words

The Forest Prince

This one is actually a continuation of the previous writing exercise:

Secret, beer, flimsy, alien,

“What do you want?” she said, the kettle still screaming behind her.

“Are you not afraid of me?” His voice was smooth and warm, and the animal sense of self-preservation in her mind quaked at it.

“No,” she said, and was pleased that her voice did not waver.

She turned and moved the kettle off the stove, and a quiet descended on the kitchen. She poured tea, two cups because to do otherwise would have been impolite, and wondered at the workings of gods and fate. When she decided that something had to be done about this, she didn’t actually mean right this second. She turned around, and found him standing right behind her. He had moved so silently. He looked down at her with large green eyes, his alien features warning her something dangerous lurked behind his pointed face and gleaming hair. A wreath of metal and jewels graced his brow, and he smelled like fresh dirt and beer and an evening breeze on sun-warmed stones.

“Strange,” she murmured to herself.

“What is?” he asked, tilting his head.

“You smell different than I would have thought,” she said, and handed him a cup of tea.

He took it, and took a sip without moving his gaze from her. The drink should have scalded his tongue, but he made no sign that he felt anything.

“Do you want to know why I am here?” he asked.

“Because you are following your brother,” she said, and felt frail and flimsy under his penetrating gaze.

“You are smart, for a mortal,” he said.

“And you are not as dumb as most gods,” she retorted, then her eyes widened in shock. She had not thought that through, but when he smiled, a wide, radiant expression of joy and humor, she relaxed.

“So you know my secret,” he said.

“One of them,” she answered, and he looked at her sharply.

She lowered her eyes. I have to be careful, she thought, or I will have two fey creatures who want something I cannot give them.

 

❤ DragonBeck

Just a Feeling

Hello all!

Work is progressing on Wasteland (Guardians of the Path book 5) very well – I hope to have it to the editor within a week *fingers crossed*. In the meantime, please enjoy this little writing exercise from the last Ink Slingers Guild meeting of July 2018 (where did the year go?):

resume (my word), force, honey (Lisa’s word, but it was going to be mine!), sound

“That’s not how you spell it,” she told him, peering over his shoulder.
He tried to shrug her away, covering the top half of the paper with his hand, but she lifted it up and pointed. “You need an accent on the end, other wise it’s resume, not resume’.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” he asked, trying to force some honey into his voice so he didn’t sound like a pouting child.
She sat on the edge of the table beside him, swinging her legs. She still wore the peppermint striped tights she had worn the day they met.
“Not really,” she said, and her big green eyes followed the strokes of his pen. “You didn’t put the accent.”
He threw down the writing implement and ran a hand through his hair.
“I can do this later,” he said. “I’m going for a walk.”
“I’ll join you,” she said brightly, hopping down and scurrying after him.
She only came up to his elbow, and he was sure that the neighbors thought he had adopted a young girl. He had adopted her, in a sense, but she wasn’t young and she wasn’t a girl.
“Have you thought about it?” she asked as she danced among the brown autumn leaves covering the sidewalk.
“Of course I’ve thought about it,” he answered in a gruff voice. It was hard not to think about it, when every day she grew paler and more translucent. Her wasting didn’t seem to bother her, she was always so cheerful, but he wondered what would happen to her if she faded completely. This world wasn’t good for her.
“And have you had any ideas?” she stopped and turned her abnormally colored eyes on him, hope making them shine brighter than usual.
He sighed. “Not yet.”
“You will,” she said with supreme confidence.
“How do you know that?” he asked, following her as she continued down the pathway.
“Just a feeling,” she sang over her shoulder.
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❤ DragonBeck

Fate

This is an Ink Slingers Guild writing exercise, brought to you by me. Enjoy!

sabotage, flabbergasted, saturate, lime,

The woman came down from the dais, her sleeveless lime green dress flowing behind her like sea foam. Natan’s eyes followed her, never blinking to make sure he didn’t miss some trick or sleight of hand. Wonder saturated the gazes of all others, and made him nauseous. He was trying to discover a way to sabotage her plan, but she had sunk her fangs into the hearts of all the king’s subjects, they would no more deny her than they would deny their own need to breathe. Natan tried to see what she carried in her hands, but people shifted and pushed, trying to get closer to the witch woman they idolized. He pushed too, and was rewarded with a clear view of the woman. She was beautiful, with golden skin and dark eyes, but her smile was cruel. He was flabbergasted when he saw what she carried – a child, no more than a year or two old, sucking on its fist. It – for he couldn’t tell whether the child was male or female – had pale blond hair and eyes like sapphires, and shining on its forehead was the mark of seven stars, pale silver against the child’s skin. Shock rocked Natan back on his heels, and he tried to wrap his mind around the impossibility. That woman should be screaming in pain where her flesh met the child’s, yet her look was as serene and cold as ever, not a hint of pain or even mild discomfort as she carried the child out the wide door and into the sunlit square, where more of the adoring citizens awaited their fate with joyous oblivion.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

❤ DragonBeck

Fantastical Flash Fiction

Greetings all! Around this time of year, everyone gets pretty busy, myself included, so you’ll have to forgive the brief message! I hope you are doing well, and the holidays are not unduly stressing you out. Here’s some fantastical flash fiction from the last Ink Slingers Guild meeting for you to enjoy during an interlude to the craziness! 🙂

Regard, ruler, format,

“Your problem is that the format of your spell is wrong,” Moss pointed at the
pile of feathers at the end of the pentagram. “What is that?”
Sara looked at the bloody mass, and her face colored. “I’m not really sure. My
cat brought it in this morning, and it seemed fresh enough…” She trailed off
at the pained look on Moss’ face.
The wizard pinched the bridge of his nose, gave a deep sigh and pulled out a
ruler. He knelt down, being careful not to touch the cat’s offering, and began
to measure the lines she had drawn. “Off by two inches. Off by two and a half
inches. This one’s better-only off by one and a quarter.”
Sara was fighting tears, determined not to let him see how upset she was.
Fortunately, he was so intent on critiquing her spell that he didn’t have
attention for her. “And with regard to the placement,” he pointed at an oblique
angle towards the door. “It should be lined up with the point to the
North-north-west. If you truly want to summon the spirit of your grandfather,
you’re going to have to start again.”
Sara sighed, and went to get the bleach. That blood was going to take some work
to get out.
_____________________________________________________________________________
poison (my word), top, satisfy,

Nat very carefully drew the tip of the arrow through the poison, watching the
black liquid gleam and then sink into the metal. This particular batch was for
an assassin who was very difficult to satisfy, but there was a reason Nat was
called the best. Nat set the arrow on top of the roll of leather, and reached
for the last arrow. He held it up to the light, admiring the grain of the wood,
the expert fletching, the razor sharp head. Instead of drawing this through the
jar in front of him, he stood and walked to the shelf behind his work-desk. He
pulled the blue book from its place, and pressed the hidden lever. The false
back swung forward, and revealed the little cubby he kept his most rare and
potent potions. The tiny bottle had but a single drop left, and Nat has been
saving it for a very long time, but now the time was right. He tipped the liquid
onto the last arrow, and watched as the metal began to glow as if it has just
been pulled from a fire. Then the glow faded, but if one held the arrow up to
the light, the tip of the arrow now had a slightly paler gleam than the others.
Nat smiled grimly. It was time for payback.
__________________________________________________________________________
Derail, reflection, sugar,

Everything was in place to derail the king’s coronation. The street urchins had
been payed to tip the barrels of oil over the procession. The sharpshooter with
the flaming arrows was positioned on the corner of the highest roof of the
square, his arrow coated in black to dull the sun’s reflection on the metal.
“What do you mean, the coronation has been called off?” the sulky lord shouted.
“They can’t call it off!”
“I’m afraid they can, and they have,” the elderly advisor said without sympathy.
“It’s raining. They cannot hold a party in the rain.”
“When will they reschedule?” the lord asked. “They did not see fit to give that
information to me,” the advisor said, only now the slightest signs of strain
seeping through his carefully controlled demeanor.
“Well, then, find out!” the lord said, throwing himself across the feather bed
pouting. “First bring me some mulled apple cider. With sugar!” he added in an
imperious tone at the retreating back of the old man. The advisor closed the
door to the lord’s chamber, and only now did his impassive face melt into a
disgruntled scowl.
“Perhaps someone should plan your assassination, you spoiled little brat,” he
muttered to himself, before he walked off to get the tea.

❤ DragonBeck

Just Toppam

Here’s a three-in-one post of my writing exercises from the last meeting. Technically we only did two exercises, but both Brandon and I did continuations, so we got a third set of words for an extra-special story. Here’s mine – enjoy!

Turkey, messy (my word), narrow,

He walked down the narrow alley, the dead turkey swinging at his side. They
would eat well tonight, better than they had all winter. The dead bird was
scrawny, and had not been plucked, so it would be a messy preparation, but still
his mouth watered at the thought of hot, roast meat. His stomach gave an
answering grumble. Shadows moving behind him pulled him from his lovely fantasy,
and he groped for the rusty knife in his belt. He turned to look, but the alley
was empty. After a moment spent searching the darkness, he convinced himself
that he had been imagining things. He shrugged and turned to continue home. He
ran into the tall man standing in front of him, swinging the silver topped cane
with a smile that bared pointed teeth.

__________________________________________________________________
marked, butterscotch, grime,

“Who are you?” Tim stammered, clutching the turkey to his breast as if it would
protect him.
The second man smiled wider. “My name is Toppam.” The man bowed and touched his
hat.
Tim started. No one had ever bowed to him.
“And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” The man had a pleasant smell
reminiscent of butterscotch hanging around him, and his fine clothes seemed to
repel the grime of the dirty alley they were standing in.
“My name is Tim. Tim Calloway,” Tim nodded, and raised his hand to his forehead
though he had no hat to tip.
“Mr. Calloway, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Toppam said. “Would
you walk with me this evening?”
Tim didn’t think he had a choice, so he nodded and fell into step beside the
tall, sinister man.
“You are probably wondering why I came to seek you out,” Toppam continued in the
same dignified voice that hinted at a private joke.
Tim nodded. “Yes, Mr. Toppam, sir, the thought has crossed my mind.”
“No, it’s just Toppam,” the man corrected, flashing pointed teeth again. “And it
is a simple enough answer Mr. Calloway. You’re a marked man, sir, a man marked
for greatness, if you would only allow me to assist you in that endeavor.”
_________________________________________________________________________
Zone, ghastly, tickle,

Tim swallowed. “I don’t know about that Mr. Toppam, sir,” he said, forgetting
that the man wished to be called simply Toppam. “I’ve never done anything great
in my life.”
The tall man threw his head back and laughed, then turned and patted Tim kindly
on the shoulder. “You are such curious little creatures,” Toppam murmured, more
to himself than to Tim. “Such potential, and yet so shortsighted and
narrow-minded at the same time.”
Tim gave a nervous cough, and distanced himself by two paces from the
frightening man. “Mr. Toppam, sir-”
“Just Toppam, if you please, Mr. Calloway,” Toppam smiled, this time his lips
pressed closed.
A tickle of unease rippled down Tim’s spine, and the fact that the man insisted
on calling him Mr. Calloway made him more uncomfortable still.
“Toppam, if it please you, sir,” Tim continued, pushing past the lump in his
throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I just want to go home to my family.
They’re hungry, sir, and waiting for me to bring them supper.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not the same to me, not at all.” Toppam gazed at the sky, a
ghastly expression on his face, one of age-old suffering, then he twirled his
cane once more, and the expression was gone. “That is a fine bird. Tell me, how
did you come by it?”
“Won it in a game of cards, fair and square, Toppam, sir,” Tim said, lifting his
chin.
Toppam chuckled. “If it makes you happy to think so.” Toppam snapped his
fingers, and the turkey vanished.
Tim let out an unmanly scream, and stumbled back against the wall, quaking as
Toppam stepped towards him, reaching into his jacket.
“Please don’t,” Tim pleaded.
Toppam grimaced. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He withdrew a small square of
paper. “Have you ever seen this woman?”
Tim squinted at the picture of a girl with blond curls and dark eyes for a long
time, just to be sure. “No, sir.”
A sigh escaped Toppam’s lips, and he looked relieved, the darkness leaving his
face and his eyes lighting. “There may be time yet,” Toppam said.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

❤ DragonBeck

The Ribbon

There’s nothing like a little mystery to hook the reader and draw them in….

leaving, broad, ribbon,

The ribbon had been a present from her mother, given on the day of her first
leaving, so many years ago it was lost in the fog of the past that shifted and
evaporated in her decaying mind. “Grandmother?” a gentle voice asked, and her
eyes focused on the bright face in front of her, pretty, with blond curls and
bright greens eyes. Something stirred in the fog, but it was so hard to
remember.
“Grandmother, can you hear me?”
The girl was probably seventeen, just younger than she had been when she had
gone through the ceremony and the terrible ordeal that followed. Or was it an
ordeal that had been followed by a ceremony? The memories were getting more and
more mixed up now. She looked down, and focused again on the faded satin ribbon,
the gold thread shining weakly against the burgundy cloth.
This ribbon had kept her safe. That much she was certain of, and she was also
certain that the girl in front of her had to have it, for a reason she couldn’t
explain, just that she felt in the depths of her ancient bones. She held it out
to the girl in a trembling hand, and gave a sigh of satisfaction when she saw it
in her hand, somehow broader than she remembered against the girl’s slim wrist
and dainty fingers.
“Grandmother, what is this for?”
But Fate dictated that she would never answer that question, as her final breath
slipped from her lips and she sank into the whiteness.

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❤ DragonBeck

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.”

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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

The Wizard’s Library

Fair warning: these next few blogs are going to be short and sweet, with just a fun little story for your reading pleasure and not much else. I’m sorry I don’t have much time to entertain you, or enlighten you with my writerly thoughts on writing otherwise known as #writetips – I’m pretty swamped with all things writing and life.  Still doing the last little bits of clean up and catch up from the disruption that was Hurricane Irma, and it’s getting to be that time of the year – holidays!!!! – and I have to get my act together for that. So, without further ado, here it is – my writing exercise from last meeting. The words were a little angsty and emo, but it was fun. Enjoy! 🙂

hate, dissension (my word), leather,

“And what’s this?” Heather asked, pulling a bottle filled with black mist from
the shelf. A red cork stopper kept the mist from escaping, but it still looked
like it was pushing and fighting to get out.
“Hate,” the wizard said, and snatched the bottle from her. “Don’t touch
anything.”
Heather crossed her arms, head turning right and left as she followed the
irritable man through his lair. So many interesting things sat on the shelves,
bones, and feathers, golden orbs, and fanged creatures floating in green liquid.
“Right,” the wizards snapped, and Heather looked forward.
They stood in front of a huge bookshelf. It towered over their heads, and
disappeared in the dark gloom above them. Heather didn’t think she could read
all the books on the shelves if she had three lifetimes. The books were all
shapes and sizes, and piled haphazardly, like soldiers in the throes of
dissension, no rhyme or reason to their placement, at least that Heather could
see. Her hand reached out, fingers bushing the soft leather, but the wizard
knocked her arm down.
“Didn’t I tell you not to touch anything?” he grumbled, then waved his hand and
summoned a ladder which flew to him. “Wait here. I shan’t be gone long.”
He rapidly ascended the rungs, and was soon lost from sight far above her, and
Heather was left alone with the books.
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Let me know what you think! What are your favorite writing tips?

❤ DragonBeck

His Name Is Jester

These are very late – the next ISG meeting is only a few days away! I was out of power and internet thanks to Hurricane Irma, so I’m just getting to this now. I went a little darker and creepy with the exercises from the last meeting (as Erika knows I am wont to do at times), but I hope you enjoy these anyway!

cookie, popcorn, joker,

The card sat on the table, grinning its evil grin, as though it was proud of all
the destruction surrounding it. The plate that held the cookies was broken in
two, and half the treats were on the floor, the other half in crumbs on the
table. Popcorn littered the room like confetti, and the streamers were torn and
limp.
“What happened here?” Mila asked, reaching for the card.
Tam slapped her hand away before she could touch it. “Don’t you know what that
is?” he barked at her.
“It’s a Joker,” she said, blinking rapidly as she tried to figure out what he
was so upset about.
“Close. His name is Jester,” he nodded. “And for the moment, he’s trapped in
there. But he’s a sly one, and he’d find some way to trick you into letting him
out.”
Mila shuddered, and took several steps back. Her eyes darted about the room,
back to the card, and away again. She thought that its black gaze followed her,
but that was absurd. It was just some paper and ink, after all.
“So what are we doing here?” Mila asked, her voice filling the silence and
somehow making the room sound more dead and empty.
“We have to find out where the others were taken,” Tam said, his face set in
grim determination. “And if they’re still alive.”
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Some people find clowns funny, some find them scary, others terrifying, and others don’t care. Personally, they’re definitely not my thing. What’s your feeling on them?

❤ DragonBeck

I Remember Green

I’ve been really digging the apocalyptic stories lately, although “drought” is a rather depressing word, so it wouldn’t exactly conjure something good. Jen and Desi agreed this was an adventure they would go on. Erika was fine to pass it up.

drought (my word), slippery, bird

“The birds all disappeared with the rain,” the old man’s voice was ominous, and
sent chills sliding over Tam’s skin, like cold, slippery snakes.
He tried to edge around the dirty, hunched figure at the side of the road, but
fate had other plans for Tam, and the sound of pounding hoof beats made him
lunge for safety out of the path of the frantic rider. Coughing and choking on
the dust left behind, Tam saw the old man’s bright eyes trained on him, and gave
him a fright. He could’ve sworn the old man was blind.
“Do you remember before the drought?” the man asked.
Tam shook his head. He was only five and thirty and the rain had been gone since
his father was a little boy.
“I remember,” the man said, a wistful look in his eyes. “I remember green.”
Tam nodded, and stood up. He dug around in his pocket for a coin, figuring the
man had shared his little spot on the side of the road so Tam didn’t get
trampled, and that was worth a penny or two. He held out the money, and the man
stared at him for a long time before reaching out. Bony fingers closed over
Tam’s wrist, and the man pulled him down so they were nose to nose.
“Only the black can bring back the rain, but first he must be found,” the man
said in a fierce whisper, then pushed Tam away.
Tam stumbled back, and when he looked at the man again, he was hunched over his
begging cup, white, sightless eyes staring out at the dusty street.

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Would you go on that adventure? Why or why not?

❤ DragonBeck