Every year, I like to write a little postscript to my September Series posts — something that, while it might be congruent with them in some way, is nonetheless a digression. This year, given that the Series has been comprised entirely of creative works by me, I wanted to do something a little different, and something a little self-indulgent — I wanted to write up a few comments on each piece, to explain something of their origins and what I was interested in working with. This is, of course, a wholly unnecessary exercise in many ways. Ideally, each piece should…
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There was once a young woman who lived with her mother in a cottage at the edge of night and the beginning of the sunrise; and the trees all about were dark and silent. Yet they were happy together, for the mother loved her daughter, and the daughter was full-glad in her mother’s company. And the daughter was merry and beautiful and gentle, as kindly as the day and as fair as the fields of flowers that she took delight in. Verily would she have been loved by many, but this was not so. For the mother was wise in…
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I’m back! …kind of. This has been a very slow year for the blog. Since January, I’ve only managed to write four posts, and one of those was a post explaining the lack of posts, which does feel like a bit of a cheat. I have been writing this blog since 2020. I started it in the first place because I wanted to be writing more, and every year since I started it, I have indeed found myself writing more and more. Every year, I have possessed greater motivation, found more time, generally done more. In short, the blog’s absolutely…
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Crisp and clean flecked the fresh-falling flakes in the pale wavering light of the feeble rising sun, its own mist-hazed rays rendered vain by the cold and bright-gleaming snow that heaped all about. The whiteclad streets were quiet, as if they too slumbered in content reverence following the now-passed feastday, and they were untroubled by the presence of man or woman at this early hour. Nay. Not wholly untroubled, perhaps. For, passing swift over the fresh-fallen snow that lay undisturbed by her light tread was a simply clad woman, walking silent and unobserved down the quiet street. Her name was…
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‘Twas on the borders of Elfland that they met, and this was but the first and the least of the many wonders in their tale. For she was dreaming under a rowan tree when he came swift and soft upon her; and she was wrapped in slumber and crowned with flowers upon her dusky hair. Then startled he cried at this fleeting vision of loveliness and she woke! and saw him elfin-bright, clad in green and of noble bearing, and there was a song in his smile and his feet were light. And she would have fled, but his eyes…
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