My mother was not quite seventeen when I was born. She and my father, just three years her senior, had married early as he had joined the army. They were still living close to home when I first came into the world, but it was not long before they moved to married quarters at the other end of the country. My father, though, was not around for long as his unit was sent on active duty overseas, so my mother, still just a teenager herself and with a small child to raise, became effectively a single parent with no family close enough to offer the support and advice she needed.

In spite of being very young at the time, I have very clear memories of where we lived, the things we would do together and the places we went. We lived in a small, top-floor flat in an old building…

I feel the life within and around me with fierce joy. It is a glorious morning. Dew sparkles like living diamonds on the grass and the air is bright. Waking to such a day is pure pleasure. I stretch out my forelegs, rousing muscles stiff from sleep, and flex my wings. I strike the ground and a stream is born, pooling around my hoof, one of my father’s more useful gifts.

I drink, admiring my rippling reflection and then break my fast; the grass is young here and sweet and there are apples on the trees.

Once I have eaten, I set about preening my feathers… a laborious task, but necessary. There is an itch, just there on the leading edge. I twist around to reach it, a most ungainly position for one such as I… and find that I am being watched.

Beyond the spring, there is a young…

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

It’s Hidebound Hump Day, my chuckaboos! I’m already struggling with the pace of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  However, I’m happy with what I’ve done so far on my new, quirky story.  Not to be coy, but I’m keeping this one “close to the vest,” as The Dealer might say.

Tesla as imagined by Rob Goldstein

Regardless of all that, I couldn’t resist pausing long enough to make some kind of response to a prompt from Diana Wallace Peach.

Diana is also doing NaNoWriMo, but she took time to issue a delightful writing challenge.

Write from the point of view of a creature that doesn’t exist in the “real” world.  Don’t tell us what the creature is. Let us “experience” it through its thoughts and actions.  

Although I really, really wanted to work this into my November novel… it wasn’t coming together.  Then I…

https://mythsofthemirror.com/2019/10/31/a-november-writing-challenge/

Write from the point of view of a creature that doesn’t exist in the “real” world. Don’t tell us what the creature is. Let us “experience” it through its thoughts and actions. Images are fine, but don’t include “the creature” in the image. The point is to “show” with your words.

~TIDBITS FOR STARTERS~

They hastened to the half point of their haven. Events had been happening light years beyond their limited expectations. It was easier to sliver than slide. Most senior ones knew from eons of experience.

“Tall, yet majestic.” Thought one.

“Easily accessible.” Thought another.

“Fresh and supple.” Thought a third.

“New blood for the changing.” Whispered another.

They had waited for centuries for just this moment, and not a moment too soon.

“Is the host acceptable?” one questioned.

“Will it bend to our wishes?” asked another…

“It has no mouth, no eyes, 720 sexes, and can detect food and digest it?”

The deep rumbling voice of the scientist travels through its cells and it hears, despite having no brain.

“It thrives in temperatures oscillating between 19 and 25 degrees Celsius and in high levels of humidity. Acacia trees, oak bark and chestnut bark are its favourite places to grow,” the voice continues. “It has some amazing characteristics. It can move at a speed of 1.6 inches per hour, heal itself when it’s dissected and solve problems.”

Lying in petri dishes, three to each workstation in the science laboratory, it gives no indication that it is listening and considering every word that is spoken.

“You each have a scalpel and a piece of the slime mold on the table in front of you. We are going to dissect it so that you can see it fuse itself…

Written in response to a challenge at Diana’s blog.

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A big old one is down. We knew it was ailing. It had given up part of its substance to the Eaters and Dissolvers, and for long its messages had become faint. It went down hard. The whole net shuddered. The Burrowers trembled and Stompers scattered. Now the entire flow shifts and jiggles. Water has backed up through the nets and mineral transport has halted. Our hyphae tingle, for we know what is to come.

We’ve been through this before. The fall of a big one tears a rift in the fabric, laying the matrix open to That Which Is Above. The whole network redeploys, full of flurries and judders. Messages vibrate through us. Carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus—hold those supplies! Protective compounds, a flux of nutrients—more, more, more! Make chitin, build new tubes, shut down useless sections. Pump and transmit…