I'm working on completing a short story that's been in the works for years (inspired by one of my favorite former characters at the MN Renaissance Festival). There's a submission deadline tomorrow, so hopefully I'll have it polished by then...but here's a snippet.
****
Something clinked next to his ear, and it smelled like goat breath. Mitch cracked one crusty eye…a giant black hole of a nostril whuffed an inch from his face. He started with a yelp and sat up, but the world spun around him and he abruptly toppled back onto the grass.
Grass? The last thing he remembered was the taste of lovely grape-wine this morning. On the bridge post…wasn’t he on the bridge post? He opened his eyes, slowly this time, and groaned as he sat up. He felt like the full Thumper battalion drummed a marching tattoo in his skull, and his antennae drooped to brush his knees. He hauled himself up and tried to pull the wedge of cloth from his butt. The drums only pounded louder, reverberating in his sinuses for an eternity. Mitch flitted back up to his post (wobbling only a little in his landing) and abruptly the drums stopped.
Blinking in relief, the fairy looked straight into the eyes of Jeffrey’s father, King Robert of the Seventh Marsh. His steed, a royal goat in full panoply, stuck its nose in Mitch’s face for the second time that afternoon.
“My Lord!” Mitch dropped to one knee, landing roughly on the tip of his much-abused antenna.
“Mitchell,” said the sylph Lord quietly, thunder in his blue eyes. “Perhaps you could explain exactly where my son has gone.” Mitch shivered.
“I, well, er…” The throbbing resumed in his head as Mitch tried desperately to find an excuse, but as the pain peaked the confession dribbled from his mouth in a rush. “I couldn’t talk him out of it, Your Majesty! I tried and tried…he just left this morning, Majesty, and promised to be back in a few hours.” Sweat dribbled between his shoulder blades and down the back of his shabby trousers.
“THREE DAYS MITCHELL!” Full force thunderclaps shook the bridge, and Mitch looked at his King in horror. “It has been three full days since he left!”
“But…I…”A soldier investigating the scene held up the bottle for Robert’s inspection.
“Fifteen year old Napa, my Lord,” the rabbit-faced man said crisply. His Majesty sighed and gave Mitch the look.
In that moment Mitch was quite sure he was lucky that Sylph powers couldn’t literally eviscerate with their eyes. His wings fluttered wildly, a nervous tic causing a few more rips along the tattered edges. His pale face flushed all the way past the tips of his pointed ears. Mitch looked at his tiny feet and wrung his hands in terror, certain his next breath would be his last.
“Mitchell,” said the King softly, bending down to eye level with the minor fairy.
“Sir?”
“GO GET HIM!” The Voice of Power blasted Mitch ass over antennae from the post. He landed hard and scrambled to stand at attention. “Don’t return without him.”
“Yes SIR! Right away my Lord!” The Thumper soldiers snickered as the entire line watched Mitchell limp down the stone bridge, trying to pick the tights from between his cheeks before he disappeared into the mists.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Value of an Aunt
Recently a friend told me I'd never understand his feelings because I didn't like kids and don't want to have any. Before I could protest, he apologized for the tone and clarified: he meant I couldn't truly love kids in their entirety, because I don't have any (and therefore don't experience the diaper blowouts, temper tantrums, and projectile vomit right along with the baby giggles and other fun). I haven't written about this for a few days: it took me some time to consider and process and get beyond pissed-off.
I wholeheartedly agree with this person that being a Dad is 1) something I'll never understand (um, specifically I'LL NEVER BE a Dad, but generally we don't plan to have children so I won't be a parent) and 2) that a parent's love for their child is a deep level of understanding I can't reach unless I have a child myself. I include ALL forms of "having" a child in that statement, including foster children, adoption, natural birth, etc.
The knife twist of his comment is that I'd like to have a family, but our lives right now are totally unsuited to raising a family, and until/unless we really want them and are in a place to make our lives about kids, we're not having them. Maybe my husband's and my views do make us selfish, but I'd rather be ready and have no regrets before changing everything for children. If that makes me a selfish bitch, well so be it. I'd rather be selfish no-kid-family than be a selfish bitch with kids who suffer for it.
In the meantime, I find an incredible amount of value being an "aunt" to my nieces/nephews/friends' kids. I'm fairly empathic and understanding: people talk to me all the time about their personal problems, relationship issues, etc etc. Seriously, random people on a plane will tell me all their shit. So it's not that weird to me that my friends' kids feel like they can talk to me about stuff they may not want to bring up to their parents, and trust that I'll tell them the truth. And not being their parent, I can tell them the truth and they may listen. I don't have the same parent/child relationship that can make both sides uncomfortable and cloudy when touchy teenage things come up, and being an aunt instead of a parent I can point out stupid behavior or give advice without being seen as judgemental or overprotective.
I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles in my life: they're still important people in my life and I still look to them for the occasional reality check on stuff I don't feel comfortable talking to parents or siblings about. Family dynamics are a fascinating, compliated minefield of relationships: there are times as a teenager I know my aunts' influences kept me from royally screwing up. If I never have my own children, my goal is to be that resource for the kids in my life if they need it. I don't think that makes me any less loving or more selfish than a parent.
I wholeheartedly agree with this person that being a Dad is 1) something I'll never understand (um, specifically I'LL NEVER BE a Dad, but generally we don't plan to have children so I won't be a parent) and 2) that a parent's love for their child is a deep level of understanding I can't reach unless I have a child myself. I include ALL forms of "having" a child in that statement, including foster children, adoption, natural birth, etc.
The knife twist of his comment is that I'd like to have a family, but our lives right now are totally unsuited to raising a family, and until/unless we really want them and are in a place to make our lives about kids, we're not having them. Maybe my husband's and my views do make us selfish, but I'd rather be ready and have no regrets before changing everything for children. If that makes me a selfish bitch, well so be it. I'd rather be selfish no-kid-family than be a selfish bitch with kids who suffer for it.
In the meantime, I find an incredible amount of value being an "aunt" to my nieces/nephews/friends' kids. I'm fairly empathic and understanding: people talk to me all the time about their personal problems, relationship issues, etc etc. Seriously, random people on a plane will tell me all their shit. So it's not that weird to me that my friends' kids feel like they can talk to me about stuff they may not want to bring up to their parents, and trust that I'll tell them the truth. And not being their parent, I can tell them the truth and they may listen. I don't have the same parent/child relationship that can make both sides uncomfortable and cloudy when touchy teenage things come up, and being an aunt instead of a parent I can point out stupid behavior or give advice without being seen as judgemental or overprotective.
I grew up with a lot of aunts and uncles in my life: they're still important people in my life and I still look to them for the occasional reality check on stuff I don't feel comfortable talking to parents or siblings about. Family dynamics are a fascinating, compliated minefield of relationships: there are times as a teenager I know my aunts' influences kept me from royally screwing up. If I never have my own children, my goal is to be that resource for the kids in my life if they need it. I don't think that makes me any less loving or more selfish than a parent.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Vengeful Turkey
I come from a large extended family: my mom's the oldest of eight, dad's the oldest of seven. Holidays at my grandma Kit's house (mom's side) are crazy: cousins, animals, aunts and uncles all running haywire. Stories are told and retold, children are in and out of the house all day followed by the dogs, cats are hiding in terror, and horses are hitched up for rounds of sleigh rides. It's all loud insanity and it's wonderful.
When I was about five my grandparents lived on a large farm in northern Minnesota, outside of Cloquet. It was more than a hobby farm, less than a farm-for-a-living spread. After all, they had seven kids still at home (four of them teenage boys) to feed so anything they could supply from the farm was much more cost effective for a second grade teacher and a heavy equipment driver for the county. In addition to the herd of horses, cats and dogs for fun, I remember cows, chickens, goats, sheep, guinea hens, and turkeys. There were probably other random animals from time to time...I know one of my aunts had a pet raccoon for a while.
One turkey in particular took an instant disliking to my small five-year-old form. He decided I was a blonde devil and for months I couldn't walk near the barn without him attacking. In case you didn't know, 25lb turkeys fully live and loaded have VERY STRONG wings: he'd extend them out to each side and run at me, screeching and beating his wings at me until I was cornered against the barn. I loathed that stupid bird. My aunt Elyse, only seven years older than me, had to beat him away from me with a big stick. That bastard gave me nightmares every time I stayed at Grandmas for the entire summer.
Thanksgiving came and we were all sitting around the large kitchen table. It was a cacaphony of children and adults all talking at once, passing food, slipping treats to the dogs under the table, and laughing. I, being the oldest (and therefore exalted) grandchild, sat next to my Grandpa, a big, gruff man who was really a big softie with the grandkids. He watched me take a big bite of turkey and waited until I swallowed. Then he told me that was the big nasty tom from the barn. To this day I think he was telling me just to see how I'd react, being a girl mostly sheltered from the more unpleasant farm duties (we never went there on butchering day after the chicken incident).
I cheered and asked for more.
When I was about five my grandparents lived on a large farm in northern Minnesota, outside of Cloquet. It was more than a hobby farm, less than a farm-for-a-living spread. After all, they had seven kids still at home (four of them teenage boys) to feed so anything they could supply from the farm was much more cost effective for a second grade teacher and a heavy equipment driver for the county. In addition to the herd of horses, cats and dogs for fun, I remember cows, chickens, goats, sheep, guinea hens, and turkeys. There were probably other random animals from time to time...I know one of my aunts had a pet raccoon for a while.
One turkey in particular took an instant disliking to my small five-year-old form. He decided I was a blonde devil and for months I couldn't walk near the barn without him attacking. In case you didn't know, 25lb turkeys fully live and loaded have VERY STRONG wings: he'd extend them out to each side and run at me, screeching and beating his wings at me until I was cornered against the barn. I loathed that stupid bird. My aunt Elyse, only seven years older than me, had to beat him away from me with a big stick. That bastard gave me nightmares every time I stayed at Grandmas for the entire summer.
Thanksgiving came and we were all sitting around the large kitchen table. It was a cacaphony of children and adults all talking at once, passing food, slipping treats to the dogs under the table, and laughing. I, being the oldest (and therefore exalted) grandchild, sat next to my Grandpa, a big, gruff man who was really a big softie with the grandkids. He watched me take a big bite of turkey and waited until I swallowed. Then he told me that was the big nasty tom from the barn. To this day I think he was telling me just to see how I'd react, being a girl mostly sheltered from the more unpleasant farm duties (we never went there on butchering day after the chicken incident).
I cheered and asked for more.
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