Those Who Stayed Behind

History books do not always tell the tales of old. Only stories from the victors of war, boastful half-truths and the like, manage to be passed for centuries. Ancient civilizations crumbling underneath the sword and the shield and the iron fists of tyranny. Those stories may be lost among the commonfolk but small tribes still pass them down from wrinkled lips to eager child smiles.

Fantasy has absorbed the truths into myth, deceiving those who would deny our existence. No longer do we bear the pointed-ears of our ancestors and yet our grace and connection to all that lives has not wavered, never changing, just shifting. Long, flowing robes of silk exchanged for modern-day attire. And although our weapons may have changed from sharpened steel to sharpened tongues, our message of peace and unity remain steadfast.

Denying the enemies of old is folly. Today they do not bear wings like a hurricane or claws like spears, but the fire of the dragons clad in human flesh burn brighter and hotter than ever before. Just as the times change, physical warfare wages far from rich lands, but the Elven harbingers remain scattered across the globe, witnessing the tragedies of our day. Bombs explode across the land, tarnishing it with death and destruction. Guns extinguishing lives in the blink of an eye. Our fate is to heal as we have always healed. We may be few, but our power is infinite when we bond together through the energy of the unseen.

History books do not always tell the tales of old. White cities glittering against forest like starlight and songs sung only seem like a lifetime ago. Troubadours and minstrels traveling by foot, brandishing lute or harp or pan flute. Peaceful waterfalls and babbling brooks through bridges and white stone paths, dusted with colored leaves of Autumn. Hues of pink and purple flowers flow through the air, carrying scents of Spring. Summer and Winter stay mild in the land of the Elves, a light snow or warm summer rays. Animals of all sizes and ages walk alongside my kin. All of this. All peace.

Races that have been all but forgotten wandered the lands winding dirt paths. The short but strong and stubborn Dwarves. The small but stealthy and loyal Hobbits. Our kind entered this world to usher it into peace, but Men’s greed and sheer numbers have proven a challenge. Persuasion over generations have only softened hearts of the few, and many of my kind have grown weary. Elders say that this world no longer belongs to the Elves. The time of Men is among us.

One day I may join the countless others who have taken the ships to the West. One day I may walk those marble steps to the docks, the scent of salt water and sound of lapping waves to greet me. In a place not known to those who do not know the way, I may go when the sea calls me. For now, I must continue the work of so many before me.

History books do not always tell the tales of old.

Sorry for the long delay in posts! Unfortunately, I have deleted my Facebook account so I no longer have my page active. The past few months have been very emotionally consuming and I’m taking my writing day-by-day. I’m hoping to get back into working on Book 2 of The Wanderer Trilogy soon!

Selling Poetry

Would people be interested in purchasing my poetry? I’m thinking about offering personalized poetry or some sort of poetry-in-art for additional income on the side. Valentine’s Day is coming up, would anyone be interested? If so, what would strike your fancy??

Check out my Facebook Page to message me directly from there if you’re interested!

Image result for rose photo on writing

Happy New Year!

I just wanted to post a quick update to everyone who has been so supportive and eagerly awaiting Book 2 of The Wanderer Trilogy: Preservation.

I just got done with the Rough Draft of Chapter 15 and have about 3-4 more chapters worth of material left. One of my New Year’s Resolutions require me to organize my time better, so that I make more time for writing. My goal is to have Preservation published by December of this year. Hopefully, I can make that happen!

From the reviews I have already received for Purpose, I can only promise you that many of your questions will be addressed by Book 3: Prowess. I’m very adamant on simply setting the foundation of the story in Books 1 & 2 so that the plot twists that I have planned for Book 3 make sense. I promise that it won’t be what you are expecting so stay tuned ūüôā

However, there is one thing that I want to clear up in regards to the Dedication in my novel. It reads:

To¬†all¬†those¬†who¬†said¬†I¬†was¬†“too¬†wordy”¬†and¬†“long¬†winded”.¬†Especially¬†to¬†everyone¬†who¬†did¬†not¬†believe¬†I¬†could¬†do¬†it.¬†How¬†it¬†must¬†feel¬†to¬†be¬†so¬†wrong.

First of all, those who know me understand that I am extremely sarcastic. I love to joke around and laugh. Growing up, I always told stories with great detail, which I believe is why I enjoy writing so much. Anyway… my father and sister in particular, would make fun of me for being so detailed. They would make comments like “Just get to the point already” and the like. I would always struggle with writing papers that had a ‘word maximum’ because I would write well over the maximum and have to painfully shave off words.

I digress… To the second part of the Dedication. For years, people who I’ve known – even some in my own family – have told me that I would never be able to write a novel. Teachers in high school would tell me that I did not write well enough. In grade and high school alone, I only had two teachers who saw the fire in me. In fact, these two individuals gave me the tools and confidence to become a better writer.

But the constant degrading combined with my diagnosed depression in my teenage years really ate away at any motivation I had to create worlds with my words. I feel that it is my right to express a slight annoyance-like attitude with a smart-a** comment like the final sentence.

I’m curious to hear your thoughts! I hope everyone is waiting with bated breath for Preservation! Enjoy your 2019 and I will be posting again soon.

Societal Self-Destruction – Another DWI (Driving While Inspired)

If I had the courage to remove my mask, what would be behind it? Flesh – scarred and dingy from the lack of light and yet so desperate to see the sun. My fear? That it will scare others away or that my vulnerability will shove me into a suffocating darkness that ever pulls me down. Inescapable.

If I had the courage to remove my mask, what would others say? Would those who have seen my raw, inexcusable self shy away when they laid eyes on its entirety? Little by little, I open up in expectation that those around me will not hack and slash at what lies underneath the white face that I manipulate to my liking… well, to society’s liking. Those who I expect to mar me open their arms in a tight embrace, accepting me without question or second thoughts. But it is those who deceive me that further fuses the mask to my skin.

If I had the courage to remove my mask, would others do the same? On the surface, confidence is strong yet fleeting, but what message would I be showing my daughter if I simply spoke the words, would my actions – or lack thereof – speak louder? But what if she tears open her chest and reveals her heart, as I once did, but the world rips it out and smashes it? Would I be responsible? Always inside my mind, I hear the words of society’s formless figure screaming – Too fat, Too ugly, Not curvy in the right places, Not good enough.

If I had the courage to remove my mask, would the sickness go away? Would I finally win the battle that I have been fighting for countless years? As I pause, I recall the shroud of depression and the feeling of being weighted down so heavily that I could scarcely catch breath. The tightening noose around my neck, appropriately named Anxiety, attempts to tare me upwards while the weights shackled to my ankles tear me in half. All of this as a result of a faceless entity that seeks out females for submissiveness and degradation.

If I had the courage to remove my mask, would I be the same? Although I already know the answer is no, I am hesitant. I see how far I have come in recent months and the mask just falls off, shattering into a thousand, nay a million pieces. Arising from the ashes it forms are images of my hidden pain that resided between the cracks. Tears and anger. A facade that I played, like a puppet underneath a puppeteer, for so long I nearly forgot myself. Regret? There is none. I have learned from the experiences and a Phoenix now rises from the ashes. An unconscious smile creeps across my face as I look up at the sun for what feels like the first time. I warm my skin, my soul, and let the scars be seen among the masses. The breath of fresh air that fills my lungs breaks the shackles within. I. Am. Finally. Free.

I hope you enjoyed this! I don’t have a Writing Prompt for this post, but post your own growth story in the comments!

Risk for a Wish Granted

Years of studying Botany finally paid off. Mother always said that it was a useless Major, and that I should be studying “Western Medicine” and not Apothecary of sorts. Chance, that it was my love of fantasy worlds that drew me to the unknown. And maybe my open-mind led me to discoveries that others could not fathom, plants that myths and legends speak of. However, fame had come with a price, my undying commitment to the hunt for the Flora of Legend.

Mind you, the other scholars would poke fun at my attempts of convincing them that their scope of research was far too limited. There were so many plants that have been lost in ancient text and forgotten in the minds of those who claim to preserve the craft. Still, I perused every lead,¬†every shred¬†of information in order to discover the flowers of fable, and still, I went further in testing their properties. Poisons. Healing properties. Limb regrowth. This were the moments that I believed the stories labeled “Fiction” in the libraries.¬†

There was one plant, however, that eluded me. In time, I would make it my life’s work to obtain a sample of it’s petals and nectar. Known to the common-folk as Blossom of the Gods, ancient scrolls tell of the most beautiful flower that, when ingested, bestows immortality but at a price. However, nothing that I am able to find indicates what exactly that adverse effect is or entails for those who have discovered and eaten this rare plant have not scrawled a single note about even the taste.

Locating this unspeakably rare flower has proven understandably difficult.  Given what information I have, clues to the singular location where it grows. Whispers tell me to find a divergence of trees in the Amazon Rainforest after allowing yourself to become lost within its immensity and, only then, will Blossom of Gods can be found. After a simple drop of blood is placed upon a leaf, the flower will bloom. This is all of the information I am able to find.

So I am here, traveling through the thicket and broken stumps alone. Of course I’m afraid. What if I die here? More than likely, there are predators just beyond my vision, hid away in the green blur, waiting to pounce. Lost?Hours must have passed by¬† now. What have I gotten myself into? Maybe Mom was right…

Alas! No, it can’t be. Have I found it? Something shifts in the air as I step into the mossy clearing. No doubt this is holy ground. A raised platform centered in the space between the trees. I cannot even hear birds chirping anymore. Rising with each step, I begin to make out the leaf in which I must shed blood. My heart is racing as I approach the glowing plant and raise my hand directly over it. With a click of my pocket knife, I press the blade against my palm, piercing the skin just enough to drip the crimson liquid onto the leaf.

Suddenly, it draws itself into the ground. I wait. For a moment, it seems like nothing is going to happen, until an indescribable petrichor fills my nostrils. All my mind can grasp is euphoria as a glittering orchid-like flower rises from the ground. Without a second to dwell on the implications, here sits my life work, I tear a petal from the flower and it descends underneath. Immortality at a price. What is the price I will pay for this? Perhaps it is watching my loved ones pass from this world onto another. Steep yet fitting price. No guess I could have materialized could prepare me for the senses that the forsaken Blossom took from me.

Days later I woke up in the hospital. I could hear them talking around me, yet, as I tried to open my eyes, there was just blackness. I screamed and the nurses were forced to restrain me. When my mother came in, I could hear her sobbing and she pressed a fresh loaf of bread at me. But, the only reason I knew it was bread was the warmth and texture.

I only now understand what price the Blossom of the Gods had taken from me in exchange for endless life. First, my sight, for not appreciating the beauty and seeking more than what I deserved. Second, my sense of smell, something I had taken for granted while working as a Botanist. No longer can I resume my career. Instead, I returned to the place where the flower bloomed for me to find all those scholars from times past awaiting me. I felt their presence and they told me what I must do now.

Protect it. The flower chose me as it does not give it’s blessing to all those who come across it.