In lieu of
actual blog post content (and until I can get my big Real Life Update post
hammered out), some random thoughts from the mind of R. R. Goodwill:
~Quote of the Week~
So Mom and I
were making supper, and she was shredding beets with the attachment
on our mixer. A slice of beet got stuck between the plastic chute and the
shredder and made a loud SQUEEEEEAK.
ME: *Chuckles*
The screaming beet. …Actually, that pretty much accurately describes Rock ’n’
Roll.
MOM: “Squeak”?
ME: The
Screaming Beat.
MOM: *Laughs*
~Conversations
in my head~
I should
totally learn Gaelic.
Aye, for sure! Erin go braugh!
Um, sweetie,
you’re not Irish.
I am so!
OK, true, but
you’re also Scottish, technically.
*Plays
“Scotland the Brave” on bagpipes*
*Sigh*
AS I WAS
SAYING….
I should
totally learn Gaelic. No one can hear me when I talk anyhow. Then I could be
going about muttering random junk like, “I want frozen yogurt,” or “Monkeys
don’t like walnuts,” and if people asked me what I said, I could repeat it in
Gaelic. And when they asked, “What does that mean?” I could smile impishly and
reply, “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
or, “That would be tellin’.”
Anka, you need
a Tumblr account, not a weblog.
What? And have
my thoughts posted in public??
Um…isn’t your
blog public? I mean, you don’t have it in Protection Mode like you did your
Xanga account, so…. *Shrug*
Ha! If all the
Internet were an interactive, highly-detailed map of the world, my little blog
would be a pin-prick on the coffee table.
In some old
granny’s attic. :-P
Did you just call Blogger an old attic?
* * *
And just for
laughs and giggles, a few of my favorite snippets from some of my WIPs. Ones without a
book title attached are ones I’m still figuring out where they belong in the
timeline. Ahh, the joys of non-linear inspiration….
(All pictures
via Pinterest)
Enjoy:
Another door opened down the hall, and a
lady with bobbed silvery hair poked her head out. “What on earth is that racket
downstairs?” she asked, adjusting her large, black-rimmed spectacles. “And
what’s all this I hear about burglars?”
“They—they’re trying to break down the
door, Lillian!” Mrs. Daley wailed, running up to her with the poker in hand.
“Then they must be rather stupid burglars,”
Lillian quipped. “Thieves generally don’t alert their intended victims that
they’re about to break into the house; they use lock-picks. You know that,
Alice Daley.”
“Oh—yes—of course,” Mrs. Daley gulped.
“I—I just forgot. I haven’t my full senses at night.”
~Prince Nácil
Jason smiled
sheepishly, his face as hot as the sizzling bacon on the table, and held out
the wildflowers. “Happy Birthday,” he squeaked in almost-perfect Gaelic.
Ember blinked,
still squinting, a few seconds as her groggy brain gradually processed his
words. Then she beamed at him and took the flowers happily. “Oh!” she crowed.
“Oh! ’Tis my birthday—of course! Thank’ee, boy-o; that was sweet of you to
remember.” Then, smiling impishly, she practically shoved her face in the
bouquet and inhaled their fragrance aggressively.
“What are you
doing?” Jason cried.
“You told me to
take time to smell the flowers,” she explained. Then she sneezed violently, scattering
pollen and loose petals in his face.
~Jason Windrider
“Henceforth, you are no longer my sister,
but my enemy—a traitor to our people. You may style yourself as Queen of the
Fae, O Krystála, but my allegiance is to Prince Nácil, and in his name I shall
fight you.”
Lady Krystála threw her head back and
laughed heartily. “You?” she sneered. “What power do you possess to fight me,
little Müriel? You who cannot cast a spell without the aid of your silly wand?
You who tremble at every raised voice and loud noise? And as for your precious
Prince Nácil,” she continued, narrowing her eyes and smirking, “he is as good
as dead. He has suffered a mortal sorrow—”
“—which you yourself inflicted upon him!”
Müriel shouted.
“—and we all know that even the High-elves
cannot last long in such a state,” Lady Krystála continued, ignoring her
interruption. “He will die in the World of Men, and Ýdára shall be purged of
Othniel’s line. Or, should he be foolish enough to return hither, he shall die
regardless. Do not put your hope in him, little girl; he will not return.”
Müriel started
hard at her, a frown of anger, hurt and sorrow weighing down her countenance.
“You are well named Krystála,” she said, “for its root—krystalos—means ‘ice’ in the tongues of Men. When they first beheld
rock quartz, they believed it to be ice that was permanently frozen—as is your
heart. Therefore Iceheart I name you,
for you are cold as the winds upon the snow-capped mountains, with a heart as
hard and pitiless as stone.”
~Rise of Iceheart
“Ugh,” Tom
snorted, wrinkling her nose; “love-letters are such slush—nothing but a
bucketful of pure, sloppy, maple-syrup-infused, sentimental slush!”
“Have you got
enough adjectives there, Tommy-lass?” Ember snickered.
“I daresay I’ve
used up my quota for one sentence,” Tom smirked, “but seriously! Why can’t folk
talk sensibly when they’re in love? If I wrote Ciaran and called him ‘my
precious darling,’ he’d laugh his head off. Or think I’d gone daft. I never
called him such silly names before I discovered I loved him; why should I do it
afterwards? And if he was sappy enough to give me such an epitaph,” she concluded, “I’d call him a numpty.”
 |
| Scottish Gaelic |
“Tell you what,”
Anton replied, sliding a comforting arm about Jason’s shoulders, “if you’re
killed, I’ll guard your body ’till the fighting is over. Then I’ll have you
burned and take your ashes to the Elves, and I’ll have them use them to make a
precious gem. Then I’ll take your and Ember’s swords and have a sword maker
combine them into a whacking-great claymore, and I’ll set the hilt with the gem
made from your remains. I’ll give the thing to Ember, and she can find the
people who killed you and hack them to pieces with the claymore.”
Jason shot him a
sideways dubious look. “Er…thank you…?”
Ciaran raised his
eyebrows. “’Tis both disturbin’ an’ amazin’ that be, at the same time.”
 |
| The quote that inspired this snippet |
~The Treasure of Rainbow Rock
“Perhaps Jane woke up again, and Lillian
had to reassure her that everything is all right,” Alice suggested.
“My granddaughter,” Mrs. Whittaker
explained, handing Victor a cup of tea. “She’s only seven, you see, and little
girls frighten easily in thunderstorms like this.”
Victor’s cup paused halfway to his mouth,
and he stared into it silently for a moment. His friendly smile had faded into
an expression of sadness, and his twilight-gray eyes misted over. “Yes,” he
murmured, more to himself than to the two ladies, “yes, I know about—about
little girls.”
~Prince Nácil
To Tom’s horror,
Shadow took a flying leap into the mixing-bowl containing the dry ingredients,
and Midnight jumped in after his brother. Pouff!
A cloud of flour shot up as the kittens scrambled to get out of the bowl. Tom
wailed in despair and was about to grab them both by the scruff of the neck,
when they leapt over the opposite side and skittered across the rest of the
island, dropping to the floor with a plop
and a small explosion of flour. Shadow shook off the remaining flour from his
fluffy hide, but a good amount had stuck to Midnight’s face, looking for all
the world like some sort of mask.
“Cat, you look
like a demon,” Tom snorted, still angry.
Ember pretended
to be frightened and crossed herself. “Elyon preserve us!” she ejaculated.
“’Tis the Flour Demon!” Then she laughed at her own foolishness.
Anton snorted.
“She always did treat me like her idiot brother.”
“Well, frankly,”
Jason remarked, “you sometimes act like it. Not that I’m calling you an idiot,
mind,” he added quickly, “and I’m not taking her side against you, exactly… but,
well…as I see it—personally—you are
rather in the wrong here.”
“So what am I
supposed to do? Saddle my horse and chase after her? Dash into the theater and
beg her forgiveness on bended knee?”
“Oh, I’m sure
she’d love that,” Jason chuckled
ruefully. “Not to mention everyone in the theater. No, I’d wait for her to come
home, and have something nice prepared for her—including a sincere apology.”
Anton’s mouth
curled into a mischievous smile.
Jason pointed a
finger in his face. “No exploding
root beer!” he ordered.
Anton made a
face. “You’re no fun.”
A chunk of the
snow covering the boulder suddenly gave way under Yokúl’s hand, and he tumbled
forward. The boulder happened to be on a slope, so down rolled Yokúl,
head-over-heels, his clothes gathering snow along the way, straight for the
circle of Snow-faeries. He passed right between two of the Snow Queen’s
handmaidens—giving them quite a start—and crashed into the heels of Snow Queen
herself before she had time to do more than look behind her. The snow he had
accumulated burst off in a minor explosion, most of it coating the hem of her
gown. Yokúl lay flat on his back, staring up into the upside-down face of the
Snow Queen, who peered at him with a sort of cold curiosity.
Yokúl flashed her
a sheepish half-smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he
quipped.
~Ice and Snow
“You!”
The Man froze in
his tracks, his eyes wide with terror, his face taking on a grayish hue.
“Come hither!” Obsidia commanded.
The Man trembled
all over himself, jerkily putting one foot before the other as he reluctantly approached the Dragoness. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came forth.
“Speak!” Obsidia bade him, snorting two
thin wisps of smoke out her nose.
“P-please,” he
begged, his voice squeaking, “spare my life, I b-beg of you—and—and in return
I—I shall give you my two young daughters. They will be sweeter, and tenderer,
than an old goat like me—”
Obsidia clashed
her teeth together, her eyes flashing amber-red for a moment. “Am I one of the foul Ýrkhós”*—she spat
out an ember as she said the word—“that
you offer me Man-flesh?! I am
Obsidia, the Black Fire-dragoness! And I. Do. Not. Eat. MAN!” She stared
hard at him, her face moving closer and closer to his as she spoke, until their
eyes were less than a foot apart.
The Man shuddered
worse than before, perspiration rolling down his face. “A-a thousand pardons, O
Great One!” he began.
“Cease your gibbering, Man—if indeed a man
you be, and not a mouse,” she snorted, backing away a very little. “Now hearken! I have a request to make of
you.”
“I—I shall do
whatever you ask,” the poor Man whimpered, “if you will but spare me.”
Obsidia fixed him with a paralyzing gaze and
stared at him steadily, unblinking, for several seconds, until the fellow
looked ready to faint. “Teach me all
there is to know about the preparation of food!” she ordered in her most
imperious voice.
~Jason Windrider
*Ýrkhós = The collective name given to Goblins,
Hobgoblins, and Orcs in Ýdára
“What’s the
matter? Why are you crying? Aren’t you happy here?”
Jane wiped her
eyes. “I—I am grateful—for—for all
your kindness,” she slurred, “but—but—but what if I can’t get home again? What if I’m trapped here forever?”
Harold blinked.
“Oh, is that all? Why, if that happens, then you can stay here with me and Lady
Müriel. She’ll take good care of you, and so will I.” He brightened. “See here!
We could pretend you’re my sister, and—Well, now what’s wrong?”—as Jane’s eyes filled with tears again.
“That’s what
Robert says,” she whimpered.
“Who is Robert,
dear heart?” Lady Müriel asked gently.
“My friend who
lives over the hill in the West pasture,” Jane replied, rubbing her eye. “He’s
so kind to me—he tells Teacher when the other boys tease me—and pretends I’m
his little sister. He has ever so many big
sisters,” she explained, dabbing her handkerchief at her nose, “but he says he
always wanted a little sister to take care of, so he chose me.”
“He sounds like a
special person, indeed,” Lady Müriel smiled.
Jane nodded. “Oh,
he is. I—I wish he was here….” And she buried her face in her already sodden
handkerchief.
~Prince Nácil
Anton beat the
drum at a regular interval—dum, dum,
rat-tat-tump, dum, dum, rat-tat-tump—perfect for marching to. The others
kept time more or less perfectly, but Anton of course could not be confined to
merely marching. He skipped and hopped and pranced like a high-stepping pony—all
in time to his drumbeat—chanting boldly and cheerfully at the top of his voice:
The Donkey and the Elephant
Went to the land of Hackenstant—
Tump, tump, tump, hilay!
And as they walked,
Nor never talked,
They sang this pleasant little chant:
Tump, tump, tump, hilay!
Tumpty-tumpty, tump, hilay!
Huzzah!
“What nonsense
might this be, then?” Ember muttered.
“Oh, you know
Anton,” Fiona whispered. “Whatever brings a smile to folks’ faces or provokes a
good laugh, he’s sure to think of it.”
“And run with
it,” Jason chuckled.
“Wait!” Yokúl
cried.
The Frost King
halted and shot him an annoyed glance over his shoulder.
“I—I have a
request.”
“What is it?”
Krystalós sneered. “Are you going to beg for your life, Leaf-painter?”
“No, sir; I know
that would be useless. My request is simply this: If you’re going to kill me,
then do it yourself—with your own hands. Anyone can have lackeys and underlings
do their killing for them, but have you the courage to look me in the eye as
you strike me down? To watch the life slowly fade from my eyes? If you’re going
to take my life, Krystalós of the Frost, then you owe me that much. If you
can’t, then you’re a bigger coward than I gave you credit for.”
The Frost King
glared at him several seconds in cold, stony silence. He turned to face Yokúl
and took a few forceful steps forward, gripping the wolf’s-head handle of his
sword. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he growled.
---------------
The blade
whistled through the air as its sharp edge neared Yokúl’s neck. Yokúl swallowed
involuntarily and closed his eyes, squaring his shoulders and taking what he
believed to be his last breath.
The whistling
ceased suddenly, and the wolves and Efríts behind him groaned and yammered in
dismay. Yokúl opened his eyes and saw the Frost King looking at him with confusion—and
even a bit of fear—flickering across his face. He held the sword parallel to
the snow-covered ground, barely an inch away from Yokúl’s neck.
“No,” Krystalós
intoned, his voice like a glacier. He brought the tip of the sword under
Yokúl’s chin and lifted it up. “That is too quick and clean a death for an
upstart like you.”
Yokúl exhaled
softly, relief flooding through him. He smirked up at his would-be executioner.
“I knew you couldn’t do it.”
~Ice and Snow
“When one person loves another very much,
it’s as though that other person is a part of one—as though God Himself had
knitted their hearts together in such a way that each can feel what the other
is feeling. Perhaps your grandmother means that she loves you so much, little
Jane, that, when you’re sad, or afraid, or hurt, she feels it with you. But love
can also rejoice with the happiness of those we love,” he added, smiling
slightly.
“That’s like
something Jesus said in the Bible!” Jane exclaimed. “He said to ‘weep with
those who weep,’ and ‘rejoice with those who rejoice,’ but I never knew that was
part of loving someone. But that makes sense…only…I can’t really explain why.”
~Prince Nácil
The children circled the
tower, feeling carefully along its smooth, beautifully carved walls. But there
didn’t appear to be anything like a door anywhere.
Sierra looked upwards, gazing
at the windows. She chuckled as an idea came to her.
“What?” Shasta asked, hearing
her.
Sierra blushed. “Oh, well,”
she simpered, “I was just thinking of the story of Rapunzel. We’re kinda like
the prince; we want to get in, but there’s no door.”
“Say, there’s an idea!”
Shasta beamed. With that, she faced the nearest window and cupped her hands
around her mouth. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” she shouted.
The children watched
anxiously—Sierra rubbing her right ear, which Shasta had accidentally yelled
into—but the windows remained shut.
“Phooey,” Shasta grumbled.
~The Tower of Pearl
“I don’t like the
thought of dying any more than you do,” Robert continued. “But if I could save
you somehow…then it wouldn’t be so bad. And if I can’t…well, I meant what I
said: I’ll protect you, Jane—with my last breath, if necessary.”
“Oh, please don’t
talk like that.”
“Why not? It’s
true.”
Jane’s body shook
with a repressed sob, and she sniffled softly. “I don’t want to die,” she
whimpered. “There were things I wanted to do before…before I went to Heaven.”
She looked ruefully up at him. “I’m sure you feel the same way.”
“If you only
knew,” he murmured.
~The Obsidian Castle
Othniel smiled
softly at her. “Princess,” he murmured, “why are you doing this? Yesterday you
did not know I existed, yet you are willing to help me become your partner for
life. You have my admiration, yet I am curious as to your motives.”
Again [Jael]
looked up at him with eyes shining like sapphires, peering steadily at him
without speaking for a moment. At length she replied, “You have become almost a
legend among the peoples, much talked of and that right favorably. This day I
have seen with my own eyes that the reports of you are true, and that has
earned you my respect—which is not an easy thing to obtain, mind you.” Sadness
clouded her face for a moment. “But there is a greater cause for me to approve
of you: Sítára Halfelven was my friend, and her banishment is a bitter trial to
those who love her. She wrote to me and told of how you changed her mother’s
curse into a blessing, though she had wronged you greatly. For this, I have
long admired you, and prayed Elyon that He would bless you for it.”
~The Labors of Othniel
“Why, hullo
there, Stardust.”
“What? That.”
“Come now, little
one, you know a book when you see it.”
“Book.”
“That’s right. A
very interesting book, which I’m trying to read just now.”
“Teach!”
“You want me to
teach you to read?”
“Read! Knowledge.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. But
this is rather advanced to start off with. If you’re going to learn reading,
you’ll need to start at the beginning.”
Anton closed the
book, ignoring Stardust’s whimpering, and found a stout stick nearby. “We’ll
begin with the letters.” He wrote out the alphabet in the dirt with the stick,
reciting the name of the letters as he drew them. Stardust hovered over each
letter and studied it carefully, repeating the names back to him.
“Good. Now I’ll
point to a letter, and you tell me what it is, all right?”
“Right!”
He pointed to a T.
“What’s this letter?”
“I!”
“Try again.”
“L!”
“Try again.”
“Too hard.”
“You give up too
easily, little one. That’s a T. But perhaps I’m going too fast. Let’s say them
all again from first to last.”
Just then,
Oriános fluttered down, landing squarely in the middle of the alphabet.
“Teach Oriános, too!” he begged.
“Well, all right,
but you’ll have to move your tail, Golden Boy; you’re sitting on your lesson
just now.”
~The Silver One
* * *
That’s enough
for now. Many more snippets, and y’all won’t need to read my books when (Lord
willing) they’re published, LOL.
Until next
time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,
~R~
![“Elyon preserve us!” [Ember] ejaculated. “’Tis the Flour Demon!”](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/d9/ec/37/d9ec372d06eba684d213e5409232960d.jpg)