Temporary Crown

Dust glittered and sparkled like tiny fairies in the slim beam of light from the solar window. Mary Agnes Yvette Pritchard, lady-in-waiting, bathed her work in that sliver of light as she pushed the needle through the rolled hem of the napkin she was mending. No one sewed with tinier or more even stitches than Mary Agnes Yvette. Everyone called her May, a very simple plain name. Everyone except the Princess. She called her Mary Agnes which made it sound like she was angry with her all the time. Which she was, angry with Mary Agnes all the time. Of course to be fair the Princess was angry or irritated with everyone most of the time.
May felt a sigh well up in her chest and pushed it down till it only came out as a little bit of a heavy breath. Being a lady-in-waiting meant a lot of waiting. May waited in the solar as the Princess had a nice little coze with her mother and two aunts. The incompetence of servants, fashion faux pas of people of the court and any malicious gossip were always the favorite topics. There was never any talk of favorite poems, good books, classical music or anything elevating.

May waited behind a screen while the Princess bathed. She waited on a footstool as the Princess dressed. Because the Princess never seemed to stop talking or complaining May waited at the dinner table long after her own meal was consumed. She had once tried to secretly read a book while she waited only to hear, “Mary Agnes, are you saying prayers down there with you head bowed for so long.”

The Princess was round in places due to an excess of pastries and confections but it didn’t detract from her cherubic beauty. Golden hair, cornflower eyes and dimpled cheeks all combined to give the outward appearance of angelic sweetness. May practically disappeared in the Princess’ wake with her willowy shape, brown hair and eyes.

Strolling in the garden in the early morning, May walked with her arm linked with the Princess. May only half listened as the Princess complained about another fitting she had for a gown for an upcoming ball. The Princess was sixteen and would soon be married. May was one year older and expected never to marry. She had fallen in love once but the boy was only visiting a neighboring farm during the summer; he was several years older than her and hadn’t really noticed her mooning after him. Thirteen is not a very lovely age for young girls.

“There is something going on over that wall.” The Princess announced. “Give me a boost Mary Agnes.”

“Wizard Fitzwhiz is practicing with his new apprentice, your majesty.” May informed the Princess. May recognized the deep musical voice of Wizard Fitzwhiz and the less settled voice of his apprentice.

“I want to see.”

The Princess stomped her foot and so May laced her fingers together. The Princess stepped into her hands and grasped May’s shoulder and then the top of the stone fence. May straightened as best she could and leaned her shoulder against the wall to keep steady. Her face turned bright red, her breaths came in little gasps as she felt the shoe dig into her hands and her muscles strained to hold up the Princess’s considerable weight. The Princess swayed as she gathered berries off the vines climbing the wall. She almost pitched backwards as she flung berries over the fence.

A prepubescent voice squeaked. “Oh! You vixen!”

May’s hands flew into the air as the weight of the Princess suddenly vanished. May toppled over backwards. She looked up to see red fur and a white tipped fluffy tail disappear over the fence.

“Catch her you fool!”

“I’ve got her cornered.”

May listened to the scrambling on the other side of the wall.

“Oh she bit me.”

“The bag, the bag, get it over her.”

Then there was silence.

“Princess?” she whimpered.

May couldn’t believe what her senses told her. She searched the garden for the Princess to no avail. She checked the royal bedroom and the solar with no luck. She explored the dining hall and throne room without success.

She paced in front of the winding staircase that lead up to the Royal Wizard’s chambers. The stories of the horrors that went on in the Wizard’s tower sent shudders through May. Her heart drummed in her ears and thumped in her constricted chest. Courage enough to skitter up the stairs finally came as she heard the guards begin the searching cries for the Princess. A large oak door carved with constellations and demon faces filled the space at the top of the stairs. Her arm shook as she tentatively tapped on the door. The door swung open and Wizard Fitzwhiz dressed in his star speckled wizard’s cape and cap scowled down at her.

“You’ve come.” He said his face brightening with a smile at the same time as she said. “I’ve lost the Princess.”

“Well it’s very unfortunate.” He murmured ushering her into his chambers.

Books lay in heaps around the room and baskets filled with scrolls. Tables and chairs, two desks; one large and ornate and the other spindly and small, shelves and drawers, bottles and boxes of all shapes and sizes filled the room. The apprentice stood in a corner by a wire cage. A growl and yip drew her attention to the two black sparkling eyes staring at her through the bars.

“Accidental magic can often be the trickiest, you see.” The Wizard said moving over to the large desk where an ancient book lay open. “There are several complications.”

May walked across the room toward the apprentice and knelt beside the cage. The fox gave a soft whimper.

The Wizard picked up an ornately carved circlet off the desk and sprinkled a fine white powder over it. He pulled out his wand and spoke an incantation as he waved the wand over the crown.

“Give her the drink, Ustes.”

The apprentice handed May a goblet.

“Thank you, you are very kind.” May cradled the cup in her hands and took a sip of the sweet wine.

“Drink it all, my dear.” The Wizard invited.

May thought she had never tasted anything so delicious and easily finished the beverage. She looked down at the dregs in the cup and then back at the Wizard.

He placed the circlet on May’s head and pressed his thumb to the center of her forehead.

“Only you will remember a time when you were not the Princess.”

“What have you done?” May wailed.

“Just until we can reverse my foolish apprentice’s accident.”

The fox howled in the cage.



“This fabric is all wrong for your complexion, majesty. I don’t know how we could have thought it would suit.” The royal dressmaker put aside the fabric she had draped over May’s shoulder.

May’s head was spinning. The guards had run to her in relief as she descended the stairs from the Wizard’s chamber. The mistress of the day had informed her of the changes to her schedule since she had taken an unexpected leave of absence. They all treated her as if she was the Princess.

“A pale blue will look lovely with your russet hair.”

She tried not to get used to having things just as she wished. She had requested a musician in the solar as the women embroidered and chatted. She talked of books with the Royal Librarian. She rode everyday on the beautiful white mare the Princess had feared. In the beginning she checked with the wizard everyday. Then the guests began arriving for the Betrothal Ball. The Princess’ marriage had been arranged by court councilors, diplomats and of course the King. This would join two kingdoms and help insure peace.

The night before the Princes’ arrival May snuck away to find the Wizard.

“Soon,” he kept repeating.

The bleak look on the face of the apprentice did not bode well.

“It must be before the wedding.” She reminded him.

“Yes, yes. Soon I promise.”



The fan fair sounded. May took a quick breath and held it without realizing it. She watched the door of the throne room as the visiting Royal family stepped across the threshold. King, Queen and Prince looked up at the throne dais to see King, Queen and Princess. But May wasn’t the Princess and she feared the Prince would somehow realize it. His family stepped forward as she rose with the Princess’ parents.

The Prince was about the same height as his father, his hair was brown with flashes of gold through it framing a very pleasant face. May was almost as tall as the King and towered over the pleasingly plump, platinum headed Queen. No one seeing the three of them together would have naturally assumed they were family. Now they were all bowing and shaking hands. May once again held her breath as the Prince taking her offered hand bowed over it and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckle. He tipped his head up to look into her eyes with his lips still on her hand and he winked. May gasped.

It was him. The boy from four summers ago. The one she had followed relentlessly, baiting his hook while he fished in the stream, galloping their horses across the meadow and watching him swim in the pond while she made flower chains. The boy she had given her heart to.

She lived in a daze as he whispered shared memories in her ear at dinner. She felt her heart soar as he danced her around the ballroom remembering the gangly youth and marveling at the radiant beauty she had become. She sighed when he stole a kiss from her as they walked under the stars in the garden. She fell asleep smiling as the day replayed itself.

May woke. Tears lept to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He was not her Prince. Today or tomorrow the spell would be broken and she would return to being Mary Agnes Yvette Pritchard lady-in-waiting. The Princess would not require her to go with her to her new home,surely. May could become lady-in-waiting to the Queen or she could go home. Perhaps the Wizard could provide her with a potion.

She threw her robe around her shoulders and ran from her room. Down the hall past startled servants and up the winding stairs. She beat her fists against the great oak door. The demon faces mocked her. When there was no answer she pushed with all her might against the door and felt it slowly give way. She stepped into an empty room.

Gone were the stacks of books, baskets of scrolls,bottles, boxes desks and chairs. Not a stray slip of paper or dust mite remained. Gone were the Wizard and his apprentice. Gone was the wire cage with the dark eyed vixen.

May fell to her knees and pressed her hands to her lips. She let out a hiccuped sob that quickly turned into a strangled laugh.

(1850 words)

Farewell to Norg

Callen pulled gently on Norg’s yoke to swing the wagon down South Market Street. Foot traffic began to thin and Callen easily found the place his father had described to him; a portico next to a large brick building. He parked the wagon under the overhang and unstrapped Norg from the yoke. Callen pulled a bucket out from under the wagon seat, walked over to the river’s edge and dipped the bucket in the flowing water. Norg and Henry nudged each other’s heads to get to the water.
“There’s plenty of water you two. Henry leave Norg alone and let him drink. You drink from the river you old scoundrel.”
Lilith circled around Callen’s feet rubbing her head against his legs.
“I’ll be back,” she purred.
“Be careful. I don’t like the idea of you out there with those feral cats.” Callen warned.
Lilith just flicked her tail as she bounded down the street.
Callen filled the bucket one more time for Norg and then strapped a feed bag on the ox. He pulled two pieces of jerky from his pack, threw one to Henry and chewed on the other himself as he went about setting up for the night. He pulled out a bed roll and laid it under the wagon. Henry would sleep on top of the wagon to guard their load. Callen removed the feed bag when Norg had finished and then stretched out on the blanket under the wagon. It was a pleasant night; the sound of the river relaxed him. Callen lay thinking about the day.
“Master,” Norg said.
“Yes?” Callen responded.
“Sad.” Norg’s voice rumbled.
“So am I, Norg. I will miss you my dear friend.”
“See you again?” Norg asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Look for you.”
“Perhaps our paths will cross.”
“Good master.”
“Thank you, Norg, tomorrow we will find you another good master.”
Excerpt from "Tree of Life"

I don't just want apple pie

My friend Kristy M. told me when she took a writing class at LSU her teacher told them, "I don't just want pie, I want apple pie, I want hot bubbly apple pie, I want hot bubbly apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese, I want hot bubbly apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese and a scoop of sweet creamy vanilla ice cream on top."
One of the most important parts of story telling is setting the scene. Letting the reader see, taste, feel, smell, and hear the world you have created. I sometimes just want to write the meat to move the story along but the reader also wants a full course meal to compliment the meat.

I fool myself into thinking I can't possibly read one more book but I have stacks of the them that call to me. Bookstores that beckon to me with promises of adventure, heartache and romance with just the turn of a page. Books that fill my head with the strange and amazing factoids that I will regurgitate at random moments while my family rolls their eyes. I love to reread favorite passages in books I've read. When I gasp my last they will have to pry my current reading material from my cold dead hands.

Writing is a gift. I love creating characters that I come to know as they write themselves into my stories. One of my favorite characters I've written is an oxen named Norg. His master has a power that allows animals to speak around him. Norg and his master have a wonderful interchange as Norg expresses his sorrow at having to be sold. Although he is sold early in the book I know he will show up latter in the story because I enjoyed writing him so much.

Be patient with me I am not consistent in anything and some times there are long pauses while I figure out the best way to lead into the next part of my stories. They are dancing around in my head always.

Writing spree

Yesterday I did two reviews of other's people's writing. It's exhausting. I now have a greater appreciation for anyone willing to review my writing. I had a bit of a writing spree. I was able to write 1144 words on the Fairy Tale and 1171 words on a new contemporary romance. I have given up reading for the foreseeable future. I am saturated and satiated.

NaNoWrMo

November is National Novel Writing Month. Where aspiring and established novelists spend a month trying to write from scratch 50,000 words of a novel. Many of them spend the month of October doing outlines and figuring out plot points. Others do a more extensive outline with phases that go into more detail than a basic outline. The goal is to make a huge dent on a never before written novel. There is too much going on in my life to try and attempt it this year. I have set for myself a goal to write something every day of Novemenber on my novels. As you can see I have lots to work on and if I could put aside everything else and use my free time to write who knows what I could accomplish. I will post how I do each day.

Dragon's Lair

The sound pulled him back through the labyrinth of time and up from the roots of the world. He rolled open the outer lid of his golden orb, blinked once. A sigh expanded his scaly ribs and pushed a wisp of smoke from his snout. He shifted his head out from under his forearm. It sent a cascade of gold coins bouncing down the mound of his hoard.
Silence.
A shuddered sob came from the small cave. They were so fragile these pale human maidens. This one only cried when she thought he was asleep. Most didn’t survive the flight back to the mountain. Others refused to eat the offerings from his fresh kills and had wasted away. A few fled from his fortress only to die on the mountain side ill equipped to travel in the harsh wilderness.
Always the humans left the maidens with the tribute he collected each year; gold for a promise to hunt in other pastures, on other livestock. He didn’t understand their need to sacrifice their daughters. Every year he carried them away.
Metal clad lads with swords girded around their waists and a lance across their shoulders followed some. The bodies littered the rocky base of his fortress. If they had only come to rescue the women he would have gladly sent them back down the mountain with the maid in their arms. Always they thought first to kill the beast. He was too old and wise to become prey to heroes.
Of all the offerings this one he had come to love. Her hair matched the color of his golden treasure. He’d lined her cave with jewels and glittering coins. She had taught him to use his fire on the meat she ate. But most important she sang. She filled the vast chambers of his fortress with music.
He turned his head to peer into her small chamber. Her tiny hands covered her mouth; her eyes filled with horror. “No,” she cried flinging out her arms to him. A flash of light against metal caught his attention as a broadsword pierced the pupil of his eye and imbedded itself into his brain. His lungs disgorged its fire as he writhed in the throes of death. Finally he lay still as his life ebbed away. His weeping songbird draped across his neck while the knight filled saddle bags with gold.

Another Flash Fiction I wrote for a writing contest on writing.com. Genre: Fantasy

The Barn Cat

Pyewacket woke with the rooster’s cock-a-doodle-do. She stretched her front legs kneading the hay with her claws. Her tail twitched at the thought of pouncing on that cranky old bird. She had been up most of the night ridding the barn of mice. The farmer expected her to do her job. The rooster crowed on the barn roof again. She would have to find someplace else for her morning nap.
The hay stacked to the rafters made a stairway for Pyewacket. She jumped down from bale to bale. She stepped along the edge of the sheep’s feeding trough like a tightrope walker. Large black headed sheep lifted their faces to regard her and bleated their greeting. This was not the place for a nap.
Pyewacket trotted across the barnyard as chickens pecked at the corn the farmer had scattered earlier. Hens stretched up on their toes and flapped their wings when she got too close to their chicks. She jumped sideways to avoid beak and claw. This was not the place for a nap.
At the stable Pywacket made her way to a freshly cleaned stall. She squeezed through a broken plank at the bottom of the stall door. She lifted her paws high to walk through the fresh hay that filled the space; winding her way between the horses’ legs. A new born colt struggled to its feet tottered for a minute and then took three shaky steps to get a drink from its mother. This was not the place for a nap.
The screen door on the farm house screeched and banged shut. Pyewacket streaked across the lawn and found a bowl of warm fresh milk by the porch steps. She lapped the milk until her muzzle was white with cream. She cleaned it off with her rough tongue. The farmer’s wife sat on a chair shelling peas. Pyewacket jumped up on the farmer’s wife’s lap spilling the bowl. She found herself dumped back on the ground. This was not the place for a nap.
Around the corner of the house a basket sat under the oak tree. Nearby the empty clothes line stretched across a sunny spot in the yard; clothes pins dangling from the wires. Sun-baked clothes filled the basket. Pyewacket curled up on the pile of folded laundry. This was the perfect place for a nap.

This is a story I wrote for a writing contest this past month. The criteria was a children's story less than 400 words.