Charles DeLint makes me want to write. He makes me want to really truly write, though I know that I wouldn't be able to. Instead I'd write Charles DeLint sounding squaking much like I used to regurgitate Laurell K. Hamilton sounding mush, back in the day. I'd steal the sentences, the jargon, the feel, everything I could because that's what made me ( Read more... )

I went bone hunting today. The bones I have are beginning to rot. I suppose that autumn is not the best time of year, the hunters' refuse and the deer that stumbles away to die in the woods from a poor marksman's shot may provide ample fare, but the leaves covering the ground make them too difficult to find. So alas, I found nothing. I shall have ( Read more... )

I bring to you my defenders, those who would hold me against your ill will, my lanterns, my pathways, my shelters, even my hopes. To fight for my own existance here, as it is only a flickering spark, is a foolish and selfish task. It is for those that may see more than a spark, whose flame may be fed by mine, that I come. Intent so are you upon my ( Read more... )

The room is dark, and feels as empty as Heaven. Only one light is lit, just enough to read by, soft yellowed pages that smell of must and echo with the memory of a thousand voices reading aloud their spellbinding story. I can remember your voice, sweetness, the way your lips form the words, your breath soft against my skin as I sit huddled in this ( Read more... )

You can waltz in the moon light with black lace and torn gossamer wings, you can sing the autumn breeze to sleep, ice your lips with frost and sprinkle your hair with stardust. Dance with the shadows and the firelight, wrap yourself in woodsmoke and fog, and lace the air with fireflies. You can breathe each fairytale cliché and live on honey and ( Read more... )

Driving home from class at ten at night lends itself to a suspended sort of awareness intertwining with the slow sad melodies of the music on the radio. It's like watching a movie or viewing everything from behind the lense of a camera, the sinuous curves of the road, the strange surrealism of the streetlights. The music fits perfectly into every ( Read more... )

People here seem afraid of my eyes. Maybe they can see the darkness behind them, but I hate giving the general public that kind of credit. Though, I don’t know what else it could be. My parents were elves, Lynsara and Kieran Whitewind, but elves are not uncommon here and there was something else in my mother’s blood. Perhaps if I had waited, she ( Read more... )

Lynsara stalked around the empty upper cabin, growling angrily. Clutched in her left hand was a crumpled copy of the Magestic Messanger. The halfelf did not look quite normal, her eyes were a feral sort of green and her teeth looked ready to tear at her lip on their own. She was not happy, and she tried in vain to transform her sorrow into anger, ( Read more... )

Outside, outside it was brightly sunny and hot. Inside, deep in the center, it was cool. The sun had set already there, the boughs of the pine trees that sheltered the earth blocked out the stars. They painted this inner world in deepest hues of green, edged with the black of shadows and the gray of woodsmoke. The scent of the air was wet earth ( Read more... )

It was dark where she was, and she wasn't sure where that was. Her eyes were wide open, straining into the dark, but it was a black so pure that not the faintest sihloutte could be seen. She stretched her hands out timidly, her arms reaching out as far as they could, cautiously, afraid of what she might feel. Her feet refused to move, and it felt ( Read more... )