Friends from New York are in town today. Three still asleep, two playing Magic: The Gathering, and me sitting with my laptop, seeing if I can squeeze out my 500 words today. We’ll hopefully be gaming later, and probably going bowling.
My friend (the one about whom several of my previous updates was written) finally called me. He has a long way to go before he has earned my forgiveness, and thankfully he doesn’t expect it any time soon. It’s just nice that he finally called. We’ll see what comes of it. We may invite him to come bowling with all of us, just to get him out of his house and to see everyone.
I haven’t decided how I feel about it, but I think it’s probably a good idea to at least extend the invitation. I don’t like giving up on people. It’s a character flaw that I have.
Also, I’ve included here, a review. :)

Hi Tara! You are receiving this review as part of a package you won from "SHERRI'S SIZZLING AUCTION CLOSED" !

Specific Lines
- "I see you spiral down this hole / like Alice in her wonderland, / and I am your white rabbit." - Very nice imagery here. You connect the reader to the emotions of the poem, since everyone is familiar with the story of Alice in Wonderland.

- "I watch you silently wither..." - This is a great line, since it gives both the sense that the object of your poem is withdrawing, but also that he (I'm just going with "he" here) shrinking and, in a sense, becoming less of himself. This line also expresses a serious feeling of helplessness, since all the speaker can do, as the lighthouse, is watch.

Overall Thoughts

Imagery

Excellent imagery. You use wonderful ocean similes and metaphors that convey the feeling of helplessness, since people are often helpless when it comes to the sea. People can try to get by on it or near it, but in the end we are at the ocean's mercy, which in this case, is the object's (from what I gathered) unstable mental state. Again, that's just what I gathered from reading this poem, but it's possible that I'm coloring it with my own personal experience.

Emotion

Full of, as I've said before, an overwhelming sense of helplessness. It comes across beautifully in this poem. My heart was aching by the end.

Rhythm

I'll admit it felt a little off to me, but I am in no way, shape, or form a poet.

As A Whole

Very nicely written. As much as a like the Alice in Wonderland reference, it felt a little out of place in the middle of the poem, given the heavy use of sea metaphors/similes throughout the rest of the piece. I cannot help but wonder what would happen if you stuck more with ocean references instead of switching to Alice. Regardless, you have a very moving piece here. Congratulations on fitting so much emotion into so short a poem. Great job!

My Rating: 4 and a half stars



 

Her golden hair must have been done up rather ornately not too long ago, but now it fell in wisps about her youthful face. Blue eyes, reddened and puffy, stared up at him clearly uncertain of what to expect. She was very beautiful with soft, fair skin covered with an elegant, if slightly torn, silken dress.

The door closed behind him, and as Jashua dropped to one knee before the crying girl, Leto knew immediately who this was. He likewise took a knee, though there were a number of creaks and pops in his aging joints as he did so.

"You Majesty." Jashua spoke before the cleric was able to find his voice. "This is Brother Leto, the one I told you about." He glanced over his shoulder to where Leto now knelt, hands clasped together in silent prayer. "Leto, this is Her Majesty, Katarina Drahkon..."

"...Queen of Drahkonia," Leto finished. He had crossed the borders into the neighboring kingdom of Drahkonia several times, but only once in the year since their king had taken his new and very youthful queen. "I know."
 

A note to one who I counted as one of my closest friends. And the saddest part of all of this is that I have no idea why this has happened -- only that it has and that it's become quite evident that I can't do anything about it.


I didn't know I was so easy to cast aside. This kind of thing has never happened to me before.

No, wait. That's a lie. It happened once before... in high school. My best friend of many years decided she didn't like me any more and stopped speaking to me for a summer. When I finally managed to get a hold of her, I told her I wanted to try to work it out. She wasn't interested. Something about how I was always talking about my boyfriend.

But then, she couldn't get a date to save her life. But I digress...

Still, 'psycho high school ex-best friends' not withstanding, I didn't think this sort of thing would happen. I thought that was all stupid high school drama. Sophmoric shit. I thought we outgrew that. I didn't think this would ever happen. At least, not between us. I think what I meant to say is that I've fallen out of touch with people plenty -- moving around quite a bit will do that -- but I never thought you would just stop talking to me. I know you do this kind of thing when you're upset... withdraw and try to avoid talking to people as much as possible.

First of all, that is completely unfair to us as your friends, but also because what if we need you. But again, I digress...

Either way, I know this is your fucked up coping mechanism. But this time, it's been over a month. And this time, it was really important that I talk to you.

But you weren't there.

I messaged and called and emailed, but I can't even get an acknowledgment from you that I'm alive. Not a single note or a single "hey can we talk later." You stood by me in college. I stood by you when we graduated. You came to live in my house when you had no where to go. I went with you to the hospital that time. Do you remember? When you didn't know what was going to happen, and all they told you was that it was likely malignant? It was benign, thank god, but I stood by you then. I stood by you through your crazy-ass girlfriend and your roommate who is so fucked up it blows my mind that he's survived this long. I haven't asked anything like this of you since my senior year of college four years ago.

But this time I asked, and you didn't answer. I didn't know it would be so easy for you to let me go.

I thought you were one of my best friends. I didn't think I would ever have to say good bye. And now, I can't even do that.

You're already gone.
 

Hi Tara,

I know I'm giving you some reviews for your auction win, but this isn't one of them. (I hate when you're looking for some solid reviews and someone comes in an reviews your message forum or something )

Anyway, I wanted to leave you a note about your sig shop, because I think you have something really cool going here. I can tell that it's a very new shop, and I am keeping that in mind as I write this review. I think that your sigs are beautiful and there is certainly nothing to complain about in terms of quality. The only things that I think could be improved are that the selection is a little limited (but again, I can tell this place is still just getting off the ground, so I know that will be improved), and I found the categories to not be very helpful in terms of looking for what I wanted. For me (and this is a personal opinion, so I could very well be in the minority here), a sig is a banner is a sig. In other words, my sigs and my banners tend to all be about the same size, so it didn't really help me to have a category for sigs and a cateogry for banners. Perhaps once you have some more content, you'd be able to have categories based on theme or even color scheme.

Overall I think you have a great shop that has some lovely sigs. Keep up the good work, and please let me know when you add some new content. I like you work. :)

Best,

Miranda
 

Review #1:

Hi RatDog! This review is to say Thank You! for your recent donation to RAOK.


Specific Lines
- "...sunshine on my shoulders... that was a song once, wasn't it?" - Not only did this first line make me smile, but it also sets the mood for the rest of the piece very nicely. It sets the stage for the other song references and quotes that come into play later.

Overall Thoughts

Plot

Short but sweet. You tell the story in so few words, but you do it brilliantly. At first I was confused by some of the lines. For example, I was wondering how the narrator could say that he hadn't been there for years in one sentence and then two lines later say that he'd never been there before. But when I got to the end of the piece, everything came rushing together and it all made sense. That is the mark of a well-told story.


Characters

The character of the grandfather is extremely touching. It's difficult to say what it would be like in the mind of someone with Alzheimer's (or dementia), but I can easily imagine that it would be something like what you've written here.

We don't get any descriptions of the mother or the grandson, but that's ok by me, since it's not really about them anyway. They're just there to provide the context.


As A Whole

There were no spelling or grammatical errors that I noticed.

This piece is unique for a number of reasons. For one, it's told entirely through dialog, either spoken or internal. It's often difficult to tell a story in this fashion, but here you've provided enough details and description to allow me to visualize what's going on. It's written beautifully and I cannot think of a single thing to do differently. Great job.

My Rating - Five stars


Review #2:

Hi Tara! I'll be reviewing some of your work for the package you won in "SHERRI'S SIZZLING AUCTION CLOSED" .


Specific Lines
- "...in the leaves of the trees." then "...in the branches of the trees..." - These two lines are one sentence after the other. You may want to consider mixing it up (or spacing them out) a bit to avoid the repetition.

- "He never did his job at night-everyone warned him not too." - This sentence seems a little random or possibly out of place, but at the same time it caught my attention. Now I want to know why.

- "...that killed him and his entire infantry." - I don't think infantry is the word you want here. An infantry is like a cavalry. It's not a unit of soldiers but rather a type of soldier (in this case, on foot as opposed to on horseback). Given the rest of this sentence, I think the word that would fit better would be "squad" or "platoon." A squad usually consists of eight to sixteen soldiers, and a platoon is typically 25 to 60. So depending on how large of a blast you were thinking of, either of those words might be a stronger choice.

- "Sometimes, he felt like Peter Pan and she was Wendy with the stories that she told." - I like the reference here. Very nice!


Overall Thoughts

Plot

I like the overall plot, and the story that you told here was very interesting and unique. However, I noticed what seemed to be a bit of inconsistency that you may want to look into. Jack's gravestone reads that he died in 1944. You then have that Marie's life was exchanged for his, but her gravestone reads that she died in 1952. It seemed strange to me that their dates of death should be so many years apart, given the other details.

Something else you may want to consider is that you have the opportunity here for a serious twist. From the start of the story, we know that the Jack digging the grave is the same Jack on the tombstone, and we know that the ghost of Marie is Jack's wife. My suggestion is to change it up a little so that the reader doesn't catch on to this right away. The name on the tombstone could be John Riper (as Jack is often a nickname for John). And instead of telling us Jack's story as he leans against the headstone, just let Marie's ghost tell it when she appears. We'll catch on that there's something going on here by Jack's reactions to her tale. Then, when Jack looks down at Marie's tombstone, it can all come together for the reader in a giant "didn't see that coming" moment.

All that said, I would like to emphasize that there is nothing wrong with how you've told the story here. I personally am one for twist endings, so I couldn't help but see the potential for that here.

Characters

Your characters were very interesting and you give good descriptions of them through their interactions with one another. Very well done.

As A Whole

Overall, I saw no spelling or grammatical errors of any kind. The pace of the story was just right for its length. The ending was nice, but it felt like you robbed yourself of another great moment. At one point, Jack says that he cannot dig his own grave, since Marie dug it for him. But then your final line is that Jack is digging his own grave. I wasn't able to resolve the conflict between these two lines.

You have a great story here that has, in my opinion, the potential to be even better. I look forward to seeing what else your port has to offer.

My Rating - Four stars
 

This is an email I wrote to a friend who hurt me very recently, but I'm not sure if he realized it. I haven't decided yet if I'm sending the email...


I wanted to write you an email to tell you why I've been trying to reach you. You probably think you know why, but I can guarantee with near-absolute certainty that you do not. The reason is because I found out in mid-October that I have to have spinal fusion surgery. If you don't know what that is, let your imagination sound it out and I think you'll hit on the general idea. The scoliosis in my spine has gotten so bad that they have to open up by back, drill screws into nearly all of my thoracic vertebrae, insert titanium rods, and overlay it with grafts from cadaver bones to straighten it out and keep it from continuing to progress for the rest of my life. I'll spend four days in the hospital and six weeks recovering before I can even go back to work to sit at a desk.

Can you guess why I was trying to get in touch with you about this?

Because it's scary as hell, and I thought that I would be able to get a hold of one of my best friends to talk and explain and vent. But I couldn't reach you. I tried on the 14th, when I'd had a day or two to internalize it. I tried on the 21st. I was ignored, but I waited, patiently, while I watched your status updates change but never got so much as a "hey, can I talk to you later." Then I saw your update -- shunning the world. I don't know why. Something about McCain I was led to understand. Or the fact that it's autumn. I can't pretend to know what's going on with you when you decide you don't want to share. So I waited. I tried again yesterday, and again today. Still nothing. You are the last of all of my friends to hear about my upcoming surgery, and it's because I couldn't get you to acknowledge that I wanted to talk to you. And you were the last person I expected would do that to me.

I know I never wrote and said, "Hey, I know you hate people right now, but I really need to talk to you so please stop shunning and write me back." But honestly, I shouldn't have to do that. I should be able to get a response when I send you a message instead of being ignored for going on a month now. For all the times that I've been there for you -- that Dan and I have both been there for you -- it's hurt me more than I can manage to express that you would choose to ignore me when I needed you.

So I wanted to write you an email to explain how upset I am by all of this, and now I find that my words are falling short. All I can do is hope that next time you will think twice before you shut your friends out of your life. Because for all that we worry and care about you, sometimes what we're really looking for is for you to show that you worry and care about us too.
 

**I'm trying my hand at a contest that has a deadline of November 30th. I'm hoping I'll be able to get this done in time.**

Somewhere, through the darkness, a man stood amid glowing tapers of carved and crafted beeswax, their mismatched scents entwining and encircling his person, though he paid it no mind. His focus was on the patterns—the circles and runes carved, elaborately, painstakingly carved into the stone floor on which he was standing. He knew the army would soon be coming. It would not be long at all before the king and his advisors worked out exactly where he was hiding. They'd be coming to kill him, the man knew. The thought made him smile. It would be glorious. After all, true genius borders on artistry, and like all great artists, Philip wanted an audience for his brilliance. And a grand audience he would have. He checked inscriptions over once, twice, once more before stepping within the swirling, runic grid. He closed his eyes.


Somewhere, through the darkness, a boy crouched behind a door too poorly shut. One eye, wide with some intoxicating mix of awe and terror, watched through the space between door and jam. His ears twitched at the unfamiliar, yet altogether disturbing language coming from the man standing amongst the candles and runes. The darkness swirled, seethed, undulated. He closed his eyes.


The cleric walked through the darkened corridors of the keep not paying any particular attention to where he was going. He'd taken to wandering late at night when no one else stirred. It seemed to help ease his mind, especially of late. He found himself in the large hall that Master Atharn used for his private dining. It contained a large banquet table with far more place settings than would ever be needed on any given day, and there sat at the far end a large, throne-like chair, gilded and draped in porphyry. He rolled his eyes as he walked quietly down the length of the table. Brother Leto had seen much of vice in his time -- after all he was not as young as he once was -- but the blatant vanity, greed, and pride displayed by Philip Atharn had not yet ceased to amaze him. As he ran his hand along the intricate carvings on the chair's arm, he heard a small voice behind him. He could not be sure if it was the first or second time the boy had called his name, as he had been rather lost to his own thoughts. Leto turned and squinted through the darkness and past the beams of silvered moonlight that slanted into the space from the great hall's lofty windows. The shape his aging eyes made out through the scant light was that of a young man, no older than seventeen, with shaggy blond hair, and a frame far too thin for his height.

"Jashua... child, the hour! Isn't there some place you should be?" His voice was heavy with concern, and they both knew why.

The boy crossed the hall quickly, turning once to glance over his shoulder as though to ensure that no one was following him through the darkness. "Yes, there probably is," he said quietly. "But I thought you would want to know. It's... It's about the woman Master Atharn brought here yesterday."

"The guest." The added emphasis was not entirely necessary, for they both knew what was meant. "What about her?"

Jashua took a step closer to the brother, leaning closer and lower his voice conspiratorially. "Have you seen her yet?"

Leto wasn't sure what the boy was getting at. Was there something of significance regarding the young woman? Leto had been working hard to convince Atharn to see the error and sin of his ways, so far to no avail... a fact to which this latest captive was clearly a testament. "Not yet," he said, raising a gray eyebrow. "Why?"

The child took one more look around the darkened room before gesturing for Leto to follow him. "You should," he said. "She wants to meet you." The two of them, priest and servant, left the great hall and headed with no shortage of urgency to the room where the young woman was being kept. Jashua had access, Leto knew. The boy was always sent to wait upon Atharn's guests. He suspected it was likely because the child had served Atharn all his life and had never known anything beyond the immediate vicinity of the keep. Even if Jashua should somehow develop the nerve to speak up against his master, who would he tell? The gruff guards standing outside the door paid little attention to the servant, but rather turned their questioning gazes upon the brother. "She wished to speak with a priest," Jashua said as he set his hand upon the door's heavy iron latch. When the large men made no motion of acquiescence, the boy spoke up once more. "Should I tell Master Atharn that the lady's request has been denied?" After a brief glance to one another, the guards stepped aside to allow both men, the one very young and the other quite old, to enter.

By the gods graces, Leto thought to himself as he followed Jashua into the room. This woman must indeed be something special to have the child up in arms, such as he is. As the heavy door swung silently on its hinges, the priest craned his neck to see past the servant's narrow shoulders. The room itself was ornately decorated, with a large stone fireplace against one wall, an over-sized four-post bed, and an open sitting area with a plush armchair and a matching sofa. A young woman sat upon the sofa. At the sound of the door opening, she lifted her face from where it had been buried in her hands.
 

Review #1

Overall Thoughts
I don't give out too many five star ratings, but this one deserved it! An expertly told story, beautifully crafted, with incredibly real characters presented in so few words. Honestly, aside from that one comment I had above, I don't think you should change a thing.

My Rating - Five stars

Review #2

Overall Thoughts
Since this is a collection of poems, I'm going to give you my thoughts on each one before summing things up.

Auto-bio poem
Clearly a personal piece. I like the repetition of the "who" at the beginning of many of the lines. In my opinion, one of the stronger poems in this collection

Where I am From
This is my favorite poem of the collection and, I feel, the strongest. I don't know if you need the little dividers between the stanzas -- maybe just a line break. The typos in this poem (see the specific lines above) were distracting, but I still felt that I got a strong sense of the speaker in this poem.

Lincoln High Marching Band
This poem didn't seem to flow as well as some of the others, though I'm not sure why. I liked the "BANG BOOM" interjected between lines so I don't think that's what did it. Also, not sure I understood the last stanza when the band "go low into the hole." Also, watch the subject/verb agreement in that last stanza.

Poetry is...
I love this poem because every sentence can begin with "Poetry is," EXCEPT the eighth line (Breaks the rules but not caught). I was really into the feel and rhythm of this poem until I hit that line, and then it just threw me off. Consider making this line fit the scheme of the others to avoid jarring the reader. Even though there is something to be said for the poem to break its own rules, my sense is that the poem will be stronger if it follows the form laid out at the beginning.

Silent Night
I have to say that I didn't care for this poem as much as some of the others. Maybe it's the novelist in me, but I felt that you could have turned this into a brilliant piece of flash fiction. As a poem though, I found myself scratching my head throughout.

Spinach
I like this one. It's straightforward yet entirely true. Honestly written. My only comment here is that I think you could have compared the boiling spinach to grubs earlier in the poem and perhaps added one or two further comparisons.

Butterflies
Another truthful and straightforward little poem. Again, I don't know how I feel about the little divider line. Also, I didn't get much emotion out of this poem. It felt more like an accurate (and beautiful) description, but I didn't get anything about how the speaker feels about the butterflies.

Fiction for You
I like this poem (being more of a fiction writer myself!) and I like how you flow through the different things that are attractive about fiction. I'm not sure I understand why some of the text is in red, but I didn't find it too distracting from the poem itself. Overall, nicely written.

Overall
As a collection, I enjoyed reading these and think you have some heartfelt pieces in here. You need to work a bit on spelling and grammar (a quick run through spellcheck will catch most of the issues), but otherwise I thought everything was well written. I'll also admit that poetry is often not my strong suit, especially when it's more free-form, so I tried to do my best here. As with any review, these are solely my opinions and should be taken with a grain of salt or less. Let me know if you polish up the spelling and I'll be happy to come by and take another look. :)

My Rating - three and a half stars
 

It is time for a reinvention. Neither the dragon, nor the believer, is dying. She's just... evolving.

There are events that can happen in your life that make you realize you are not the same person you once were. Somewhere along the way something happened, and you changed. Hopefully for the better. I don't know when that moment was for me, but I do know that I just recently realized that it had actually happened. Maybe it was hitting the two year mark at my job -- the longest I've ever worked in one place (since I've been out of college only three years), or maybe it was getting married and buying a house in the 'burbs with my husband. I'm not sure, but I do know that when I joined WDC six (yes, SIX!) years ago, I was Dragon Believer: a teenager with a crush on fantasy, a thing for dragons, and a propensity for gaming and the imagination. The teenaged me has grown up, but she hasn't lost her flare for the imaginative. I still love dragons, and I still love gaming. But I've grown so much in six years, and my writing has grown so much, that I don't think I'm still Dragon Believer. I think it's time for a new pen name and a new identity -- one that more closely represents who I am now, six years later.

One of my favorite fantasy novels of all time is The Curse of Chalion, by Lois McMaster Bujold. One of the characters from that novel stood out to me and earned my devotion and admiration. His name is Foix (pronounced "foy") dy Gura, and together with his brother, Ferda, he is a dedicated soldier to the goddess known as the Daughter. In his appearances throughout Chalion and its sequel Paladin of Souls, Foix earned a special place in my heart.

Another fantastic novel is Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay. The story centers around three main characters; Jehane bet Ishak, Ammar ibn Khairan, and Rodrigo Belmonte; however it is the wife of Rodrigo that captured my undying attention. The wife of the captain of the cavalry, Miranda Belmonte had to stand up for herself and for her two sons. She is a strong-willed woman who can hold her own in the man's world of Al-Rassan. She is the head of her household and does not let anyone push her around. Yet she is a kind and loving mother and wife, and it is clear through Kay's gorgeous writing how truly remarkable and complex of a woman she is.

In honor of these, my two favorite characters, I had adopted the pen name Miranda Foix a while back while signing up for a blog. It seemed an apt tribute to the characters and their ingenious authors, while also brining to the fore the attributes that I hope I embody myself.

It's time this persona made its appearance here. I am Miranda Foix.

So what does this mean for my presence on WDC? Very little. For one, you can call me Miranda now, which I have a feeling is slightly easier and less distracting than saying Dragon Believer, or DB. Secondly, it'll give me the freedom to change and expand my portfolio. All the old fantasy writing will stay, and the new fantasy will be coming in too, but I'll also be trying my hand at some other genres and item types. I'm stretching out my imagination, throwing ideas onto the wall, and seeing what sticks.

Thank you for taking the time to read about my little experiment. Sometimes change is necessary to foster growth and new ideas. So this is me, Miranda, hoping it works.
 

Today I did a couple of reviews. I know I should be working on my NaNo novel some more, but the motivation just hasn't been there yet today.

Review #1:

Specific Lines
- "It was not my place to question why we were being punished, just to know that we were." - This is an excellent line. I think this sums up the general puritan ideology of that time frame perfectly. This really sets the scene for your story.

- "Some of the townspeople had opposed to the trials..." - I think this should be "were opposed to the trials" or "had opposed the trials."

Overall Thoughts
What an excellent story! I love the use of the quotes to break up the paragraphs. The fact that all of the characters used, including the narrator, were actual historical figures from the Salem witch trials is impressive and fascinating. The only comment I have is that I think William Hobbs' wife and daughter were also accused of witchcraft, so it might have been interesting to see the family dynamic in the face of such accusations.

Overall a very well-written story with enough historical accuracy to be truly haunting.
My rating: four and a half stars.


Review #2:

Specific Lines
- "...happily noticed our window opened a crack." - This sort of makes it sound like the window opened as you were looking at it. Perhaps, "...our window was open a crack."

- "...the window came down on me and I'm stuck!" - Watch out for the changing tense. Consider changing to "... and I was stuck!"

- "The giggles start,and we both need to pee." - Oh wow, I can see where this is going! LoL!

- "...my sister and I out of our dilemma." - Technically, this should be "my sister an me..." because if your sister weren't there, the sentence would be that your father "helps me out of my dilemma."

- "It was embarrassing, one of too many moments, I wish nevered happened., but still laugh over because I couldn't laugh then." - Looks like this sentence may have been edited a couple of times, as there's some rogue punctuation. I would suggest going over this last sentence again for clarity. I would suggest, "It was embarrassing! One of too many moments I wish never had happened, but I still laugh over it even now." I would delete the part about not being able to laugh then, because earlier in the tale, you describe giggling. :)

Overall Thoughts

Thank you for being brave enough to share such an embarrassing moment with the world! I got a good laugh out of the story, and could picture the whole thing in my mind. You do a great job of capturing the embarrassment of the whole situation, but the technical aspects of the story are lacking. Watch out for switching your verb tenses! You switch from past to present about halfway through. Also, be careful not to get too comma happy. I have this problem too, but often times you can get away without using a comma. Sometimes it's even better to break the sentence down into more than one. I suggest taking another look through your third and fourth paragraphs, specifically. Overall, a hysterical tale that needs a little technical polishing. Thank you so much for sharing this!
My rating: three stars.


Review #3:

Overall Thoughts

Clearly a heartfelt poem. You are already aware of the weaknesses of the poem (lack of rhythm/flow), but what the poem lacks in technical merits it makes up for in emotion. It takes a lot of courage to throw words down onto the page when emotions are running high, and it takes even more courage to then turn around and share those words with the world in their raw form. The poem could benefit from some edits for technical style, as you mention in your notes at the end of the poem itself. But you get the images and emotions across regardless, and that makes for a truly inspiring poem.
My rating: four stars.

I've been a long time gone from this group, and I'll be honest -- I've missed it. I haven't written nearly as much as I would like in the recent months, what with buying a house and moving and all, but I think now is a good time to throw myself back into the saddle.

This is the only little blurb I've written today, but it's better than nothing, so I'll throw it in:

The bird nods. "Excellent. Just repeat after me: 'Mother Taerna, I accept your gift and will that it be bound to my body. Mother Taerna, I accept your boon and will that it be bound to my mind. Mother Taerna, I accept your blessing and will that it be bound to my soul.'"

As Lucien finishes the recitation, there is a flash of light and he feels a push against his chest. When the light fades, the bird is gone and there is a very warm, tingling sensation in his chest. Pulling at the collar of his tunic and looking down, Lucien sees a marking -- a rough, stylized outline -- of a raven, wings spread over his heart.

The voice of Skepsy echoes in his head, "Ok. That... was weird. The Mother, in all her infinite Glory and Wisdom, did not warn me about that."

Lucien now feels a connection to the bird, as he does with the beast in its cage within him, as though Skepsy is just one more aspect of his being -- a part of his soul that he didn't realize he'd been missing.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, my main project currently is still the story that my husband and I are writing together (which is why there are lots of bits and pieces here that are out of order and make no sense. He writes everything pertaining to one specific character (in this case, Lucien), and I write everything else, including all additional characters and plot points. We talk things out ahead of time so that we can make sure the story is heading where we both want it to, but sometimes, since the world it exists in is kind of my baby, I still like to surprise him by throwing him a curve ball.


Also, it's been far too long since I've done and good, old-fashioned reviewing:


1.) A very nice story with an excellent ending. Interesting premise and well-written. My only comment is that you seem to have a tendency toward a particular cadence in your writing. There are a number of instances where you will use the formula, "Someone did something, description." For example:
"The stalls snaked their way down the esplanade, only a low stone wall separating them from the beach below." or " I turned back to the bottle, smoothing the paper label down with my thumb." or "I held out the bottle, wishing, not for the first time, that I had a few more inches of arm." etc. It's a good sentence structure (I use it frequently myself), but just be careful not to overuse it. :)

Overall, an excellent story, especially for a contest!


2.) A beautifully written and thoroughly well-grounded essay. Your use of quotations from various sources, from the Bible to Jon Stewart, all serve to bring your thoughts together coherently and drive your point home. Thank you for taking the time to write this wonderful essay and for sharing it with everyone.

The boy walked quickly through the halls, a tray of bread, fruit, and tea held in his hands. To be fair though, he was not so much a boy as a young man. It was the youthfulness of his face and his large, round eyes that always made him look younger than his seventeen years. He moved through the halls of the keep easily, knowing every turn and loose stone without a thought. After all, he had spent his whole life (as much of it as one can remember, anyway) in service to his lord. Today, however, was an unusual day. Today, this very morning, there was a guest in his master's keep.

A guest who had arrived in the dead of night and was being held under lock and key...

The boy would never know why he was chosen to tend to the master's guest. The question, as well as several possible answers, crossed his mind for the first time as he nodded to the guards stationed on either side of the door. Perhaps his master thought him the least likely to speak up, for he was known for saying very little on most occasions. Or perhaps he simply though him the most naïve, and therefore the most compliant.

As one of the guards moved to open the door, the servant boy numbly balanced the tray on one hand while running the other through his ruddy brown hair. It was a shaggy mop that hung to just past his ears and fell into his eyes more often than not. The eyes, when they were visible beneath the mass of unruly hair, were of a dull, unremarkable brown. With hair thus temporarily tamed and eyes fixed straight ahead, the door slid open and the guards gestured him into the room.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly was not what was on the other side of the heavy wooden door. The guest was seated on the bed, wearing a torn and muddied riding dress, and her face turned toward the window which was closed, latched, and locked. She looked to him just as he cast his eyes to the floor. Though his face showed no signs of it, his heart skipped a beat. She was young, she was beautiful, and she was familiar.

But no, it couldn't be who he thought it was, could it? Certainly the master would not—could not—have... The boy glanced up. She was staring at him. "Uh..." Dark eyes darted back to the tray in his hands. "Food, my lady." He set the silver tray on the small table by the door. He started to turn to leave, but the meek voice from the bed stopped him.

"Thank you, young man."

"Jashua." He turned back to her and hazarded a little smile, wanting to reassure her in any way he could; to let her know that he wasn't like him. He wouldn't hurt her.

The woman nodded and an uncertain, if grateful, smile came to her lips. "Thank you, Jashua," she said softly. "My name is Katarina."

By Ainam's glory... He'd been hoping he was wrong.

I don't know exactly what brought this rant from my mind to my virtual paper... Oh wait, yes I do.

I hate griefers. Those annoying little shits who live only to be a pain in the collective ass of society... I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, read on if you so desire. I hope to have more to follow at some point, when I have citations and more than just the addled ramblings of my mind when I'm pissed off and tired.

* * * * *

With as long as I've been on the internet (I think that's about ten years now, possibly twelve), I do not think I will ever understand griefers.

I understand the concept well enough. I think we all do-- even those of us who have never taken the time to look up the definition. The definition is inherent in the name and in the feelings it invokes when we hear it.

Griefer.

A person who causes other people grief for their own enjoyment. (for more details on definition and usage, please see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Griefer)

This term is generally applied to MMORPG's (massively multiplayer online role playing games) like World of Warcraft and EVE Online, but I have found in my decade+ online that these people exist everywhere. For the MMO folks, they are the corpse-campers, the ninja-looters, the gankers, and the chat trollers. For the rest of the internet, they are in chat rooms starting fights, they are on product comment pages leaving useless reviews, and they are in WDC giving rating of 1 without any comments or starting drama within groups. They poke and prod and harass, all with the intention of pissing you off and making your online/gameplay experience less enjoyable. By definition that is their sole purpose for visiting these games and these sites: to make other people miserable.

The part that I don't understand (and likely never will) is why they enjoy making people miserable. I know the anonymity of the internet allows for that sort of 'no-consequences' feeling that has been known to happen with rioters. But in a game, or a chat room, when almost everyone is there to have a good time, why is it that these Griefers can find no other way to do that than to harass people?

I don't get it, and I likely never will.

(I plan to add citations to this for when I post it on my blog, but here it is in its basic format for now.)

A few more bits and pieces from my online story-telling endeavors. Out of order.

* * * * *

Hawk popped a couple of the roasted nuts into his mouth and smiled. "What are ya talkin' about? We are bein' productive."

The two men continued on their patrol for about another hour or so without further incident. Hawk made casual conversation along the way, making general observations about the state of Taernfane, or about the army, or just about life. Most of his statements left an open space for Lucien to interject, though nothing of what he said required it.

After a time, the soldiers find their patrol taking them past one particular alley on the outskirts of the market...

* * * * *

Colin had made his way from his brush with the Taernfane military somewhat shaken. He hadn't expected the magical encounter, and he certainly hadn't expected that one soldier and her to have a history.

After the goosepimples on the back of his neck had gone away, Col found himself a bit of breakfast and was heading back toward his usual haunt via the alley behind the fruit vendor when he was struck hard from behind.

The blow sent him stumbling forward and, as he tried to regain his balance, he was tripped up and sent sprawling onto the cobblestones. "Vire's hells!" he cursed, rolling onto his back as quickly as possible. "What'd'ya think yer--" But the sight that greeted him silenced Col's indignant questioning.

A man (he guessed), very tall from his position flat on the ground, stared down at him, a finely crafted blade held in his left hand. The hood obscured his eyes and a dirt-smeared cloth covered everything below them. The figure dropped to a knee beside his mark and pressed the dagger against his cheek. "Mind yourself, street ear," the muffled voice came low and deep from beneath the mask. "You will do well to stay out of matters that do not concern you." The blade pressed against his face. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to give the impression that it could without much effort on the part of the wielder.

And like that the figure was up again and moving away from him, further down the alley, away from the market and the two soldiers rounding the corner.

[Private to Lucien: Basically Lucien and Hawk see Col, stunned, on the ground and a figure just standing up from over him. The figure is walking away from them.]

* * * * *

Illiandra finds herself far away from this scene, on the opposite side of the market. She has not seen Antimony yet today, and no one has seemed to be in need of her services.

After a time, she does spot a little boy stealing a loaf of bread from an unsuspecting merchant. The boy appears no older than ten, his clothes are dirty and frayed at the edges, and he moves quickly to hide the small loaf beneath his shirt as he slinks away.

He looks like he's done this before.

This is part of a contest entry that I'm writing for "2008 Short Fiction Competition"   by SoCalScribe - NaNo Black Team . I have no idea if I'll finish it by the deadline, but I'm going to try.


"Finally!" Zack breathed a huge sigh as he turned the key and heard the satisfying click of the deadbolt. The door swung open easily. He barely made it across the threshold before dropping his bags onto the hardwood floor.

"Hey," a familiar voice called from the den. "How was your vacation?"

Closing the door, Zack stepped over his discarded luggage and went into the other room. His roommate, Benjamin, was sitting on the couch. Notably, he was in much the same position as when Zack had left two weeks earlier. He stared at the back of Ben's head. "What vacation?"

"Dude, the one you—oh shit, what happened to you?" In finally turning to look at him, Ben had noticed the sun-burnt face and torn clothing his roommate was sporting.

Silently, Zack moved around the sofa and plopped down beside his friend. "My vacation happened."

Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. "But... dude, you went to Aruba. Why do you look like you got mauled by a pitbull in the desert?"

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"But dude, you—"

"No." Zack picked up the remote control and started flipping through the channels. Ben tried to focus on the television, but he couldn't get himself to look away.

"Um... so was the island nice, anyway?"

Zack sighed. He hadn't yet paused on a channel for longer than two seconds. "I wouldn't know."

Ben's eyes shifted nervously between his roommate's bright red face and the warm glow of the TV. He'd had a cruise, hadn't he? Three days on a ship out of Miami, four days on the island, then three days back. Plus the plane back to Chicago. That was what the itinerary said... the one Zack had stuck to the fridge. Right? He couldn't fathom how Zack could have ended up looking so...

"Dude, did you get shipwrecked?"

"No." Click, click... click.

He glanced uncertainly at Zack's clothing. It was torn in places and frayed around the edges, and it looked like it hadn't been washed in... Is that the same shirt he was wearing when he left? He opened his mouth to ask the questions, but he didn't get very far.

"Seriously Ben, if you ask me again..." He hit the power button on the remote and let it slide from his hand onto the floor. His head leaned back against the sofa and he closed his eyes. Even his eyelids look sunburned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Ben turned slightly to face his friend. "Try me."

Zack let his head roll to the side so he could see Ben without exerting too much effort. "Pirates."

"Pirates? In Aruba?"

Zack shook his head. "A day out of Miami."

"Dude! I didn't think they made pirates any more." He turned back to stare incredulously at the now-silent TV, as though the existence of modern-day pirates was something that should have been brought to his attention between reruns of House.

(A few more random bits, scattered and out of order.)

Hawk casts a sidelong glance at Lucien. "Attracts weirdness?" He seems to ponder this statement for a moment and shrugs. "I know the sort. Shit always happenin' to them or near them, but it's never their fault. I've seen it before, Lucien. Always playin' the victim, but underneath it all they're really the predator. They set themselves up and then watch it all unfold around 'em like that have nothin' to do with it." He shakes his head, shaking a wary finger at the soldier beside him. "You oughta be careful around women like that. They're dangerous." He pauses in his walking as though surveying the area around him. The two men are in the heart of the market now, and all the vendors have opened up shop and are crying their wares. Hawk shakes his head again, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Riots, huh? Don't think the Commander'd appreciate that too much."

* * * * *

Hawk takes the offered snack and pops the whole thing into his mouth unceremoniously. "Sure she can," Hawk says, crunching loudly. A moment later he spits the broken shell onto the ground. "She's a woman, ain't she?" He reaches over and takes another nut from the bag in Lucien's hand. "Well we can't lock her up, so unless you want to go chasin' after her skirt tails, I suggest we mind our own business. 'Less o'course she does something to make it our business... then may be we could lock her up."

* * * * *

The two men walked through the market, one of them chatting idly while the other just listened.

"So I told him it was to illegal to ride a goat while drunk."

The silent man nodded absently. Drunk, yes. Someone was always drunk. Goat... Wait, that was new. "Did you say a goat?"

"I know. Have to be a bloody great goat! An' it was too. Antlers and everything." He gestured with his hands to capture the enormity of it.

"Hawk, goats don't have antlers."

The anatomical corrections was ignored as the man called Hawk continued on about the bloody great goat that got ridden into town two nights back while he was on patrol.

"Ol' Man Murphy's been letting you have some of his 'specialty' ale again, hasn't he?"

* * * * *

Darrius tries hard not to smile as he catches Katarina's wink from across the table. So much for keeping secrets...

He focuses on the plate of food in front of him. "Yes, we were just discussing that," he says. "We were thinking perhaps of an excursion later on in the day.” He looks up now, managing to keep a straight face, though just barely. "Though since Katie too had mentioned riding, perhaps the two of you could go together." Glancing to Katie, Darrius finally does allow himself to smile. The action lights up his face as it had not done for weeks. "Just let me know when you get back and we can plan our adventure."

The rain threw itself at them in waves as the sky darkened suddenly to an ominous, threatening grey. He kept a tight grip on her hand, and she on his, as they trudged along the cliff face looking for any outcropping or crevasse that might give them shelter.

* * * * *

Jashua awoke to the sound of roaring thunder and a clear blue sky. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. There was a long rectangular window near the top of the wall and, facing east as it was, Jashua could see the slants of sunlight dancing across the white stones of the room.

There was no rain. No thunder. And yet he could still hear the dying echoes of it as though some great storm had cast him from his dreams.

Or maybe it had been the dream. It was difficult to tell sometimes: the dreams from the reality from the visions. Leto called them miracles. A little miracle each time. The old healer, Epione, called them premonitions. Jashua didn't call them anything if he could help it. They were just something that happened to him sometimes. It had been like that for months now, ever since... well, ever since he escaped.

Escaped what? he asked himself. Atharn? Death? A little bit of each, maybe. That would like be his thoughts, if he allowed himself to think in such a manner. He didn’t like to dwell too much on what had happened.

Leto had asked him once. But only that once. Her Majesty the Queen always looked curious, like she wanted to ask but was too afraid. He didn't blame her for that. Though he did feel rather self-conscious around her as a result.

Only Epione didn't treat him any differently now. Not that she had known him before all this, but rather she treated him the way she did everyone else. The way she treated squires and princes, kings and acolytes. The way he imagined she would have treated him had he found himself working for a different grandson of Diarmaid Drahkon.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "I'd use you for bait, you old goat." - This is the best end to an opening paragraph that I have read in quite some time. You've captured my attention and I find myself continuing to read even though I had intended only on browsing.

- "...Duke of Northwesthamptonwickshireton East..." - Brilliant!

- "...the great historians, Lawrence, Moebus, and Curlier..." - Too clever!

- "Few ever returned its depths..." - Should be "returned from its depths..."

- "But, since Sir Richard was already married, the creature's powers had no effect on him, so he walked out." - I'm laughing out loud here. This is hilarious!

- "...a sweetly, lyrical woman's voice..." - Should be either "... a sweet, lyrical woman's voice..." or "...a sweetly lyrical woman's voice..." Though honestly, "... a sweetly lyrical female (or feminine) voice" would sounds better.

- "Clatu verata nictu." - YES! I was waiting for this one!

- "Piles of crushed bones carpeted floor." - Should be "carpeted the floor."

Overall Thoughts

Plot
Bloody brilliant! Straightforward, but that's fine since the story's more about the characters and the humor. I think you handled it perfectly.

Characters
I love the needy tart in the cave, and Mike of course. You typed the accent perfectly (which is tough to do).

As A Whole
Overall I think this is a brilliant piece of comedic fantasy, employing the type of humor found in Monty Python and Fireside Theater. The pop culture references were perfect, and your descriptions (both serious and silly) were excellent. I noticed just a couple little grammatical errors, mentioned above, but otherwise it's perfect. I love it!

I owed a few more reviews from an auction that I had run a while back. Here they are, in all the honest and shabbily-written glory. I don't believe in fluff review, but rather in constructive criticism. You can't improve if all you hear is "Write on!" But on the other hand, if your story really is perfect, I'll be the first one to admit it.

* * * * *

Overall Thoughts

This is a very cute story with a nice twist ending. I didn't see that coming at all, which is a good. It did get a laugh out of me, but the major issue I had with it was that it was his mother who found the roommate. I can't imagine that anyone's mother would think that having a pig as a roommate would keep the kid "out of trouble." But other than that I thought this was a nicely-written piece of flash fiction. Very creative and clever. Great job!

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "...a shivered sliced down his spine." - Should be "...a shiver sliced..."

- "'...and they we’ll feast.'" - Should be "'...and then we'll feast.'"

Overall Thoughts

This was certainly creepy, so you succeeded in the horror aspect. The main problem I have is that at the beginning I had no idea what I was reading (i.e. father and son hunting a deer? older sibling and younger sibling as serial killers? Two lions stalking a gazelle? etc), but then at the end, I still didn't know what I'd read (i.e. two vampires hunting? an older and younger members of a cannibalistic cult? etc) I know it's difficult with flash fiction to get in all the details and not leave loose ends, but I found myself missing the meat of the story here, so to speak.

Overall I think this was a good attempt, especially given the format, but still needs some work to get the story across to the readers.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
- "The room was smaller than she remembered; just a mere closet compared to the image in her mind." - I like this opening line. You've captured my attention and it sets the scene well.

- "Emily stood silently in the doorway." vs. "Emily sat on the small bed..." - When did Emily move from the doorway to the bed?

- "Time for her expel all..." - Should be "...for her to expel..."

- "Her mother let out an exasperating sigh..." - I think you mean, "...an exasperated sigh..." Unless the sigh was the thing that was causing the exasperation.

- "It was the scream of death." - Very nice!

Overall Thoughts

A very nice twist ending, especially using the repetition of the eerie yellow light pulsating from the closet. I think the title is a little deceiving though, since it seem like Emily has known about this the whole time, unless you're referring to the fact that the doctor believes that she's repressed the memories of killing her mother. I wonder how they thought that an eight year old girl could have mutilated a body so horribly as the closet monster seems to have done.

Over all I think this is a nice horror piece that left, for me, only that one unanswered question. Good job!

"Trust me Darrius, I am good with a secret."

Darrius raises an eyebrow. "What secrets have you of late? Ah, but then I suppose you wouldn't tell me, would you?"

He catches sight of Josephine out of the corner of his eye, and quickly gestures Katarina silent. Though of course, if there was anyone who they could confide it, it would be Jo. She might even want to go with them. Maybe he would ask her...

He stares down at his plate as she sits, mostly to keep himself from catching any more of the queen's contagious excitement. "Morning, Jo," he says to his plate. He had never called her "Joanna," the cover name they had given her to keep her presence here secret. He lifts his eyes, smiling to her.

* * * * *

Hi Vicki!

I'm sorry it took me so long to get these reviews out to you. Let's see if I can take care of these now, huh?

Specific Lines
-"When my father was shipped off somewhere, writing was my way of disappearing with him." - A very nice line. This sort of thing is difficult to quantify, and I think most writers (or most people who use various forms of escapism) have a hard time putting the "why" of it into words. Nicely done.

-"My father had kept everyone one of them..." - Should be "every one."

-"I didn't become a writer in any physical sense. I was born one." - Again, I think you managed to sum up a feeling that a lot of us, as writers, have. Excellent!

Overall Thoughts

This is a very touching piece that, in so few words, manages to touch on a major facet of who you are as a person, and how/why you are who and what you are. A few of the sentences sounded a little awkward to me, but in general it had a nice conversational style that flowed nicely with what you were trying to do. Overall this is a very nice piece.

* * * * *

Specific Lines
-"After a few moments, and the repeated sweep..." - For some reason this sentence doesn't sound quite right to me. Something to do with using "a few moments" and "the repeated sweep." I feel like maybe it should be "a repeated sweep," but I'm not sure.

-"...and the streaks of gray that had been in it earlier that day were now gone." - I'm not sure I follow this line. Did she dye her hair? That would make sense given the freshly manicured nails, but I wasn't quite sure that's what you were getting at.

Overall Thoughts

Great use of the prompt you were given! I thought I knew where you were going with it at the beginning but the last line threw me off entirely! Nicely done! You had me going one way the whole time only to yank the carpet out from under me at the last second... and it didn't feel forced or contrived at all.

Though I'm not sure I would have referred to that particular object as a "precious commodity." "Precious," definitely, but the thought of that being a "commodity" kinda grosses me out.

The first bit is a letter to the group members of The Phoenix Aerie, of which I am an admin. The second is a story bit, posted out of context as usual.

* * * * *

Dear Members of the Aerie,

In the interest of having some FUN around here while getting some encouraging feedback on our writing, The Phoenix Aerie will be holding a Review Contest!!! The contest rules will be simple, and whoever provides the most quality reviews to our group members will win!

Details are still being worked out (as are the PRIZES), but we know that one of the prizes will be extra reviews. In order to facilitate this, we'll need some volunteers to give out these prize reviews.

Also, reviewing for this particular contest will be limited items listed in our very own "Library". So, take a few moments to peruse the place and see if there's anything you'd like to add. Remember, only items listed in the Library will be eligible for the CONTEST!

Thank you Roselee for the fabulous idea!

To sum up, check the "Library" and fill out the "Phoenix Aerie Add-an-Item Form" if anything is missing. Also, email Dяagon Bεliever or post in "The Phoenix Aerie Forum" if you're willing to help give reward reviews after the contest (and list the number of reviews you would be willing to give). Please note: Volunteering for this does not prevent you from entering the contest!

Peace,

The Phoenix Aerie

PS> Don't forget about our writing contest!

There are some great prizes up for grabs, and only 1 lonely entry so far! The contest is open until June 30th!

* * * * *

Unable to contain himself any more, Hawk erupts with laughter. "Lucien, what have I told you about starting trouble with those two?" He once again fails at sounding or looking stern. "We gotta leave them alone to their business if we want them to leave us alone to ours." He glances around the street as though looking for someone. "I'm surprised that other girl weren't here too," he says. He gives Lucien a nudge with his elbow. "You should consider yourself lucky. She woulda given you a lecture on the altruism inherent in their actions. Or some such bullshit." Hawk shakes his head. "There's no such thing. They do what we do and they do it for the same reason. To get paid."