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Showing posts from August, 2012

Story for the Day: The Commons' Chair P1

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Rautu adores his chair in the commons, so much so that he doesn't allow anyone to sit in it. That chair, however, once belonged to High Commander Bryeison and was a gift from Prince Draeden upon their promotion. 


The quarters set aside for their express use was the castle commons. Once belonging to Frewyn’s heralded Captain of Guard, the two large rooms on the isolated upper floor of keep, above the kitchen and below the battlements, would now be regarded as their home. Draeden must relinquish his chamber in the royal quarter, which he had been happy to do, and resign himself to share the large bedchamber in the room adjoining the main. Bryeison, however, was somewhat saddened to give up his small bed in the barracks, for there he had spent many evenings, his feet poking out from the short blankets and dangling off the side, keeping Draeden awake by talking to him, laughing with him, discussing strategies and tactics with him. They had not slept there in some time, but the beds wer…

Story for the Day: The Painter

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The Haanta Series has over 300 characters, some minor some major, but all important in their own way. I often like to write short stories about minor characters simply to see where their paths take me. Sometimes they come and go, as the reporter in the Reporter from Marridon does: he visits Frewyn in hopes of getting some fresh gossip to take back to the Triumvirate; but sometimes characters who demand to have a short story written about them end up becoming major players in later books. Mr Bradbureigh, Kai Linaa's art teacher, is one such character, one who began as just a little old grumpy man in a paint shoppe and flourished into one of Frewyn's heroes. 
The Painter To ensure that Kai Linaa would not be plagued by any further distress, Unghaahi followed her to the painter's, prepared to scowl at any who would hinder her from finishing her errand and flex his gargantuan arms toward those who would show her any further unkindness. He remained as well as he could in the shad…

Special Story: The Wish

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I was walking by the park when I found a small garden filled with gnomes. I looked at it for some time when an old man came up behind me and said "You can just look, you know. You have to offer 'em something." He stashed a penny in my hand and bid me to make a wish. I said, "Where should I throw it?". He said, "Wherever gets you the wish." 
Life is full of magical moments like this. And so, to honour the old man, a story: Her fists unclenched, and she gave a deep exhalation as all her unquietness began to subside. The salted butter caramel in her hand would be her cure, but as she began to open it, the sight of a small garden beside the road captured her interest. It was a varied plantation, retired and quiet, well-groomed and hedged with a short wooden fence, with an old house behind and a small pond beside. Delicate flowers with their various hues garlanded the landscape, but the abundance of saplings- oak and ash, birch and beech, elm and elder, ce…

Reporter from Marridon Tour!

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This Tuesday marks the beginning of the Reporter from Marridon tour! Join us this coming week for reviews, giveaways, and guests posts to celebrate the re-release of the novella. Thank you to Paper Crane Books and to all the hosts for posting along the tour! August 21: Excerpt @ Mariam Kobras August 21: Review and giveaway @ Castle Macabre August 22: Review @ JAustenwannabe Presents August 23: Guest post and giveaway @ Moonlight Gleam’s Bookshelf August 23: Excerpt @ Aobibliosphere August 24: Review @ Creative Deeds Reads August 25: Giveaway @ Romance the Blog August 26: Excerpt @ Read 2 Review August 27: Guest post and review @ Scorching Book Reviews


Story for the Day: Gods' Day in Tyfferim

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Though every municipality practices a different level of worship, Frewyn upon the whole is a religious kingdom. Many Frewyns keep family shrines to their patron deities and have little time to spend in the throes of church. Come Gods' Day, their Sunday, some find reason enough to gather in prayer:
Gods’ Day in Tyfferim brought an abundance of volubility and liveliness to the town square: vendors came with their carts, merchants erected their stalls, shoppekeepers opened their doors early, all of them inviting those who would not otherwise visit town as often as they should like, that they might enjoy their wares and avail themselves of their one day away from the reaping and planting and repairs of their land. While the sermon at the Church might hold some interest to those willing to listen, the calls from the town square just beyond the Church doors were far too engaging to allow anyone to attend the Reverend Mother’s dissertation on the importance of charity or the Holy Brother…

Reviewing the Classics: T.H. White's The Elephant and the Kangaroo

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Almost the moment after The Elephant and the Kangaroo went to print, it was placed under a book ban. Though meaning to be generous by keeping the names of his friends and renters the O'Callaghans in the piece, White's semi-autobiographical story about the time he spent with them on their failing farm in Ireland did not laud their powers of understanding, their generosity, or their religious faith by any means. The book was meant as a dark comedy, and though it is dreadfully hilarious due to the sheer ridiculousness of the plot and the sagacious language, the underlying message it conveys about religion, illiteracy, and faith may not have come across to some as White had originally intended.  

The Elephant and the Kangaroo tells the story of a Mr White, presumably the author himself, who is staying on a country farm owned and run by the O'Callaghans, the Mrs and Mickey. When I first began reading the book, I realized where the  misunderstanding with regard to the text lay: …

Story of the Day: Rotten Potato

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My mom used to tell me lies like this all the time just to get me to eat different things. Didn't work then, and nothing has changed since.
Beryn waved to the boys as they hastened over, their arms laden with biscuits and buns wrapped in brown paper and their faces alight with exuberant smiles. They called out for their uncle and hopped up and down beside the jaunty until Beryn pulled over to the stall at the side of the assembly hall and leapt down from his seat.                 “Well,” he said, leaning down and lifting the boys up over his shoulders, “didn’t think I’d find my supper so easy. Two boys and a few bags of biscuits oughta do me right well.” He made a monstrous growl and gnashed his teeth as he began to tickle their stomachs.                 “You can’t eat us, Uncle Beryn,” Little Aiden cried, giggling and squirming about.                 “And why not?” Beryn wrawled.                 “’Cause Ma and Aunt Tris’ll cry if you do,” was Little Adaoire’s laughing reply.      …