Down the Rabbit Hole

Garlic Muffins for A New Friend and the Literary Artisan

"Blogging Circle of Friends "
DAY 1421: October 5, 2016
Prompt: Random words: garlic, invite, bitter,tower, evade, abrasive, brooch, promote

Note: I find these random word prompts very challenging, they are like aerobics for my brain. Sometimes I feel as if I nail them, other times I churn out something more mediocre (like the entry below) but in both cases I think the exercise is good for me. It keeps me thinking, reaching which is never a bad thing.

Elsa fingered the heavy brooch at her neck. The mother of pearl was cold and solid under her fingertips. Its presence comforted her. It had been a family heirloom and she had worn it faithfully since her grandmother had pressed it into to palm as she expired. She promised Elsa is was a powerful talisman of protection and so far, it had proven to be effective time and time again. Elsa stepped off the porch of the old Victorian and into the night. The darkness swallowed her as she turned her back on the lights of her family home. Walking deliberately forward, Elsa looked up at the dark tower that pierced the inky horizon.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her cloak and felt the crisp invite she had received from her cousin two days ago. Until a month or so ago, she and her cousin Renfield had been very close, more like siblings. He had always stopped in on his way home from work to have tea with her. Renfield was warm and chatty, disclosing even the most mundane details of his day and pausing only to pull her toddling daughter into his lap for a cuddle. Then, two weeks ago, Renfield's visits had become more erratic, his jovial behavior turning more abrasive and bitter. He talked about the "disease of man" and wanted to discuss the many ways he had been mistreated and unappreciated. It was as if something had happened that suddenly ostracized him from everyone. When Elsa had pressed him for an answer, Renfield had done everything to evade the question. Then, that last visit, when her daughter had wandered into the kitchen for her customary hug, Renfield had recoiled from her pink, outstretched arms and rushed for the door. Elsa had watched him flee, dismayed and confused at what her child had done to possibly promote such a response in her cousin.

Renfield had not returned after that final visit. He had not responded to her notes and he did not answer the door when she had called on him. Elsa was beyond concerned. She had known something had happened to him and it distressed her. Yesterday, there had been a knock at the door. She had ran to it, hoping her cousin had come back to her. It was not Renfield but someone had slipped a piece of thickly folded ivory paper through the mail slot. Elsa picked it up and opened it. It was a hand-written invitation from Renfield to join her and his friend for drinks at his residence. The address was for the tower, the defunct and derelict building that as far as Elsa knew, had not been inhabited for at least a dozen years. Elsa knew Renfield's new friend was somehow responsible for the sudden changes but she was a proper woman and as such, reserved to pass judgment on someone she had not yet met. She had called for a sitter while she made something suitable to bring to her host. She tried to ignore the pervasive feeling of dread as she dressed which now, as she walked up the road to toward Renfield's new friend, had hardened into something of a knot at the pit of her stomach.

After a time, she reached the base of the tower. It appeared even more ruinous than she had expected. She shifted the bag of garlic muffins to the crook of her arm and raised her fist to heavy wrought iron knocker, hesitating when she found it was in the shape of a horned demon. Before she could use it, the great door was wrenched open and her cousin stood in the dim dome of light. He smiled, his mouth a dark mall, and reached for her....

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
Day 941 October 5, 2016
Prompt: "Fabric is my blank canvas and fashion textiles emerge as wearable art, touched by the possibilities of threads, beads and artful embellishments." If you are an artisan, you will get this. If not, write anything, you want about this.

My grandmother is an artist. She lives as she paints, in a textured world where she looks for and engages with those things she finds aesthetically pleasing to her eye. She had taught me to appreciate those things, to find the "art" in everyday life. I loved to draw and paint but my true artist medium has always been words. I love the way words flow together in a story, how powerfully you can craft images and evoke feelings with words. I think writing is my own "wearable art", I wrap myself in my stories and they become part of my self expression, part of my persona, my own "art".