Screaming things, I tried so hard to hide

Revealing just how much it hurts to die

After fighting this losing battle for so long

My name has faded inside the vast abyss

Along with all the pieces of my broken heart

“Warriors don’t give up” I keep reminding myself

But still, I have never been one, to begin with

I let my conscience go wherever I could be free

My mind tainted with feelings I never chose to feel

The post Losing Ground appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

It was snowing on the day she was born. It rarely snowed in that little village. A woman took the newborn girl in her arms and looked at her wings, face scrunched.

Why were you born a faerie?

After putting the baby back in her crib, she took a knife in her hands, which she swiped from a nearby counter. Glancing down at the baby with blonde hair and skin as white as porcelain, she hesitated. Tears filled her eyes as she contemplated what she had to do. Her hand was shaking when she touched the child’s fragile wings. As if the baby somehow understood, she looked at her mother’s eyes and cried along with her.

“For the love of Mother Earth, be quiet! Faeries can’t survive in this world! They will kill you, just like they did with all your ancestors!” screamed the mother, hoping the child would understand and forgive her.

She got the sharp knife near her wings, but her hand didn’t seem to move and rip them out of her. With tears in her eyes, realizing she wasn’t able to do it, she turned the knife on herself and shoved it into her heart. With the little strength she had left, she took off her pendant and laid it beside her daughter. She drew her last breath, as one more tear rolled down her cheeks.

One of the midwives entered the room and let out an agonized scream. After she confirmed that the woman was, indeed, dead, she took the baby in her arms. Before leaving forever from that place, she swore to her mother that she would raise her with all the love she could give her.

Little Eloise – that’s how she named her -, grew more and more every day. Her eyes had a very unique shade of purple as if someone had placed an amethyst inside of them. She loved to sing when she was alone, and she really enjoyed the evening walks in the forest with her adoptive mother. The hunters were a big threat to her life, but they seldom roamed the woods at those hours. She happened to wear a cloak many times so that she could hide her beautiful wings.

She knew the truth about her family. Her father died long before she was born. He, too, had wings and he was killed by the faerie hunters. Her mother took her own life the day she was born because she didn’t have the strength to clip off her own child’s wings.

Indeed, a faerie’s life in that village, where nobody had wings, was very difficult. She was always endangered by the faerie hunters that were usually passing by the village. This forced her to stay hidden in her house. Her adoptive mother helped her study, whenever she had some spare time.

She didn’t have friends, nor could she make any. But, even if someone dared to get closer to her, they would kill them, along with her. Her adoptive mother happened to have some close friends visit her many times. Their children wanted to be Eloise’s friends, but she chased them away. She didn’t want anyone to suffer because of her, even if she felt lonely. She didn’t care. She had already gotten used to her loneliness.

One afternoon, she mustered up all her courage and went to the woods alone. She wore a heavy cloak, one that covered her wings. Her adoptive mother had to attend to a neighbor, who was about to give birth, so she wasn’t able to accompany her. Red and golden leaves decorated the trees around her and the road she was walking on. The sound of the leaves, as she stepped on them, offered her an unexplained calmness.

Suddenly, an unknown figure appeared in front of her. Walking closer, she realized that it was the daughter of one of her mother’s friends. Once, she had asked to be her friend, but Eloise declined. They hadn’t spoken since then.

“Nobody wants you in this village. You don’t belong here, Eloise.”

The blonde-haired girl was astonished, but she clenched her hands and spoke up, as calmly as she could at that moment. “I rarely leave the house. I don’t bother anyone. Why am I still an outsider to you?”

“Because you are not like us”.

“Why does it matter?”

“Listen. I don’t want to hurt you, but this is the truth and you know it already. You have to go. I heard them say they don’t want you here any longer. They are searching for ways to get rid of you. They may have already notified the faerie hunters.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I can’t say anything else. I don’t want to interfere. They’ll kill me if they find out that I talked to you,” said the young girl before she left, running from the woods.

Eloise was standing alone on the path. She looked around her, worried. After what she heard, the woods started to scare her. The trees that she once loved to watch now made her shiver. Afraid, she returned home without looking back.

“Eloise!” exclaimed her adoptive mother, when she saw her. “Where have you been?”

“I was in the woods.”

“Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing,” she answered abruptly and sat on the sofa.

The old woman sensed her fear, but she couldn’t realize what was going on. She went to her room to change. She took off her heavy dress and put on her nightgown. She turned her back to the mirror and then looked at the two scars that she had. She touched them with great difficulty, and felt the same pain, as when they ripped them out of her. Those scars didn’t seem to vanish with time.

She thought about Eloise and her eyes teared up. She didn’t want to clip her wings off, too, but somewhere deep inside her, she kept feeling that this world would never fully accept her. It wasn’t meant for her to live at that time. A part of her heart broke and her hands started trembling. She tried so hard to chase all those weird thoughts away and hardly got any sleep that night.

*

The next day, Eloise woke up from a strange nightmare, where a group of faerie hunters caught her and stabbed her with a thousand knives until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She got up from her bed, cold sweat running down her face. Her whole body was still shaking and her heart was beating fast.

Her adoptive mother had already prepared breakfast and she was waiting for her. The girl didn’t notice the black circles under her swollen eyes and sat beside her, smiling. She ate the eggs that were on her plate and drank her juice.

“How about a walk?”

“I’d love to!” she replied with a smile on her face and got dressed as quickly as she could.

It was still morning, but Eloise didn’t wear her cloak, nor did she follow the road to the woods. On the contrary, the older woman led her to a completely different place. There was no trace of plants or flowers anywhere. Only a barren land and some dried grass spread out around them.

The girl seemed surprised. She looked at the landscape and a shiver ran down her spine. They were already very far from the village. “What are we doing here?” she asked looking around the wound with eyes full of worry.

The woman stopped unexpectedly.

“Eloise, my child, on the day you were born, your mother should have ripped your wings out. You would have lived a happy life and you wouldn’t need to hide in a house. You wouldn’t be afraid to go out and meet other people and nobody would hate you, just because you are different. I shouldn’t have allowed you to grow up as a faerie. When I was younger, I used to blame my parents for the decision they made, without asking me. You see, I was born with wings, just like you, but they ripped them out of my body. So, I was able to live a normal life,” she said and showed her the scars on her back.

“It can’t be!”

“I had no intention of telling anyone, but I couldn’t take it anymore. You have to understand that this cruel world isn’t made for us. We don’t belong here. Mother Earth is our only home and that’s where we should be”.

“I don’t understand what you mean, mother,” Eloise replied confused.

“I think it’s time to fix your mother’s mistake and set you free of the shackles that keep you bound in this world. Better I than the faerie hunters who have targeted you,” the woman continued and pulled a knife out of her pocket.

“Mother, please! I don’t mind living like this. I want to live longer! Let the humans hate me, let the hunters find me… Let me live! No! You’re hurting me!” she screamed in vain, as the knife had already pierced through her dress and stained it red.

As the old woman dug the knife deeper into her heart, her breath became heavier and heavier. She could no longer speak. She stood there, laying on the dry land. She let one tear roll down her face, as she watched the old woman leave regretful, holding the bloody knife in her hand.

*

Nobody has been near that spot for many years, so the corpse of the young faerie was never found. However, it is said that after her death, that barren land had come to life once again, as thousands of different flowers decorated it, turning it into a colorful meadow. In fact, it’s said that once, a couple casually walked in the same woods and stumbled upon the girl’s skeleton. Upon closer examination, they discovered a blue butterfly that wouldn’t leave, no matter how much they shooed it away.

Over time, the faerie’s tale became a myth. From person to person, it was constantly changing. According to its most valid version, the people living in that village believed that it was the faerie’s tears that gave life to that land. Others said she was sacrificed to Mother Earth, to bring the dead land back to life.

Mother Earth, indeed, had taken her into her arms. The mistreated faerie had found the home and warmth she could never have, by Mother Earth’s side. She often played a sweet melody on her golden harp and Mother Earth rejoiced.

“Eloise, my daughter. I want to give one more gift to you.”

“You have given me so many gifts, Mother. I’ve been here for centuries, in your arms. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.”

“I will make you human, so you can live the life that you have been deprived of. When your human life is over, you can come back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“No, Eloise. You can’t refuse. Go now.”

Eloise looked at her sadly and flew high with her wings, toward the only source of light that existed there. She felt something pull her upwards. Her white body began to disintegrate and small pieces started falling to the ground. Underneath that thin layer, appeared the form it once had on this earth; that beautiful girl with shining, golden hair and unique, purple eyes. When she opened them, she realized that she had risen from the ground, her wings left behind. She didn’t need them in this new life Mother Earth had offered her.

*

The woman closed the book with the embossed cover, that she was reading and touched her silver pendant. She turned her gaze to her daughter, who was staring at her with great dedication.

“Mom, do you know that this tale could have been written for you? Your name is Eloise, you have blonde hair and purple eyes!” exclaimed the little girl excitedly.

“My little Ayree, there is always a little bit of truth in every fairytale. You never know; maybe this one is true, after all.”

The post The Faerie’s Tear appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

and snow covers the frozen ground

looking outside my window

I see a world filled with sorrow

loneliness strangling my colorful home

seeping slowly into me, it only makes me wonder

why am I all alone?

why are you not by my side?

I search again for whatever’s left of you

inside the memories we used to share

but the traces of you disappear

as the seasons pass me by

The post As the Seasons Pass Me by appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

I wanted to live life for real
before it was my time

I prayed to open up my wings
and fly away somewhere

I loved again and again once more
only to be laughed upon

So in the end I died alone
but death embraced me whole

The post Freedom in Death appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

1) Have you always wanted to be a writer? Who or what inspired you to be a one?

I’ve had a vivid imagination since I was a child, but I discovered a true love for writing at around 15 years old. I suffered with panic attacks and anxiety from that age. I remember sitting at the laptop, feeling angry and depressed about the mental health issues I was experiencing. With a blank page on my screen, I just began to write all those raw feelings and frustrations down. After I had expressed it all onto the page, I realized my expression was poetic. That was the first thing that I ever wrote. I began to write other feelings down which became poems also. I found it very therapeutic for my mental health and a love for writing was born. After writing many poems, I began to write stories about magical places as an escape from my reality, these became children’s book manuscripts.

2) What, in your opinion, is the most difficult part of the writing process?

For me, it has to be the promotion aspect of writing that is most difficult. Writing a story is the fun part and editing I also like, as it’s exciting to keep improving the story to its best capability. It’s getting people to read what you have created is the hard part.

3) What is your preferred genre(s) to write? Is it different from the genre(s) you usually read?

My preferred genre to write is children’s books, they allow me to create magical places and characters. As a reader, I love all genres, especially stories that are unique and unusual.

4) What is your book about?

I currently have three books self-published on amazon;

• Star Shadows http://mybook.to/Starshadows
  A poetry book that is a collection of poetic contrasts of different shades of emotion.
• Storytime Rhyme http://mybook.to/Storytimerhyme
  A children’s rhyming book, with all original rhymes that are each a little story of wonder.
• Writing To Heal http://mybook.to/Writingtoheal
  A romantic memoir-styled short story about one man’s journey back through his past, using his typed words to heal his soul.

My children’s book manuscripts are being pitched to publishers by my literary agent.

5) Do you have a favorite character (from the ones you created)? Tell us a few things about them.

I do have a favourite from one of my children’s book manuscripts but I have to keep it under wraps. I can say she’s a girl from a magical world and has lots of adventures with her flying companion

6) What does success mean to you?

Success to me is two things, one is having a positive impact on someone through my writing and two is being able to support my family with my writing.

You can find author E.J. Rose and his work here;

Blog: https://ejrose2k20online.wordpress.com
Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/EJRose65804652
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/e-j-rose-16672719b

The post Author Interview with E.J. Rose appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

1) Have you ever considered writing under a pseudonym, or are you currently writing under one? Why/why not?

This actually is a pseudonym made up from the first names of my paternal and maternal grandfathers, plus my favorite mythical creature. I’d always liked my actual name but thought of using a pen-name ever since I first looked it up online and saw how many people I share it with. My name didn’t really feel like mine anymore. What made the final decision was learning George Orwell had been born Arthur Blair but wrote under another name for no better reason than he liked the sound of it.

2) You received a graduate degree in creative writing. Has this helped you with your writing process?

It probably impacted less of my craft and more of my sense of what it means to be a writer.

Being instructed by professional novelists and having publishers come speak to us offered a big reality check. Time and again, they said to write only because you love it, since you aren’t going to make any money.

But apart from that grim sentiment, being in a classroom with other aspiring novelists was so validating. My non-writer friends had always encouraged me, but the life of a writer was something they could only imagine–tainted by what they knew of only the most well-known writers. Only another writer understands how it feels to build a world and then share that with others.

I’m very proud of the fact that many of my classmates went on to be published, including E. J. Swift, Jaq Hazell, and Michael Donkor.

3) Many authors inspire you – from Lloyd Alexander and Douglas Adams to Stephen King, John Scalzi, and John Steinbeck. Do you see their influence in your own writing?

Working backwards, Scalzi and Steinbeck both bring a fearlessness to their storytelling. Steinbeck can go hardcore epic, while Scalzi allows his story to go places that may not follow a prescribed course. Both do so by staying true to their characters’ unique personalities.

Stephen King’s On Writing had a big impact on me, as I know it has for others. But in his storytelling itself, what you find underneath the sometimes supernatural elements is a sense of humanity that is both horrific and sublime. Similarly, Douglas Adams paints a picture of the world around us that is simultaneously terrible and ridiculous. To survive it, cultivating a sense of humor is key. Humor is heroic.

Like many fantasy stories, Lloyd Alexander’s The Chronicles of Prydain each start with a map of the world, all it’s swamps and forests and castles. And he includes a path showing the journey that the heroes will take. I loved following along with that. Having a sense of the space that a story takes up, how one region relates to the next, still means a lot to me.

4) You love cooking (I’m curious about your moussaka recipe). Do you find yourself mentioning dishes or cooking in your writing? 

Ah, I thought that might catch your attention. It’s very saucy with the eggplant cubed instead of sliced, and I tend to go lighter on the bechamel topping, adaptations I made over time for ease of cooking. But that flavor just goes “bang!”

And I can’t seem to avoid including food in my writing. For example, in one of my grad school workshops, I shared a piece that detailed a character preparing the Thanksgiving feast for his family. My classmates said it made them very hungry.

5) Your Crimson Wraith series is a series of comic-book-inspired novels. Where does this inspiration come from?

When we get older, we think about the things from our childhood in new, grown-up ways, right? The superhero characters I loved when I was little–Batman, Spider-Man, the X-Men–had been around for decades when I discovered them, having gone through all sorts of changes. And during my lifetime, I’ve seen them go through even more.

The oldest of these superheroes have been around for 80 years, and that is a hell of a long time for anyone to fight for justice. It’s longer than any person can really imagine, a whole human lifetime. It would mean putting on a cape and mask before we learned to crawl and keeping it up after we needed a walking stick.

That is the most unrealistic thing about comic books, the idea that, for instance, Bruce Wayne could still be Batman after eight decades. And while sometimes they try to let a character grow and develop–even retire or die–the comics and movies keep bringing these superheroes back, just the same as they were before, maybe updated for a new generation.

So, I imagined what it would be like for a single superhero to have been not one person but several people over 80 years, each performing their service and passing the identity onto a new generation. And so changes we see in a character from one decade to the next–one reboot to the next–appear because they were actually different people.

6) Your books have superheroes without superpowers and psychologically complex characters. Did you choose this type of heroes or did they choose you?

Well, when you talk about the ages of comic book superheroes, some will point to a character like Superman and say that his powers keep him from aging, getting injured, or even just getting tired. I needed characters with human limitations and frailty.

But it’s also their humanity that makes a character loveable. Yes, as children, we are powerless, and the power fantasies of superheroes (or wizards or giant robots) can be very attractive for that reason. What keeps us engaged with these characters, though, are their limitations. Without the risk of real danger, you don’t have real heroism.

7) Can you tell us a few things about your main character, Gracie Chapel?

She grew up in a house with a lot of chaos and ran away when she was a teenager. The story catches up with her after she’s been on her own for over seven years of doing whatever she needed to survive. Finally, things are starting to feel stable–which is always when some new challenge appears…

Although she missed out on a lot of school, Gracie is very intelligent, able to pick up on and put together subtle details about people and her environment. That’s one of the things that kept her alive on the streets. And when Gracie notices a threat, she is quick to react.

She is a tough fighter, but no stone-cold bad-ass. Gracie has a lot of intense feelings. She’s excitable, self-aware, and has a sense of humor that makes her voice very fun to write.

Her biggest flaw is a result of just how independent she’s become. Accepting help doesn’t come easily to her, much less asking for it.

8) You are currently working on The Crimson Wraith Versus the League of Vengeance Eternal, the next novel in the Crimson Wraith series. Anything interesting your readers can look forward to in this next book?

In Legacy of the Hood, Gracie ultimately helps the Crimson Wraith solve a murder, but doing so reveals a deeper mystery. The League of Vengeance Eternal sees Gracie and the Crimson Wraith trying to stop a murder from happening. In the course of that, she will get to know one of the other Crimson Wraiths from a previous generation.

Her story interweaves with those of previous Crimson Wraiths. In The League of Vengeance Eternal, Readers will get to know the Crimson Wraiths of the 1970s and the late ‘90s, who fought such costumed villains as El Toro Terriblé, the Buzzard, the Three Billie Goats and Mister Echo.

There will be a mental hospital, a maze of death, talking to ghosts, exploration of sexual identity, and even a little romance…

9) Share a favorite quote from your book.

“Why don’t I start by telling you my name? I’m Kevin Snyder.” He let silence follow the last syllable with an ease that suggested he was used to allowing new acquaintances a minute after he name-dropped himself.

As far as Titan City went, his name held a lot of weight. Having it attached to local landmarks tends to do that.

It was known that Kevin took over the Snyder-Finn Corporation, a multi-million-dollar powerhouse, after the death of his father, who oversaw the merger of SnyTech Global and Finn Industries. Gossip columns liked to speculate on which actress, model, or musician lately photographed in his company might win the role of Mrs. Kevin Snyder. So, this was the “friend” of the Crimson Wraith who paid Gracie’s bond, sent his chauffeur to pick her up from jail, and put her up for the night there in what Gracie now realized was stately Finn Manor.

“Hi, Kevin,” she said.

“Hi, Gracie,” he said.

“Kevin, just to help me get the full picture here, in addition to owning about half of Titan City, you are friends with its very own superhero?”

“Is the Crimson Wraith a superhero?” said Kevin.

“Is he what now?”

“Is he a superhero?”

“He dresses up in a mask and fights crime. The guy belongs in a comic book. Most people would call that a superhero.”

“But does he have any superpowers?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to that part of Nights of Justice yet.”

“He has been said to appear and disappear at will, surrounded by his Infernal Mists. He can see in the dark, throw his voice, and seem to be at two places at once, but most of these could be attributed to skill or trickery. We live in the real world. There aren’t any superheroes here.”

And that was Gracie’s limit. “Thank you for man-splaining your weirdo pal in a hood!”

10) Is there anything you regret doing/not doing when you first published your book?

I didn’t know that Kirkus Reviews would work with an ARC. I think my marketing efforts would have started off with more strength if I had that in place and ready to go right at launch.

Since I’m a first-time, indie author, readers are right to be reticent. I might suck. So, having a respected body like Kirkus Reviews say, in so many words, “This is a good story told well,” means everything.

You can find author J. Griffin Hughes and his work here;
Author Website: https://www.jgriffinhughes.com/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/J-Griffin-Hughes/e/B085CKD9XR/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/jgriffinhughes

The post Author Interview with J. Griffin Hughes appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

He then moved to London in 2010 and undertook a postgraduate in Creative and Professional Writing from Brunel University. He always felt an ideological and cultural disconnect with his country of birth and later residence, but came to find a visceral connection with Britain and so he decided to stay. He now lives in Essex with his Polish wife.

Momus is a secular humanist, a linguaphile and bibliophile with a deep appreciation for storytelling, developed from a young age. He advocates for freedom of thought and expression. His interests include exploring the abstract realities of the human mind and its absurd existence within the wonderful peculiarities of our universe.

‘Life is filled with a multitude of possibilities and we should explore as many avenues of thought as our interests can hold.’

1) According to your bio, you seem to love Britain. What part of it makes you feel more connected to this country?

Well yes, I love Great Britain and I am happy to call myself British, and in a weird way, it has been an extremely easy but complicated story so far. This will be a slightly longer answer.

See, I was born in Kuwait of Pakistani parents. Kuwait doesn’t give nationality to anyone with non-Kuwaiti heritage, so I was given a default Pakistani nationality. It’s the same in all middle eastern countries. Apart from the temporary stint out of Kuwait during the Gulf War, I spent my entire childhood, up until my mid-teen there. I grew up disconnected from my country of birth and from my parents’ country, in a sort of American/British/Subcontinental mix culture. I guess that is enough to confuse anyone about themselves. To add to that complexity, my popular culture influence was mostly American up to that time, but academic and literary interests were rooted within British literature and arts.

But see, I didn’t realize how unaware I was of my detachment till I moved to Pakistan and got a serious culture shock. I spent a decade there, immersing myself in the culture, and also learning about the impact of British Colonial past and the subsequent turmoil of the subcontinental people. But during that time, I also fell more in love with British literature, art, and most importantly comedy, and within all that even with all the history associated with the subcontinent and my roots so to speak, I found more of a connection with Britain. As a somewhat outsider looking into the problems of the subcontinent while through heritage belonging to it, I understood that the Britain of a certain imperialist time period was not the Britain of today and that it wasn’t alone in its intentions. Most empire-building nations go through phases of cruelty that do not seem as extreme when viewed within the context of the times they were in, no matter how unjust they might seem today. Plus, the then current problems of that region and of today, are the making of its own people and the lack of social responsibility taken for it – at least that is what I feel and remain puzzled by the hostility between people from Pakistan and India, unnecessary animosity.

And when I started having doubts about my religion given to me by birth, because of its restrictive and somewhat discriminatory tendencies, I found very little tolerance for such thoughts in Pakistan and so I looked towards Britain for my mental refuge, and it gave me safe harbor and a place to call home. And I also met my wife here, who is from Poland. A place where you can be who you are, be accepted, and be free to express yourself as you wish – it’s hard not to love Britain for me.

2) Have you ever considered writing under a pseudonym or are you currently writing under one? Why or why not?

I sort of write under a pseudonym, with my first name not being my official first name given to me at birth. But it is a name I prefer more, so perhaps in the future, I will officially change my name to my pseudonym.

It is a bit funny though because my surname is my grandfather’s pseudonym. He changed his and his children’s actual family surname to his pseudonym of Najmi, which means a star, or starred in Arabic. So, my name is actually a combination of two pen names.

3) As an author and poet, do you like to write in different genres or do you prefer sticking to a few specific ones?

I prefer not to think of genres, even though I have been advised multiple times to do so because apparently, it is easier to connect with the right publisher or market that way. But I really don’t care. I write what comes to me, and as the story takes shape, it chooses which genre to fall under.

Right now, my first novel is a first-person mystery thriller and I also have a collection of poetry. The second one I am working on is a novella, which is more of a psychological drama/mystery. I don’t even know what to label them as, to be honest, I just write stories, whichever way and in whatever form they come. And I understand, it is not ideal for marketing reasons to the readers, but that is how I read as well. I read anything and everything, as long as it is written well, and it has an engaging storyline.

4) You seem to love reading. Can you share some of your favorite books?

This can take a very long time, there are so many to share, at different times of my life, at different emotional stages of my mental development, I guess.

Let’s take a stab at it. So, the first book I read, when I was of more of a conscious mind, that I completely fell in love with would be, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I was very young, I think early teens. I don’t think I would call it my most favorite, even though I don’t think there is a clear one like that anyway, but it was definitely an eye-opener. Although the first non-novel I read which made me fall in love with the written word were sonnets and poems by William Shakespeare and John Keats.

Others, now I have a lot of favourites, both fiction and non-fiction, and I do have some recommendations on my website as well. But I will share some fiction novels that have inspired me the most and have had a significant impact on me at crucial times in my life.

The Sea by John Banville, Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami, Lord of the Rings (The entire collection) by J.R.R. Tolkien, The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells, America by Franz Kafka, Animal Farm by George Orwell, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy, Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and Moby Dick by Herman Melville among many many others.

5) Many authors have inspired you; Haruki Murakami, John Banville, Franz Kafka, George Orwell, Tolkien, Fyodor Dostoevsky, H.G. Wells, John Keats and Douglas Adams. Do you also see their influence in your works?

I do and I do not. I think my writing voice is different from the authors who have influenced me. I guess, their influence has not been on the way I write but perhaps in attaining a license for unbridled and unencumbered imagination.

I acquired bit of an independent spirit, in the sense that I write for myself and because the story has to be written, rather than writing for an audience and tailoring myself to meet any sort of expectation in that regard. Yes, I think so in that sense they all have greatly inspired me.

And then another way that they have influenced me, is exploring the spaces in between a story. The thinking spots, where the minds wanders while time stays silent. Giving life to something mundane. Connecting the ordinary to the extraordinary circumstances of a story yet keeping its humble aspirations of remaining anonymous. I got the taste for exploring those abstractions, realities within realities, which goes nowhere but explains everything. That is how they have most influenced me, in those explorations.

6) You have undertaken a postgraduate in Creative and Professional Writing. In your opinion, is it important for a writer to have a writing-related degree?

No, it is not important. But everyone is different. Personally, that postgraduate taught me less than I already learned and still learning by just reading well. Although I was fortunate enough to have at least two really good lecturers, who gave me sound advice which nudged my thinking earlier than it would have on its own or perhaps never.

But no, absolutely not, it is not important for a writer to have any sort of degree, writing, literature, or otherwise. There is no degree, no course, no qualification in the world that can make you a writer. Only that itch inside, that insatiable itch, only that can make you a writer and the experiences that you have accumulated over your life, which may or may not include any sort of formal education, informing your itch – but ultimately you alone can scratch it.

7) Among your two books, you seem to love your poetry collection more. Why is that?

I started writing poetry when I was very young, as a way of collating my thoughts without having to explain it all so I can explore them further at a later stage. That is my first memory of writing something that gave me a significant feeling. There is so much you can express within it, with so few words. A lot of it left unspoken but understood.

But this specific collection is an accumulation of over a decade or so of my poetry, most of it reimagined and rewritten and then finally made into a collection. It was a long time in the making. I have a history with it. All of them have been written not to be a part of this collection but written at times of strong emotions, pouring out of their own volition.

I do not even know if it’s poetry, they are just free form verses, working thoughts jotted down. I love it more because when I revisit them at times, I do not remember writing most of them. I do not love them because they are good, I am never really satisfied with what I write and I don’t think they are good, but they have just been with me the longest.

8) What are you currently working on?

I am working on a novella, with the working title of Insan (it is a persian/urdu word which means human). It is roughly about a guy who has had a tragic life, which has led him to extremist and destructive paths. And now he is reevaluating his decisions, by taking a journey into his mind and conversing with his many archetypes.

I actually wrote this story almost ten or so years ago, as a short script to be made into an independent movie but it never panned out. And now I have changed, adapted, and improved the storyline, to make it into a novella instead.

The other thing I am working on, which is already out there now is my new podcast, ‘The World of Momus’ – which is intended to be a lot of episodes about various historical interesting facts, and stories along with my random thoughts. That is available on Anchor, Spotify, Google podcast, and many others.

9) Share a favorite quote from one of your books.

From, The Silent Betrayal,

‘………. There are choices we can make, we are told. We are free to choose as we please, free. But are we really and can we really choose? Choice is an illusion given to us to make us believe that there is any freedom involved in our lives. And this illusion does become a reality when we spring the thought into existence by believing in it, but the freedom of its undertaking still remains an illusion. We live in a world where we are controlled by the thought of our freedom, we are free, free enough to cage ourselves in the illusion of freedom. An absolute waste of intellect.’

From the poem, In the arbour of shaded life, in Mumblings of a Fool (poetry collection)

In the arbour of shaded life,

I sit and dream of flying a kite,

But the string is lost and lost is the heart,

Wind is blowing the seasons apart …….

10) What are some of your biggest writing goals that you’re hoping to achieve in the near future?

Well, I have now five novels quarter to half of the way written, and four more with the overview of storylines all planned out. So, my writing goal is to just finish one as soon as possible before getting distracted by another story.

I hope to finish the first draft of, Insan, in the coming months, and then we will see where the journey takes me from there.

Apart from that, I don’t have any major goals. I just wish to write as much as I can and for as long as I can. May my work be read by one person, or one hundred, or one million, it matters less to me than writing whatever comes to me, whenever it does.

You can find author Momus Najmi and his work here;
Amazon: amazon.com/Momus-Najmi/e/B07KKG6C46
Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/13495877.Momus_Najmi
Bookbub: bookbub.com/authors/momus-najmi
Author Website: momusnajmi.net/author/momusnajmi/
Twitter: twitter.com/momusnajmi
Instagram: instagram.com/momusnajmi/
Spotify: open.spotify.com/show/4lzfrwI0xSvalJraTJgFUs

The post Author Interview with Momus Najmi appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

1) Have you always wanted to be a writer? Who or what inspired you to be a one?

I started writing about twenty years ago and fell in love with it. I was working a data entry job just out of college and due to the nature of the repetitive work, I quickly found my mind wandering and soon discovered many stories running through my head. I kept a notepad next to me at my work desk and little by little started writing the stories down. One day I opened my desk drawer and found six notepads filled with characters and writings. I transferred them to a word document and eventually turned them into novels.

I’ve always loved creating things, whether it be books or any other creative project. I find that creativity feeds my soul and for me, doing something creative each day is just as important to my overall well-being as exercise and eating a balanced diet. In other words, creativity helps me stay balanced in all areas of life and is a great inspiration for me to keep writing.

2) What, in your opinion, is the most difficult part of the writing process?

Rewriting is the most difficult part of the writing process for me. I’ve always had a strong and vivid imagination so I can kick out a rough draft fairly quickly, but then I spend months rewriting and molding it into a manuscript that’s vivid, well written, and flows easily. I find this part of the process to be tedious but it’s what makes a good story great.

3) What is your preferred genre(s) to write?

I classify my writing genre as Speculative Supernatural Fiction. I have a passion for all things spiritual, supernatural, and paranormal. I consider these things to be the great mysteries of the universe and this tends to shape my writing. Is it different from the genre(s) you usually read? I tend to read similar genres in which I write. It’s a passion for me and something that makes my heart sing. I love all things fantasy, paranormal, and supernatural.

4) What is your book about?

The Resurrectionist series follows a young protagonist named William Stark who comes from a peculiar town with an ominous past which now town thrives on a booming ghost tourism industry. The town was made famous by a documentary on the paranormal and is known for attracting psychics, soothsayers, ghost hunters, and paranormal investigators. Will just wants to be a normal kid from a normal town and shuns the whole paranormal vibe. He’s ultimately recruited into a paranormal investigation group because he unknowingly has unique abilities that allow him to cross over into the spiritual realm. Will is ultimately forced by circumstances beyond his control to work with this group when the love of his life goes missing. He embarks on a hero’s type quest to enter a treacherous netherworld and fight to win the soul of his true love.

5) Do you have a favorite character from the ones you created? Tell us a few things about them.

William Stark is the main protagonist in the first two books of the Resurrectionist Series. He’s my favorite character. Will is the reluctant hero who’s called into action when the love of his life goes missing and is forced to take matters into his own hands. Will is a flawed adolescent who’s learning to grow into who he is. He struggles with a confused faith and heart. An anxiety disorder often prevents him from being his authentic self and expressing his true emotions. He often prefers to stay hidden from the real world, blend in, and not draw attention to himself.

6) What does success mean to you?

I enjoy writing books that entertain readers. My goal is to write books that are fast-paced, suspenseful, filled with dangers and pitfalls; but I also want to engage readers in thinking about what might exist beyond the world of the five senses. My writing often includes what I consider to be existential or spiritual themes. Light overcoming the darkness, never giving up hope, knowing that no matter where we are in life’s journey (this life or the next) there’s always a higher power who is reaching out to us and guiding us to something better.

You can find author Michael Gesellchen and his work on:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B092JPTHSN
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23006765-the-resurrectionist
Author Website: https://www.resurrectionistseries.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/GesellchenMike
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Michael-Gesellchen-Author-101967148765387

The post Author Interview with Michael Gesellchen appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

Part one – The Folly On The Hill – took around four months from concept to first draft, with parts two and three taking a similar amount of time afterwards, they are coming soon.

The book was written for pleasure, creating it would fill his spare time and this opportunity was increased massively during the pandemic of 2020 – the goal being to create something that at least one person would find and enjoy reading it.

Let him know what you think of Imaginari, he can be contacted on Twitter and Instagram (@R_C_Hayden) and on Facebook (Richard Hayden Author, @rchaydenauthor), he would love to hear what you think of the story.

1) Have you always wanted to be a writer?

Have I always wanted to be a writer, no, never thought I had the attention span or focus to do it. When I was a young child, I wanted to be a train driver or a footballer, then that progressed into TV/film producer or director – that’s what I studied at college – TV and film. As for inspiration, I was inspired when I had the idea for Imaginari (my current books) when I couldn’t sleep one night in 2019 – I asked myself the question what happens to the sheep people count when trying to sleep, where do they go? And that led me to where do our imaginations go – and there we have it. I wrote chapter one the next day, and it hasn’t changed that much really – specifics and details (and typos of course) have but it is almost identical now as to that first day. Within a couple of weeks, I had created the overall story arc for Imaginari, very high level – key plot points, etc. – with no character names or anything. Then I started to write, and it flowed, I loved it. I had completed draft one of all three parts within about a year of starting, then came the many, many, edits. I wrote it for fun, it filled my spare time and it was an amazing feeling to keep this thing secret from the world for so long. Made it even more rewarding when I eventually released it to everyone.

2) What, in your opinion, is the most difficult part of the writing process?

If this counts as the writing process, then I’d say writing the “blurb”, then advertising/selling/promoting it. That is super hard because it feels like there is nothing coming back, very little reward short term, and all you can do is keep at it. There are so many books out there, getting yours seen, read, and appreciated is a mammoth task. I think the scariest part is when someone else reads your first draft for the first time – it is the same as sharing a raw part of your soul with them – you want them to be honest but also kind at the same time! It is no exaggeration to say that Imaginari would not exist without a group of a dozen or so others who helped with edits, changes, opinions, all sorts of support.

3) What is your preferred genre(s) to write? Is it different from the genre(s) you usually read?

I’ve only written young adult fantasy so far but have a Sci-Fi in development – I’d say I read mostly young adult, though my favourite book is Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy – which is Sci-Fi.

4) What is your book about?

Imaginari is a world built on the foundation of our imaginations, everything we as humans think, imagine or create in our minds is created there. Within that world are beings that exist independently from our minds, they can also create and do anything, but they cannot physically touch or interact with any other part of the world. A world of pure creation, but none of it physical. Some of them want physical form, and they are willing to destroy our world to get it. The Book Of Imaginari has three parts, each exploring a different concept and ideal around this, the base of the overall story though is that our world is at risk, if they carry out their plan then all the energy, imagination, life force, and power from our world will vanish. Part One, The Folly On The Hill, takes place in the village I was living in when I had the idea, the folly is real, the hill is real, and because of that, I feel a real connection to the story and the characters. Parts two and three are also written, but no spoilers will be revealed here…!

5) Do you have a favorite character from the ones you created? Tell us a few things about them.

The main character in Imaginari is Eleanor, Ellie, a teenager whose fate was ordained centuries ago. All she wants is a normal happy life but is thrust into a position where the fate of our entire world rests on her shoulders. She grows a lot over the story, exploring her own personality and purposes as she does so. Like many heroes, she is reluctant at first but is willing to do what it takes to protect her family and friends. I am also very fond of the friends she makes when moving to the village, I have been in that position – the new person – and it is unfortunately too easy for groups and peers to ignore you or freeze you out. They didn’t, they welcome Ellie and took her in, this is crucial to the development of all of them as people as well as the story.

6) What does success mean to you?

I wrote for the pleasure of writing, success for me was for one person that doesn’t know me or have any connections to me to find the book, read it, and like it – anything else was a bonus. Obviously, I want it to be loved and treasured, it is important to me, but I am happy to say that I have achieved that goal. Part One has been sold in America, Germany, and Australia – and the reviews, so far at least, have been positive. Since publishing the book has spread wider than I could ever have hoped, but what’s even more amazing is the messages, reviews, and comments I have had from people I do not know – so I’m marking it down as success based on at least one person finding it and liking it!

You can find author Richard Hayden and his work on:

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21284319.Richard_Hayden
Amazon book listing: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Folly-Hill-Book-Imaginari/dp/B08Y49Y7HC
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Richard-Hayden/e/B08Y65TPLK
Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/rchaydenauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/r_c_hayden
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/r_c_hayden/

The post Author Interview with Richard Hayden appeared first on Kemeridou.com.

1) One of your hobbies seems to be hiking. Do you feel this type of hobby helps spark your inspiration?

I’m out of shape so a lot of time it’s just to get some fresh air and exercise but being out in nature helps me relax. I will often think about what I’m writing, and when I wrote Elf Mastery I used to take a notebook up a nearby mountain and sit on a rock overlooking a lake and write a scene. I don’t know whether it was more that being out in nature inspired me, or just prevented the many distractions at home from getting in the way of productivity. Probably a bit of both.

2) When did you start writing? Who or what inspired you to do so?

I’m not sure when I started writing, as I’ve often had little personal projects on the go, but I wrote my first completed novel shortly after I finished university (close to twenty years ago now). Never published, and not that great, but I still have it in a binder somewhere. It did have some great ideas, so maybe I’ll revisit it one day.

As for my inspiration, I’ve always loved storytelling. I read a lot growing up, including the classic children’s fantasy works such as The Chronicles of Prydain and the Chronicles of Narnia. I got into Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms books as a teenager. I’ve always just been drawn to imaginative worlds and characters.

3) You loved Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain growing up. Do you think this has also influenced your writing?

My youngest sister and I both loved this series. It is the first literary dip into fantasy writing that I recall, and back in elementary school, I had something of a crush on Eilonwy. The most important influence it probably had on me is the love of reading and fantasy, which I had somewhat but this really cemented it. I loved the setting and characters. In my own writing, I love making characters (perhaps to the point of being a problem) and looking back at the varied characters and personalities in Prydain, that may have been a contributor.

4) Are you a plotter or a pantser, or both? How does this affect your writing process?

A bit of both. I find I can’t plot too heavily. I mean, I try, but the characters evolve so much as I’m writing that often I’ll get to a scene I had planned during the plotting phase and realize that the scene is no longer in character so shouldn’t happen. So I plan enough to give me some guidance, but my planning is now focused on character development (ie. What do I want the characters to experience and learn), and the ‘how they got there’ elements are more pantsing.

5) You wrote Loveless Amends in two weeks with very little planning. Can you share a few tips for writing a story in such a short period of time?

Well, I was furloughed from work due to COVID, which was crucial because otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the time. I set a daily goal of forty thousand words and just sat down and wrote. Even though I enjoyed the process, it took some discipline and hard work. That remains true of all my writing, and that is my recommendation. Just realize that creativity is fun and rewarding, but it is also work, and sometimes you have to push through. Sometimes I’ll sit down and write a scene that I immediately delete. That’s okay. I write something that day. And even if I write something terrible, it might spark a better idea.

6) You have published the trilogy Elf Mastery, but your favorite book out of the three seems to be Elf Righteous. Can you share a quote from that book?

Sure! Here’s part of a scene where Kyla, the main character, is introducing some humans (who are unaware of the magical world) to her lair.

They followed a corridor lit with weak lights set along a network of extension cords until they came to a large piece of plywood rested over a hole in the cement walls. Eric supposed this must serve as the door. Kyla slid the slab of wood to one side and revealed a brightly lit, furnished chamber. She waved Eric through and followed behind, sliding the plywood to cover the entrance.

The chamber was more elegant than he expected of a home in the sewers. The walls, though eroded, were decorated with woven art and crystal arrangements. A pair of bean-bag chairs sat in a corner to Eric’s left. There was an exit in the far wall, and another to his right. The sound of bubbling water emanated from a small electric fountain on a table against the far wall. In the center of the room, a trio of love seats were set around a coffee table. A strange floating orb lit the room, and Eric reached out to touch it, but Kyla gently slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch. It’ll turn off,” she said. She bent over a small speaker on the coffee table, and a light envelope of Hajar’s soothing music wrapped around Eric’s body. His fear melted away, though his mind kept telling him he would be better off if it remained.

Kyla clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone! Your names are Crystal and Eric. Right? I already know Jose. Have a seat.”

Jose paused, though Crystal immediately sat on the center sofa. She looked almost pleased to be here. Eric, with a bit of goading from Kyla, finally sat on the nearest. Jose finally sat on the third and final sofa, looking uncomfortable despite the soothing music.

Kyla stood on the opposite side of the coffee table, looking at each of them in turn as she addressed them. “Sorry to abduct you like this. It isn’t easy to find people I can introduce to my hideout. I get that you’re a little confused, because you’re seeing a lot of stuff that you aren’t used to.” There was a rumbling noise from a nearby room. “Saul, could you help Lug with the guns?”

“Sure.” The goat-man grumbled and made an exaggerated effort to rise from his bean-bag chair before lumbering toward the sound.

“Who are you people?” Eric asked. “If people is the right word.”

“Well, we’re people. Not human people. It’s going to take a bit for everything to sink in. Look, if you like, I can just have you wiped.”

“No!” Eric raised his hands. This was all terribly odd, but he wasn’t ready to die. “No wiping. Uh…Jose? You’ve met…er…Kyla before, right? What’s going on?”

Jose shrugged. “None of this went down last time we met.”

“Yes, it did.” Kyla pulled some cups from a small cupboard and walked over to the fountain, filling them each and placing them on a silver tray. Eric was surprised to see her using finely carved crystal and, as far as he could tell, engraved and polished silver.

“Thirsty?” she asked. Without waiting for replies, she handed them each a glass before continuing.

“You’ve been down here a couple times,” Kyla told Jose. “It’s just you keep freaking out and we have to keep wiping your mind. So just relax. I really had to convince Sophie to give you another chance.” She looked up at Eric. “This is yours and Crystal’s first time down here. We’ve been looking for some humans to help with some guy named Shimaki.”

7) How would you describe your main character, Kyla Nim, in five words? Is there something you love about her? Something you hate?

Description: Always willing to take action.

Kyla’s willingness to take action is supposed to be her heroic ability. She doesn’t have many gifts in terms of physical prowess, intelligence, or power, but she tackles problems head-on and because of her efforts becomes more influential and powerful. I love her determination and optimism, even when things are at their most grim. She does flounder, many times, but never gives up.

In terms of hate, I don’t hate anything about her, but she does have some off-putting traits, especially in the beginning. She is naïve at the beginning of the story, and her ignorance of the larger world outside her village makes her come across as dumber than she actually is. Her strength – being her willingness to take action – is also a weakness, and she often dives into dangerous situations unprepared. But this too was intentional, as I wanted her strength to also be her weakness.

Interestingly, when I made Kyla, I knew she would be a polarizing character. I had read that many protagonists are a bit of a blank slate, to serve as a conduit for the reader. I didn’t want that. I wanted a main character with a sharp personality. I also knew that would mean some people would love her and some people would hate her right out of the gate.

This seems to be true. People love her or hate her at the beginning of the story. But she grows on even the haters. I had one beta reader tell me they didn’t like her at the beginning of the book, but by the end, she was their favorite character in fantasy. So that’s something I’m rather proud of. The story is, after all, about her personal growth.

8) Your Elf Mastery series initially started as a series of scripts for a cartoon, but it seems that after a discussion with a Hasbro animator, you decided to write them as books first. Are you planning on pitching them to be turned into a cartoon in the future?

Absolutely. Nothing would make me happier than to see these turned into an animated series. A lot of my motivation to market this right now is the hope that I can see it become popular enough to bring me some clout when pitching to producers.

9) Regarding your WIP series about Samuel Tuggle, is there a reason why you chose to tell the story from the POV of another character instead of the MC? Do you find this particular POV easier or more difficult to write?

Yes, and it isn’t just the POV of a single character, but each book is supposed to introduce a new POV character that encounters Samuel Tuggle on his adventures. The reason is that I want Samuel himself to remain somewhat enigmatic. A lot of the charm of the character is the surprises he brings to the story: things he knows and says and does that are unexpected to the POV character. So telling the story from Samuel’s POV would ruin the mystery.

10) If you could offer a piece of advice to a new author, what would that be?

Just write something. Even if it’s terrible. Writing is a craft, and it takes work to perfect. But also be humble enough to see the flaws in your writing. Don’t shy away from criticism of your work. Some criticism is given ignorantly, but some is valuable. I used to be terribly shy about sharing my work because I feared criticism, but now I love feedback, both positive and negative because I love the stories and the craft more than I love my own ego. I think that’s an important place to get to in any creative endeavor, not just writing.

Following is a story by Bryant Reil about Kyla Nim, explaining why she decided to always keep her hair short – as rare as that was for an elf. Believe me, it wasn’t an easy decision.

The Fall

Kyla sat on the wide stump Mom and Dad used for chopping wood behind the shoe store. She looked up at her room, which extended in the tree branches overhead. She caught a glimpse of a squirrel as it leaped from one branch to the next, but it soon disappeared in the leaves. That was the most exciting thing that had happened all morning.

Mom sat on a blanket a few yards away. She was, as usual, fussing over Bit, who clutched a handful of rotting foliage he must have grabbed from the forest floor. He was trying to shove it in his mouth, and Mom was trying to pry it away from him. Mom won, of course.

Kyla ran her fingers along the center of her scalp, to part it in the center, and each hand grabbed a side and pulled her long strands so each fist clutched a horse-tail. She pulled it under her chin, so the long parts hung down her chest.

“Mom!” she called. “Mom! Look. I’m a dwarf.” She made her voice as low as she could manage. “Ho, hum. An ale for a pittance, and a yarn for your time.” She didn’t know what it meant, but Lofin Redbeard said it in The Last Lord of Dander’s Run. Mom always used a deep voice when she told it.

Bit, trying to reclaim his lost treasure, opened hand closed his hand in the direction Mom had thrown it. He grunted, but he didn’t cry for once, but he was squirming and Mom maneuvered her arms around him so he couldn’t escape. She didn’t give Kyla a single look.
Kyla hopped down from her stump and dropped on all fours. She crawled toward Bit, who smiled. She grabbed his clean hand and placed it in her mouth.

“Hey, Mom!” Her voice was muffled as Bit’s fingers grabbed at her tongue. She gently clamped her teeth over them. Bit laughed, but then his face soured, and he yanked his hand away and started to cry.

Mom sighed. “Leave your brother alone.”

“But I bit Bit! See?”

Kyla grabbed his hand again, and Bit’s face brightened, and he smiled as she put it back in his mouth, but when she lowered her teeth against his skin, he again began to cry.

“I said stop it!” Mom snapped. She slung Bit over her shoulder and gently patted him on the back.

“He likes it, though, Mom,” Kyla explained. “He always laughs when I do it. He cries so I’ll do it again.”

“I’m a bit busy, Kyla. Why don’t you go play with Doran?”

Kyla wrinkled her nose. Doran was a neighbor boy, and a few years older. He was friendly, and sometimes gave Kyla berries, but he often hung about with Ulan, who was mean and said Kyla was short.

Mom only ever wanted to spend time with Bit nowadays. Kyla jumped to her feet, trying to look as angry as she could. “I can play by myself.”

Her show of frustration went unnoticed as Mom sang in her soft voice into Bit’s ear.
Well. Kyla didn’t need Mom. And she didn’t need Bit. All he did was eat and cry and poop. She walked around the family’s oak tree to the front of the shop. No one was inside. Dad was in the shed skinning rabbits. She looked at the array of shoes along the shelves and ran her hand along the backs of them as she circled the room and tried to whistle. She hadn’t figured it out, just yet.

She climbed the ladder into the common room. There was a large pot of water by the window, and a small table set with two grown-up chairs, and a stool for herself. Only three seats. Nothing for Bit, because he couldn’t even eat proper food.

Her bedroom was out the door to the left, which led to a narrow wooden walkway. It sloped upward to her room, which was the second highest in the house. Only her parents slept higher. Bit didn’t have his own room yet, but when he did it would be on the low branch that jutted out just over the shop.

She pulled herself from her window onto the thick branch that supported her bedroom in the oak tree. She looked down at the roof of the shoe shop, which was covered in curling cedar shingles.

There was a smaller branch that curled at an angle from above Kyla’s room. It wasn’t strong enough to support a grown-up, so Kyla often climbed up to escape her mother’s unjust anger. It was Bit who had set Kyla off, after all.

She pulled herself onto the branch and slid toward the trunk. She supposed she could get higher yet. Mom would have to be impressed if Kyla could get above the starling nest that rested in the crook of the branch over her head. It was still thick enough to hold her weight, she supposed. She slowly stood, clutching at the tree as she shuffled her feet against the trunk and reached up to test the strength of the wood. She pulled down to ease the load of her weight onto it until she was confident it would hold her. Satisfied, she took a half-step away before pulling herself up so as not to disturb the little nest.

The branch bent as she pulled her right leg over it and sat upright, straddling the branch until she could get a good enough grip to swing her left leg over, so that her legs now swung over one side.

“Hey, Mom! Look at me!”

Kyla held up her left leg as she balanced, her arms outstretched as she teetered back and forth.

Mom didn’t even look up as she fussed with Bit. “That’s nice, dear.”

“Mom!” she shouted.

Mom looked to the side, and then back at Bit.

“Mom! Up here! Look how high I got!”

Kyla waved her arm and leaned to the side to give Mom a better view, but this shifted her weight. Her eyes froze wide open as her hand returned to its position clutching the branch as it cracked. It didn’t snap, not entirely, but it bent sharply and her bum slid along the slick bark. She shrieked as she tried to grab the part of the branch above the break, but then she dropped. Her stomach tightened and her breath escaped as she dropped onto the branch below, but now she was off-balance and rolled backward. Her hair whipped over her head as she fell backward, fighting to find a grip as she fell, but this branch was too thick for her small hands.

She screamed, expecting to fall back onto the roof of the store, but instead of falling straight down she swung and dangled as something pulled hard on her scalp. She reached up and grabbed fistfuls of hair, trying to ease the pressure as her body swung back. But then gravity won, and there was a sickening tear as she fell again, this time hitting the sloped roof of the shop below as she rotated forward. She hit with her knees first, and then fell onto her stomach, and rolled off the side of the roof and landed on her back.

“Phil!” Mom’s voice rang through the trees, though it was dulled in Kyla’s pounding ears. Warm fluid oozed through them, and Kyla stared in horror at her hair still swinging from a branch above, a bloody mass hanging on the end.

There was a lot of fuss, and screaming, and Bit was crying, but Kyla’s mind couldn’t piece together any meaning. She was bald, now, and her brains must have fallen out, for when she touched her head it was soft and tender and burning and her thoughts were scrambled and falling out.

Someone picked her up, and then she was being jostled as she stared up into the trees, which were moving quickly. She closed her eyes, just for a few seconds, but then she was jostled awake and a blurry woman was looking down at her. It wasn’t Mom. Where was Mom?

“Kyla, can you hear me?”

It was Maia Pelinai, Doran’s Mom. Kyla hoped Ulan wasn’t here, because he’d make fun of her for being bald.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked, though her voice was weak and dry.

Mom appeared next to Maia and knelt. Dad stepped behind her, holding Bit, who was crying again.

“Wester’s fetching your hair,” Mom said as she stroked the palm of Kyla’s hand with her finger. “Maia’s going to sew it back on.”

“Tea’s ready,” Maia said, and she shuffled away.

Kyla looked at Mom, and Dad, and then at the Pelinai’s ceiling. Her head still burned, a bit, but otherwise she felt okay. She would be okay. They could sew her hair back on.
Maia brought her some tea, and Kyla sat up with some support from Mom. She took a sip, and warmth flowed through her body. Yes. She would be fine.

Only, she wasn’t fine. As the warmth of the tea flowed through her body, so did a wave of pain. Her scalp burned, and her knees felt broken, and her chest and back hurt, and there was blood on her hands and arms and chest. She could feel sticky ooze on her face, though mother fought her exploration with a warm cloth.

She spat the tea back in the cup. Why would they give her this? One of them said something about shock. Kyla lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

There was a banging sound, and Wester ran into the room with a mass of hair and blood. Someone – Kyla couldn’t tell who – forced her back into a sitting position placed the bloody mass on her head. Kyla flinched as someone dabbed a cloth at her head, which made it burn even more.

Strong arms lifted her, and a soft voice, Dad’s, whispered in her ear. “You can do this, Kyla. You need to hold still. We have to clean the wound so you don’t get infected. Then we need to sew your scalp back together.”

Kyla shook. Her numbness continued to melt away, so the pain burned deeper and fear enveloped her. She shook and buried her head in Dad’s chest. He made a slight adjustment with his arms.

“I won’t let go. Just hold still,” he whispered.

Kyla nodded, only very slightly, and clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. She let the unseen hand dab at her head. Meanwhile, someone else was poking and prodding at her body, pressing on the sore spots and pulling aside her clothes and dabbing her with hot water. It was hard not to flinch each time. Tears streamed, and sobs and brief wails frequently escaped, but she focused on staying still. Then, the needle came. It hurt less than the cleaning, though each tug of thread through Kyla’s scalp made her stomach want to leap out of her mouth.

Kyla tried to place herself in some of her favorite stories. She fought a dragon, and rode a unicorn, and sang with a dryad. It helped a little, to carry herself far away in her own mind, but it was impossible to entirely ignore the pain and terror.

It felt like it took ages, but finally it was done.

“There!” Maia smiled. “Look at that lovely long hair. It just needs a good wash and you’ll look like a proper elf again.”

Kyla’s scalp still burned and her body ached and throbbed in several places, but she was too exhausted to cry. She lay limp in Dad’s arms as he carried her home and placed her in bed.

Kyla watched as the moon passed by her window. It was visible through a break in the trees, and was nearly full. It was the seventh passing since Kyla’s fall. Her body still ached, though it was improving. Days two and three had been the worst, even more painful than the accident itself. She still throbbed and ached, but she could now eat by herself, and sit up and look out the window.

Could she get out of bed? Mom and Dad wouldn’t like it, certainly, but they would remain asleep unless Bit started crying. Besides, their room was on the other side of the trees. She whipped off her blanket, and grimaced as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She let her weight down slowly, unsure if her knees could support her. Though they ached, she could stand well enough, and though she walked with a bit of a lilt, she could make her way to the door.

The walkway to the common room was tricky, so she clutched carefully at the bark. She slid through the hatch and down the ladder into the shop, and out the front door.

Even the nearly-full moon couldn’t break through the trees, so the forest was full of large dark patches. Kyla worked her way around them, staying to the most well-lit paths, until she found Dad’s shed. It stank of dead rabbit and whatever foul chemicals he used to treat the skins, so she drew her night robe over her nose and took shallow breaths as she opened the door. It was dark inside, nearly too dark to see, but she knew where he kept his scissors. They were heavy, and cold. Designed to cut leather and hide. She picked it up, and found a bright spot among the trees, where she could see the moon looking down at her.

Proper elves had long hair. Proper elves climbed trees. Kyla now knew these two things did not belong together. So, she must not be a proper elf. She had to choose between them.
The decision, of course, had been made days earlier as she lay in bed and looked at the trees outside her window. She wasn’t going to give up climbing.

So she grabbed her hair with one hand, and held up the scissors with the other, and with several snips in the moonlight, watched as her long brown hair drifted onto the cold forest floor.

Poor Kyla – that’s all I can say.

Where to find author Bryant Reil and his works;

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