Be Adventurous! Show some #indieluv :)

 

Be brave this holiday! Be adventurous! Read an Indie Book :)

 

The talented minions at Yearning for Wonderland have complied a list of their finest works, including me. Click on over and find your next

holiday read peeps.

 

Enjoy~

Tales by the Tree~ Holiday Flash Fiction for you :)

Remember a few months ago when I was prattling on about Christmas in October? Well, the story book has come to fruition and is finally ready for your enjoyment. 

75 stories, each one no more than 1,000 words, have been lovingly collected in this volume. Some are weird, some are sweet, and some are spooky, but all are very, very short!

Available in paperback and Kindle, you can find it on Amazon this Christmas. Enjoy~

October 28 ~ Finding Inspiration

OK, I admit it. I’m dragging in the inspiration department here lately. Working hard on revisions means I’m not creating much new stuff, although I did just finish some flash fiction for Halloween and Christmas. The pressure of the 31 Day Blog Challenge pushing me to come up with new content every day got me thinking about my “inspiration” process. Where do I find my ideas?

So, as I thought about it, I realized most of my ideas, but not all of them, start with a theme. The flash stories were inspired first by those holidays, but secondly by the feeling or the message that I wanted to convey.  I had a general idea what genre I wanted to write in, i.e. gothic, steampunk, but after that, I think my ideas come from a conglomeration of things I’ve been thinking about, heard or read. Things that are stewing about in my subconscious. Going on trips to places I haven’t been, or places I haven’t been in a long time inspire me as well. Seeing an intriguing person can inspire me too.

Because I can’t travel all the places I’d love to go, I’ve found myself creating boards on Pinterest that inspire me.  I can’t say that any one photograph on Pinterest has led me to create a story, but the photos there have certainly helped me flesh out the worlds I’ve created in my head. The same with music. I can’t write with music playing because it distracts me, but the feeling music invokes can definitely be inspiring.  I even created playlists for my books; you can take a listen here.

So what inspires you? I’d like to know…

 

October 23 ~ My 13 Stories 'til Halloween Entry

Pike wiped the blood from his hands and started for home. He ignored the pinch of his boots, which were a might too small. It did little to help his somber mood. The trees hung heavy with rain, their dead leaves littering the cobblestone pavement, blown there by a cold, gusty wind. The flames in the streetlamps had long since been extinguished by the storm. Pike found his way by habit, having been down this winding lane many times. He walked along an overgrown hedge, taking care not to brush against it, although he couldn’t have been any wetter.
Pike thought his eyes saw things scurry into the shrubs, creatures that had no business being there. He cast about on both sides, trying desperately to see through the darkness. He saw sinister shapes and form and dissolve into the black, never becoming clear enough to seem real. He paused, unsure if he should go any further. He strained to make out the sounds of animals, something alive other than himself. The rain drowned out any other noise, but the feeling of not being quite alone remained.
Pike took a deep breath and trudged forward, attracted to the warm glow of a tiny window in the inn just ahead. Once there, he pounded his fist on the door several times. The door was locked.
“Who’s there?” came a soft voice.
“It’s Pike. For the love of God, open up!”
After the click of several bolts, the door swung open. A pudgy, round woman hid behind the door, peering out into the night with huge eyes.
“Come in, Mr. Pike. Quickly.”
Pike did so, peeling off his soaked overcoat and warming himself by the crackling fire in the hearth. He nodded to the only other customer, a man he knew as Mr. Dunforth. Dunforth was a spindly, impossibly thin person with a sharpness about him that Pike never cared for.
“What a wretched night,” the barmaid fretted while she did up all the locks again.
“Closing early, aren’t you?”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked the thin man at the bar.
“Heard what?”
“They say there’s a werewolf about,” said the barmaid in a hushed whisper.
“A werewolf? Here?”
“Aye.”
Pike took his usual spot at the far end of the bar and was served a frothy ale without even asking for it. He took a long swig on the pint and wiped his upper lip on his sleeve.
“I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in India,” he said.
“You’ve traveled to India?” asked the barmaid, hopeful for a change in subject.
“Aye, in Her Majesty’s Service. Four long years.”
“What was it like?”
“Bloody hot. Even wetter than here. The jungles had more creatures of the night than you could shake a stick at.”
“Vampires and the like?”
“Some natural, some not. All terrible.” Pike took another long drink of ale.
“Mr. Wiggins lost half a flock of sheep to something last night. Tore them to shreds. Could only be wolves,” said the barmaid.
“Or werewolves,” said the thin man.
“There are worse things than werewolves,” said Pike with a laugh. “I’ve seen things that would curl your hair, Dunforth. All ten of them!” The bony man scowled and smoothed back his thinning hair with one hand.
“Such as?” He dared Pike with a smirk.
“I’ve seen snakes as big around as your pointy head. Swallow you whole, they would. And tigers. Oh, the tigers are the worst. Sly, cunning creatures. Deadly smart. Sneak up on you and kill you just for looking sideways at them.”
“Just a dumb animal,” muttered Dunforth, sipping his own ale. “You can kill any animal with a gun.”
“Not the Sakra. I saw one once. That’s not a tale many live to tell.”
The plump woman leaned in close to hear Pike’s gravelly voice.
“A Sakra?”
“No beast is more feared in all of India. Its half tiger, half man.”
“And you saw one?” Dunforth scoffed.
“I did indeed. How do you think I got this?” Pike removed his hat for the first time and pulled back his loose gray hair to show a set of parallel scars that ran from his ear to his throat. The barmaid gasped.
“I was on the night patrol in a village much like this one. Something had been terrorizing the locals, carrying off their chickens, slaughter their beloved cows. The sergeant told me to keep any eye out for marauding dogs, but it was much worse than that.”
Even Dunforth couldn’t keep from watching Pike reliving the tale, his piercing green eyes taking on an almost fiery glow in the dim light.
“It was hot there, even at night, and the sweat was pouring off me when I heard a woman’s scream, way off down the street. I ran as quick as I could and when I got there, I saw something that’s haunted me for the rest of me days.”
“What was it?” asked the barmaid. Completely engrossed, she absentmindedly wiped down the bar with a rag, not realizing that she had done it twice already.
“A tiger that stood like a man, dragging the bloody corpse of a young woman with one hand.”
“Don’t you mean paw?” corrected Dunforth.
“Maybe he had her in his jaws? At any rate, he climbed down from a balcony nimble as a cat, but when he jumped to the street, he landed on two legs like a man. He saw me, my rifle aimed right straight at his black heart, and screamed like a wild animal. His fangs and claws were dripping with blood, so fresh was its kill.” Pike violently grasped the air, as if to show how the Sakra’s claws reached for him.
“Did you shoot it?
“I tried, but the rifle jammed. The beast attacked me before I could run.” Dunforth snorted.
“If it was so deadly, why aren’t you dead now?”
“I would be if the Sakra hadn’t had something else in mind for me.”
“Oh, now they think? What utter rot!” Dunforth laughed, but it sounded more like a man trying to tame his own fear.
“I said they were cunning, didn’t I?” Pike finished his ale with one last gulp.
“Yes, indeed you did.” Dunforth stood up and slapped a coin on the bar. “I believe I have better things to do than sit here and listen to this nonsense. May I have a room, please?”
“Certainly,” said the barmaid.
“Don’t want to brave the dark, Mr. Dunforth?” teased Pike.
“It’s too far in this storm. I’ll catch me death on a night like this.”
“Perhaps the Sakra has other plans for you as well?”
“What? There’s no such thing,” Dunforth sputtered, clearly annoyed.
“Of course there is.” Pike smiled, revealing a row of sharp ivory teeth belonging more to an animal than a man. The barmaid, who had been retrieving a room key from a drawer, looked up to see the form of Pike grow into that of a snarling orange beast, all fangs and claws and roar. Her gurgling scream was the last thing Dunforth ever heard.

***

If you enjoy scary flash fiction, be sure the visit the 13 Stories 'till Halloween blog for more!

Christmas in October ~ Fantasy Short Story Treat for You

This is my entry for the Merry Minion Christmas Anthology - a 1,000 word short fantasy story. I'm sorry it's so short, but those were the rules. It could have easily been longer. In fact, I had serious doubts I would get in under 1,000 words!  I hope you enjoy it~


Title: Spell Spinner Christmas

Author: Lisa T. Cresswell

Ebook: yes



Lindy slipped on the icy pavement and crashed headlong into the cobblestones. The boys surrounded her, still panting from the chase. They waited for Ticker to catch up, unsure what to do with her. Lindy really didn’t want to wait around for him. She tried to ignore the stars clouding her vision and the overwhelming pain in her temple. Struggling to stand, Lindy saw the world whirling around her; the wharf, the dirty alley, and the curious collection of ugly street urchins. Ugliest of all, Ticker stepped up and grabbed her by the coat.

“Where’s my money, thief?” he shouted, loud enough to hurt Lindy’s ears.

“I never took your stupid money!”

Ticker rifled through the pockets of Lindy’s jacket.

“Ha! That’s a laugh. You’ve been a thief since the day you were born. What’s this?” he said, pulling a long golden chain out of Lindy’s blouse. A large pendant dangled on the end of the necklace.

“No!” she cried, as he yanked the chain hard enough to break it. He threw the bauble on the pavement and smashed it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Maybe you’ll think before you steal from me again, wench,” spat Ticker.

A fiery rocket screamed by Ticker’s head and exploded with a loud pop behind them. Fireworks. Lindy had seen them once at the fair. High above them, another fuse was lit. Lindy gazed up at the Chinese airjunk moored at the dock. Someone on the junk, a black-haired Asian boy about Lindy’s age, released another rocket. It zipped through the pack of boys, scattering them like rats.

“What are you doing, you crazy Chinaman?” demanded Ticker.

The boy on the junk leaned over the railing, waving another lit rocket.

“I’m blind as a bat so you’d better shove off!”

“He’s bleeding bonkers!” yelled Ticker as he dodged another explosion and ran off after his friends.

The boy on the junk cocked his head, listening to the sound of their fading footfalls. He grabbed a rope and swung down to the wharf where Lindy was picking up the pieces of the crushed pendant.

“Ruined…it’s all ruined,” she muttered, searching the cracks in the cobbles for all the bits.

“What’s ruined?”

“Me mum’s spell spinner. She needs it. I dunno where I’m gonna find a new one.”

“Maybe I can fix it?”

“But, you said you were blind?”

 The boy laughed.

 “I’m blind, not completely useless. Let me have it.”

 He stripped off his fingerless gloves and held out his hands, waiting. His almond-shaped eyes stared off into nothing.

 “It’s pretty bad,” she said, looking at the crushed metal bits in her hand.

 “You’re in luck. I specialize in ‘pretty bad’. C’mon.”

 Lindy poured the remnants into his outstretched hands. He felt each piece carefully, assessing the damage.

 “It’s supposed to go together like this,” said Lindy, showing him how the pieces fit in his hand.

 “That part is certainly broken, but I have something we can use instead. Come aboard and I’ll fix it.”

 “Um,” Lindy hesitated. “We haven’t properly met. I’m Lindy Wainswright from Piccadilly.”

 “Chang Peko from the South China Sea. Call me Peko.”

 “Nobody comes from the sea, except fish and mermaids,” teased Lindy.

 “Don’t tell my uncle that. We’re traders. We’ve traveled all over. Are you coming?” Peko climbed the rope ladder onto the junk, the spinner parts clutched tight in his fist.

 “I’m not sure if I should.”

 “Are you really a thief?”

 “I prefer the term ‘wealth liberator’,” said Lindy as she cleaned the mud off her leggings and straightened her jacket. Peko smiled.

 “Well, come back tomorrow and I’ll have it ready for you.”

 “All right,” said Lindy, already feeling a little remorseful she hadn’t climbed aboard. “See you tomorrow…Peko?”

 “Yes?”

 “Thanks for helping me out, with Ticker and all.”

 “It was my pleasure,” said Peko with a bow.

Lindy hurried home as tiny flakes of snow started to fall. Tomorrow was Christmas. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice the missing spinner.

The next day Lindy returned to the wharf to see Peko helping several other men loading cargo on the junk. She snuck up behind him and waited until he was alone. She thought she had fooled him, but he spoke first.

“Hello, Lindy. I’ve got your spinner fixed.”

 “How did you know it was me?”

“Your footsteps are hesitant, like a bird about to flee,” he said. “Oh, Merry Christmas.”

Peko had rethreaded the spinner on its chain and now wore it around his neck. He lifted it over his head and handed it to her. She looked it over.

 “It’s perfect,” murmured Lindy in wonder.

 “What’s it for?”

“It makes magic. Want to see?” she said before she caught herself.

 “Yes,” he said, looking toward her without focusing on her face.

 “I brought you something to say ‘thank you’.”

 “What is it?”

 “I nicked it from the Professor,” she said, digging a small box out of her rucksack.

“Lindy, you really shouldn’t ...”

 “I know Peko, but I wanted you to see London just once. I’ll take them back when you’re done.”

 “What are they?” he asked, as she opened the box.

 “Spectacles. Put them on.”

 Lindy handed him a contraption consisting of several lenses on what appeared to be a pair of eye-sized telescopes.

 “Spectacles don’t work for me.”

 “Shh, just do as I say.” Lindy twisted the spinner and let it fly into the air over Peko’s head where it hovered, showering him with a golden light.

 “When you help others, your dreams will always come true,” she whispered to Peko. The lenses on the spectacles began moving and rearranging themselves, trying one combination, then another. Suddenly, Peko caught his breath in shock.

 “I can see! I see you!” he gasped.

 Tears leaked from Peko’s eyes behind the spectacles, down his cheeks.

 “C’mon, Peko. Let’s go see London,” said Lindy, taking his hand with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

October 2 Brainstorming

Ack!  I said I'd write a fantasy short story for a Christmas anthology and it's due Nov. 1.  Do you think I've even started??  As of Sept 30 I hadn't even thought about it, but that night I got a few minutes to start brainstorming, but lemme tell ya...thinking about Christmas when you've kinda got Halloween on the brain is a challenge!







But I buckled down and made myself start thinking. I've been wanting to try something steampunk for awhile....could this be the project? But what does steampunk have to do with Christmas? Nothing! Which is why it's perfect. When was the last time you read a steampunk Christmas story?!?! Me neither! It's so crazy, it just might work!


And then I thought...what do you never see in steampunk?? Besides Christmas, I mean?

I thought of a few things, but I won't ruin the surprise.  When I get my story finished, I promise I'll share.  I just wanted to get you thinking about brainstorming new ideas. It's always fun to take the traditional and turn it on its ear.

Of course, this is only a setting. A proper story needs a plot and compelling characters. Since I'm going out on a limb anyway, I think I'll try a little diversity...

How do you come up with new ideas??

Blog 27 ~ Open Mic Night or “There’s Room Enough on my Soap Box for Two”

So I’ve been babbling on for nearly a month here. Now I’d like to extend an invitation to anyone who might like to post a guest post on my blog.  I have several guest posters already lined up, but I wanted to open the invitation to any of my readers.  Of course, every topic is subject to my approval, but in general, guest posts on writing, reading, and/or publishing would be most welcome. 

Author interviews or blog/book tours are welcome too.  I recently did an author interview for Gary Vanucci and it was a lot of fun.  Hop on over to Gary’s blog and check it out.  In short, I’m open to anything bookish J  I’m always interested in exchanging interviews or book promotions too.  Just shoot me an e-mail here – writerlisacresswell (at) gmail (dot) com .

I look forward to hearing from you~

Blog 25 ~ The Golden Rule

I recently signed up for a critique session through my local Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrator’s chapter. I live in a rural area and I don’t have many critique partners nearby, so when opportunities like this come up, I try to jump on it.  Now I have several manuscripts and synopses to review for a workshop in August.

Before I get started, I thought it would be useful to think about how I’m going to do this in terms of how I like to be critiqued myself.  I’ve had a rather brutal critique style in the past and I wonder if I might need to soften that. I witnessed a lot of verbal critiques last week and I came away with a better feel for how I personally would like to be critiqued.

First off, a critique is not proofreading. I don’t think focusing on grammatical errors is helpful at the early draft stage. It wastes valuable time on words that may end up being cut anyway. The only time to mention spelling, punctuation, and grammar is if they are so glaring as to be a complete and utter distraction to the reader.

For me, personally, here’s what I want to know:

Does it grab you? Intrigue you? Or is it confusing? Does it make you feel something? Anything?? Does it make you want to read more?

What words, dialog, or speech tags pop you out of the story? Where does it begin to bore you, or make your mind stumble over clunky, awkward language? Are there plot holes or things that don’t make sense?

Does the writing have heart? Does it have a theme, or at least a feel? Can you hear the author’s voice lecturing you or can you hear the voice of the characters? Do the characters seem like real people or card board cutouts that could be anyone?

Do you feel like you’re in “good hands”, as if the author has a sense of mastery that you’re comfortable with?  What parts to you love? What parts do you hate? How can I make it better?

Blog #22 Letter to my Fifteen Year Old Self

Today is my 43rd birthday.  I had to give some extra thought to what I might write today.  I finally settled on this letter to myself when I was a young writer. Please feel free to pass it along to any young writers you may know too~

Dear me, 

I know there are lots of kids out there, just like you, who want to write something, but lack the confidence or the support to do it. I’m here to tell you, do it anyway.

Maybe you think it’s stupid or silly or you wouldn’t show it to anyone in a million years. That’s ok. Keep every single scrap of paper you ever wrote a story on anyway. You might use it later. You don’t have to show anyone until you’re ready.  Just remember, there’s no one like you in the whole world and you have something important to say. Everyone does.  Don’t listen to the naysayers that tell you otherwise. Ever.

And it may not be very good at first, but you’re learning. Like anything, it takes practice. Keep at it. Read everything you can and then write some more. Find your voice, your “you-ness”, and put it on the page.  When it is true and honest, it will shine and you will know you’ve done your best.

 

 

Blog #15 Thirteen Stories 'til Halloween or Why Flash Fiction is Fun

Not too long ago, I came across a link on twitter. I followed it down the rabbit hole to this website called Thirteen Stories 'til Halloween .  The web site had an open call for writers willing to write a spooky story to be posted just before Halloween.  Now Halloween is probably my favorite holiday, so I was all over that. I mean, my first book, Storyteller, takes place just before Halloween. :)

If you don't know, flash fiction is a tinnie, tiny story...like less than 750 words, which is maybe 3 pages. You'd be surprised how hard it can be to write a fully formed story in so few words.  It's quite the challenge.  Here's one I did last year for a contest called Troll Teeth.

Entries were due today.  Cross your fingers I get picked! Of course, I can write flash fiction any time I want to, but contests are always kind of a challenge to me.  They give me an incentive to meet the deadline and to make it especially good.  Maybe if I don't get sucked into this flash fiction event, I'll throw one of my own some time. Anybody interested??

Blog #13 Resolutions in Review

Half a year ago in deepest, darkest winter, I made a number of resolutions. I thought mid way through the year might be a good time to review and see what I still have left to do. Just to see how it's going.

1. Get published

I've been working hard with my editor on this one. Hush Puppy has made it through proofreading and has been sent off to the formatting department. Now, I'm just waiting for them to do their magic and tell me when it will be released...waiting...waiting patiently. Luckily, I have several other projects in the hopper to keep me preoccupied.  More about those in a later post...


2. Get healthy

I made it to a healthy goal weight in March and I'm in "maintenance" now. I fluctuate about a pound, up or down, each week. I can live with that. I feel good. My summer work schedule has changed how much time I have to work out, but I seem to be doing enough to stay in the right place. I never honestly thought I would lose as much as I did, but it came from changing eating habits and doing more exercise.  When you make up your own mind to change, it really isn't that hard to do. Honest.

3. Read and write more

Hmm. I read more during the winter. Lately, I've fallen off that wagon. Reading is one of those things that slips off the plate so easily for me. It's not for lack of books on my 'read' list at Goodreads.  See comment in a previous blog about cloning myself...

However, I do think I've been writing more or at least more regularly. My goal of a chapter a week seems to be keeping me on track toward finishing Storyteller Book 3 this fall, while giving me some flexibility in how much I get done on any given day.







4. Be more flexible, mentally and physically

For the physical part of this, I started doing yoga in the mornings. Nothing too crazy difficult. None of that 120 degree yoga class stuff for me. Just some nice stretching and breathing. It's good to take some time to just focus on your body and listen to what it's telling you. It's a wonderful way to start the day.

The mental part, well...I dunno. I do my best to remember my mental flexibility, but I'm sure I've had moments where I reacted with my gut to people, rather than being open to what they have to say. I guess that will just have to be a work in progress.

5. Rest when you need to

This is probably my downfall. Like a lot of people, I have a lot of balls in the air at any given time.  Like all this blogging, for instance.  Maybe in August, I'll take a break from daily blogging and read some more, get two resolutions done at once.

Did you make any resolutions this year? How's it going? I'd really like to know.

Blog #11 Outlining a Novel: Why I gotta do it…

Years ago, I learned through a ton of trial and error, that I’m not a “by the seat of the pants” kind of writer.  I have to have an outline.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down and started writing what I thought was a great scene or a great character just to run out of steam half way there.  I’d always get to a point where I didn’t know where I was going – what’s going to happen next?? Outlines help me get through that. Having one in place before I ever write the first page helps me when I feel stuck. I always know where I’m supposed to be writing towards.  And if one chapter is giving me fits, I can move on to the next because I know what’s supposed to happen next.

I know there are lots of writers that claim to be “pantsers” and write quite well, but I suspect they just have their outline thought out internally, rather than on paper. I, myself, like to write mine out.  Now I’m not talking about a traditional I. II. III., A. B.C. kind of outline here.  I’m talking about a chapter outline: a rather detailed description of all the plot points that will occur in every chapter from beginning to end.  When I do this, I take about a week to plan it all and write it down.  As a result, I’ve found that I rarely end up moving entire chapters around in the editing phase, because I’ve done that in the outline phase, and lemme tell you, it’s much easier to move a three sentence chapter description than an entire chapter any day. J

 

I’ve been taught in plot workshops that each chapter should have its own intro, middle, and climax, just like a finished novel does. I’m not sure that’s a hard and fast rule, but it’s a good guide to what each chapter should include.  If you haven’t come across The Plot Whisperer online yet, she’s a wealth of knowledge on plotting. I highly recommend her Youtube videos.  They're free!!

So tell me, if you’re a writer, how do you plan and write your novels? Is it working for you?  Do you think you might want to try outlining now?

Blog #10 A wee bit about my Website~

I thought I’d take a moment to tell you about the look of my new website and blog, lovingly built for me by the talented xuni.com team. Take you on the guided tour, so to speak.  I knew I didn’t have the skill to make a professional web site myself.  Maddee gave me the guidelines, but I chose the pictures and the colors. Quite by accident I think, I ended up with a banner that represents all the things I love. Well, most of them anyway.

The roses represent my love for all things growing, especially flowers. I’m so crazy about flowers I have an entire pinterest page devoted to nothing but flowers. Roses are especially lovely. And what’s more poetic than a lovely thing with thorns?

The ocean scene is also perfect for me since it’s probably my favorite place to be, on a beach somewhere. I almost became a marine biologist when I was younger. Oceans and water in general can usually be found somewhere in my stories. I even have a work in progress about pirates.  And of course, a pinterest page. J

The compass represents travel and exploration, and metaphorically, finding your way.  Exploration, both inside and out, is often featured in my stories as well.  None of these things was really planned! They’re just themes that appeal to me, I guess.  I’ll be blogging about themes and outlining in some future posts, but for now, check out my lovely Vintage pinterest page.

The arches of the old abbey represent the mysterious, intriguing places I love to take myself and my readers in my stories.  It was very difficult to choose just one image to represent “places” but I think this one captures it well.  I love travel and seeing new places, even if it’s just pictures of them.

Diversity in Young Adult and Middle Grade books

I’ve been following along in Marieke Nijkamp’s blog event DiversfYA lately. It’s been extremely illuminating.  If you get a chance, you should hop on over there and check it out.  It’s about diversity, or the lack thereof, in fiction for young people. 

That’s not to say there are no diverse characters in fiction today, but there could certainly stand to be more.  The world and its people are a rich kaleidoscope of experiences and our stories are too. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the stories of minorities seem to be rather rare in traditional publishing. 

Those I’ve read seem to fall on the tragic end of the spectrum, but not always.  Marcello in the Real World by Francisco Stork is a beautiful story about a young savant learning to function in the harsh, reality of everyday life.  Crossing by Andrew Xia Fukuda is a brutal look at what happens to a bullied Asian teen who’s immigrated to America.  These stories are honest and truthful and need to be told, but I think there’s room for minority characters in science fiction and fantasy too.  In fact, librarians who work in schools with minority kids are begging and pleading for it. 

Why aren’t these characters being reflected in published fiction?  Are white authors afraid to write characters outside their own race?  Are there less authors of color for some reason?  Do publishers avoid buying multicultural fiction?  I’m sure I don’t know the answers to all these questions, but I’d like to know your thoughts.  What would you like to read about? What multicultural books have you read that we should know about?

A flash fiction story in honor of Anna and Michael’s wedding~

The Magical Properties of Troll Teeth

And so, dear reader, due to the magical properties of the aforementioned troll teeth, I found myself in the unfortunate service of Mortalus.  Brighter than most trolls, Mortalus had a nasty streak almost as terrible as his own breath.  The tooth I’d tried to steal from him dangled from a twisted silver chain around my neck to remind me of that awful fact as I nervously approached Princess Anna with his wedding gift.

“Come forward, imp,” flame-haired Anna beckoned.

I clutched the jewel-encrusted box even tighter, if that was possible, afraid of what lay inside.  I was bound to obey Mortalus, who had bid me deliver the golden box to Anna and her betrothed. I had tried to sneak a peek, only to ensure the Princess’s safety mind you, but my Master had sealed it with an enchantment only Anna’s touch could open.

“Be sure she knows it’s from me, slave,” Mortalus warned me before he left. Perhaps the mere mention of his name would alert her? It was all I could do.

“A gift from my Master, Mortalus.  Forgive me, mistress.”  I fell on one knee before the fairy princess and offered her the box above my bowed head.  Several in the crowd gasped. Someone cried out “Don’t take it, Princess!”, but Anna smiled graciously down on me.

“Do not be afraid for me,” she said, taking the gift from my shaking hands.  Her touch created a glow that spilled from the box as she opened it. I had prepared myself to run.  Should any harm befall the princess, it would certainly mean my sure, swift death.  Only now, I discovered I was rooted to the earth, unable to move, mesmerized by what happened next.  All the chattering voices in the chamber hushed. The pure song of a lark rang out clear and sweet in the silence, but what emerged was no lark.

A fully-formed dragon, long of fang and green as cut emeralds, sprang from the box into our midst. The beast hovered over our heads on blurry wings, like a giant hummingbird selecting its next flower. Setting its sights on the princess, the creature shrieked and dove for her with jaws wide. Before I knew what was happening, her Highness grabbed the unbreakable chain around my neck and held my talisman high with me still dangling from it. The dragon hit the troll tooth and fell back as if it had slammed into a stone wall no one could see. With an ear-splitting scream, the beast crashed through a window and flew away.

Princess Anna released my chain and I fell to my knees once more.

“My lady, how did you…?” I stammered.  Princess Anna pushed her wild hair back and smiled at me.

“Troll teeth have many magical properties, imp. Didn’t you know?”

My wish for you, Anna and Michael~

May you know peace, both near and far from each other~

May you grow together, not only when times are sweet, but when they are hard~

And may you always protect each other from the trolls of this world~