Crier's Tower
I have done jack in keeping up with my website during my school break. Other obligations interfered. I am a terrible webmaster ... of my own website, anyway.
As always, I am hoping to make progress around here. I suppose that updating my sidebar is a positive start!
Magic and Mechanica is out from Ricasso Press! And I'm in it!
My short story "Cogs" has been published in this anthology, which centers on speculative fiction about "piston-driven fantasy and industrial sorcery." "Cogs" is about a heroine's attempt to reclaim her people's humanity in a world overrun by machines. Magic and Mechanica is available from the Ricasso Press Bookstore or on Amazon.com.
New in the Library:
The Message. Valinor has been left in darkness, and Finarfin is the new king of the Noldor. One night, he awakens with a strange vision: Someone has died in Middle-earth--but who?
New on the Heretic Loremaster:
Move over Fëanor . . . Some thoughts on Fëanor's jewelry choices and the larger lessons they suggest about how to read The Silmarillion.
I Need to Rant. On the notion that slash is a disgrace to Tolkien's world.
Inferior Writing? On Chicklit, Fantasy, and Mary Sue. Why do we put down certain genres of writing? Is there anything anti-woman about those we choose to scorn?
Dispatches from Other Lands:
I'm on Facebook. OMG yes really.
You can find me now on FanLore!
And my obsession du jour is Delicious: Check out what I'm reading and researching here.
What I'm Reading ...
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Beyond These Borders
There is a whole world beyond the Midhavens, begging for exploration. Herein lies a list of places where I have hung my banner on occasion--even flown it proudly--else found friendly company willing to share a song and a cup of wine.
Silmarillion Writers' Guild. Dedicated to studying and writing about J.R.R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion, I founded the SWG as a place for discussion, fellowship, and the celebration of creativity.
Hundrede Artes. Here I document my progress as I attempt to create one hundred pieces of medieval-inspired artwork in seven years.
The (Cyber) Bag of Weasels. This was my first online home and, today, serves as my personal journal.
Droplets
VI.
This was his memory, standing at the quay and watching Elrohir hold long to his mother, until Elladan took hold of his twin and embraced Elrohir to hide his tears.
Elrond hung back under the pretense of giving the children privacy to bid their mother farewell but, really, the thought came to him: If I don’t come forward, she will not leave. She will not leave without bidding me farewell.
He’d stand here forever--better than letting her go.
The gentle waves splashed against the sides of the waiting ship; in the most bitter irony, the day was bright and warm, fit for a wedding.
One by one, the children departed, until it was just him and Celebrian. Her face was parched and stiff; he hadn’t seen her cry since--
He refused to think of it.
So he stepped forward, to embrace her, but when he brushed her shoulder, she flinched and her hand rose to clutch the place of his touch, as though to bar some filth.
The waves clapped against the dock the whole day long, until the sea became bloodied by the sunset. At some point, she must have left. But, looking back, he could not remember.
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