain had no name, like so many other ancient things in the land. It had stood when the island rose from the sea. And when the island sank it would likely hold its head high, going down with an air of majesty.

There were other mountain peaks around Trisli's home, but none carried themselves with as much grace as Trisli's mountain. Even though it wasn't the tallest in the whole of the kingdom, it seemed to think very highly of itself. In the summer it put on a dazzling display with its array of rich grass and deep green forests. In the fall, its trees donned the brightest, richest colours. During the frozen months of winter it wrapped itself in the purest white of blankets. And in the spring, when it looked its most friendly, only the most colourful of flowers would grace its slopping sides.

The peak seemed to think very highly of himself. However, this could be excused to a point. After all, when one is so majestic and commanding, a little pride is certain to follow.

And while the mountain's pride could be excused and marveled at, Trisli's own pride made him the laughing stalk of the village. No one ever laughed in his face of course, they had far too many manners for that. However, whenever his back was turned, the snickering would start – which often is worse then getting mocked when one could see.

Snippets and Snaps

I'm writing a story based on an anime I saw derived from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.

((Well, it's not exactly, but I got the basis off of it...))
**Yeah, that's what they all say...**
((Oh, go suck a rubarb, you!))
**Hey, don't be quoting your lines on me!**
((sigh... I can never win with you, can I?))
**Probably so.**
((grrrrrrr))

ANYways... here's a snippet for you, you can read the rest on Wattpad...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Your highness! Can you stand?" His groan answers for me. I try to pull him on my back. I'm stronger than I make out to be. "Your highness! We've got to get out of here, let me-"

"Take Ciel." He shifts his weight and I drop him back on the floor. I stare at the young girl beside him. She was shivering with fear, too scared to speak.

"But, sir, I-"

"Take Ciel!" He groans again as he adjusts his posture. Raising a shaky hand in the air to the wall behind him, the bricks slide away to a closet. "Aslan..." I look to him once again. "Take the sword and the chain. Cloak yourself and lead Ciel and yourself to safety."

"But your highness!" No matter what I try, it's useless. Then behind us I hear the groan of the man. He was regaining conciousness. I sheathed my own sword and dashed to the secret closet. Grabbing the sword and the box that was also inside - guessing that was were the chain was kept. Taking the cloak by the window, I grabbed the princess' hand and carried her on my back, draping the cloak on the both of us.

"DADDY! DADDY! DON'T! I DON'T WANNA! DADDY!" She tried kicking and punching me to let her go. I had to pinch her leg to stop her.

"M'lady, please, be quiet, we have to get out of here!" I sat at the edge of the windowsill, peering through the smoke and flames for a safe landing.

"ASLAN! NOW!" The king screams. With this command I jump, just as the sound of a sword slicing flesh escapes the window.

                                                                         - "Crescents Restoration"

Yikes!

Sorry, Jack!  I didn't mean to neglect this blog.  In order to revive Inklings, I am going to post a couple snippets from stories that I have been working on in all of my spare time.
By the way, congratulations on your book coming out, Jack.

Belofte entered, her face a study.  “I have seen that Diavla hath been slain!” she said.

            Birinin and Salguod leapt up and joined in a joyful reel over the smooth floor.

            “I fear,” said Belofte gently, “that this is not the tidings of rejoicing that it seems.  Arglai hath slain her sister and taken the throne.  That snake, Tajisscra, tried to slay a new Pilhmoff, but Solmar emerged from his pit and slew the Pilhmoff before I could take him away.”

            “Solmar emerged?” said Birinin.  A cold wave shivered down her frame.  “Solmar hath not been seen near to an age.”

            “Solmar hath come forth, and this is one creature that even Modran Lonish shall find trouble in slaying,” said Belofte.

            Tajisscra burst into the room.  “Lonish will not live long enough,” he chuckled.  “Where art thou hiding him, Ruvin Scum?” he asked, leering at Belofte.  Salguod stood before his wife, holding up his shield.

            More Estackam crowded into the room, surrounding Birinin and tearing Belofte away from Salguod.

            “Tell me where the Mortal Man is,” said Tajisscra, holding his Wand toward Birinin’s head.

            Salguod’s eyes grew dark with fury as he let forth a ray of golden light from his shield, blinding the Fairie for a moment.  Birinin ducked away and snatched up her arrows, thrusting them into her belt and aiming another at Tajisscra’s head.  “I am not so weak as that,” she said drily.

            “What about thy mother?” snapped Tajisscra, letting forth the power of his Wand at Belofte.  The Queen of Pevamor ceased to glow.  Her face grew black and her head snapped back as she crumpled down to the ground.  “The Cheol Stones are of no use to you now, my fine Cheol Ruvin.”

~ Lonish the Swordmaster

“Mendan, I do not mean to sound like a nag, but I think that we should have taken more men with us,” said the queen.

            Mendan grit his teeth, for he had endured the queen’s nagging all night long.  It was beginning to grate on his already raw nerves.  “Yes, Queen Ranglornl, I do understand, but they were all needed at Schlezimein to fight.”

            “They were all going to die at Schlezimein anyhow, and they could have been a good deal more useful to us if they were here now,” the queen continued irritably.

            “By the Clever, were that I was back there dying now,” Mendan muttered under his breath as he ushered the small group into the cave.  “Be careful, children,” he said.  “The rock here is slippery.”

~ The Daulots

Thanks for reading, and God bless! 

Kathryn

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street."

 *Crashes in and falls head first into a chair. Sits up and smooths skirt.*

 Inklings has died, yet again. This is its favourite pastime. I've spent half my time reviving Inklings as actually writing on it.

 However, since it is dead, again, we must think of a way to bring it back to life. The holidays are coming up. Shall we do something holiday themed? We could set up a fourm, which are a bit of fun, or we could have some kind of party.

 I am working out some ideas, but does anyone have any others you might like? Throw them out, and we shall bring this place back to life!

 Jack and her sardine Nemo

GAAAAAAHHHH!!! IT'S DEAD!

Pardon my french, but GGGGGAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Oh mon Dieu! Qu'est-ce? où est tout le monde?

(told you to pardon my French)

It says not a post since Quatro de Octubre! shesh...

Well... to be random or stupid or stupid or stupid or random or...

MEH....

Well, just to try to keep it alive... HHHHHIIIIIIIIIII TTTTTTTHHHHHHEEEEERRRRREEE PPPEEEEEOOOPPPLLLEEEEE OOFFF EEEAAARRRTTTTTHHHHH!!!!!

how is everyone? Everyone writing well? I hope none are in writer's block!

Hello Everybody!!!!!

Did you miss me?  I am not exactly overburdened with extra time, so I am glad that I can finally put another snippet from IB up.  Please feel free to comment!

Mr. Daniels calmly reigned in the horses.  “What are ye doin’, scarin’ my horses?” he growled.

            The man looked at the horses, who were placidly waiting for Mr. Daniels’ signal to move on.  “I’m sorry; I didn’t see them,” he said.  When he looked up at Cordelia he started a little.  “Of course, you must continue,” he said.  “I shan’t be the one to stop a lady’s business.”  He bowed deeply.

            “Thank you,” said Cordelia cheerily.  “If you were going our way, I would ask if you wanted a ride, but seeing as you are not, I suppose that we had better say our goodbyes now.”

            “Now, now, who says I’m not going your way?” said the man.  He lifted a sailor’s cap from his thick shock of greyish-white hair.  “The name is Ira Bournton,” he said grandly.

            “I am Miss Cordelia Gaskey,” said she.  “Mr. Daniels, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” she asked, turning on him with a dazzling smile to which he was oblivious.

            “I don’t care,” replied Mr. Daniels.  “Like I says, ten dollars is good for a lot of things.”

            Ira Bournton tossed a sack he was carrying into the back of the buckboard and climbed up beside it.  “A lady as fine as you must be going to Boston,” he said to Cordelia.

            “Yes, that is very observant of you,” she replied, rather amused by his gallantry.  “I am coming from Nanrantsouak Harbor, and if you can say that without stumbling over it the first few times, you must be very clever indeed.  You should have heard my little brothers and sisters trying to say it!”

            Ira Bournton smiled to himself.  “Nanrantsouak Harbor, Miss Gaskey?  I haven’t heard of the place in years.”

            “Oh, you know it?” she asked.

            “Yes, I grew up there before I went away to sea, and I…”  He trailed off uncertainly.

            “Mr. Bournton, what a strange happenstance!” Cordelia exclaimed.  “I feel as if I know you already!”

            Ira Bournton in that moment had turned from the gallant old gentleman to a silent, brooding creature.  Nanrantsouak Harbor!  The name awakened many memories, and not all of them were pleasant.  

Doughnuts for Benny!

Jack, while dashing through, throws out her newest story. 

 Sorry I can't stay. I'm in the middle of book trailer stuff. I hope everyone is well though. Inklings is very quiet these days. *Eyes self*

 Coming October 8th

 Detective Isidore Thaddeus Reichmann doesn't want friends but Lisbeth has given him no choice. She stepped into his life, promising never to leave his side and slowly, Isidore accepts her thrust of friendship. Together they solve mysteries, rather, he solves them and she gets into trouble. They are inseparable and secretly Isidore enjoys his constant companion. However, a time is coming when promises will be broken and a friendship tested - and the end result will forever change Isidore's life. 

Having fun with Shakespeare.

My novel is set in Shakespearean times and I am having fun using Shakespearean insults to put a dash of color into my story.

Take for example this paragraph which I just completed.... (context: the ship has left the main characters on a beach while unloading the long boats. They promised to come back for the main characters but then the ship begins to move....)

“I’m not the only one seeing this right?” Jamie asked in a panicked voice.

“No, I see it to,” Matthias said. He got to his feet and squinted out to sea. “Where are they going…?” he muttered. “Of course!” he slapped his forehead with his palm. “They’ve taken the treasure and are leaving us! This stinks! This is total bat-fowling bladder-boar-pigged maggot-pie! Those beslubbering fat-kidneyed hugger-muggers!”

Yeeeeesss..... I am having a LOT of fun looking through the Shakespearean insults list. I feel quite like Captain Haddock, blistering barnacles.
Now I must get back to writing.

Thou art all ruttish hedge-born skainsmates for reading thus far.
Adieu.

 *Trips in over the sword, crashes to the table, spills the cookies, almost lands in the fireplace.*

 Hello. *Stands up, sits down*

 Um, oh yes, I'm back. I don't have a lot of writing to share with you this time, but more of a, "Does this sound better?" Thingy. So, here it is. 

 Not edited

The scream of a falling bomb sliced through the deep, nighttime silence like a knife. It woke Peter Jones with a start, for a moment making him forget all his training. He listened in horror, knowing something was very wrong, but not knowing that bomb was the start of a terrible war.


The screaming grew louder the closer the bomb got and Peter shot up in his cot just as the alarms went off. The alarms were almost as loud as the bomb and even though Peter was not fully awake he knew what he had to do. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his clothing and threw them on. Stumbling toward the door, he tripped and crashed into things as he fought to pull his boots on. There were other men in the barracks who were faring no better with their clothing and boots. Many times the men crashed into each other, knocking one another down.

 Edited

The scream of a falling bomb sliced through the deep, nighttime silence like a knife. The sound woke Peter Jones with a start, for a moment making him forget all his military training. He listened in horror, not knowing that the bomb heralded the start of a terrible war.

The screaming grew louder and Peter shot up in his cot just as the alarms went off. The alarms were almost as loud as the bomb and even though sleep still blurred Peter's eyes his muddled brain started to work and he moved without thinking. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his clothing and threw them on. Stumbling toward the door, he tripped and crashed into things as he fought to pull on and lace up his boots. There were other men in the barracks who were faring no better with their clothing and boots. Many times the men crashed into each other, knocking one another down.

Better? Or no? 

Jack and her Sardine Nemo

Snippet from 'Ira Bournton'

My new story is coming along splendidly.  You know how it is when you get an idea into your head and it springs out into several subplots that all magically link together and beautifully fit into one lovely picture complete with interesting character names?  Neither do I, although this story is close.  Only I am having trouble with character names and linking subplots.
Anyway, here is a bit of Ira Bournton, named after the main character until I can think of a better title for it.  It's set in New England in 1873, by the way, but before you relegate it to the boring, stuffy, old-fashioned category, let me just say that it is a murder mystery and a lot of other things combined.

Orville Gaskey stood looking about the place with a pleasant smile on his pleasant face.  “I suppose,” he said, rolling back on his heels, “that you want an exorbitant price for the place.”  He spoke to a rather fat man beside him who was clad in clothes much too tight for him in such a state of shabbiness that he might have easily been mistaken as a part of the general scenery.

“Five hundred, and it’s yours,” said the fat man, nervously wiping off a stream of greasy perspiration from his glistening forehead.

“That seems a fair price,” said Orville, not mentioning that it was about two hundred dollars less than he had expected to pay.  “It needs a good deal of work, but I suppose that I can spare the money.”

“I’m glad to be shet of the place,” admitted the fat man.  “No one around here wants to buy it.  Hasn’t for thirty odd years.  Ghosts, and all that tom-foolery.  Not that I believe it meself, but it does make it a mighty hard place to sell.”

Mr. Gaskey laughed.  “Well, Mr. Rufer, I don’t believe in ghosts either, and neither does my family.  And we do need a place desperately.  So, I think that this will do nicely, and you need not worry about my wanting to give it back to you.  Any place this secluded must be the source of superstitious stories in a…community such as this.”  He had meant to say ‘backwoods community,’ but thought that he had better not insult Mr. Rufer’s home of a lifetime to his face.

“Done, then,” said Mr. Rufer, extending his hand to Mr. Gaskey.  “Perfect place for a nice little family.”

“I haven’t a nice little family, though,” said Mr. Gaskey with a sigh.  “I have a very large family.  I have ten children, in fact.”

“Like I says, I nice little family,” said Mr. Rufer.  “I have fourteen.”

So, what do you think.  And if any of you can think of a good title for this story, please do tell.
Thanks for reading and God bless!

"I'm too young to die!" "I'm not! But I don't wanna!"

*Meekly trips in. Sits in a nearby chair, tries to hide under the hood of her cloak.*

 I feel a bit like a traitor, leaving all of you for, about a month....if not a month, maybe longer. I could give you a whole listing of reasons behind it, but it's a bit dull....SOOOOO! I will just say....

 "Well, I'm back."

 And I shall be more faithful in posting but mostly reading. And now, since I am feeling exceptionally British at the moment, I think I will sit here and sip tea with Nemo. Anyone care to join your AWOL Inkling?

Jamie: A Brief Character Sketch

Jamie is my female character in "After the Twelfth Night" and it's untitled sequel. I just realized that I really don't have many female characters... Just Jamie and a few minor characters (like Cressida and Talia!)
Her family includes one brother, aforementioned Matthias, and her father Dogberry (from Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing"). She has two honorary brothers in Verges (also from "Much Ado About Nothing") and William (my own character who is very paranoid). Jamie's mother died of illness when Jamie was only a month old.
Jamie is very caring and sweet but is not afraid to speak her mind and is always eager to join an adventure.
Her usual garb is a plain brown dress and brown slippers (not pajama type slippers, the ones like Jasmine from Alladin wears).
Jamie has fiery and wild red hair with bright amber eyes. She looks kind of like Karen Gillan with David Tennant's eyes and Merida's (from Disney/Pixar's Brave) hair.
Actually, Merida from Brave has inspired a lot of Jamie's looks (although to be fair to Jamie, I came up with her looks before I even knew that Brave existed).

An excerpt from The Sequel which I literally just wrote and will probably scrap later:

Jamie had a shimmery pale green dress with blue puffy sleeves and a blue panel in the skirt made for her during the night and day that they stayed in the town. A plain dark blue dress with gold rings on the sleeves was also purchased and a dark green cloak went with it. The final new dress was bright red to match Jamie’s hair. It had a green and red brocade patterned panel on the front. The sleeves were also made of that material, although they poofed red velvet at the shoulders. Red velvet also hung down from the hips in rolls.

The pale green dress was inspired by one that I wore as Beatrice last year in Much Ado About Nothing. Here is the dress:

The second dark blue dress was inspired by, you guessed it, Merida from Brave (I haven't even seen the movie people!):

The final red dress was one that I found on Google images when I typed in "red dress Shakespeare." This picture goes to it's rightful owner... I hope that they don't mind I stole it's description for my story.

So there is Jamie in a nutshell... The only person I didn't mention was Antony who is her best friend and fiance (don't worry, she's a lot older than 16 now.... Although people did get married a lot younger in Shakespeare's day!).

I hope you enjoyed. =)

About the Chat 2

How's the idea of meeting at 9-10PM EST, guys? That's all I can think of! So, if ye want to meet at that time I'll see ye guys then everyday or something :-P

Summer's Three Little Buddies

Summer...

Hot...

Clear Skies...

Hot...

Sunshine...

Hot...

Nowhere to go...

Nothing to do...

Heh, Did I mention it's HOT?!?!?!


DX And then here I am... trapped in the realm of Homeworld. Nothing to do but have a visit every day from Summer's three little buddies...

Creativity, Boredom, and Insanity...


Here's the problem.. No matter what time of day they visit me, These guys keep arguing about what I should do and who should I hang around with. And it all starts with Creativity.

  Creativity is the first to come. She has all these great ideas whether it's for the computer, the kitchen, or even my room. There's never anything Creativity can't turn into something interesting.
  Then Boredom comes in. When he sees me having fun with Creativity, he and Creativity start arguing. When Creativity finds something to do, he just messes it up by introducing himself until I give up and sit on the couch.
  That's when Insanity decides to join in.
Insanity fights with Boredom, but the only problem for him is if Boredom looses to Creativity. So Insanity makes Boredom argue with Creativity and helps him win, then he fights against Boredom until Insanity makes Creativity and Boredom leave the house. Then Insanity won't leave me alone and makes me lie on the floor completely wasting myself away until the summer sun falls and he disappears along with it...

You better help Creativity keep Boredom and Insanity from visitin ya, or else all you'll do is waste the summer away....

The Gael's Apprentice Exerpt 4

 Apologies, folks, for my silence on here. I've been incredibly busy with college and whatnot. Anyhoo, on with the show! this is from Chapter 7, still in progress.

In the dark of night, the McGordon tower stood tall and silent in the whispering clearing, like a stalwart rock in the midst of a typhoon. Around the tower, the trees whispered and swayed in the breeze, as though gossiping amongst each other about some monstrocity. There was evil abroad this night. Unseen by the slumbering McGordon household, a slim, fluttering shadow peeled itself away from the shadows of the woods, paused, seemingly giving a once-over on the tower, and fluttered off into the darkness.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Girl, where is your head this morning, sighed Brother Martin, looming over Eothain in his mud-spattered brown robes. She was just a little girl, barely ten, dressed in a patched and battered hand-me-down tunic from her big brother, Liam. Her vivid blonde hair was tucked behind her ears gingerly, so as to keep her hair out of her face, and away from her work. She was supposed to be writing her alphabet, but she had been distracted by a fluttering feather trapped in the blades of grass, and was painstakingly drawing it. She was nearly done with the final tufts of grass, when a scarred, withered hand settled on the edge of the parchment.

"As beautiful as God's creations are," Brother Martin said, "your practice-piece is not the place for it." Eothain dropped her quill pen, making a huge blot on her scrap of parchment, and very carefully looked up at him. The deep-set wrinkles in his face crinkled back like old parchment into a soft, wry smile. His gentle blue eyes seemed to be an even mix between joyous laughter and weariness, telling the wordless saga of his life.

What hair he had left clung to his scalp in a silver crescent. His heavy brown robes hung loosely off his narrow frame, as though made for a person much larger in size. Eothain's terrified eyes stared up at him in horror, expecting him to smack her knuckles or otherwise express his disapproval, but he just sighed gently, and picked up her scrap of parchment to examine her handiwork. Finally, after a while, he looked up from the parchment, beaming down at her, allaying her fears.

"Young miss," he began. "The Father has granted you a talented and steady hand. Mayhaps one day you will grace God with your gift." Eothain smiled in wonder at the encouraging, gentle words of the strange, ancient monk.

Brother Martin of Bannockburn was certainly an odd one. Several years ago, he had shown up in her small, wayward village in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, pushing a canvas-covered wheelbarrow full of books and writing supplies. He had said little of his past, much less what he was running from, but once he offered to give a noble's education to the children of the town, they all looked the other way. Unlike other passing priests, Martin genuinely cared for the well-being of those of his new home town, and was humble in spirit and kind in heart. Quite simply, everyone loved him, despite his secretiveness, and he appeared to love them the same.

The wind picked up then, and a strong breeze bristled through the glen, setting the segments of parchment alight on the breeze, and Eothain's wild, untamed hair tangled itself in the wind. Martin cautiously looked up into the rapidly darkening sky, as thick, black clouds raced towards them. He looked down at her grimly, his eyes starting to echo the clouds. "There's a storm coming, lil'un," he said somberly. "If you thought it was bad before, the worst is yet to come."
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Eothain awoke, sheets entangled around her, to her shared tower-top bedroom. Narrow beams of the early morning's sunlight streamed through the windows, enlightening the room just a bit. She sighed in relief, her heart slowing down to a normal, steady pace. It had been ages since she had last dreamed of that day with Brother Martin. Not long after that day, he had disappeared without a trace.

She carefully got out of bed, and sleepily stumbled down the tower stairs. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, the McGordon kitchen was in chaos. Willum, clutching a little wooden dagger, was being chased around the kitchen table by a cloud of his siblings, wielding wooden swords, axes, and other weapons of wooden death. Aidan was face-down on the kitchen table, sound asleep. Mr. McGordon looked much better than he was the night before, and was trying to take a taste of the bowl of some scrumptious-smelling dish, and got a smack across the knuckles with the ever-ready iron ladle from his wife. In short, it felt like home.

About the Chat

I'm thinking of setting a time for us to meet on the chat when we can all meet up together... what would be a good time generally for you guys? I want to bring this group back to life! :-D Also... I wanted to show a link to my blog, Nutty Sundae for you guys to go by and learn about my crazehness! <333

Preferring to look insane,
Mari J. Fahel

I need some advice

I'm kind of stuck and need some advice.
Right now in my novel my characters are stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean and no one knows where they are (it's 1602 so no way to call for help).
In my original draft I had my MC Sebastian's sister and her husband (who is a duke) come looking for them personally in their nice fancy boat. Re-thinking that now, it seems a bit far fetched. They got the location of the island from the same person Sebastian's got it from.

Here are the options I'm considering, which one sounds the best to you?

1. Leave it as it is: Sebastian's sister and brother in-law come personally searching for them and rescue them. Then on the boat journey back, have the characters (who are mostly "peasants") get into some trouble on the fancy ship.
2. Have the Duke send a ship to rescue them, and don't have much happen on the way back except one or two talks between the main characters.
3. Have a random ship that happens to be passing by see the characters and come to rescue them. On the ride back, nothing much happens except one or two talks between the main characters.
4. Something completely different (please suggest!)

Right now options 2 and 3 look the best to me because I'm trying to get this novel completely done before the end of August and I'm only on the first edit/re-write of five. I don't really have time/don't feel like writing some adventures while on the boat back (plus the first time around I couldn't really think of anything and kind of stole a scene from Tintin... Haha).

What do you guys think?

A little writing

So, I haven't been writing nearly as much lately, as we are redoing our kitchen counters, a long and tiresome job.  Also my oldest younger brother and I were helping our grandparents out last week.  Today, however, I had time to write a little.  Here is a sample:

The rust-colored sunlight in the south pierced the needles of the evergreens and left sharply outlined shadows all around Rugema Ruvin.  Birinin sat in her father’s house, fashioning her silvery arrows.  It was a delicate work, and her hands, which may have seemed rather clumsy at first sight, were nimble and adept at the craft.  She made the shafts by pulling light from a small, golden lamp with a pair of little tongs.  She would thrust the tongs into the lamp and pull them out, and in them would be a thick shining blob of ethereal light.  She took the blob in her hands and pulled it through her fingers, making it into a slender rod.  Another thrust of the tongs brought out a smaller blob, quickly fashioned by her quick fingers into a lethal point, which she attached to the shaft with a lick of the tongue.  Her fletching was made of white swan’s feathers, which she split with a little golden knife and bound to the end of the shaft by running her finger around it.   It took only a little time to make quite a few arrows, and these were all straight and true.

Hope you enjoyed that!  Thanks for reading.

Trouble in the Tomb

Hello, I am back :). Thank you for the comments you gave me on my last post. I liked them. And here is another part.

Evie

While in college, Jeremy had watched Indiana Jones with some of his classmates. Dr. Irving always reminded him of Indiana Jones' father, right down to the deep voice. It had been weird when he had first come to work for them, now he knew he was going to miss it.

“Shouldn't I get back to camp?” Dr. Kempis asked after awhile. “We left them all alone without any supervision.”

Still Irving didn't look up from his book. “You wanted to come.”

“Well, I wasn't thinking-”

“I asked if you wanted to stay but you said you wished to see the arrival of Nathan Marshall. Besides, Sam is at camp. Everyone will be fine,” Irving interrupted.

"He insulted you, Captain!" "So that's when you hit him." "No! I knew you wouldn't want us to get into a fight over that." "Oh, well why did you punch him?" "Well, he said the Enterprise was rubbish. THAT'S when I punched him."

 *Trips in, crashes head first into a chair, falls to the floor. Gets up quickly, adjusts cloak. Smiles sheepishly.*

 Ahem...Well, if you didn't notice, I'm back. But, again, I have no book bits to post. So I thought I would follow Miss K. Barret and post a small summery of my book. Because that is a clever idea, and it means I will have something to post about. So, anyhow, this is from my book The Broken Blade. And it has it's own page on my site if you want to go have a look around. But I won't make you, because I'm not an evil overlord...YET. BAHAHAHAHAHAHA...*Cough, cough.* Sorry, still working on the evil laugh. 

 Okay, here it is. I've been working on this summery for awhile so let me know if you think I should change anything. 8-D This is just the first half. 

  Long ago, the king of Nightshade was killed in battle. It was said that, as he died, he fell atop his own sword, snapping the blade in two. However, when his body was recovered, the blade was missing. Now, hundreds of years later, Nightshade is without a king and the land is being invaded. 

 Countries are divided, peoples warring among themselves. Without unity, they will certainly be conquered, but with no king to unite them there is almost no hope. 

 But there is a rumor. 

 It is said that if a person was to find the blade and fix it they would be given magical powers that would enable them to free the land and make them the new king. Many believe this legend. Few don't. But when hope is almost gone, the people will cling to anything.

 Then one day, a young man wakes up on a farm. He has no memory of who he is or where he has come from, he cannot even remember his own name. All he can remember is something about a sword. So he sets out in the hopes he will find someone who knows him, and instead meets up with a band of outcasts boys who live in a local village near the coast.

For the Benefit of Miss Jack

Miss Jack visited my blog earlier and asked what my book, Lonish the Swordmaster, was about.  I had posted some character descriptions there, but I thought that it would be nice to tell the plot here, for her benefit.
Basically, it is a fantasy set in a world (which my brother and I made up) that is a lot like ours, except for one mysterious land.  The story is supposed to be told from over a thousand years after it happened.  The main character, Modran Lonish, travels with his older brothers and a small group of other people to this land, called the Land of Lucor.  Once there they find that it is peopled with Dragons, Fairies, and other mythical creatures, including the dreaded Dragyol, larger, more powerful, and a lot more frightening than a Dragon.  Right at the beginning Lonish meets Heleopoilte Tajisscra, the right hand Fairie of the Lady of Ribigalitorre, Diavla.  Tajisscra is impressed with Lonish's strength and skill and wants to use him to defeat his ruler so that he can take over the Land of Lucor.  Thankfully, Lonish has met the noble Cheol Ruvin, or elves, as the humans call them, and found a friend in Elstav Hpetsen, the son of one of the elf lords.  Elstav manages to protect Lonish, but of course, Tajisscra catches up to him and fools Lonish into taking lessons from him so that he will become a swordmaster.
Main characters include the Modran family, including Kiltya, Mitrai, and Lonish; Kiltya's wife, Laiarol; Elstav Hpetsen; Nevarl Osrs, another Cheol Ruvin and an enigmatic character; Oln, a talkative unicorn; Birinin, Elstav's older sister, a maid who knows a lot about everything; Belofte, Elstav's mother, the oldest and wisest  living creature in the world; and  Heliopolite Tajisscra, the cunning villain.
Thanks for reading.

Sphagnum Cymbifolium

Research. I loathe it.
I don't mind it if I have to research something I'm interested in (such as fifes and piccolos).
But if I have to research a topic I'm not interested in, and don't know anything about, it becomes tiresome easily.
Last night I was face with the problem of research. I have a character and he's a doctor but he loves looking for plants and animals (he's kind of like the doctor from the Master and Commander movie). My character finds some moss. But what is the Latin name for moss? He would know it. So I pulled up the internet and Sphagnum Cymbifolium came up.
(Just a side note.... Verges Jr. is the creature I asked for help about in an earlier post. I decided to make it a baby Tapir)

"This is the ideal place for a camp!" Sebastian broke the awed silence. "We have water, shelter, light...."
"A new specimen of Sphagnum Cymbifolium!" Verges cried out. He ran to the pond and started scraping a greenish plant from the rocks. "Most uncommon," he murmured, "Usually it grows in bogs and marshes! How very interesting! This will require much further study."
"First Verges Jr. now new moss? We are glad you are so easily satisfied Verges." Toms remarked.
The rest of the morning was spent exploring every nook and cranny of the cave and glade.

A Writer's work is never done

Wow, this is the first time I have ever posted on this blog, so be sure to comment and tell me what you think.
This is a snippet of the story I am currently working on, entitled Lonish the Swordmaster.  It has been in the making for A VERY LONG TIME.  I have never been able to finish all the legends and stuff that I want to put in, so even though the actual book is not old, the making of it has been going on for a long while.

“I have yet two other daughters,” said Vayama.  “Shalt thou be pleased to dine with us?  I know not what thou eatest, Modran Lonish, but tonight we eat the light and the honey of flowers.”

            Lonish smiled.  “That sounds lovely, your Majesty,” he said.  “I have never eaten that before, but I’m sure it will be delicious.”

            Valgorenhet grinned broadly.  Lonish thought he could distinguish glowing freckles on her white face.  “What dost thou eat when thou art with the Mortals?”

            “I, er, well, we ate lots of things.  I really liked roasted venison, and that with some turnips and potatoes in the gravy.  And hot apple dumplings, served with rich cream.  Mother used to make them with a thick syrup, but Laiarol makes them with thin.  Laiarol is my older brother’s wife,” he explained.  “Kiltya is my oldest brother, and he led us here.”

            Valgorenhet was not to be sidetracked.  “What is venison?” she asked.

            “It is the meat of deer,” explained Lonish.

            Valgorenhet’s eyes grew wide.  “That is disgusting!  Thou dost eat deer?  How canst thou, without growing ill?”


Thanks for reading.

"And she's a woman...oh shut up! I'm dying!"

  Trips in, falls into a near by table, crashes to the floor. That could have looked more dignified.

 So, here I am, back and all that. I would say something witty and such, but I'm sick and I don't feel like it. So here is my story. Enjoy. 

 Jack and her sardine Nemo

 The fog was particularly thick this evening, much thicker then the soup Jack had eaten for dinner. Sometimes she wished she could pile the fog into a bowl and eat it, it couldn't taste any worse then the dinners she usually had and it would likely fill her up much better.

As if he read her thoughts Max, her faithful Doberman Pincher, lifted his head and grunted. Jack laid her hand on his black head, patting him gently.

“I know,” she told him, “you're hungry too. Blimey! That soup was nothing more then water!”

Max sighed in agreement and Jack's stomach added in a complaint by rumbling. She quickened her step, smiling at the thought of breath and maybe even meat. Anything but potatoes. She was sick of potatoes. These thoughts, and these alone, filled Jack's head as she hurried through the back streets of London. She would have continued in them, thinking only of food, if Max hadn't suddenly stopped walking and growled.