Me, Me, Me Monday

It’s ‘Me, Me, Me Monday’ for QueerSciFi, where we promote ourselves, toot our own horns, showcasing our published works, or works in progress.

I decided to share a little more of the project, which has been obsessing me for most of July, my Camp NaNoWriMo project! ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’ was originally an 6000 word submission for Lethe Press’s ‘Gents’ anthology. It was also my April Camp NaNoWriMo project.

‘On the Other Side of the Mask’ is a surreal Victorian steampunk alternate world, with elements of Baroque in it. The story centers around the city of Paradise and its environs, which is ruled by the representatives of the One True Goddess, the pale lords. This Goddess is feared more than she is loved, plus she is particularly feared, when she is loved. The same can be said for the pale lords. Bits of pieces of the world Paradise left behind find their way into the hearts and minds of the people, even the unwanted wards of the church. This is how two boys get the idea of taking on the names of Byron and Shelley, in the hopes to embody some of the spirit of freedom those otherworldly poets believed in.

Here is a small snippet from ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’…

Poems can shape the world, just as poets shape it with their thoughts and ideas. Their legacy causes ripples across realities, inspiring the inhabitants of other worlds. Their very names invoke power.

Which was why two, shivering boys brought before the court, before they were consigned to the church’s grasp called upon them. The court warden looked down upon them from her lofty dais, only to scowl upon her wards.

“Your bodies and souls belong to the temple,” she said, as she turned her scowl from their small faces to their tiny, clapsed hands. Affection had no place in court, or in church, unless it was given to the Goddess. “The only thing, which belongs to you is your name.” She rose from her seat, the judgment of heaven resting upon her powdered head. “What name will you choose?”

The first boy, a sleek, dark haired lad, with bluish veins standing out from his small hands, raised his head with the pride of an aristocrat.

“Byron, Your Honor,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice, which carried throughout the room.

 

 

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