tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147438672011-07-28T07:13:55.197-06:00<br> <a href="http://onceuponarabbithole.blogspot.com/2005/07/and-so-it-begins.html">READ THIS WARNING</a>Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.comBlogger1601100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-14562803382536966622010-07-13T16:29:00.001-06:002010-07-13T17:55:19.459-06:00

I find it's a little difficult to write about a book that has meant a lot to me over the years. The Silver Kiss is a story that resonates with me and, from the time I read it in the early 1990s as a junior high school girl, has made me an eager fan of the author, Annette Curtis Klause.More...The Silver Kiss is about a teenage girl, Zoë, and a vampire named Simon. Both are lonely people, both are

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-70648889231592440232009-11-19T23:09:00.001-07:002010-07-02T11:31:49.614-06:00

Out of the fire strode a tall, lithe figure who held what looked like a dark stone ball in one hand and a long knife in the other. The figure appeared flat and unreal, a silhouette against the curtain of fire behind her. She did not pause at the threshold of the Garden, where the gate had stood for uncounted ages. Now the gate lay in the road, twisted into wild apocryphal points and angles. The

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-67015964581582659632009-11-18T22:24:00.001-07:002010-07-02T11:29:15.460-06:00

“How thoughtful they were to translate all this writing into our language,” was Jonnesh's wry comment after half an hour of sifting through the stacks of parchment and mounds of scrolls they found in Lorthram's chambers. “Why don't the priests ever teach anyone but other priests to read? It looks like they have more than enough words to share with hundreds of people.”Desh huffed out a little

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-17852490367891776052009-11-17T21:31:00.001-07:002010-07-02T11:24:30.659-06:00

Desh pushed her way through the crowd. People were beginning to shout, calling upon the priests for guidance, for explanations, for action. She thought she could guess what course Lorthram would suggest. But Lorthram had not seen Æa teetering on the brink of madness, strung taut between an ancient calling and a brutal exhaustion, which resulted from trying to fulfill that calling alone and

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-62752967327904417522009-11-16T23:13:00.002-07:002010-07-02T11:18:16.696-06:00

Desh loved being a mother. She was fascinated by the smallness of her children, and by their all-too-swift progress toward maturity. She loved to look into their faces, watch the way they moved across a room or picked up a hammer or stacked wooden blocks into towers on the dining table. She was awed to see shapes in them, to recognize herself or Sorrie in a glance, a gesture, a curve of one ear

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-63006535990391194232009-11-15T22:09:00.002-07:002010-07-02T11:13:35.406-06:00

Desh avoided the Garden after Sorrie brought her as his bride to Treholden. It was not really the Garden she was avoiding, though. It was the Gardener. She did not know how far she could trust the woman to keep from the villagers the fact that Desh had once come to her for the Gardener's acceptance of her claim to Motherhood. She did not know Æa well then.But once they settled into Sorrie's house

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-37199565437135609162009-11-14T23:03:00.002-07:002010-07-02T11:08:37.577-06:00

The change, when it finally came, came quietly. It was a day that dawned in a slow, flat, halfhearted glint of meager light sifting down from a sky that was both cloudless and gray as slate. It took people a long time to notice the fact that the sky was clear and yet not blue. Then unease rippled through Treholden and people began pulling other people out of doors to look up at the strange

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-36865232876280958582009-11-13T22:29:00.000-07:002010-07-02T11:07:03.668-06:00

When Desh first left Charell, she was unsure of what to do next. She wandered for a long time, able to earn a little food and a little shelter wherever she went, but unable to settle. The more time she had to consider the prophecies, the more unsettled she became. What was she to be, after all? The mother of an important person, yes. But more immediately, a woman who must fill her empty womb to

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-47181125688439832902009-11-12T21:42:00.001-07:002009-11-16T23:28:32.447-07:00

The burden of prophecies first began to settle on Danions slim shoulders, Desh thought, when he saw what the white priests had done to his mentor. He saw what they intended to do that day. It was the first moment of men's evil he had ever seen.When the storm began, when the earth seemed unleashed against them all, Desh was certain the Ending had come and come too soon. Somehow those fools who

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-70111540503987876682009-11-11T23:21:00.001-07:002009-11-16T23:23:46.176-07:00

After dinner, Desh asked Danion to help her with the washing up while the other children and Sorrie sat before the hearth. Sorrie began telling a long folk story. Desh smiled to herself and she and Danion cleared the table.Danion poured water into a shallow tub which was set on a tall bench at the back of the kitchen. He washed their wooden plates and cups and forks and spoons while Desh dried

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-23202575326203585332009-11-10T21:24:00.001-07:002009-11-10T22:27:06.293-07:00

The third and last prophecy was her own. That is to say Mother Ashir dreamed it about herself for herself. Her patron Gods accompanied her through the difficult vision.The seeing was difficult because it explained so much to Mother Ashir. All the little details and open questions unearth by her research were set in order. Her own opposition to the path she must follow was exposed.More...She saw a

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-7526438760697716472009-11-09T20:21:00.001-07:002009-11-10T22:24:07.462-07:00

Mother Ashir's reign was short-lived, given her youth at her ascension and the life-long term of service expected of her. Ten years. It was a good time for Mother Ashir. She designed new rites for the sisters, new means and meditations for opening selves to the movements of the spirits and Gods. She hearkened particularly to the Gods of Autumn with their slow, cold voices and spiced wisdom. Thurk

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-33010355633296471622009-11-08T22:45:00.002-07:002009-11-08T23:58:29.154-07:00

Desh sat at her kitchen table with her hands pressed against the tabletop, staring at the whorls of polished wood visible between her calloused fingers. She felt the change coming. She felt it building in the air around them all like storm clouds rushing in from the horizons. It frightened her that her third child was intimately involved in this thundery atmosphere. Her heart, however, was so

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-84651947182684708902009-11-07T23:48:00.001-07:002009-11-08T23:52:57.834-07:00

He walked to the pavilion and stood for some while, admiring the music of the shapes within the place: the arches of the open windows, the height of the support pillars, the solid lengths of the stone benches along the walls. In the center of the smooth floor, rising up like a crescendo, the pillar and the sphere hummed a counter-melody to the summerhouse's elegance. Lorthram stepped close and

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-83523336540759032082009-11-05T15:48:00.001-07:002009-11-05T16:52:52.126-07:00

Lorthram confided in no one, not even to Trisdan. He also gave Trisdan other translation work to do, keeping the scrolls in the clay boxes for later. He performed his duties in the house, presided over a village wedding and was consulted by a traveling soothsayer seeking advice about interpreting the spirits' cloud-paintings at sunset. Lorthram gave her standard superstitions to guide her and she

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-51052357030728286172009-11-04T21:46:00.001-07:002009-11-04T23:25:59.700-07:00

“Here are my recent translations,” said Trisdan, placing a hand-bound manuscript on Lorthram's writing table. “I shall retire now.”“Thank you,” said Lorthram.Trisdan left the room. Lorthram touched the parchment cover but did not lift it. He would read the work tomorrow morning. Now was his time to descend into the cave. He was glad for Trisdan's assistance, glad for his painstaking work over

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-74506892646403881852009-11-03T21:45:00.001-07:002009-11-03T22:49:23.580-07:00

The sleet fell for the rest of that day. At nightfall, it changed to snow and fell thick upon the fields, killing all the spring crops planted on lands within a month's journey from the Garden. After the snow came bitter winds. Fell beasts descended from the mountains into the settled lowlands, hunting villagers and their stock. The buildings which withstood the initial earthquake fell or

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-83513219071719093192009-11-02T21:25:00.001-07:002009-11-02T22:30:37.102-07:00

The white priests were trained in the art of examination. In the days that followed their arrival in Treholden, they practiced their art relentlessly. They examined the village and the villagers, looking into the work of each person whether it had anything to do with the Garden or not. They believed, and Lorthram did not discourage this belief, that a study of the village nearest the Garden would

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-63372979194944286682009-11-01T21:49:00.002-07:002009-11-01T22:52:56.296-07:00

The boy was not nearly as self-possessed as the mother, but he was fearless. He stood before Lorthram and met his eyes and did not stammer or stare at objects in the room. Most people were at least curious about the books and figurines on the shelves of the high priest's office. Danion's interest, however, was wholly directed at the man who had called him to the house of the priests.Lorthram

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-54823161004670803322009-07-22T05:50:00.002-06:002009-10-22T06:01:10.182-06:00

Usually, I try to read a series in order. In this case, however, I just happened to have the second book in Madeleine L'Engle's Austin Family series on my bookshelf and I thought, why not? She's a good author. Let's see how this story tastes. I was pleasantly surprised.This is a quiet little novel told from the perspective of a fourteen year old girl on a cross-country camping trip with her

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-46240701553836452412009-07-03T20:54:00.000-06:002009-07-03T21:55:52.478-06:00

The movies should've ended this way at any rate!

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-56807090335478263162009-06-01T11:54:00.004-06:002010-07-13T17:53:53.043-06:00

The Age of American Unreason traces the basic outline of public stupidity cycles throughout American history. We like to blame the decline of culture and critical thinking on all sorts of things: religious people, secular people, political people, young people, The Sixties, the media, new technologies, etcetera. We have always flirted with this blame game in this country. Jacoby points out

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-85446983283021492232009-04-01T22:02:00.001-06:002009-06-01T13:07:07.478-06:00

I've worn myself outpersistently conjuringpoems from thin air.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-42869324004038415892009-03-27T09:45:00.002-06:002009-03-27T10:46:52.243-06:00

HELL yeah!

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-58099852864591187032009-03-25T13:42:00.008-06:002009-03-25T13:59:32.883-06:00

Bizarre.Now I have to go read or reread the other Maguire books on my shelf. Were they as I remember them, or are they also like this one:Bizarre?The lavish language is what I've always loved about Maguire's writing, ever since I first read Wicked, which I purchased unread, in paperback, from the bookstore because the Wicked Witch of the West was my all-time favorite literary villain when I was

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-70798282790387286842009-03-20T16:32:00.001-06:002009-03-25T13:41:43.469-06:00

Seriously, just go wander through the gallery.I love all of Artemisia Gentileschi's paintings. It's hard to choose a favorite. I think her Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting is most meaningful to me today.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-76087324627234948582009-03-04T22:31:00.000-07:002009-03-07T10:33:02.227-07:00

eccentrically clad twentysomething laughswhen zombiesvampireswerewolvescritterschomp chomp those innocent bystanders

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-62470996459017688532009-03-01T10:08:00.002-07:002009-03-01T10:14:35.454-07:00

It speaks for itself. Accurately. Gloriously. "Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come." - Matt Groening, Life in Hell

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-37782129212859011602009-02-27T21:42:00.000-07:002009-02-27T22:43:03.965-07:00

YES. SPOILERS. IT'S A DETAILED REVIEW THAT PICKS THE STORY APART TO SEE WHAT MAKES IT TICK. HAVE FUN.Short chapters. Writing that punches and kicks and snarls and laughs at itself, but doesn't flop over into parody. The end of every chapter grins at the reader and says, “Want more? Huh? Read on, intrepid wanderer, read on.” We get sucked in. The pace matches the narrator's experiences. The

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-53785341486079429092009-02-20T21:42:00.000-07:002009-02-20T22:57:47.724-07:00

I came across this artist as I was wandering around Zazzle, looking at business card designs. Gxiong uses Zazzle profile cards to make lovely gift tags, so her work popped up in my searching. "A New Beginning" is the piece that caught my eye. And when I checked out her blog, I found more beautiful works. On the blog, "My Precious" really appeals to me. I guess I have a soft spot for dark ladies

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-57520385836364181892009-02-20T21:00:00.001-07:002009-02-20T22:03:51.242-07:00

(INKsters prompt: Man in the Moon)When the night wind leaves the stardust strewnover sugary snow in silk banners bright,I shall honor my bargain with the Moon.That pallid visage, pocked, rough-hewn,beckons me skyward, entices flight.The night wind leaves the stardust strewn:drifts of confetti beneath one great balloon.I've listed the people I'll never invite,but I shall honor my bargain with the

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-8272971541688153972009-02-19T00:06:00.003-07:002009-06-01T13:10:43.866-06:00

(INKsters prompt: First Step)I gazed across the water, not quite looking into the dawn. Distantly, the Black Teeth bit the sky where heaven's translucent blue meets the deep glitter of the sea. Within that far ring of weathered rock, opalescent on its tiny patch of bare ground, the sea tower reflected the early light. I needed that sight. 'Tis said that merfolk built that tower. They sang it into

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-80827330816838332922009-02-18T19:40:00.003-07:002009-02-18T20:49:33.092-07:00

(INKsters prompt: Jan. 28 - Nannies)(A Pathya Vat)Blank space remainedbehind when wefled company,home, each other.We had to breathe:part or smother.So anotherenvironmentbeckoned and wepursued. Selves wentwhere currents sent(o'er rapids throughnarrow channelsdown the falls blueeddies): in lieuof landward pathswe risked airlessseas (the deep hasa razzmatazzthat draws us in).We both drowned.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-18634352291208184702009-02-18T19:14:00.010-07:002009-02-18T20:28:24.426-07:00

UM, YEAH. SPOILERS GALORE. JUST SO YOU KNOW.This is one of those situations where I wish I had read the book before I saw the film.I like the film better.The movie is Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, and it simplifies the rather complex interactions of the many characters in the book, not to mention their myriad of superhuman/mutant abilities. It also adds depth to the main characters (the Noble, the

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-4037779351219148052009-02-01T08:31:00.001-07:002009-02-18T20:38:20.449-07:00

(INKsters prompt: Subway Ride)Separately, Gabrielle's Delilah, Kurt's Amaretto Sunset, and Zadie's Bat Bite were divine. Clutching a pole as the train shuddered into motion, Isabeau decided that the otherwise excellent drinks were not mixing well in belly and bloodstream. She pressed her forehead against her knuckles. At least she was heading home.The subway car rushed on. Had it already passed

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-234063640423102742008-11-19T21:16:00.002-07:002008-11-19T21:19:36.973-07:00

Three quiet years passed. Lorthram practically buried himself in the cavern. He took care, however, not to neglect his social duties. When above ground, he presided over the appropriate village festivals and ceremonies, made brief journeys to other priestly houses in other mountain towns to oversee the induction of new brothers each season, and he led his own house in exercises designed to

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-32704776535536540822008-11-19T21:10:00.001-07:002008-11-19T21:15:51.133-07:00

Lorthram had retreated to his cavern, that haven first discovered by his grandfather's mother as she walked through the hills to the south of Treholden, hearkening to the spirits that dwelt there. The woman had been a priestess of low rank, little more than a soothsayer in the village, but the legacy she left to the sons of her line was priceless.More...Years of study performed by Lorthram's

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-82285239131254945162008-11-18T20:07:00.001-07:002008-11-19T21:11:57.855-07:00

So while Lorthram was the high priest, he was not called Father Lorthram. And while the priestesses never sent word, Lorthram could almost feel them smirking in their grand house at the heart of Charell. And he only tried once to return to the Garden after the day he dragged himself, defeated, to the safety of the trade road. Afterward, he wished that he had not tried.More...That misadventure had

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-57038466592619446712008-11-17T21:34:00.001-07:002008-11-17T22:39:30.072-07:00

His first mistake had been his own neglect of the Garden. Lorthram had been preoccupied with the writings in the cavern. Certainly, he sent his priests to visit the place, to report on conditions there, to keep watch. He believed his father's warnings about the Gardener: she is far more than she seems. He wished with all his heart that his father had lived a little longer, or that he, his

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-69409059373234958312008-11-15T19:04:00.001-07:002008-11-15T20:07:32.577-07:00

Lorthram sat in the silent cavern, tapping his fingers against his chin, thinking. It always came back to that boy. That fair-haired, well-mannered, lanky boy. More and more, he found himself questioning his own judgment. His had been the deciding vote, after all, when the others could not agree. It was unheard of: the Gardener requesting an apprentice? Gardeners never took any outsider within

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-14676491137043367822008-11-14T19:58:00.001-07:002008-11-15T20:03:23.759-07:00

Danion admitted to himself that he had been impatient with the visitors, but it was difficult to tear himself away from his conversation with the tree. He had rushed them through the sections of the Garden, filling their baskets almost before they were finished making each request for goods. They seemed both annoyed and mystified that the apprentice Gardener was escorting them through the place

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-52317310032278426652008-11-13T22:09:00.002-07:002008-11-13T23:12:22.850-07:00

His mother was right. On an ordinary morning, Danion entered the Garden and proceeded directly to the old south shed. He looked at the Garden map, a wooden relief that hung on one wall. He observed which colored pegs were positioned in which sections of the Garden, for these told him the tasks he must undertake on his own. Then he gathered any tools he needed and accomplished his assigned work.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-71789276087580037502008-11-10T22:28:00.002-07:002008-11-10T23:31:34.758-07:00

Supper that night, was a strained affair. Elliar and Sama kept glaring at Danion when their father wasn't looking. Even lighthearted Jonnesh was uneasy. Danion was baffled by the empty chair at the table. Only Mott seemed at ease, but then Mott lived in her own inner landscape most of the time. It would take more than Mother's absence to dismay her.More...“Your Mother has business elsewhere

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-26956658590526843742008-11-09T20:32:00.002-07:002008-11-10T23:28:48.161-07:00

Danion sat in his bed, hands clutching his empty mug, eyes staring at his mother's grim expression. A heart of fire? If any words could describe Æa, it would be those. His mother must have seen the understanding dawn in his eyes. She nodded.“I believe that our Gardener is not a descendant of the ancient Keeper of myth,” she said. Heart of fire. “You believe Æa is the ancient Keeper,” Danion

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-52956284421295546932008-11-08T22:13:00.001-07:002008-11-08T23:16:12.899-07:00

The training was informal; Danion followed Æa, assisted her when he could and observed her when he could not assist. Æa taught him the names of plants, the names of tools, the names of soils and stones, the names of different clouds, the names for seasons and moons, the names of visitors from other villages.When Autumn at last gave way to Winter, Æa announced that it was time to let the Garden

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-67981616903494152762008-11-06T19:42:00.001-07:002008-11-06T20:44:48.107-07:00

Danion did not discover the Gardener until he was six winters old. That is to say, he began to understand that she was a person in her own right, and not a manifestation of the Garden itself, a walking tree perhaps, or else a rooted woman prodding the onion rows with her hoe.More...He was playing in the Garden again, although not eating everything in sight this time, accompanied by several other

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-77101444222894488872008-11-05T20:28:00.001-07:002008-11-05T21:26:06.692-07:00

Danion was four winters old when he discovered the Garden. It was a hot day in the late summer. A hoard of children descended upon the Garden. Danion, finally big enough to keep up with the stragglers of the group joined the forray. Within the walls, the tree were tall and the shade beneath their branches was sweet and cool. The pool in the far corner of the place was a delight. There was

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-63556056916687864892008-11-04T20:44:00.001-07:002008-11-04T21:46:23.509-07:00

Gentle hands pulled the blanket away. Danion uttered a muzzy groan and pulled it back up over his chin."Son, be still. Let me have a look."His mother succeeded in uncovering him to the shoulders. Danion opened his eyes to find her studying the marks on his throat. He knew they were a striking purple against his pale skin. He had observed his own reflection in his mother's hand mirror before he

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-47239749385295319712008-11-03T22:22:00.002-07:002008-11-04T10:30:38.278-07:00

Danion trudged homeward in the rain. He was drenched. He was shivering. His throat ached fiercely and his head was throbbing. He supposed the rain was his own fault in a way. He suggested that Æa might want to douse the fire and bathe. For safety's sake and for cleanliness. She looked from him to the sky and murmured a few words under her breath. Clouds swept in from nowhere. Danion looked on,

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-2550439254284032912008-11-02T19:34:00.001-07:002008-11-02T20:36:50.307-07:00

Danion had never feared the Gardener. Most of the other children, and indeed most of the adults, of the mountain villages were afraid of the stern woman who tended the Garden. She had always been there, like the stone of the walls, or the stone of the mountains themselves. She never set foot beyond the Garden gate. She never curtsied to village elders and priests. She never smiled.More...Well,

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-12558458669399844842008-11-02T12:00:00.001-07:002008-11-02T12:57:39.897-07:00

“Don't come tomorrow,” was the last thing she had said to Danion before he left the Garden. Æa spoke these words once each year, and had done so for as long as Danion could remember. He and everyone else had always obeyed. For one day of every Autumn, the Garden's gate was locked from within and entry was denied to all. Danion had heard the bolts slide home behind him when he departed yestereve.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-74007039196464824382008-11-02T11:40:00.002-07:002008-11-02T12:53:35.569-07:00

I'm approaching this project differently this year. I'm considering all the stuff I've done since 2005 prewriting. And it's already proving useful. I'm calling my NaNo work as it emerges as it really is: a first draft.More...I am rediscovering the genuine writing process. I had to set it aside to get through college. This still makes me angry to this day. Writing papers in college taught me so

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-45611358263473920682008-09-20T09:00:00.002-06:002008-10-27T21:15:29.685-06:00

From the Elf Clan Social NetworkAn acquaintance of mine posted these photos recently. Sidewalk art is ephemeral, but if you can do it well, it is also phenomenal. Take these works. My favorite is the Santa Claus beneath the post box pastel painting. Outrageously brilliant work!

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-84759805495620135422008-09-17T15:26:00.001-06:002008-09-17T16:28:05.155-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Yike)(A Pathya Vat)Hot breath seared herin the suddenmorn. Held frozen,she inspectedher close-up view:drake bicuspid.She did not dreadthose pointy teeth.More...Rather, the longslide down to grief.There's no relieffrom a dragon'sslow digestivejuices. Dagon'sguts gushed flagonsof such acids,after all. Andsurely His kids,among whom thisscarlet beast reignedforemost, were likethat

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-54428123013373577622008-09-15T16:11:00.000-06:002008-09-17T16:20:35.407-06:00

I admire artists who deal with oils. I revel in the work of those who make darkness dwell richly in oils. Such is the nature of Nobbs and his art. My favorite piece is "Harvest" (oil on canvas).

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-76317933384560803712008-09-14T23:30:00.002-06:002008-09-15T00:33:29.711-06:00

For Dax(A Pathya Vat)The blossoms fall.Their decayed huesreveal the rusethat mem'ry plays.More...For I recalllong brilliant dayswhen golden rayslit up your eyes.But now the flow'rI gave you dies.Bleak tearful skieswater your grave.Mud clothes your bones.I can be brave,but I can't saveyou from the earth.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-52782243813901486442008-09-09T18:32:00.004-06:002008-09-09T19:34:02.667-06:00

1. The DesertThe sand is contained by the horizons.Yellow-brown dirt,grit, no dunes.Hardpan. All of it.Flat to the edge of the earth.Right nowthere's nothing there.This could change.Day? Or night?Both and neither.It possesses itself.It does not lead,it does not follow.But it sees—it sees everything.More...2. The LadderAluminum.Its twisty spider-shadowgrasps its way across the sand.Dull with

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-59353634955393860892008-09-08T23:49:00.008-06:002008-09-09T00:45:04.454-06:00

Peter Sails Away in His BoatI first knew Arthur Rackham's work from listening to my mother read Peter Pan to me. The illustrations from the book inspired my preschool imagination and stuck with me through the years.More...Later, upon conducting further research into the works of this wond'rous illustrator, I learned that he had also imaged Alice in Wonderland scenes. Well, we know how that sort

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-80123787906833348132008-08-31T11:15:00.000-06:002008-08-31T12:27:26.375-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Ink)dip nib and scrawl wordsinspired black streams onto pageink: a writer's blood

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-64987481352215039182008-08-30T10:43:00.000-06:002008-08-31T12:16:25.177-06:00

In my ever-so-humble opinion, the Superman video is the best Goldentusk has made. However, this Jaws video is my personal favorite. The guy is a riot.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-74729660028451284572008-08-24T11:07:00.002-06:002008-08-27T11:24:33.884-06:00

My favorite pieces are the rendering of Ophelia in Galeria: Bocetos II, and the dark angel holding the cat in Galeria: Angel Wings. I held my own kitty like that when she died. The Dark Sanctuary music is also a lovely touch.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-65851366300726854642008-08-17T21:39:00.006-06:002008-08-17T21:52:59.928-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Disconnected)And they have the audacity to slap us upside the heads with their propaganda. The surreal stench of lies and liquid remains and all. It makes no sense. Well, a kind of sense. One that appeals to people who have everything, which means they have everything to lose and all they want to gain is more of everything because they cannot get away from the stink of their

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-84875633444700948792008-08-17T19:40:00.000-06:002008-08-17T20:40:49.375-06:00

Brokenness and decay. Invocations of death and a critique of the living. Fabrice Lavollay's paintings and illustrations.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-51095475318187454022008-08-12T23:52:00.002-06:002008-08-17T13:57:59.696-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Horror)A fight she knew she couldn't win. Ridiculous, how these freaks always showed up with silver ammunition! A shame she couldn't simply sic the party crashers on a vampire nest. That'd keep them busy, but no sane do-gooder approached bloodsuckers at night. They preferred to go after lycanthropes instead, who were much easier to identify by moonlight, and more susceptible to

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-69105239584992071372008-08-10T22:04:00.003-06:002008-08-17T20:23:39.599-06:00

All righty then. Like to watch women go bald deliberately? Got a morbid streak (c'mon, who doesn't)? Wanna see Barbie burn? As stated on this website, "If you hate Barbie and other fashion dolls, be prepared to leave grinning."I leave you to KatSurth.com.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-44016336841627388912008-08-06T22:37:00.003-06:002008-08-17T13:51:47.325-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Beaches)Upon searching a beach in Peru(as scavengers are wont to do)the man with the metal detectoruncovered an ominous spectre.Led by mechanical bleeping the man unearthed a Thing sleeping,which surely could not have a placein our three-dimensional space.More...It was slimy and scaly and scrawny.Its hide was all bristly and tawny.The stench brought great tears to the eyeand the

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-34679531172348588492008-08-03T15:08:00.000-06:002008-08-17T20:13:54.142-06:00

A raw revelation of intense dark beauty.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-78906516732038866882008-07-08T21:12:00.000-06:002008-08-17T13:45:30.774-06:00

(INKsters prompt: Sunset)The wolfen children leap up to kiss the moon,round and dripping as it is with spun-sugar cloud wisps, and those restless shades(damned old house is chock full of 'em)infringe upon the neighborhood thoroughfaresas if the dead actually needed three-dimensional space, as do the rest of us, or at least we who still exhibit beating hearts within our respective rib cages. But

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-67651413140383804042008-07-02T20:48:00.001-06:002008-08-17T13:42:07.898-06:00

(INKsters prompt: The Tower)Jareth leaned over the bucket, splashing water on his face. Dripping, he stood and turned to face the dawn. The storm had delayed them, but had not thwarted them. Morak sat with her back to the eastern horizon, zealously polishing their creation. Jareth leaned against the wall. Waited.After a moment, Morak looked at him. The silver shell gleamed as she held it up.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-91332308366568006642008-03-17T09:25:00.001-06:002008-08-17T13:36:48.794-06:00

Oh, I remember the games we playedThose haunted nights beneath silver starsBlinking and wild, multi-rayed --Oh, I remember the games we played.Do you see the spiraling marks we made?Down the front, round the side, up in arms --Oh, I remember the games we playedThose haunted nights beneath silver stars.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-83858761525543877672008-03-11T23:54:00.001-06:002008-08-17T13:35:28.297-06:00

(A "Baker's Dozen" word poem)My cheekbone revilesyour clenched fistas I turn its twin your way.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-53860960754637415392008-03-04T12:30:00.002-07:002008-08-17T13:33:34.606-06:00

Here are the children.They know who they are.Solemn, in single file,clean white shirts buttonedup the front and at the cuffs.Here are the children.You might thinkthey are all the same,they look so like to each other,wide-eyed with wonderfulhalf-smiles hiddenbehind small hands--their elders are so grave andthe children see sunny shadowsplaying tag across the walls,across all the faces in the

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-91777579109769117412008-03-01T13:21:00.001-07:002008-08-17T13:30:40.647-06:00

(An improvised poem performed in Second Life at the Blue Angel)Give me a fearless sunrising rising risingupascending like the gleamingglass eyea marionette's steadfast stareflashing the spotlamp's glareback into the blank facesgathered 'round to watchthe show.Then give me cloudsrushing rushing rushingina coalescing pool of inksall colorsa bleeding rainbowstreaking down the canvasbeing painted on

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-68201706213013968392007-10-27T00:08:00.000-06:002007-10-27T00:08:27.158-06:00

Life After ManJim WoodringThe Woodring Monitor

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-26079932447466842702007-10-19T11:06:00.000-06:002007-10-19T11:12:15.831-06:00

Sisterhood, coming-of-age, werewolves, attitude...Clips from all three films presented to Michael Shields's exquisite Ginger Snaps theme.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-35392828593498710602007-10-14T20:17:00.001-06:002008-10-27T20:19:06.521-06:00

It might cross over into horror territory at times, but I think dark fantasy steers away from the gore and monstrosities of horror. It also wanders from the traditional Good against Eeeevil setup of mainstream fantasy. There is some ambiguity about what is the “right” side to be on, and the dark characters inspire sympathy. More...I want my story to fit into this genre (subgenre?) because I think

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-26030021124792004292007-10-13T21:16:00.001-06:002008-10-27T20:17:37.754-06:00

Æa is a troublemaker, but the antagonist is Lorthram. He is the village preist. As Treholden is the premier village, thanks to its proximity to the Garden, Lothram is, by default, the High Priest of the mountain lands. He is self-important, and self-assured. He is certain he is right in all things.More...This is a man who inherited his position from his master uncontested, and wields considerable

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-2229762946327889432007-10-12T15:24:00.001-06:002008-10-27T20:16:21.145-06:00

The Garden is certainly a character in its own right, as should be the nearby wood. But the two main static characters in the story are Æa's legacy and the heartstone. Æa's past should always be hovering, a mysterious disastrous outcome that may be realized again in the present world should the present cast fail to move in new directions. The heartstone should also be continually present, an

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-79325878364035939222007-10-11T16:12:00.001-06:002008-10-27T20:14:30.672-06:00

Jethira, for reasons already mentioned is a supporting flat character. She is there and she is lovely, but she doesn't grow or change much. The other family members also fall into this category.More...There should be a girl that Danion fancies, probably one from a neighboring village who comes to collect goods from the Garden and Treholden. Their relationship never progresses past flirting, for

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-33760127265116263362007-10-11T14:53:00.000-06:002007-10-11T15:05:31.194-06:00

Mmmmm. Haiku poems! Blood, guts, gore galore! Freaky little ginger...dead...people. Gingerdead and Friends

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-11268233930742006072007-10-10T08:06:00.003-06:002008-10-27T20:12:49.350-06:00

No more warning thingies. If you're here and you haven't clued in by now to the whole prewriting/spoiler stuff, it isn't my fault.So. The prewriting. Yeah.More...Æa and Lorthram are the two dynamic characters in the supporting cast. Æa changes in that she finds her place in the world, her true calling. She finally comes to understand the nature and value of death, its own place in the order of

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-23174401514849488952007-10-09T13:45:00.001-06:002008-08-21T13:46:53.138-06:00

WarningFully-Developed Characters:ÆaJethira(Lorthram)(Eagle & Tree [high-ranking guard-spirits embodied])More...Æa is important to the story because she is the prime instigator of most action, and wields as powerful an influence in her own sphere as Lorthram the regional high priest in his. Æa is the "wild card." She is restrained only by the relational commitments she makes, which is to say that

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-80175713519454115952007-10-08T23:33:00.000-06:002008-08-17T00:08:59.914-06:00

WarningDanion wakes in the morning in his parents house, often to the sound of a plane or hammer being used on wood. His father is always at work long before Danion arises. In fact, Danion has never really known when his father wakes up; the man is just always at work when the boy opens his eyes. Danion gets up, attends to his share of the morning household chores: milk the goat, feed the hens

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-75109458509209577592007-10-07T08:26:00.000-06:002008-08-17T00:08:41.687-06:00

WarningDanion's parents, Sorrie and Desh are carpenters raising a family of five children. Danion is their fourth child. More...Elliar and Sama are the eldest son and daughter and they have both taken up the family trade. Mott is the daughter in the middle, a symbol-crafter and artist. Jonnesh is the youngest son, a good-natured, but lazy boy who likes to do anything other than what is asked

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-36990314286134686122007-10-06T09:33:00.000-06:002008-08-17T00:07:49.878-06:00

WARNING regarding my 2007 NaNoWriMo prewriting: Do not read INKsters Prompt posts unless you want to a) see the writing process that goes on to produce the finished story, and b) know all the essential plot points and character insights before the story is even written. In other words, this is a spoiler alert. If you just want to read the novel, then avoid the posts with "INKsters Prompt" in the

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-29391782231674683182007-10-05T22:43:00.000-06:002008-08-17T20:27:15.631-06:00

It is October. In my Second Life adventures, the INKsters are gearing up for NaNoWriMo in the October daily writing prompts. I toddle over to the Rabbit Hole and gaze at my sidebar stats, peruse my "Untitled" posts, sigh loudly, blink repeatedly.Wanna place any bets on whether I can actually finish in 2007 the story that I began back in 2005?More...There are a lot of things about this novel

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-77916613682100800632007-10-05T22:03:00.000-06:002007-10-06T22:36:02.414-06:00

So I became enamored with the artwork of Roman Dirge as it leered from the back covers of all my Lenore issues (...erm...not to mention the fact that I bought all the said issues I could get me hot little hands on at the game shop in Pike Street Market on our Seattle trip because I fell in love with Lenore herself at first sight. We also bought the Arkham Horror board game there, but that's

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-25943932449314885712007-09-29T17:01:00.000-06:002007-10-06T22:16:33.771-06:00

Little spookies, poesy, and Halloweenish mystique. There has always been something alluring about Autumn and the holiday where we get to go out to play at night - something like candy corn bittersweets for low and golden snap-apple days dissolving into gossamer Hunter's Moon nights. A Victorian Halloween lets me remember all these things, and smile.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-86738943099984009662007-09-19T09:39:00.000-06:002007-10-06T21:48:39.303-06:00

My family thinks I'm insane, but I think tarantulas are beautiful and I would love to have one for a pet. I don't think my husband would go for that, however. Alas. Tom Schumm, however, has created a lovely chronicle of his spider's lives and deaths. I think the Curly Hair (Brachypelma albopilosum) is quite pretty:All the pretty, pretty spiders....Phong's Tarantulas

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-35126331234841354292007-09-13T19:24:00.000-06:002007-10-06T21:49:08.550-06:00

Like Lenore? Like tea parties? Like taking your chances at one of Lenore's tea parties? Heh heh. Heh. Lenore's Tea Party is a darkly adorable site. Stay and sip a cuppa.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-30987651654297354792007-09-06T20:23:00.000-06:002007-09-06T20:23:58.087-06:00

Not only could it happen, it is already here. I've seen stuff like this in Entropia Universe and Second Life. But anyway: A World of Warcraft World.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-26557264476230616502007-09-06T20:03:00.000-06:002007-09-06T20:04:09.325-06:00

We interrupt this blog's regularly scheduled silence to reassert the Storykeeper's consciousness of this dusty little corner of cyberspace. Acknowledging NaNoWriMo's imposition (and effective blockade) of all creative endeavors presented here, we now propose to resume previously established patterns of publication, with the addition of new projects and interests--at least until November, when

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-20937508877172479932007-09-06T10:14:00.003-06:002008-08-16T22:18:44.567-06:00

Wonderland Links:American McGee's ALICEEA Games Alice TrailerAlice (EA Games) Track 1Alice (EA Games) Track 2Alice (EA Games) Track 3Flying on the Wings of SteamPool of Tears RemixThe StoriesOnline Texts by Lewis CarrollThe Nursery AliceStory AccessoriesThe History of WonderlandRackham's Stunning IllustrationsLauren's Alice in Wonderland PageLenny's Alice in Wonderland SiteJoyce Carol Oates on

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-15255519325736566132006-11-15T22:30:00.000-07:002007-10-06T22:35:00.662-06:00

The willow feared the woman.She was the first Gardener who related to the garden through her rage. This was very different. The pulse of her heart within her made rhythms for the tree’s songs, but it was uncertain how to utter many of the melodies that arose within its mind as it considered the Gardener.The little ones did not like the slow thunder of the axe on the old walnut’s uprooted body.

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-11278789394017892022006-11-13T22:32:00.000-07:002006-11-13T21:33:23.173-07:00

When she reached the water’s edge, Æa untied the knotted rope around her waist with unsteady fingertips. Her hands were aching and raw from her misadventure. She squirmed out of her robe and slipped into the cold water.“Lady?” the willow said from the far side of the pool.Æa ignored it. She kicked out into the water, finding the place near the center of the pool where her feet no longer

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-38185752944658592302006-11-13T18:35:00.000-07:002006-11-13T17:36:20.333-07:00

“It seems my hopes are not akin in any way to your own,” Æa said, staring hard at the floor.“Do they need to be so?” asked the great bird. The Gardener shuddered again, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. “I do not know,” she said.The eagle regarded her for a moment longer, then he said, “Perform the duty I have required of you in any mood you wish, for any reason that you choose to

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-25831345911119390022006-11-11T14:00:00.000-07:002006-11-11T13:01:47.231-07:00

The stone house was cool, quiet, and empty. Æa passed the stone sphere on its pillar and went to one of the lengths of stone beneath the western window. She lay upon it, feeling the hard rock beneath her body, supporting her, steadying her. She gazed up at the dome above her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She rested.She must also have slept, for when she opened her eyes, the light

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-23792238084528502782006-11-10T21:48:00.000-07:002006-11-10T20:49:50.879-07:00

As she walked, Æa eyed the progress her mysterious plants were making as they grew. The Roundleaf, as she was unimaginatively calling it in her mind, was now quite tall, reaching as high as her hip on a sturdy stalk. Its clusters of round leaves glistened in the sunlight; the leaves were very smooth to the touch. It also emitted a wholesome aroma. Roundleaf had provided Æa with her most

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-58512109838619779262006-11-05T23:54:00.000-07:002006-11-05T23:09:28.435-07:00

This was the third square of window glass she had attempted to clean. It was proving to be quite attached to its coating of dust and muck.“As if it were baked to the glass and never scraped away.” She bared her teeth and pressed harder, half-hoping that she would feel a satisfying crack beneath her fingertips as the glass gave way beneath her rag. She doubted she could accomplish so much,

Lirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02756960271981306828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14743867.post-76076662579301823652006-11-04T21:18:00.000-07:002006-11-05T22:58:05.271-07:00

The willow babbled to itself incessantly for days and nights on end. Æa was beginning to decipher words and phrases—from their constant repetition and their use in conjunction with various natural phenomena. She knew hail, for example, because that was practically all that the willow said, in a monotone that was probably meant to be soothing, the entire day of the most recent thunderstorm.Did

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