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Dragon Miscalculation

Here’s the last of my writing exercises from the last meeting. A fun little piece (which deserves a fun little picture) from a triumvirate of odd words:

popcorn, fox, hustle,

The queen sat on the makeshift throne, the silver cape lined in fox fur thrown
over the stump. Her face was rigid, and her eyes were cool as she gazed out at
the motley assortment of woodland folk in front of her.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice as regal as her
expression.
The gathered creatures shuffled and looked at the others on either side of them,
hoping someone would step up and take charge. No one did. “I do not have all
day,” the queen said, her voice hardening further.
“Tell me what is the meaning of this?” She threw her arm out and pointed at the
mounds of fluffy white material that covered the fields for as far as the eye
could see.
A small fairy with blue wings stepped forward, bowed hastily, and then again, as
if this would buy him time.
“Well, your majesty, you see, it went like this,” he began, and then coughed
nervously.
“They stole it from us first!” an angry voice shouted from the back, and a
chorus of agreement sounded out.
It disappeared immediately when the queen raised her hand. “You’ll have to start
at the beginning.”
“Those humans stole our magic jewels,” the blue fairy said in a bolder tone, now
empowered by his fellows. “We just wanted to get them back. So we came up with
this idea, for a hustle, you might call it.”
“That doesn’t explain why the farmers crop is now popcorn,” the queen said.
“We needed a distraction,” the little fairy told her, and glanced at the red
dragon at the other end of the group. “Ember flew overhead and set the field on
fire. We thought it was just going to burn, we didn’t think it would do that.”

____________________________________________________

A little tidbit: the Ink Slingers are going to be at Tampa Bay Megacon this coming weekend Saturday 30th of September through Sunday 1st October. It would be awesome to see you, come pay us a visit in Artists’ Alley!

More soon,

❤ DragonBeck

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Back to Faerie

Hello all! This is the first writing exercise from the last Ink Slingers Guild meeting.

There’s something very appealing about juxtaposing everyday objects (like bathtubs) with something you don’t see every day (like faeries).

Fingers, faerie, bathtub,

“What is that?” Tipsy wrinkled his nose as he peered into the small washroom.
The smell assaulted him like a hammer swung by a troll, and his bright blue eyes
began to smart and water. “Lindy, are you in there?”
“Don’t touch anything!” a flustered screech greeted him, and then Lindy’s small
frame came rushing through the colored smoke, clearing enough of a path so that
he could see the bathtub, which was filled with a red liquid that looked
horribly like watery blood.
“What is that?” Tipsy repeated.
Lindy glanced over her shoulder, and shrugged. “Strawberry juice.”
“Oh. Why is it in there?”
“Because that’s what the spell book said,” Lindy announced, and marched past
him, peeling off her long leather gloves. Her fingers were raw and burned.
Large, white blisters covered her right palm.
“You shouldn’t be touching that,” Tipsy said, following her and waving his
hands, though she couldn’t see her distress. “You don’t know the first thing
about spellwork.”
At this, she rounded on him, and he realized he should have chosen his words
more carefully. He quailed under her hot glare.
“I may not know anything about spellwork, but at least I’m trying! While you’re
off trying to become human, I’m here trying to get us back to faerie, where we
belong!” Somewhere during her tirade, tears had leaked out of the corner of her
eyes, and as Tipsy was trying to come up with something that would make the
tears disappear, the bathtub gave an ominous gurgle.
________________________________________________________

So tell me, what are you reading? What are you writing? Any recommendations?

❤ DragonBeck

Mystery Man – A Stories My Friends Started

For anyone who’s not familiar with Stories My Friends Started, the concept is simple: a person gives us a single sentence, and one of the Ink Slingers writes a story beginning with that sentence.  A mystery person gave me this starter, but I really liked what came of it 🙂

Searching the corners of her mind, she could not shake the feeling that she knew this mysterious stranger.

Or perhaps Clara’s mind was playing tricks on her, trying to come up with a way to entertain her so she made it through this agony of boredom with some of her sanity intact.

Her father, Lord of Westin, was an important figure in the court, and as such, his family was obligated to attend such functions as this ball. With lavish decoration and scrumptious food, it could have been Clara Westin was simply a jaded, over-privileged young woman who had never known anything but her ostentatious life.

But if one could look past the disdainful eyes into the thoughts behind them, one might see a keen sense of balance of right and wrong, and an astute shrewdness that belied the smooth skin and rosy cheeks of youth.

Clara tried to figure out what it was about the man without staring outright at him. It took some study, but she finally decided it was something in the pleasing yet serious lines of his face, and the way his eyes watched the whole room, somehow seeing more than what was simply there. I do know this man, perhaps from somewhere long ago, but I know him.

It was disconcerting, knowing and not knowing at once. It bothered her, which irritated her. She was the daughter of a Lord, and she was above standing here being tormented by it.

As Clara made her way across the crowded foyer of the wealthy patronage of some artist who had their latest masterpiece on show, the man turned and disappeared. Clara walked through the rooms of the ostentatious home, trying to find him, but he was well and truly gone.

He may have been gone, but his face would not leave her mind. It turned up in her dreams. She thought she saw him in other men, but when she looked again, it had changed to less appealing countenances. She doodled his face on pieces of parchment and in the fog on the mirror after a hot bath.

And then he reappeared in the most unexpected way. Clara was browsing through the library and found a tome so old the pages were made of brown cotton instead of parchment, and the binding was frayed. Intrigued by the ancient runes of the title, which she could not quite make out, but thought they looked familiar, Clara pulled it out and went to sit by the window. The pages were heavy and resisted her wish that they turn. In thick ink made in the days when days things were made to last for ages, family names, details, and portraits filled the pages.

Clara was lost in the history of the realms of Westin and Hortford and Bellmast and Slatemore on the Sea, her eyes moving over the events written in the dry wordage of bookish historians and the precisely depicted faces in the pictures, until she had gone back through a ten of thousands of years and reached the Time of Flame and Frost, the earliest of the known histories, and then he was there.

She blinked and forgot how to breathe. Peering closer, she looked twice and then again, to ascertain she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. The same intense eyes, the same chiseled face, looked back at her from the ancient page. It was him.

Clara read the facts of this picture, still holding her breath, and somehow not noticing that the ancient semantics and inflection that made the language almost unrecognizable in the present did not hinder her in the least. His family name was Ir’Morgon. They owned estates up in the flatlands beneath the Hedran Mountains before they were carved up into the lands of Hortford and Bellmast. After assimilating all the dry information which told Clara precisely nothing, she turned her eyes back to what must be a family portrait.

An older man with a beard and the same eyes as the mystery man and a woman with grey curls and crows feet at her eyes sat in the middle. Two younger women with features like the older woman stood to the left, and each had a man beside them, hands clasped between them, obviously husbands.

On the right was the mystery man. Clara spent many long moments memorizing every line before she noticed there was one more in the picture.

Standing slightly behind the man, with her chin on his shoulder and her arms around him was a woman with wide eyes and dimple in her chin from her mysterious smile.

Clara stared at the woman who had her face and let out the breath she was holding.

_______________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed that – if you’d like more, head over to Stories My Friends Started, and leave us a sentence!!

❤ DragonBeck

To Die Horribly by Rhiannon Matlock

Stories My Friends Started

From Nicole Beck… Thanks for always being inspiring.

She caught a whiff of bleach and she couldn’t help it – she started looking for any blood that may have been overlooked……

She’d been over this scene a dozen times. Had been back even more times. There was something off, something she knew she was missing.

She didn’t believe in that psychic power or sixth sense bullshit, but she did trust instinct. She racked her mind. Had they already released the house? That would be the only legit reason for the bleach. A cleaner scrubbing the place down and making it usable for the vulture real estate agent jokers who just wouldn’t stop pestering the police to restore the rights to the property back to them.

The thing was, she wasn’t a cop. There was no way she would know for sure when or even if the department had let it…

View original post 310 more words

Portal-Master

Cat-Wizard: It is of the UTMOST importance that I travel to the dimension beyond!!!! LIFE and DEATH are at stake!! If you do not help me to pass, everything you know and love will be consumed in an unholy APOCALYPSE of fire and DOOM!!
Portal-Master (me): At your command and dire need, I have opened this door so you can traverse the realms.
(Long period of still and silent gazing.)
Cat-Wizard: After considerable staring through the portal and much thought and deliberation, I think I’d rather just stay here. Perhaps I’ll take a bath.
Portal-Master: Fine then, I’ll close it. (Starts to walks away).
Cat-Wizard: No, WAIT…, I MUST GET THROUGH!

Happy New Year!

And so passes 2016…

…and so comes 2017.

Let’s work individually and collectively to make this a year to be proud of, a year of peace, love, and compassion, a year of dreams, goals, action, and accomplishment.

Let’s make this a year to remember.

Cheers!

DragonBeck

Love, Help, Inspire

isg-2016

Find the people who love you for who you are, who fill your holes and make you whole.

Find the people who help you to better yourself and the world around you.

Find the people who inspire you to greatness.

Find those people, and love them, help them, and inspire them; hold on to them, keep them close, and whatever you do, don’t lose them.

They will keep you happy, strong, and believing in goodness and beauty in this universe, and that’s important.

❤ DragonBeck

Moondance Mischief

Greetings world, from the other side of cyberspace!

Last week’s Ink Slingers Guild meeting went off rather well. The strawberry biscuits I made were a hit, and there were no melting cream incidents this time.

I did a continuation on my exercises, and I was planning on going further with this if we did more, but alas, the clock ran out. I guess we’ll never know what happened with this moondance mischief!

witchs-house-1635770_1920

 

Rid, repeat, tea, (I think one of these words was mine, but I don’t remember which one)

Jade took a sip of the tea, and gagged. It took great effort to swallow the
thick, bitter concoction, but Jade was too polite to spit it out. Looking down
into the mug, which was large enough to be a soup bowl, she wondered how she was
going to repeat that action enough times to empty the mug. Or at least drink
enough not to offend her hostess.
Jade glanced up at the elderly woman. Eccentric would have been a good word to
describe her, but Jade would never have said it out loud. She could not rid
herself of the thought that there was something not quite right about old Ms.
Jensen. The woman sat in the monstrous armchair, swathed in silk and lace
shawls. She even had one wrapped around her head, tied up with a string of
pearls. A giant jewel sat in the middle of her forehead and she stared out at
the world through a large pair of glasses.
“You have to drink the rest, my dear,” Ms. Jensen told Jade in a papery voice.
“Otherwise how am I supposed to see the leaves?”
Jade nodded, took a deep breath, and chugged the tea while trying not to taste
it. She set the cup down on the table, her tongue feeling leaden and raw in her
mouth, and looked hopefully at the old woman.
“Well? Can you tell me what will happen if I agree to the whole moondance
thing?”
_______________________________________________________________
Honey, Threat, mischief

“How did you like your tea, my dear?” Ms. Jensen inquired, trailing a withered
finger around the rim of her cup.
Jade wanted to lie, but a sixth sense told her that would not be a good thing to
do. She groped for words, trying to find the most favorable way to put this.
“It could have used a little honey,” she finally said.
Ms. Jensen nodded, her eyes fixed on the tea leaves. She spent long silent
moments gazing at it, her face leaning closer and closer, until Jade was afraid
she was going to fall off the chair.
“Ms. Jensen?” she said, reaching a hand out to catch her if the woman had indeed
drifted off to sleep.
Jade stood, and gently touched the woman on the shoulder. Ms. Jensen’s head
rolled to the side, her mouth hanging open, only the whites of her eyes showing.
Jade shrieked, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest as she stumbled
back, tripped over the coffee table, and fell to the floor. She sat frozen in
terror as Ms. Jensen righted herself, sitting ramrod straight in the cushy red
armchair, white eyes glowing.
“Only the Chosen can dance the moondance and survive, for only the chosen can
live double lives.” She paused, her eyes cleared, and she peered about the room
as if wondering where she was.
“What are you doing on the floor, my dear?” she asked Jade. Jade told her what
happened, and repeated what the old woman had said, then asked “What does it
mean?”
Ms. Jensen sank back into the sanctuary of her chair. “Mischief is coming,
methinks,” she said, her voice somehow more ominous than before.

______________________________________________________________

❤ DragonBeck

The Magic Brew (with an appearance by Jimmy)

In preparation for the ISG meeting tonight, I wrap up the exercises from the last meeting with this:

On our third and final exercise of the evening, I read last. I got five words into it, and everyone started laughing. After I was done, we reminisced about our tales of Jimmy In The Death of Jimmy. “We used to kill a Jimmy a meeting,” Erika said, a little wistfully. “We don’t kill enough Jimmys any more.”

Which is true, but sometime he makes an appearance 😉

coffee-777612_1920
trip, blink, coffee,

Jimmy stumbled down the stairs, almost tripped on the dog, and stood there blinking as he tried to remember where the kitchen was. He didn’t remember that, but he did seem to recall this was not in fact his house. He looked around. The dog raised its head, and wagged its tail.
“Nice doggie,” he said.
The dog yawned and went back to snoozing. Jimmy looked around again and decided the most logical place for the kitchen to be was through those doors. He was right. He stood there for a moment, thinking about his next course of action. Coffee, he thought.
It took him five minutes and searching through first the top cupboards and then half the bottom cupboards before he found something which resembled a french press. The coffee was easier. A jar on the bench labeled such beckoned. He took a pot and filled it with water, then set it on the stove. Taking a matchbook out of his pocket, he lit it and watched as the water began to head, pacing around the kitchen.
It was only after his first sip of the magic brew that he became alert enough to begin putting things together. Or not so much together as at least there. He had no idea where he was. He had no memory of getting there. He actually could not remember a single thing before waking up this morning.
“Hello, my dear,” a voice said behind him.
Jimmy yelped and dropped his drink. He spun around, but the coffee had made the floor slick. He had time to marvel at the beauty of strange yet alluring creature with long blue hair and shining wings in the doorway as his feet flew up into the air over his head.

Poor Jimmy!

More to come soon,

❤ DragonBeck