Who am I? Good question. I am shy, let’s start there. You’ll have to hunt to find me. I’ll try to make it easy for you, and worth the effort, oh, truly worth the scrambling through words and phrases.
I build worlds with words and phrases. I love stringing them together to make neurons pop! The brain is the greatest, highest point of creation. I don’t believe AI will supersede humans because the brain contains more than logic, more, even, than emotions. Humans are infinitely fascinating. I study them and try to recreate them in the worlds I build.
There! Did you find me yet? Keep reading! Weave between the exclamation points and question marks, hover over commas, rest at the full stops. The journey is the destination.
Leoshine, Princess Oracle/Slave/Commander
The story of Leoshine began with a dream about a man galloping with golden hair streaming behind him, down into a gully and back out. His wide grin and wild whoops declare him the leader of a ragged band hurtling through a sparsely treed expanse toward a meeting.
Who is he? Who is he meeting and who rides with him? These questions, and more, led to a story I love, and want to share with you. I also want to explore the emotions of the characters with you. This is a work in progress. Your input is vital to me, to grow Leoshine into a story worthy of your attention.
Paris, No Return
Jeff (not his real name) (I’ve never met him) is a real man living in Virginia. I heard his story and felt an admiration for him that required expression. The greatest honour I could think of was to expand his possibilities in fiction. God bless all the Jeffs and Parises out there.
Writing with Ducks
There is a spring near my house, that bursts from beneath a fold in a much folded hill, and ripples for about the distance a mouse could run before a hawk caught it. After that it ducks into a pipe under a pathway and I don’t consider the other side part of the magical kingdom of Quenby.
The Royal family (what’s left of it) lives at the spring mouth. As the water trickles past houses it picks up refuse, and the quality of living decreases until the Pipe dwellers drink the dregs of everyone’s pots and cups.
The Royal Father departed amid much weeping. Quenby is in charge, and is worried that he’ll never return in time with the special medicine to save his wife from the mortal disease.
This story came to me while walking past the ponds above the spring. They were covered in algae. Through the green scum, water rats and ducks had written secret messages, and I knew there were fairies trying to communicate dire warnings and pleadings…