Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s Me Me Monday! A day to promote, strut, and celebrate your Me-ness!

Only ‘Waiting for Rebirth’, the painting Damian used as Door is taking this all too literally. Something is happening in the Navel and this artistic expression of Damian’s ‘wish’ is at the center of it.

Picking up where we left off on Saturday, Peter observes with growing alarming the changes happening to the painting, along with Christopher’s reaction to them…

 

A humming, almost like an echo of his words ricocheted through the shop.

Christopher stared at the painting with wide eyes. He licked his lips and took a step forward. “Damian, is that you?”

The white cracks rippled into branches. This was the trick of the paint, connecting it with what lay Beyond the Door.

An abstract could be anything the viewer saw. This anything could be real on the Other Side.

The cracks appeared to be branches, but the branches resembled bony fingers. Fingers which could clutch and claw.

I visualized all these possibilities, gleaming on canvas. Fingers, bones, cracks, and branches. All of them were connected to a single, gleaming white will.

Anyone who has told you white is the color of goodness is wrong. It’s an absence of color. It’s a haughty rejection of such things. It only accepts the purest. It will drain any color of its vividness to get at the pure white within it.

All of these things ran through my mind, but they weren’t my thoughts. I was connecting to this art in a bizarre, intimate way. I sensed the artist’s prejudices, splattered across the canvas. For they were alive and awakening. At any moment, they would reach out of the painting.

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Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets! Every Saturday, six sentences of LGBTQ+ fiction are posted and shared. They can be your own. They can be someone else’s. They just need to be LGBTQ+.

To read a wide variety of samples from LGBTQ+ stories, go to https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?ref=group_header

For mine, Unwilling to Be Yours picks up where it left off on #QueerBlogWed…

 

“What was that?” I almost squeaked.

Cracks streaked through the painting, sending paths of gleaming white through the dark blue, the purple, and flecks of ruby.

I’d never noticed them before. The lines stood out with a menacing brightness.

“Damian.” Christopher’s voice was hushed, but the longing in it seemed to linger in the air.

 

 

Fairest Reborn

It’s Promo Friday! A day to share your upcoming releases, which I’m happy to say I’ve got. 🙂

My f/f fantasy fairytale, Fairest is due for rebirth in Nine Star Press’s Once Upon a Rainbow. It’s been gathered, along with other LGBTQ+ fairy tales into an anthology which will be available November 20, 2017.

Here’s the buy link at the Nine Star Press website https://ninestarpress.com/product/once-upon-a-rainbow-volume-one/

Here’s a little of Fairest’s reborn blurbiness….

All of my life, I’ve been haunted by her dark eyes. At birth, she cursed me to prick my finger on the spindle and sleep for a century. She appears in my dreams, my reflections, shaping my desires. Who is she? My guardian has only revealed a few enigmatic words as to her identity, the fairest of them all. Follow me into the lonely Forest of Tears where the dwarves dwell, walking where she once walked. Gaze into the depths of the magic mirror which reveals her secrets. For I refuse to fear her, even if I should.

And here’s an excerpt…

MY FIRST MEMORY was of her dark eyes. They captured all the colors of my infant universe, even as they threatened to swallow me.

Her eyes should have been terrifying, but they weren’t.

Her blood red lips moved, shaping words I could not recall.

My parents remembered them only too well, as did everyone else who’d gathered at the castle for my christening.

“I, too, have a gift for this child. She shall grow up, with all the beauty and promise of the dawn, but her sun will never rise.”

My mother told me she nearly swooned with terror at the look of sheer malevolence the witch gave to the sunbeams playing about my cradle. She wanted to stop the witch from speaking, as did my father.

No one could move, no matter how much they wished to. Everyone stood still, spellbound by the witch’s gaze.

“Before the sun sets on the eve of her sixteenth year, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle. With the first drop of her blood, a sleeping curse will fall upon her, claiming her for a hundred years.”

My mother tried to call in another witch to remove the curse. My father burned every spindle he could find.

For all their efforts, nothing could remove the curse.

The witch had disappeared into a cloud of green smoke. No one could find her after my christening, despite many attempts. The only thing she left behind, besides her curse, were dreams of dark eyes.

I wondered if she’d been real. Her appearance was the sort of thing I’d heard about in old legends. The way she haunted my dreams was too much like giggled tales of falling in love.

Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to QueerBlogWed! Every Wednesday, I try to blog about something queer here at the Cauldron. The Navel and its denizens qualify in more ways than one.

Peter picks up right where he left off on Monday, asking about the disappearance of Damian, who worked in the Navel before him. Not that it was an ordinary disappearance…

 

“What exactly happened to him?” I asked, changing the subject. If they didn’t want to discuss the Perfect Prick’s ‘wish’, I wasn’t going to ask. “Did he leave, after finishing the painting?”

“He disappeared,” Gabrielle said with a scowl. “Literally.”

“Into the painting,” Christopher whispered. He looked up from his feet to fix his heartbroken stare upon the canvas. “He disappeared, when the painting began to glow. Damian was glowing, too.”

Definitely too much magic for me.

“I see,” I said, trying to hide my profound discomfort. “You both actually saw this?”

Christopher didn’t speak. His head drooped, in what might have been a nod, or just a droop.

“Yes,” Gabrielle said. A tiny frown wrinkled the center of her forehead. “We were standing here, exactly where we are now, when the painting began to glow.”

As if the response to what we were saying, the white parts of ‘Waiting for Rebirth’ gleamed, almost pulsed.

Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s Me Me Monday! A day to promote, strut, and celebrate your Me-ness!

Last Saturday, Peter indulged in a big scowl over Damian’s Him-ness (or Prickness). He picks up where he left off with ‘Brie and Christopher in Unwilling to Be Yours.

 

“What did he want?” I asked.

Not Christopher, obviously. This made Damian a fool as well as a prick.

“I don’t know,” Christopher said. He stared at his feet, as if he didn’t dare meet my eyes. “He never told me.”

“He never told anyone,” Gabrielle added. She was avoiding my eyes, too. “Damian was one of those people who could seem completely open and friendly, all the while keeping his secrets.”

Neither of them were telling the complete truth, I realized. Christopher and ‘Brie weren’t lying, but they were holding things back.

Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets! Every Saturday, six sentences of LGBTQ+ fiction is posted and shared. It can be your own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be LGBTQ+

It’s actually still Friday for me, but I noticed Rainbow Snippets has gone live on Facebook, so I’m edging into other time zones ahead of PST. 🙂

Follow the link if you’d like to read a variety of LGBTQ+ snippets.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?ref=group_header

Peter will be picking up where he left off on Wednesday (QueerBlogWed) in Unwilling to Be Yours…he’d just decided that Damian Ashelocke was a prick. Not that he hadn’t guessed as much…

This is a little longer than six sentences, but Peter would *not* let me cut him short. (wry grin)

 

“There was something he wanted,” Christopher whispered.

My delight died at the way his eyes glistened.

“He wanted it badly enough to create a Door, regardless of the results.” Christopher fixed his gaze at the painting in an almost hungry fashion.

Right. Damian had created a Door in his own painting, stepped through, and vanished.

It didn’t matter that such a thing was impossible. It didn’t matter that doing something impossible tear reality in two, causing who knows what kind of damage to ‘Brie, her shop, or her customers. It didn’t matter that disappearing would break the heart of the boy who adored him.

Such things didn’t matter to such a Perfect Prick.

Fairest Reborn

Today is Promotional Friday at Queeromance on Facebook.

I’m not a romance writer per se, although my f/f fantasy fairy tale qualifies as one.  It’s been a while since it’s had a chance to show off at this Cauldron.

Soon Fairest will be reborn in Nine Star Press’s Once Upon a Rainbow anthology, a collection of LGBTQ+ fairy tales.

I’ve revised my story without disturbing the essential content, polishing it up a bit.

All of my characters have names now, including my princess narrator. I’m quite proud of my choice. After all, a Rose should go with a Briar. 🙂

The ‘good witch’ is now Oriana. The King and Queen are Edwin and Thea.

My seven dwarves (including the mouthy dead one) are Quartz, Opal, Onyx, Sardonyx, Agate, Jasper, and Garnet. Yes, I’ve named them after rocks. This differentiates them from the Disney dwarves, giving them a separate identity and character in my head.

Not that Quartz needed one. 🙂

Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s QueerBlogWed, a day on which to share and post something queer. Tales of the Navel/The Shadows is this in more ways than one.

Today Peter picks up where he left off on Monday in Unwilling to Be Yours, the second prelude to my unpublished novels inspired by Tarot card imagery.

 

“I’m guessing the Door you’re talking about is a portal to another world?” This was more magic than I cared to deal with. “Your Damian was trying to create one?”

“He didn’t just try,” Christopher said. His voice was very soft, as he gazed at the painting. “He succeeded.”

I stared at him. He nodded in the direction of the painting.

“That thing is a Door?” The words came out all breathless and scared. “Damian created a Door in your shop?”

I was sure whether I was terrified or outraged. What Damian had done was beyond rude, or inconsiderate. “This sounds like a dangerous disregard for you and yours.”

“I know,” Gabrielle said with a sigh. The anger seemed to run out of her at the sight of mine. “I’m afraid Damian didn’t have very much respect for me, or the Navel.”

I half expected an angry retort from Christopher at this criticism of his precious Damian.

To my surprise, he didn’t say anything. His eyes dropped to his feet, avoiding Gabrielle’s.

Talk about a bad employee. I sympathized with ‘Brie and Christopher, yet all the while a malicious part of me hissed in satisfaction. My rival was a prick. As if I hadn’t suspected as much.

Unwilling to Be Yours

It’s Me Me Monday! A day to promote, celebrate, and strut your Me-ness!

Only no one in the Navel feels much like celebrating right now. Gabrielle and Christopher both try to answer Peter’s question from Saturday. A impossible task, since they’re not sure of the answer themselves.

 

There was a moment of utter silence.

Gabrielle gazed at Christopher with an almost childlike helplessness.

I didn’t like seeing my cheerful, boisterous employer like this.

However, I liked the look on Christopher’s face even less.

His eyes were wide, moist, and frighteningly blank. He wasn’t seeing Gabrielle, nor anything else which I could.

“I don’t know.” The heartbroken defeat in his voice made me want to cry. “Perhaps he channeled his wish into the painting. He was trying to create a Door to the Shadow Forest.”

“The Shadow Forest?” I’d heard such titles before for various, sinister woodlands, trying to be scary and impressive.

Sometimes they truly were.

“What’s that?” I was liking Damian less and less for trying to open a Door to this place.

Especially in the middle of ‘Brie’s place.

“What lies beyond the Door. A place most only visit in their dreams. Anything you can imagine.” Gabrielle shrugged, as if none of these things impressed her much. “Take your pick.”

“It’s anything that lies on the other side of a Door,” Christopher frowned, a wrinkle appearing between slender eyebrows. “It’s where fantasy is born. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.”

“Perhaps I have,” I said, choosing my words with care. “I didn’t call it the Shadow Forest, though.”

I wasn’t going to say what I did call it. Names have power.

 

To Be Continued Wednesday, QueerBlogWed.

Unwilling to Be Yours is the second prelude to my unpublished book, Stealing Myself From Shadows.

The first prelude was Waiting for Rebirth.

The third will be Be My Valentine…Snack.

Stealing Myself From Shadows is the first book in my Tales of the Navel/The Shadow Forest series. It’s an ambient fantasy series of self discovery, based off Tarot card imagery.

Stealing Myself From Shadows is currently under revision, along with The Hand and the Eye of the Tower (Book 2) and A Godling for Your Thoughts? (Book 3)

 

Unwilling to Be Yours

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets!

Every Saturday, six sentences of LGBTQ+ fiction is posted and shared. It can be yours. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be LGBTQ+.

To read a wide of variety of samples from LGBTQ+ stories, go to

https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?ref=group_header

Mine is from Unwilling to Be Yours, the second prelude I’m posting online to my novel, Stealing Myself From Shadows. (currently under revision).

It’s the first book in an ambient fantasy series I’m writing inspired by Tarot card imagery known as Tales of the Navel/The Shadow Forest.

I’ve got drafts on Book 2 (The Hand and the Eye of the Tower) and Book 3 (A Godling for Your Thoughts?) which I’m also working on.

Unwilling to Be Yours picks up right where it left off on Wednesday (QueerBlogWed).

‘Brie had just tried to pit her will against ‘Waiting for Rebirth’, the painting which swallowed Damian in the previous prelude. Alas, its hold on him is too strong.

Peter is still trying to figure out what’s going on. 🙂

 

I had no right to interrupt such an intimate moment, even if I was there. Alas, my mouth has a will of its own.

“What wish?” I asked before I could think better of it. “How could a painting steal Damian away?”

There was a moment of utter silence.