My Experimental Valentine | Allegory

If you’re looking for a sweet, heart-warming little love story to put you in the Valentine’s mood, or if you enjoy stories that end with Happily Ever After in general…this story is not for you.
It was a bit of an experiment back in the Fall of 2019—my first real attempt at allegory, the first short story I was ever really happy with…and frankly, the closest thing to a tragedy I ever wrote.

I think I’m finally comfortable enough with sharing it here, so take a look if you care to. If you’d prefer something a bit more in keeping with V-day, check back a bit later today; I’ll have a more upbeat story posted. ’Cos as jaded an cynical as I’ve become, I’m still a hopeless romantic at heart, and much prefer happy endings…even though I’ll never be worthy of one myself.

~*~

The Unicorn
by R.R. Goodwill
Copyright © September 2019

[source]

Once upon a time, there lived a little Unicorn who dwelt upon a farm. Why the Farmer had brought her there, and for what purpose, she could not fathom. She could not give milk like the cows and nanny-goats. She was not swift and strong like the horses. She could not give wool like the sheep, nor was she bold enough to herd them like the dog. She could not catch mice like the cats. And since the Farmer had not brought any other Unicorns to the farm, he clearly did not intend to breed her, as he did with the other animals.

“In short,” she concluded miserably, “I am utterly useless.”

Yet the Unicorn was not without her own special abilities, for she could sing beautifully, and it gave her great pleasure. Most of the time, she sang when only the Farmer could hear, although once in a great while she allowed a select few of her friends to hear her songs.

[source]

Now the Unicorn had in the course of her life befriended some of the animals on the farm, as well as a few from the nearby forest. But her best friend was a Bluebird who sang even more beautifully than the Unicorn, for his songs were full of deep thought and quiet wisdom. The Unicorn and the Bluebird often spoke together, as well, and the Bluebird proved himself more observant, and to understand her better, than most of the Unicorn’s acquaintance.

As the years passed, however, the Unicorn’s friends left the farm and the forest and crossed a broad, deep river that lay nearby, and made new homes—and new lives—for themselves in the lands beyond. The little Unicorn, however, was obliged to remain on the farm, and she missed them terribly. She realized what good friends she had in these creatures, and it made her wish that they could all live close together, as before. But she knew that could never be, for they had their own lives now, and those lives had moved far beyond the narrow limits of farm-life, or even forest-life.

Over time, she began to miss the Bluebird most of all. As she relived her memories of times spent with him, and recalled the conversations she had had with him, she shed not a few tears at the thought of never seeing him again, and even began to feel she had somehow driven him away, albeit unintentionally.

One day, as she stood leaning against the fence at the far end of the pasture, gazing sadly at the great river that now divided her from her friends, she saw the Bluebird flying about over the waters, landing upon the far shore. As she looked, it seemed as though there had been a veil over him, but now it blew aside briefly, as if stirred by some unseen breeze. For one brief second, she glimpsed his true nature…and she saw that he was not a Bluebird at all, but a graceful White Stag with silver horns and gentle eyes. And she began to think perhaps, had things been different, she might have been happy with him, had he wanted her.

[source]

  But of course now, it was too late, for they were in two different worlds, and she had no way to leave the farm, nor could she cross the great river—not unless the White Stag came to fetch her, and they could stem the tide together.

This realization caused the little Unicorn grief, even long after the moment had faded into memory. She blamed herself for missing what she saw as an opportunity for happiness—and moreover, a future of usefulness and purpose. She called herself hard names and shed many tears. She even considered sending a message to the White Stag, telling him what was in her heart. But in the end, she refrained, sensing it would be improper for her to speak first.

“If he is my soulmate,” she reasoned, “let him make the first move. Then I shall know it is genuine, and not just a silly whim or fancy of mine.”

The White Stag never spoke.

And so the little Unicorn concluded that the White Stage did not care for her—and perhaps no longer even considered her a friend after so many years.

Nevertheless, she determined to make something of the rest of her life—such as it was—and be the sort of person he would have been proud of, could he but be there to see it. She continued to sing her songs, weaving a bit of the White Stag’s deep thought and quiet wisdom into them as she was able to grasp it, and thereby honoring her old friend in the only way she knew how.

 ~*~

Feel free to leave feedback, suggestions, etc. in the comments below. All I ask is that you keep it clean, kind, and considerate. Thanks!

Until next time, Gentle Readers,

God bless,

~ℛ~

 

Cover Reveal! | Love and Memory

So here we are again, on this Thanksgiving Day, to celebrate another upcoming novel by Kendra E. Ardnek: Love and Memory.

*Confetti floof*

LaM is the third installment of Kendra’s Rizkaland series, so fans will be thankful *wink* to have more adventures with Clara and Andrew, Reuben and Petra. 😊

First off: The teaser, and a bit about the author:

Love and Memory

Release Date: April 19th, 2021

Book Description:

The Rizkaland Legends #3

When a Queen forgets,
Her enemies rejoice in her weakness.
But when the Queen remembers,
They tremble in fear.
When a King loves,
His country rejoices with him.
But when that love is broken.
The land is broken, too.
Can Water and Fire join again?
Can Love and Memory be restored?

They spent years in Rizkaland. They ruled the land, forged friendships, built families, and made it their home. But then it was time to return to Earth, and their former lives just don’t fit anymore. Clara and Andrew struggle to reevaluate their priorities when hundreds of miles separate them. Reuben and Petra are lost as they seek a balance between their old friendship and their Rizkan marriage. And Ashna and Noraeto never planned to return, so what life is there for them on Earth?

When the unthinkable happens and a new enemy arises, they’re all thrown back into Rizkaland, into a young prince’s rise to power and struggle to build alliances for his kingdom. But they no longer belong in their other world, either.

Are good memories too much to bear?

Purchase Link:https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08CSYSSXS/

Add Book on Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/…/s…/50512612-the-dancing-princess

Author Bio:

Kendra E. Ardnek is the self-proclaimed Arista of Fairy Tales. She lives in the Piney Woods of East Texas with her dragon babies and massive herd of mini-giraffes, and she is still waiting for one of of her fifty nutcrackers to come to life and marry her. When not writing, you can usually find her sitting in a random box, and she's frequently known to act before she thinks. Find her online at: Website || Blog || Goodreads || Facebook || Twitter || YouTube || Newsletter || Instagram || TikTok || Amazon

Black Friday Sale: For Black Friday and in honor of this cover reveal, Kendra is offering book one, Water Princess, Fire Prince as a FREE ebook on Amazon, and book 2, Lady Dragon, Tela Du, is just 99 cents! And, furthermore, she is offering Broken, which is part 1 of Love and Memory, for free as well as an early read! This sale is part of Perry Kirkpatrick’s Black Friday Sale, so do go check out all of the other books on offer for 99 cents or less!

And now the moment you’ve all be waiting for—the cover!

Very much in keeping with the previous covers for this series, say I. Continuity FTW!

I also have the honor of interviewing two of the protagonistas (my term) from LaM, plus the author herself.
Please welcome Water Princess Clara, Tela Du Petra, and Arista/Anka Kendra!

Hail and well-met, ladies, and thank you for stopping by my wee corner of the Blogosphere. Have a seat, and let’s begin.

Clara, what was it like for you, meeting Andrew again after your time in Rizkaland? (Apologies in advance if you've already gotten a million variations on this one) I mean, it was there at the end of my book? (Fair enough; but it’s been a while sine I read it, so…*shrug*) But, if you must know ... it was weird. I knew my Fire Prince so well, and suddenly, here was a younger, scrawny, shrink-wrapped version of him. I'm slowly getting used to the change, but I do miss the man he became in Rizkaland, I won't lie. Still love him, though.

(Of course you do. Love is more than attraction to the outward appearance; it’s who we are inside that stands the test of time. But I can imagine it would be a bit of a shock, having to adjust to the person you knew looking so different all of a sudden.)

Petra, What are your plans for the future? Reuben and I are working hard at finishing our college degrees - yes we started college early - and once that's done, we plan to start a graphic design company together. Somewhere in there, we plan to get married, but ... I'm not quite sure when. I had plans, but ... Rizkaland and our mental link has made waiting so much harder.

Kendra, rumor has it that this story broke your heart and tortured your betas. At least tell me it has a happy ending? Or at least a hopeful one? ;-) It has a real ending. The book isn't so much about fixing problems as it is finding where you belong or accepting the transit. And it ends with them still in the transit. But I think it's a happier ending than either of the two epilogues that I ended the other two books on?

~*~

Be sure to pop over to the other blogs participating, and visit Kendra’s Instagram, too!

Dreams and Dragons
Light and Shadows
Reality Reflected
Letters From Annie
C.O. Bonham
Kelsey’s Notebook
Rachel Rossano
Living Outside the Lines
The Rambling Rose
Written Rest
Madi’s Musings
Once Upon an Ordinary

And before you go, here’s a snippet from the book, and one of Kendra’s inspiration graphics, to whet your appetite for the real thing. ;-)

Kendra says: "Honestly, this is one of the best representations
I’ve found for Reuben and Petra’s mental links...."

I’m so sorry, Petra. I slept in. I—
   Oh, hush, Reuben. Petra’s answer cut through before he could finish. I knew perfectly well that you were still asleep and could have woken you at any time I wanted. But you needed sleep. I have your breakfast waiting for you.
    Reuben released a sigh of relief as he threw the blankets off of him.
    Thanks. You’re amazing.
    Just doing what I signed up for when I chose you for my best friend.
    Reuben grinned as he pulled a sweatshirt and some jeans out of the pile of mostly-clean clothes. I didn’t realize that you ever had a choice about that.
    Just hurry over here.

~*~

Until next time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,
~ℛ~

How Does Your [Royal] Garden Grow? | Sneak Peek from "The White Birds"

More pix from our own garden on my Instagram
(@fionawildrose)!

  [NOTE: If you haven’t read Prince Nácil yet, be aware that beyond here, there be spoilers.]
(All pictures  after first two via Pinterest)

* * * 

    They entered the Gardens without another word, and Nácil’s heart lightened at the sight of the neat beds, stately trees, and vibrant colors that met his eyes.

    Despite the lateness of the year, the Royal Gardens still boasted life and beauty a-plenty. Several small members of the carnation family—commonly called “pinks” due to their toothed petal-edges—added shades of pink and magenta and ruby-red amid the blue-lavender asters and many-colored chrysanthemums. A few late-blooming delphiniums still bore clusters of brilliant blue atop their tall candles, while daisies and various coreopsis added splashes of white and gold. Some shrubs and trees that had been green in Summer now wore brilliant scarlet, golden yellow, and even burgundy, in glorious contrast to their evergreen garden-mates.
    “Shall we see how your roses are faring in their new home?” Nácil asked brightly.
    Müriel nodded with a tiny smile, but said nothing.
    In the center of the Gardens stood a magnificent fountain of white marble, its three tiers shaped like lotus-blossoms, sending a gentle stream of clear, sparkling water into the air before running down into the basins. A ring of heather-edged beds surrounded the fountain, interrupted by the intersecting garden paths of gray flagstones. These beds housed the Elven-queen’s prized roses, now mostly dormant in the Harvestide season, awaiting the return of Spring. In the center of each bed stood a new bush still covered in glossy dark-green leaves and a few sweet-scented blooms of nearly the same electric blue as the delphiniums.
    Müriel approached the nearest of these and cupped it in her hand as if lifting up the chin of a beloved child. Her smile grew ever-so-slightly wider, and she bent down to breathe in its fragrance.
    Nácil grinned and followed her example. “Ah! I had forgotten how blue roses smelled,” he remarked. “There really is nothing in the World of Men to compare with them, although some red roses come near to it.”
    “They appear to be adapting well to their new surroundings.”
    “Which is a great relief, to own the truth.”
    “Did you fear they would not?”
    “I was unsure. After all, they lived all their lives in the Red Forrest, and underwent a long journey to the Palace.” He smiled softly. “Perhaps…perhaps some residue of my mother’s influence lives on in this garden.”
    Müriel laid her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart. “Part of her lives in you, dear Nácil. It is your Gift—which you inherited from Queen Jael—that makes this garden flourish, now.”
    He gazed at her tenderly, brushing a stray lock of hair off her face.
    If they heard the echoing patter of footfalls on the flagstone path, they disregarded them. If they heard Harold’s voice calling their names, they paid it no heed.
    Nácil lifted Müriel’s chin and kissed her softly.
    A long, drawn-out “Uuuuugggghhhh” sounded behind them, and they turned to see Harold standing a few feet away. He stared at them with knitted brows, his mouth comically askew.
    “All you two ever do is kiss,” he complained.
    Nácil smirked. “Should it please Elyon for you to be as happily married as I am, my lad, you’ll understand why, I daresay.”
    “Catch me!” Harold snorted. “When I get married, my wife and I will have lots more exciting things to do.”
    Nácil threw Müriel a wink and squatted down to Harold’s eye-level. “Oh, shall you, indeed? What sorts of things?”
    “Why, going on picnics, and attending the Dances at Springtime and Summer Solstice, and setting off fireworks at Christmas, and—oh, lots of things much more fun than standing about kissing all the time.”
    “Those do sound like exciting activities, to be sure. But I see no reason why we can’t enjoy them now. Supposing you consult the calendar in the library, and see when the next holiday will be? Then you can help us plan a celebration.”
    Harold’s eyes danced. “Really, Sire? I can help plan a holiday?”
    “Certainly; the next one shall be the first holiday observed in Arboria since Iceheart’s demise. That’s cause for a special celebration, if ever there was one.”
    Harold let out a wild whoop, leaping in the air and pumping his fist. He hugged them both and dashed off.
    Müriel hid a quiet laugh behind one dainty hand. “You handled that rather well, my love.”
    He rose, chuckling slightly. “By Elyon’s grace, I seem to be absorbing a portion of Harold’s abilities.”
    “Abilities?”
    “Defusing potentially awkward situations with cheerfulness,” he explained. “But I daresay we should be less…affectionate…in his presence, since it bothers him so. After all, he did live nearly ten years with you alone, and like as not isn’t used to the behavior of married folk.”
    She pondered this a moment. “I see nothing particularly inappropriate in your attentions to me.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Well, this is a surprise,” he teased. “Not so very long ago, I seem to recall you objecting to my attentions when ‘there are children present.’”
    She smiled foolishly, coloring a little. “I—I was confused—you startled me, and I said whatever came into my head. As for Harold,” she continued, “he shall grow accustomed to them in time. And remember, Nácil; he is but a child yet, and such things are unfathomable at his stage of life.”
    “We are rather silly, aren’t we?” he chuckled, rubbing noses with her. “That is to say, one of us is very silly, and it certainly isn’t you.”

* * *

A snippet from my current WIP, The White Birds, sequel to my recently-published fantasy novel, Prince Nácil…and a wee dose of Victüriel cuteness for any and all shippers out there. :-P The imagery in this scene fit the current Autumnal weather where I live, so it seemed appropriate. 😊

At present, I have around seventeen(ish) chapters written out linearly, plus upwards of twenty pages of random snippets still waiting to be strung together coherently.

This book has a very different “flavor” to its predecessor. The plot is deeper, more complex, and even a bit darker, than PN. The stakes mayn’t be quite as high this time around, but they feel like it (especially from Victor’s perspective). 

 Familiar characters from PN are back, and a bit more fleshed out (save poor Harold; he kinda got swept under the carpet in this book—oops). 

Characters who played minor roles—or were even just in the background—are now part of the main cast. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are new characters to add that extra spice of variety.

My goal (Lord willing) is to finish the first draft by the end of this year, or shortly thereafter. I was aiming for a Spring release, but I have a feeling August or September 2021 would be a more realistic goal.

I can’t wait to share the continuation of the Children of Light series with you!

Check out my Pinterest boards for a glimpse into the world of Ýdära, and other stories I have waiting in the wings.

Until next time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,
~ℛ~

The Tale of the Maiden and her Sailor

 There once was a maid and her sailor.
They were soon to be wed, yessiree.
The sailor was tall, dark, and handsome;
The maid was as fair as could be.

The sailor, he left bright and early
For the church that beautiful morn,
But he soon was a-sittin’, not movin’,
With a tire that was tattered and torn.

Well….
He tried and he tried to keep movin’ along,
’Cause to persevere seemed like the norm.
But two, three, and four flat tires later,
He still hadn’t weathered the storm.

I s’pose you all may be wond’rin’
What our fair maid was thinkin’ that day,
When the clock, it struck one—two—and then THREEEEE!!!
And the wedding-time comin’ their way.

“Oh dear, will he make it here safely?”
Our fair young maiden did sigh.
But she knew what to do with her problem,
And she prayed to her Father On High:

“Lord….
“I’m gettin’ married here this evening—
Oh, how the candles, they will shine!
I'm gettin’ married, and
There’s no denyin’
My nerves are fryin’!
So get him to the church—
Oh, please, just get him to the church on time!”

His sailor-friends left to go hitch-hike,
But his best man, he stayed with him fast;
And six, maybe SEVEN FLAT TIRES later…
He got to the church at last!

~“The Sailor’s Story” Copyright ©2004 Kerry Goodwill (condensed)

~*~

The above is an excerpt from the song my mother wrote (which she, Peter, and I performed) for my grandparents’ 60^th wedding anniversary back in ’04. While it takes a few creative liberties, it tells the humorous tale, in a nutshell, of the trials my grandfather went through to get to his wedding.

 The year was 1944. World War Two was still raging, but that didn’t stop Frank Goodwill and Lois Ream (my grandparents) from falling in love and deciding to spend the rest of their lives together. The wedding was set for the evening of September 9^th, at the church in Monterrey Park, California, Grandma’s hometown at the time.

The wedding party. Love Grandpa's smile!
Pretty sure the bridesmaids in matching dresses (far right) are Grandma's sisters
Betty and Margie. No clue who the other people are, LOL.

Although Grandpa only lived a relatively short distance away (by car), it took him all day to arrive, as the tires on his car kept blowing out. This being wartime, and tires being rationed, he had to borrow ration cards from his sailor buddies traveling with him seven times during the course of his journey. As the song indicated, all but his best man eventually decided it would be faster to hitch-hike to the wedding venue.

Grandpa arrived at the church only a few minutes late—which Grandma actually didn’t notice, being so caught up in wedding what-nots.

She wore a handmade gown of satin brocade, and non-rationed canvass sandals. Grandpa of course wore his Navy uniform.

That look of anticipation isn't just Grandpa's love of sweets--
he hadn't eaten all day, so he was genuinely hungry!

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ll know we visited the old family home back in August of this year, during which time we found Grandma’s vintage wedding gown and Grandpa’s uniform in an old trunk in the attic. Sadly, neither Peter nor I can fit into them, otherwise I’d have talked him into doing a photoshoot, LOL.

I did model Grandma’s dress back in 2000, as part of a fashion show for a mother-daughter banquet at her church at the time. It fit my fifteen-year-old self just about perfectly, apart from being a bit loose in the bodice and too long in the skirt.

All the "brides"! The ladies wore their own wedding gowns,
and most of the girls (barring the flower-girl at center) wore their grandmothers'.
Yours truly second to right (still not sure how I ended up with the biggest bouquet, LOL).
My Mom at far right, moddling her 1981 homemade wedding gown.

Grandpa took one look at me, then turned to Grandma and asked, “Was you really that skinny when I married you?”
Thanks, Grandpa. :-P

My grandparents were married over seventy years, until the Lord took Grandpa to his Long Home in November of 2016, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven. Grandma joined him three years later, shortly after her ninety-third birthday. They raised three sons, endured several hardships, and enjoyed many fun times camping and celebrating special events together. While their marriage was far from perfect or ideal, they were committed to God and to one another, and that is a strong testimony in this day and age.

I thank God for their commitment, and for the fact that we now have tangible reminders of it in the form of Grandma’s gown and Grandpa’s uniform. I thank Him, too, that they are now reunited, and praising their Savior together, for all eternity.

~*~

Until next time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,

~ℛ~

 

Good Times and Free Grog!

Bear with me as I indulge in a bit of nostalgia, Gentle Readers, and take a short walk down Memory Lane….

Three years ago this very day, my family drove down to California to visit our few remaining relatives there. I’d rather not go into the family stuff, as it wasn’t exactly thrilling (plus it was rather sad, as my late grandmother was suffering from dementia at the time).

I will mention, however, the Cuteness Overload moment we had while watching Singin’ in the Rain with Grandma: I looked over at her, and she was singing along with “You Were Meant For Me.” D’aaaaawwww….

(Much of what you’re about to read was excerpted from an email to a friend shortly after the event in question, and lightly edited to be relevant to the present.)

The highlight of the trip, though, happened on Saturday night (the 29th). I had secretly contacted Peter’s three best friends (the other members of the old barbershop quartet) earlier that year, thinking that, since MY BABY BROTHER WAS TURNING THIRTY (!!!), it’d be cool to do something really special to celebrate. I was going to see if “the boys” (Caleb, Shawn, and Matthew) could come visit us for Peter’s birthday weekend, but when we found out we’d be visiting Grandma in Nevada City/Grass Valley in late July/early August of that year, we agreed it’d be more practical for the boys (who all still lived in California at the time) to meet us at Shawn’s parents’ home. A sort of “Un-Birthday” Party.

Plus it worked out better for their busy schedules.

Shawn found PDFs of all the songs they used to sing together and sent them to everyone, plus a barbershop arrangement of Happy Birthday…which they sang as Peter walked in the door (with Shawn's dad singing lead). Peter was pretty much oblivious to our sneaky plans until we drove up to the house and saw all the extra cars, hehehe. Although he must have thought it odd that Shawn’s mom would call us up the night before we left to “invite” us to dinner…and that we were bringing everything….

L-R: Peter, Caleb, Mom, Shawn, Bonnie, Guy, Matthew, me

(Please excuse the lack of photos. It appears I only took two still-shots that evening, and one of them was absolute rubbish due to backlighting. This one is horribly yellowed, but at least y’all can see everyone!)

On the whole, the evening was a great success, in spite of a bit of awkwardness on my part, and the music Caleb tried to print off the Internet getting saved goofy and printing messed up. It was so good to see them all again, and hear them sing (except when they sightread a new song—that was pretty awful, LOL), and catch up on their lives and just hang out…enjoying pizza and Root Beer, of course! (It was kind of a tradition.) As we used to say back in The Day: “Good Times and Free Grog!”

Normally, social interaction drains my emotional energy. I get to a point where I’m thinking, “OK, I’ve had enough of you. Go away/Let’s go home now.”

Peter’s party had the opposite effect. I could have stayed up all night talking with them (or even just Shawn and his folks)…but of course that wasn’t an option.

I felt a real spirit-kinship with our old friends that night…which we haven’t felt with anyone we’ve met since we left California, really. It was refreshing. It was wonderful!

And it left me so charged that I wasn’t a bit sleepy when we finally crawled back to Grandma's house after 10 p.m. I honestly don’t think I actually went to sleep until well into the Wee Hours, LOL.

Some highlights and quotes from the evening:

* Yours truly deciding to fist-bump “the boys,” not being sure hugs would be appropriate….
SHAWN: *Confused look* Well, that’s the hypo-allergenic way to greet someone.
ME: *Fist-bumps Caleb during this speech*
*Feels stupid*
*Sees Matthew with arms open*
*Hugs Matthew*
*Turns back to Shawn* Friendly hug?
SHAWN: Hugs….
*Hug*

Lesson learned: Don’t be afraid to hug people you’ve known since grade-school. It just makes things awkward.

* Shawn making a little speech about how it’s become a tradition to celebrate our gatherings with Root Beer, but that “we don’t have any root beer,” and someone suggesting a trip to the store to fetch some….
ME: *Opens cooler*
*Pulls out the pack of Root Beer we smuggled down for the occasion* Ta-da!
BOYS: *Sounds of appreciation and happiness*

* Matthew discussing the car he was trying to sell: “It makes vroom-vroom noises, Caleb….”

* Caleb’s diagnosis of why the music wouldn’t print properly: “Yeah, someone set us up the bomb.”
ME: *Dies laughing*
(Virtual cookies to anyone who gets the joke!)

* Caleb finding a GORGEOUS old hymn called “Deck Thyself, My Soul,With Gladness,” and all of us singing it together (even though we weren’t sure of our parts).

* Sharing prayer requests before the party broke up, and praying together. The sense that everyone cared about each other and the things we were dealing with in life.

* Myself deciding not to be afraid take the empty chair beside one of the boys. Twice. Telling myself these fellows are my brothers in Christ, so it’s perfectly fine to sit next to them. (I’ve been shy and nervous around boys since I was nine, and terrified of giving them the wrong impression, so this was huge for me.)

* Shawn asking me if I’ve ever heard of NaNoWriMo, and suggesting I try it. Something about the act of “just getting it out there”—just writing on something, even if it’s not great—can unblock ideas that are clogged up. It was interesting that he’d even heard of NaNo,† and kinda cool that he even remembered I write.

† Re-reading this account, I remembered that several of our fellow message board members (circa early 2000’s) were involved in NaNo, so that’s probably where he heard about it. But it was still cool that he remembered after all those years.

* Peter, Shawn, and me discussing Star Trek after the party (Shawn had been going through the series for the first time). Peter and me advising him to “skip the first two seasons” of Next Generation, explaining the story behind the term “growing the beard,” and watching a Star Trek version of “Let It Snow” on Shawn's phone. LOL.
PETER: (as we were leaving) It took fifteen years, but we finally turned him into a Trekkie.

* Peter remarking on the drive back to Grandma's, “I’d actually been thinking about the guys today, and thinking we’ll probably never see them again....”

So it was extra special that they were able to come!

To this day, I’m still just tickled that it all worked out—that these grown men, with their own lives and careers and what-not, dropped everything and carved out some time in their busy schedules to throw a surprise party for a guy they hadn’t seen in years. Sole Deo Gloria!

Until next time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,

~ℛ~

Crafty Corner | “Briar Rose,” Part Three

BriarRose, Part One
BriarRose, Part Two

Admittedly, my enthusiasm for this project fizzled out after a while. Part of it was due to being sick of the whole quarantine malarkey (heh, me and everyone else in the wonky world, I daresay), but another part was an odd reluctance to tackle re-drafting my princess-seam pattern.

It didn’t make sense that I’d have kept my bodice pattern, but not the full-length dress. And what about all the different-shaped neckline supplements I’d labored over? Had I tossed them, too? ’Cos I sure couldn’t find them, either, despite looking through both supply closets in the sewing room. It irked me, to be honest, that I’d have (apparently) been stupid enough to toss a pattern made specifically for my somewhat odd proportions. As my Elven characters are so fond of saying, it is not wisdom.

Fast-forward to sometime in mid-May. Mom and I were sorting through our various pillow-forms in one of said supply closets—determining just how many pillows we really need in this house—when what should come crashing down on Mom’s head but…my princess-seam dress pattern! Complete with neckline supplements!
Quoth I: “Where was this six months ago, when I searched every inch of these closets for it?!” (Well, obviously not *every* inch, LOL)

That’s the good news.

The bad news is…I just don’t enjoy sewing that much. I love the design process—possibly my favorite part of any creative endeavor, TBH—and it’s exciting when the construction phase gets to that “hey, it’s starting to look like something!” point.

However, cutting out fabric (especially in complex shapes) has always scared me, and frankly, my skills just aren’t on the same level as my vision. I can do basic sewing pretty well, but the more formal garments I’ve made myself always turned out looking like a fifth grade Home Ec project (back when schools actually taught sewing classes, oy).

And of course, once you’ve cut a piece of fabric, there’s no going back. It’s not like yarnwork or beaded jewelry, where you can just disassemble the thing if it doesn’t work out. I mean, you could re-cut the fabric into something smaller, but…yeah. I decided I didn’t need that kind of stress in my already stressful life.

Another fact I had to admit was that I’m not as fond of pink as I once was (haven’t been for the last decade, really), and a solid-pink dress just seemed like a bit much. A bit too girly and floofy, especially with white lace trim.

We’d toyed with the idea of putting the roses on a white dress—even thought of refashioning Mom’s 1970’s-style wedding gown!—but vetoed the idea, as white is hard to keep clean, and frankly…who wears white dresses these days, save brides?

Fast-forward again to this past Wednesday, when Mom and I spotted this white tunic/short dress at the local Goodwill.

It’s made of an interesting knit fabric, which we thought would go well with the crocheted roses. While it’s too short to wear as a dress (for my taste, anyhow), it’s a graceful length for a tunic with fitted trousers, or even a flared A-line skirt. I may even wear my old pink mock-up (featured in Part One) under it.
It’s fitted, but not skin-tight, and the material is soft and stretchy enough that it’s easy to move around in. I love this flared style, and the vertical lines are quite flattering on me. Really, my only beef is that the “stripes” aren’t quite centered. *ERGLE* Aw well, can’t have everything. :-P

Imagine vines between the blossoms,
and more leaves and flowers, and....

I played around with what colored motifs I had, and I must say, I’m quite in love with it, overall. The pink and green on the white background is so fresh and clean-looking.
I’m not 100% sold on the lower arm design; the Rosebud and Half-open Rose don’t quite feel right, and the Full-blown Rose seems a bit much. I may work up a miniature version of the hem border….

Also, the area between the hem and the waist looks a bit bare, and I’m not sure I want an actual “belt”/girdle at the waist.

That said, I love the large rose and cascading leaf design at the sleeve-head and neckline, and the Rosebud at the shoulder. Will probably tweak the Half-open Rose and leaf placement once I get the Vine made and sewn down.
I’m also debating whether to decorate the back of the tunic or leave it relatively plain.

So yeah; I still have a bit of work to do on this project—mainly crocheting a few more flowers, and lots more leaflets—but not nearly as much as when this was going to be a full-on party-frock! >_< I think this approach will be more realistically achievable, and be more comfortable to wear in Real Life. Let’s face it; the long dress would only have been suitable for square dances—which I didn’t attend very often even when they were still a thing (darn you, COVID!). A tunic is still elegant and feminine, but less formal and potentially costumey.

I am so looking forward to finishing this project!

Until next time, Gentle Readers,
God bless,

~ℛ~