  Fantasy
This week: Shape Changers Edited by: Shaara  
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As one of your Fantasy editors, my goal is to challenge you to think outside the KNOWN and to help you inject your tales with fascinating facts while jagging left and right through troublesome frolics and teethe-writhing dilemmas.
Perhaps we can help each other to safely jog through these twisty turns of radical thought, alternate viewpoint, and dynamic detail. Come! Let's head down the Path of Dimensions, untextured by any earthly array.
In other words,
let's drop out of reality for awhile.
Shall we?
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Fantasy Editorial:
Why Are There So Many Tales About Shape Changers?
To change shape. How glorious that would be.
Sure, Lady Clarol and I could weave golden highlights (or gray or red) through my hair. I could meet up with a doctor and plan his sculpting of me under hospital lights.
Reductions, additions, refinements. All of them are possible.
I could endure lenses on my eyes which changed the color of each iris. I could have tatoos engraved everywhere there's skin -- holes drilled through ears, eyelids, nose, and earlobs.
I could wear shadows on my lips and cheeks, paint my fingernails with rainbows . . .
I could robe myself in brilliant colors and styles, set on becoming a fashion queen, a sexpot, or a prudish, straight-laced heroine.
I could completely change myself until any neighbor, friend, or lover would scarcely know me.
But shape change?
That I could not.
To shape change would entail a TRANSFORMATION we do not scientifically yet envision. To alter the basic structure of the human genome -- to convert arms to wings, skin to fur, facial structure to that of a more animalistic nature -- that is beyond our abilities. That lies in the realm of fiction.
Is that why shape changing calls us so vehemently?
For who has not dreamed of flying freely, flapping wings biogenetically attached? Who has not spent pleasant dream-wrapped sleep soaring through the misty clouds?
It is indisputable that such a freedom calls to us. The Wright Brothers spoke of it. Astronauts, pilots, mere passengers of commercial jets, we all fly via metal wings. We chase that vision.
But airplanes are captive monsters that still tie us to earth. They're artificial. They're limiting.
We do not dream of having motors propel us through the brisk winds of air currents. No seatbelt straps us down in our fantasies. No gasoline odor sours such nightly flights. Shape changing is nothing like our reality.
Indeed, there are other fantasies that call to us, castles in the sky built of spun sugar and wishes.
As a child my dreams were rarely of flight; mostly I galloped. With hooves, steel-like in strength, I thundered across vast, grass-filled prairies. My nostrils flared defiance of the wind. High upon a plateau, looking down at a world I owned, I nickered, neighed, and bugled defiance. My dainty neck tossed about a heavy, satiny dark-black mane. My tail wisped every hindrance aside. I shape-changed nightly with the cold air of darkness, channeling my courage and the wildness inside me. Freedom raced through my blood each and every night.
Yes, I understand the longing humanity feels for SHAPE CHANGING. It is the same yearning I feel today to soar up into the stars. The breaking free, the release from normality, the bursting out of this mold of my Earthly body.
I connect with it.
I desire it.
I ache for the freedom denied us.
Shape changing. Will we one day have such an option?
Will we ever grow wings, hooves, or gills that allow us to dive down or out into the depths of absolute freedom? Perhaps.
But for now, we have only our writings.
FANTASY
-- the avenue that must take us there
into the world of the
shape changers.
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Featured Items for this issue of the Fantasy Newsletter
A man, wheelchair bound, finds access to an alternate world, but there's a cost . . .
Stanley Cortland sat at his antique desk, gazing into the crystal ball. It was heavy as he held it in his hand, and a dreamy look held his face. Around him, the room was neat and orderly; chairs and solemn pictures were laid out in neat lines, and even the many books on the high shelf were dust-free. A spotless gray rug covered his floor, except for a square of polished marble tiles that his desk sat upon. He'd had it installed after his accident, to make it more convenient to roll the wheelchair around the desk.
He was sent through a portal to search for "Thor's Hammer," but treachery completely changed his mission.
The sun was setting, night was falling, and Asgoth was growing tired. The bag he was carrying now seemed to have doubled its weight and his back was beginning to ache. He pushed forward, sometimes carrying, sometimes dragging, the bag containing the device, hoping that soon he would see the opening to the low-ceilinged room. Time seemed to have stopped and he prayed he would be able to keep going without collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Drops of sweat begin to pour from his head, into his eyes, down his temples and his back, and in no time at all his clothes were damp, in spite of the cold. He could feel a draft around his legs so he surmised he was getting close to the entrance.
The following is an amazing tale of a sorcerer brought to justice. The ending will stun you.
It was not the first time he had attempted to Heal himself, though never before had he attempted to repair injuries so severe in anyone. He placed his hand over his eye, enduring the agony. Soon, the cell was alight with a dull, bluish glow from Tilane's hand. He felt rather than saw the bloody two-inch gash, bruise and the torn muscle and broken bones in his cheek and jaw. Slowly, he mended them together with no more than a concentrated thought.
The ending of this piece made me chuckle out loud, but the whole piece is a delight.
Long ago, before man came out of his caves permanently, there was born to one of the northern clans, a daughter. She was unusual in many ways, but most noted was her silence. From the moment of birth, until her third year of life, she did not cry, laugh or babble as other babes do, and most of the tribe found her frightening.
And now since my mind has been drawn to vampire tales, here's one of mine: a romantic tale gone awry, or a demonstration that being a vampire is not all it's cut out to be
She was amazingly receptive to my will. That delighted me as much as the beauty of her dainty face. I scanned her figure once more as she sat quietly, her hands in her lap, her back perfectly straight. She was plump in the right places, yet her tiny waist was little more than a hand's breadth. Her hair was midnight, her features perfect, her lips the rose of twilight. I took her hand and studied it; her fingers were long and slender. I bent toward her and ran my tongue across the uncovered skin of her neck; how tender, delicate, and charmingly scented it was.
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Comments From My "Fantasy Newsletter (November 30, 2010)"
jpc
Hi Shaara!
Your newsletter was full of interesting info, as always. You made me laugh with "bat poop" and wondering if witches with more moles were more powerful than witches with fewer moles! Thanks for another great NL.
-- Laura
Thank you for always saying something sweet about each of my newsletters. I very, very much appreciate it (and you!)
A.T.B: It'sWhatWeDo 
One of the first works I ever finished was a Star Trek screenplay (in uh...ha, 1992 - I was 10; some friends of mine weren't even born yet, the twits). It was so terrible I ended up spoofing it. Best I can tell, that was my only attempt. I got into high fantasy as a reader, but again, couldn't quite capture the dynamic until recently - further proof that the more you read (fiction or otherwise) the more you're able to incorporate into your own style. Due to this week's dragon fixation, I thought I'd humbly suggest 1697409 - love the dragon in that one - and would also love any feedback as usual. Perhaps there's hope for my fantasy after all...or perhaps not, heh. As for this week's editorial topic, I always enjoy adding a deeper significance to individual attributes. Consider me inspired (as always) and thanks for another great NL! ~Drew
Thank you for your comments. I loved hearing that you enjoyed my newsletter. Thank you and good luck on your fantasy writings. I love the use of the word "gheistling" and the way you provided a definition just by clicking. Thanks for sharing an interesting tale!
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P.S.
I now bid you adieu, for I am leaving the Fantasy Newsletter to pursue my dreams of the stars. I 'm returning to writing novels
-- in search of aliens . . .
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Fantasy: December 28, 2010 Issue [#4148]
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