This made me smile. Every once in a while, oh who am i kidding, everyday I have to make the time to work on blog posts and writing and editing my book. Sometimes it’s easy, the chores and other to do’s fall into place and I have nice chunks of time to work. The rest of the time it’s about as easy as giving medicine to a cat.
Still, it’s gotta be done!
In the previous episode, Mike learned that Benjamin the blue jay, the one creature in the park that might know about the fate of the she tinkers, has lost his mind. Today we will bring him one step closer to his goal.
To read the previous episode, click here!
To start at the beginning, click here!
Mike followed Tilly and Jacob out of the burrow with another warm biscuit in hand and two in his pockets. The two field mice bounded ahead leaving Mike alone to stop and stare. Overnight, the tunnel they had traveled had transformed into a magical place. Tiny drops of dew had collected along the edges of each leaf and tipped the bending tops of each blade of grass. The whole world glittered in the clear cold morning light.
Tilly smiled and laughed as they made their way down the path, often stopping and showing Mike different sights. He marveled at dew bejeweled cobwebs, fuzzy sleeping spiders, and pine cones. Seeing the young mouse happy was a welcome change from the night before.
At first, Tilly tried to get Jacob to come and look as well, but each time he’d refuse and continue on walking, straight-backed and whiskers twitching.
“He’s a serious one today, isn’t he?” Mike asked when Tilly returned once again.
“He isn’t always like this, there must be something on his mind. That, or he’s trying to impress you.”
Mike couldn’t help but laugh. “Why would he be trying to impress me?”
She shrugged and lowered her eyes. “He always does this when I’m with new friends, it’s his way of showing what a responsible big brother he is. It’s irritating, I know.”
“No, I find it quite charming. Not every young lady is blessed to have a good big brother like that.”
Up ahead Jacob had stopped in front of what looked like a stone wall. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Well my good sir, this is the end of the trail for us.”
Mike joined Jacob and found that the wall was actually the edge of a concrete walkway. Standing there, he could see the immense crab apple tree looming overhead, its bent and twisted branches like hands reaching out to snag birds from the sky. The ground beneath the tree crawled with a sprawling ivy.
“You’ll want to go quickly and not stop until you’ve climbed up into the branches. In the ivy you can’t see what is hiding until it’s already upon you. Once you are up there you’ll have to watch out for the squirrels. They’re generally very civil unless they think you are threatening their nuts. And believe me, don’t do or say anything that might make them think that.” Jacob said the last with a smile, making Mike thing that he might know about the squirrels from personal experience.
He twisted his cane in his hands. The tree looked taller by the minute as he stood there and he began to wonder if it was really all that important to go find a she tinker after all. Tilly set a paw on his arm and looked up into his eyes, giving him strength. No, he would complete his quest. He couldn’t let something as simple as a tree stop him, not after coming this far.
He placed her paw between his hands, it seemed so small. “My dear, it’s been a pleasure to have met and spent time with you. I promise that I’ll come back this way when I have found what I seek.”
A tear had formed in the corner of Tilly’s eye. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ll watch for you everyday until you return.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eye with the corner of her kerchief. “Please be careful out there.”
Mike knelt in front of the tiny mouse and gave her a gentle hug. “Don’t you worry about me, I’m a stubborn one. I’ll be back before long.” Tilly nodded and gave her best smile.
Mike turned to Jacob. “As for you, as much as I’d like a sturdy chap like you at my side I understand the importance of keeping the peace. Thank you for everything.”
“I would come if I weren’t needed here, it sounds like a grand adventure. You’d better come back and tell us about everything when it’s over.”
“Aye, that I will.” Mike said as he climbed up to the walkway. The sun shone brighter there, blinding him for a moment. From the top he looked down into the end of the tunnel, he could barely make out his new friends standing in the shadows. He gave one last farewell before heading off once more into the unknown.
To be continued…
I am now two weeks into a self imposed six week break away from my manuscript and random scenes and characters are still wandering through my head. Taking a break between drafts is important because it helps me regain needed perspective and distance. While writing I get too close to the story and can no longer see what’s on the page as compared to what’s in my head. The best way to overcome this is time away.
Taking a break doesn’t come without a downside. The other night one of my characters brought up a plot error, an action that didn’t make sense for the character in question. I wanted him to be wrong and ignore the problem but he wouldn’t let me alone. I didn’t pull out the manuscript, I know that’s what he wanted, so over the course of the day I mentally worked over the problem until something clicked. If I didn’t, I know he wouldn’t let me sleep.
Even with random characters haunting my steps, being away from the book has been a welcome change. I’ve finally had the time to work on some of my smaller projects and see progress there. The one short story I’ve been editing is only a few pages from turning itself into a novella if I’m not careful. My goal is to have it finished and submitted to a few markets for publication before I return to work on the book.
For the next four weeks I’m looking forward to continuing work on my short stories and taking a bit of a break before diving back into the gritty process of refining and editing the manuscript. After this draft it will be ready for beta readers! As much as if terrifies me, I’m looking forward to getting some real world feedback.
I can’t believe it, I’ve done it to myself again. I’ve been drawn in by an illusion and have become lost in a false sense of reality. It’s a vicious cycle, I’ll start a new project or get a terrific idea and find myself obsessing over every detail and spending every last moment possible working and tweaking and fixing and whatnot.
Currently, I’m coming down from a brief obsessive cycle of trying to keep up with all the blogs I follow. I want to read everything and comment on everything and be a presence in the blogging sphere. Problem is, I follow dozens of prolific blogs. Reading and catching up with what everyone is doing takes a huge amount of time.
The obsession before that (which I’m a little ashamed to admit) was playing Sims. My little digital people needed me to take care of them! It took about two weeks to realize how pointless it was spending time playing a game that ultimately didn’t go anywhere.
Before that I learned everything I could about the use of essential oils.
Somewhere before that I spent endless hours attempting to create a following on Twitter.
Before that, while it was still cold and miserable around here, I fixated on what I would plant in my garden.
Earlier, I experimented with freelance writing jobs from text mills such as Textbroker and Copify.
Now I’m seeking balance. I really want to finish writing this book, it’s been hanging over my head for way too long. But, I also want to build up a strong fan base here using the blog and other social media. I used to suffer from the delusion that all it took to become the next big thing was to publish a decent book. After a few years of working the field, attending conferences, and rubbing elbows with other writers, I know that dream is like playing the lottery. Sure, some people will strike it big right out the gate without all the hassle of building a fan base; but, the rest of us have to work to succeed.
When I started blogging back in 2010 I worked my tail off trying to get a post up every day and managed to do it for nearly a year. I spent so much time on the blog that I didn’t realize that I was no longer working actively on my WIP, it was always in my mind but meeting my self-inflicted deadlines for the blog took priority. Now, three years later, I know I don’t have time to post daily and still make progress on my book. Three posts a week is still plenty.
I don’t nearly tweet as much as I should, but I do tweet the important stuff. If I’m stuck somewhere with nothing better to do I’ll go over and interact with whoever is tweeting items of interest.
There’s Facebook in there as well. I’ll admit I prefer reading Facebook to Twitter because the things my friends post there are generally more interesting. While I’m not nearly as active on my author page as I should be, I’m ok with it.
It’s important to have priorities or the things that matter most don’t get done. My writing priorities start with working on the book, then blogging, then everything else. That is, until the next obsession rolls around…
I’m a very creative person. I’m so creative, I create people. Three of them to be exact, and each enough different from the other that there is no user’s guide, no “What to Expect When…” book, that covers them all.
I’m not talking about fictional characters here, although I’ve created dozens of those as well. I’m talking about walking, talking, screaming, whining, hugging, cuddly little kids. They are the reason I get up in the morning, and the reason I’m so happy to get back into bed at night. They fill my every waking hour with surprises, challenges, and messes.
My Groupies
I love my little monkeys, from their toothy smiles to their dirty feet. Every minute of the day they are there, reminding me how needed I am in their world.
I remember when I came home with my first child. Leaving the hospital, I had this weird paranoia that a nurse was going to stop us at any minute and tell us that we weren’t qualified to take a baby home with us. And as first time parents, we probably weren’t. Qualifications are measured in spit up stains, diaper changing speeds, and being able to find lost binkies in the dark. No one comes with those skills built in, they are gained with experience.
Being a mom means finding solutions. Everyday there are countless questions and problems to be solved. What’s for lunch? Where are the keys? How do you remove crayon from tile? Where did the baby go? It’s a relentless task that refuses to be put on hold, even for a potty break.
On the flip side, being a writer means long hours in thought finding the best way to present a scene, or construct an essay. Many of these hours are spent in front of a screen typing in these fragile thoughts that are likely to shatter when disturbed. Sometimes it takes a while of churning out text before we find what we really want to say. The rest of those hours happen in our heads as we work on everything else from driving to sleeping.
Being a mom and a writer is an impossible situation. Children, especially young children, require endless immediate intervention to keep them from harm’s way. Writing while they are awake ends up being an exercise in frustration. Writing while they are asleep is unpredictable.
Although it is impossible, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. If I didn’t have my kids I wouldn’t be the person I am today. They have taught me confidence, humility, and grace. At the same time, being a writer brings an added dimension to my life. It’s a challenge and a reward. One day I would love my kiddos to hold up a favorite book and be able to say, “Hey, my Mom wrote this!”
For every hero there is the friend who makes it possible for him to succeed. In the Stonebearer’s story one of the most important members of the supporting cast is Bremin.
Bremin is the clever, quick-witted, sharp-tongued friend to our hero, Jarand. They’ve known each other for over three hundred years. He has traveled the world many times over gathering knowledge to aid his fellow Stonebearers. If there is a plot against them, he will uncover it. In his travels he has also become very skilled in healing, picking locks, setting traps, and plenty of other skills, making him an extremely useful fellow to have around.
Bremin does have a weakness, he is very limited in what he can do with his power. This fact has made him very humble, but also bitter. He compensates for his weakness with his knowledge. But, he won’t offer his opinion until it is asked for.
Today’s post is a piece of flash fiction inspired by this piece of abstract art. For more terrific public domain abstract art, check out The Public Domain. Enjoy!
“They’ve broken the sky, now there’s no going back.” Balzac said, reaching towards the cacophony of color and light that arched overhead. The sky seethed in billowing masses of reds and deep purples. Sparks of lightning, like brilliant stars, dotted the heavens, filling the boiling clouds with flashing light.
Sabine pulled the rough woolen blanket tighter around her, so that nothing below the curve of her neck could be seen. “I’m scared, I never imagined it would happen this soon.” she said, her voice soft compared to the thundering above.
Balzac lowered himself down next to her with a grimace, he wasn’t as young as he used to be and after the day’s journey he ached all over. A cold breeze pulled at his hair, teasing the silver strands into his face. “There is no need for fear now.” He patted her shoulder. “If only they had listened sooner, they should have heeded my warning. This wouldn’t have happened.”
“It isn’t your fault, you never intended your studies to lead to this. Your’s was a search for truth, for understanding of our world. If anything your discovery should have been used to heal the rift in the sky, not to tear it further.” She opened the blanket and beckoned him to join her inside. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?’
“Of course it’s beautiful, even in its death throes it manages to put on a show. I imagine it won’t be much longer before the transition is complete, then all this will fade to nothing. Dark grey clouds will blanket the earth so thick that the sun’s light will no longer pierce through.” He pulled the blanket around them both and shut it tight, closing out the chill. Inside her warmth was welcome. The cold would only grow more bitter as time passed.
There on the crest of the southern ridge they sat, below lay a city in ruins, their city. But Balzac knew, he had predicted that it all would happen. The diplomatic disputes, the wars, the destruction, and finally, the breaking – he had seen it all when he discovered the secret to the music of the sky.
To him the world and everything in it was organized in numbers and frequencies, harmonics and resonances. To discover how it all worked he immersed himself in his lab, measuring the vibrations of the heavens and then engineering exact matches. The university provided the funds and equipment as long as he published his findings. Perhaps that was his first mistake, but then there was not other way to get the money. Tools for studying celestial vibrations didn’t come cheap either.
“Balzac?” Sabine asked, “Are you certain that there is no way to repair the damage? Could the vibrations be neutralized?”
“No, I’m certain. I would have to discover the exact frequencies and patterns they used, which is impossible as both change as soon as they meet the harmonics that exist above. Although now I’m not sure if I would want to. The effort, if it were possible, would take years of precise applications, maybe even decades. By then there would be no society to save, civilization would have returned to a primal state, that is if anyone managed to stay alive for that long.”
Sabine curled in tighter to him, hugging her knees to her chest. He wrapped an arm around her and breathed in her scent, she smelled of sweat and floral shampoo. Having her here with him here at the beginning of the end felt right. The thought of facing this catastrophe alone made his stomach twist.
“It’s final then, you plan to carry out your orders?” To his surprise she had tears on her face.
He wiped away her tear with a thumb. “Yes. I’d rather it end this way than watching countless millions suffer. It’s clean. . . ” he sighed, “it’s humane.”
“And what about us? We’ve been together for so long, seen so much. Should that all be lost?”
“No Sabine, we won’t be lost, we will be changed, transformed into the very harmonics and vibrations that I’ve studied for so long. There is a place for us in the heavens among all of our family and friends.”
“I wish I had your faith. For now I must rely on yours, it is enough. You were always the strong one. Do it. Do it, before I lose my nerve.”
Balzac pulled the activator from his pocket and the silver key from its chain around his neck. He slipped the key into its slot and turned it, opening the cover. After he entered the complex arming code the device chimed to life. When he discovered how to break the sky, he had also discovered the frequencies that would annihilate the life from earth.
Together they pushed the button. From deep within the bowels of the earth it started, a deep thrumming rhythm unlike any they had heard, it sent a chill that started at the back of his neck then shot down his limbs. The sound thrilled him, electrified him. From a distance higher tones flowed in undulating patterns all across the land and sky counterpointing the music from below. Tears of joy bathed Balzac’s face.
It was the music of the death of earth, and it was beautiful.
Jodi L. Milner, Author 