Clusters of youthful brownies milled about the moss, shaking hands and learning names. The first days of fae college were always so tricky.
in the war zone
“I’ve been hit!” he cried. Yet he didn’t fall. He just kept on stretching for the sunlight while his tree-blood clotted up the hole and kept the worst of the bugs out. A few years later only the tiniest of scars were visible, and he had acres of sunlight to himself.
stories whispered in the glen
“This is a place of DANGER, a place where the rules don’t apply. Even the sunlight is filtered through leaves and can you trust them? They’re half-fae, you know.”
how I wrote the story I needed to read
I’ve been struggling with emotional upheavals and whacked-out hormones of late. I resist the word ‘depression’, so let’s just call it the blues. They happen. I have a hard time writing through these periods, so I read myself through them. As in, I just keep on reading like the worst of all stubborn mules until I start feeling better. It’s how I cope.
This did not work with my last bout, however. Everything I picked up was awful. I tried a few of my favourite authors. Blech. I tried my favourite genres. Ugh. Nothing was good enough to break me out of my mental reality. I kind of panicked, to be honest.
Then, at the end of an empty, awful day with no fictional escape, I sat up in the dark, flicked on my bedside lamp, and pulled out my notebook. I wrote down a short list of what I wanted from a story in that moment. I poured out all my reader’s frustration into a manifesto of the story that I so desperately needed.
It wasn’t a list of a characters or plots, it was just a sequence of vague ideas:
- I want a story where the character gets what they need, but not they wanted (cue the Rolling Stones)
- I want a story where the character goes through hell and we get to see them through
- I want a story about a character who doesn’t think they have any value but finds a way to prove to themselves that they do
After this was on the page, I felt purged and peaceful. I turned out the light and went to sleep.
I woke up the next morning with a quote I saw drifting around on social media repeating itself in my mind:
A short story premise I’ve been struggling with jumped in and asserted itself. As I watched, it disrobed from the characters I had assigned to it and dressed up in new ones, older ones, and darker ones. The magic it had lacked began to buzz about the edges. It demanded I apply my list and get to work.
Several hours later I had the first draft of a new story. One that makes me tingle with excitement. I love this story! I don’t like every story I write, but every so often one comes along that surprises me and demands I believe in it. Best of all, I got the story I needed to read, and I feel so much better.
What about you? What story do you need to read? Have you ever written it? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
how to pack a little extra time
I was packing for a trip the other day when my toddler comes into the room with her alarm clock. It was a gift from my brother and boasts a picture of Tinkerbell and a dead battery.
“We can’t forget to pack this.”
“Why do we need that?” I ask.
She looks at me, stunned. “So we don’t run out of time, of course!” she tells me in a tone which suggests this should be obvious.
In the suitcase it went. It’s always good to have a little extra time just in case.
hugs
“Hello, sunshine,” said the flower, holding out her leaves for a hug.
a grumpy pile of rocks
He is centuries old, perhaps, but that doesn’t mean he’s grumpy. Sure, he looks cranky enough, but try to be compassionate. They say it takes a thousand years for a pile of rocks to smile; he has just begun to try.
oh, the things that grow on trees
“Mommy! I think that tree is growing fairies!”
the terrible manners of mushrooms
With a tiny grunt, the mushroom pushed back the plant. There was need to hog all the space, after all. “Oh, sorry,” said the lavender, picking up her leaves and shuffling to the side. The mushroom gave her a curt nod and went back to work.
the toad and the rock
Toad felt a certain kinship with rocks. Of course, the rocks never failed to ignore him, but they never moved away from him either. He took this as a sign to keep trying.
Jennifer Shelby 