How Can non-LGBTQIA+ Authors Use Their Privilege This Pride Month?

How Can non-LGBTQIA+ Authors Use Their Privilege This Pride Month? 

This is a question I've been asking myself for years. Best case scenario, all straight authors prioritize the voices of members in the LGTBQ+ community, buy their work, and credit them whenever possible. But already being someone who writes and publishes regularly, I felt I could do more. So I did what I thought was best: I asked.

Below is the dialogue I had with several authors who regularly write LGBTQIA+ fiction, including E.L. Reedy & A.M. Wade (Writing partners and siblings! Can you say dynamic duo?), Kate Larkindale, M. Pepper Langlinais, and Melody Wiklund, author of Eleven Dancing Sisters.  I think you'll find their conversation to be thought-provoking and fun! 




Me: So first question will actually be a statement: Happy Pride! Tell me about yourself and your books, especially those containing LGBTQIA+ characters!

ER: Thank you! Our book, Upon Broken Wings, is about finding hope in even the darkest situations. Our greatest goal in the writing was to hopefully save lives. It follows two young teens who attempt suicide. One, Andrew, manages to take his life, the other, Kiernan, ends up wandering around in a ghost state as his body lies in a coma.

KL: Happy Pride! I'm Kate and I'm a writer living in New Zealand. My books almost all have some LGBTQIA characters, even if they are not the central focus of the story. My debut novel was An Unstill Life which is an F/F love story about a girl whose friends abandon her for boyfriends at the time in her life she needs their support most. She finds what she needs with the school 'freak'.

ALP: I write as M Pepper Langlinais, and my novel "The Fall and Rise of Peter Stoller" is a 1960s British spy story featuring a gay main character. The book is actually made up of three novellas, and the first novella is "St. Peter in Chains." That won a Blogger Book Fair award for LGBT back in 2013, and a screenplay adaptation I did won Table Read My Screenplay and was given a professional table read at Sundance Film Festival.

MW: Happy Pride! I have an f/f novella in Kissed which is about a lesbian and her bi best friend competing for the attention of a possibly queer new girl... and also maybe realizing that they're more interested in each other. I also have written a novella that's an f/f retelling of a somewhat obscure Russian fairy tale, and that will be coming out sometime this year...not yet sure when. It involves a princess, a peasant girl, and a mysterious talking fish.

Me: Okay, question two -- Why do you write books/stories with diverse characters?

AW: The world is not made up of identical clones. We all have fears and foibles and all must deal with hardships in our own ways. Having someone "normal", someone lame, someone mentally challenged, and someone very young allows us to see that fact. We all feel abandoned, betrayed, hurt, angry, loved, alive, and so on, and our story shows that despite all those differences, they all forgot the same thing--we are not alone. For each of us, there is at least one person who can and will stand by us and give aid and comfort, IF WE JUST ASK.

MW: To be honest, I didn't start writing f/f entirely on purpose. It began when I was writing a theoretically m/f novel...and then realized that my female main character was really crushing on a girl. [...]It's something I use to express my own sexuality (irl I'm debatably closeted) and it's also just something I enjoy doing--I often find writing relationships between women, whether romantic or platonic, more interesting than writing relationships between women and men.

KL: I want to write stories that reflect the world we live in and the world is made up of a vast array of people who are different to one another. I like writing f/f stories especially because there seem to be far fewer book exploring love between two women than between two men.

Me: Agreed! I'm loving these answers.

ALP: I do it because I think diverse characters are more interesting to write and to read. Also, every LGBT+ book I'd read seemed to be about that character struggling with his or her sexuality. I wanted to write LGBT+ characters who were already comfortable with that but maybe had to deal with others being uncomfortable. I feel like that's true to their experience too, as much as coming out is.

ER: Diversity is the spice of life. Despite what an alarmingly growing number of people who learned nothing from WWII might think. The differences between us are what gives the human race such staggering potential… If we don’t annihilate each other first. Also first rule of writing. Write what you know.

Me: That leads right into my next question -- I am straight and white, and in all my books, I've written queer and racially diverse characters. How do you feel about authors writing what they have not themselves experienced?

KL: If we all only write what we know, books wouldn’t be nearly as interesting to read. I think as long as you research where you need to, it’s fine to write outside your own experience. I mean, Stumped is about a teenage boy amputee and I’m not a boy or an amputee, but I did my research and I’ve been told I captured the experience and emotions really authentically.

AW: I hope, as writers and even readers, that we have been observant and listened to the world that exists around us. I am short, old, female with all my limbs. However, I live with a young male amputee and a young male on the autism spectrum. I do not know EXACTLY how they feel or how they would react in a given situation, but I have watched them grow, learn, and adapt to life's curveballs. I hope that shows when our characters say or do something in the story. A few readers have said they felt "real". That's the best compliment, I think.

ER: Writing what we have not ourselves experienced is the great thing about fiction. We get sail the wild seas, fly skies of distant worlds. As long as we as the authors make it believable--in other words, let the reader experience the worlds we create then writing what we don’t know can be a wonderful thing.

ALP: I certainly worry about getting things "wrong." However, writers rely heavily on their imaginations--whether writing fantasy or stories based on reality. Still, I don't want to offend anyone, and I try to listen to feedback from those quarters. (Luckily, it's been mostly positive.) If we weren't willing, as writers, to write things we hadn't experienced, we would have very little to say. [...] Still, I understand why some might be wary. LGBT+ people, people of color, differently abled people--they don't necessarily want us filtering their stories for them. They want to speak for themselves and be heard. That's something publishing is still trying to address by having more diverse authors, editors, agents. But I don't think that should stop US from writing the characters and situations that speak to our hearts. So long as we treat them with respect.

KL: Exactly. I totally believe people should write their own experiences and own voices are important, but I don’t think people should be afraid to write outside their own experiences either. As long as they do it in a knowledgeable and respectful way.

Me: Last question-- What do you think authors of privilege (any type, white, straight, abled, and otherwise) should be doing to a) prioritize the voices of marginalized folks and b) present "real" diverse stories in respectful ways?

AW: Well, doing in depth research is the beginning of any good writing. Putting oneself in the place of a character and realizing how differently things could be done or said, if the character was not like you, would give that perspective. Reading books and news stories describing how other abled persons were treated and using how that made you feel--angry, sad, frustrated, heart-broken--would also help shape that respectful creation of diverse characters. Just noticing people around you as you live, sadly, often shows how diverse characters are treated or expected to act. Living with my two special boys, I've seen examples of how NOT to treat people and how prejudice makes people expect them to act or be, and they don't see the real, live people behind the handicaps.

ALP : I agree that thorough research is key. I'm planning a YA contemporary update of "Twelfth Night" (just did one of "Hamlet"), and the MC will be transgendered. Luckily, I know a number of transgendered people so that I can run things by them. I think, too, it's important to show these characters as empowered, not to be all "oh, isn't it sad that he's in a wheelchair." Differently abled people don't want pity, just acknowledgement that they ARE part of this world. (That's not to say that there won't be moments where the wheelchair gets in the way or is frustrating for one reason or another. It just shouldn't be the defining factor of the handicap.)

ER: The first thing, is to throw out any preconceived notions about what is going on in someone else’s life, be they marginalized in any way or not. We, writers, get to make up quite a bit in fiction, but when it comes to making characters of any minority group, to be real, so-to-speak, we cannot fake it. We must either walk in their shoes, or at least take the time to get to know them, see how they live, learn their personal trials and tribulations. [...] I’ve met more people than I can count from so many cultures. The language barriers have been a massive challenge, but I’ve gotten to work with so many wonderful people—I’ve learned how just a few minutes a day chatting can open eyes and hearts to the differences between us. That should be our mission as writers when it comes to characters: learn about someone, understand them, and share that wisdom with our readers. If just one person can have an ah-ha moment and change their own preconceived notions—wouldn’t that make the worlds just a little bit better?

KL: Buy books by diverse writers, read articles and stories by diverse writers, talk to people who are not like yourself. Research. But always remember, the similarities between us are larger and more numerous than our differences. If you’re uncertain about how you’re representing someone, reach out to a person in that community and check that you’re not going to offend people. And adding to that, books about diverse people don’t have to be about the thing that makes them diverse. So many books With gay characters are about coming out and the issues surrounding that. I’d love to see more books where gay characters or characters with disabilities have their own stories and lives outside those things.

Me: Love these answers! Thank you so much for this interesting conversation! I feel blessed to work with such sweethearts.



So what's the first step? Buying these books, silly! Follow the Amazon pages linked at the beginning of the blog, and get reading.

Thankful for Reviewers

With Thanksgiving disappearing along with November, I thought it would be fitting to quickly write about something I'm thankful for: reviewers. I know we authors harp on this all the time, but seriously! Leaving a review is one of the best ways you can say thank you to an author whom you admire. Reviews help the book gain visibility to bestseller lists, promo opportunities, and other readers. The more reviews, the more credibility the book has. Not a perfect system, sure, but it's the one we have.

So if you've reviewed any of my books, thank you!

 
via GIPHY

The Separation just reached its 25th review on Amazon, which -- although small -- is a milestone to celebrate. You help to encourage other readers to pick up the book, and for that, I can't thank you enough! And if, perhaps, you wrote a negative review like this one, I STILL  thank you. Because that review convinced a bunch of people to read my book if only to see if it was really so bad as this woman described. I'd be lying if I said that didn't bring me just the smallest morsel of joy.


via GIPHY

Have you read something of mine recently? Like it? Despise it? Either way, leave a review! It only takes a few minutes, and it gives me meaningful feedback. Go on Amazon, Evernight Publishing, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads-- heck, write a blog about it. Tell your neighbors. Write a bill board! Okay, maybe don't do that last one. But you get my point, right?

Love an author? Leave a review. And for those who already do, we salute you. 

Character Coffeehouse - Luna

Welcome to the Character Coffeehouse! This is a little activity that I do when I need to dig a little deeper into one of my characters. I decided to begin sharing them with you on a semi-regular basis, and I want to invite you to do the same! Pick a character - of your own creation or otherwise - and drop them into the Coffeehouse. What do they order? Who do they see?
Comment your creation below or on my Facebook page, linked here.

As she breezed through the door of the shop, Luna Lephilia didn't even need to think about her order. Latte, double shot, large. It was meant to keep her awake through yet another shift at the Medical Center, so it needed to be strong, but when no one was looking, she knew she'd dump far too much sugar in. By now, it had become routine. 

When she reached the counter, the barista knew her by name, probably due to the fact that Luna had spent the majority of her pay here. Without Carolyn around to care for, there were very few uses for her money these days. 

It wasn't until after she paid for her steaming cup of coffee that Luna realized she had forgotten to eat again. The little voice in her head scolding her for doing this yet again sounded like Eroyn, the way her conscience always did. She guessed it was that way for everyone. You heard the person in your head who you cared for the most. Or maybe the one who cared most for you. 

In her case, it was both. 

She didn't have time to sit and sip the latte the way most people in the cafe were. She wished she could perch in front of the tall windows of the shop and just breathe for a second or two before returning to her hectic life, but that wasn't to be. She wouldn't have been able to stand it, anyway. 

If one thing could be said for a person like Luna, it was that life without stress was no life at all. From a young age she'd learned to equate being busy to being happy, and that stuck. She didn't actually know what she'd do with free time; the idea baffled her. 

So she did what she always did. She shouldered her way through the heavy door, careful not to spill a precious drop of her beverage, and she went to work.

Joey Young, Teenage Zombie Hunter

Hi all.

In honor of  The Walking Dead having had its mid-season finale, I decided to give you a look at something I wrote a while back. My students asked me what I thought would happen if a teenage boy was the only one left in a zombie apocalypse.

This is what I came up with:


Brushing your teeth just doesn't feel as satisfying when a horde of hungry, flesh-eating monsters is trying to break down your door.

The news this morning called it a virus, careful to avoid words like cannibal, zombie, or brain-slurping demon. But I've played enough video games to know what's really going on here.

I, Joey Young, have been training my whole life for this.

When I walk into the kitchen with my backpack, it's empty. My parents never came home from work last night, so I celebrated by eating a family-sized bag of Pizza Rolls, raw, then throwing up on our dog Reginald. The poor idiot is blind, so he didn't see it coming.

I never really considered the fact that my parents wouldn't be back by this morning, and so now it's weird that the words "my parents are gonna kill me" might actually come true.

In the first kitchen drawer, there is a switchblade knife that my dad bought during his midlife crisis. He thinks no one knows about it. I throw it in my bag, not because I think I'll be able to kill any zombies with it, but because I know for a fact I will look like a badass slinging this thing around. This is important because I'm banking on the fact that girls during the end of the world will be less picky. This knife is chick catching material, just saying.

After I slice my pinky open, though, I decide to maybe give it a rest. I shove in a bunch of kitchen knives wrapped in paper towels next, and - as an afterthought - a potato masher.

Next item on the agenda? Mom's taser.

My parents are - were? - sadly anti-gun. Because of this, my mother insisted on a "more humane? weapon in the house. I totally disagree. A taser will make you crap yourself, and I'm sorry, there is nothing humane about a grown man going code brown against his will. I would rather be shot dead.

But where does she keep it? The Almighty Purse maybe... a gigantic fake Michael Kors that no one even pretends to find attractive. The only reason I know what it's called is because she practically introduces it before herself.

Hi, this is my Michael Korsssssssss, and I'm Judy.

Ugh.

Sadly, chances are my mother the zombie is carrying the Almighty Purse with her, introducing it to all her new undead pals.

So, armed with a potato masher in one hand and Dad's illegal knife in the other, I decide to take on the horde.

...Tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow will be fine. But for right now, there is another bag of Tostitos in the freezer and Mountain Dew in the garage.

5 Things All Writers Should Know About

 I was recently asked if there are any awesome resources out there that I recommend to newer writers, and I realized that there are actually a bunch. So here is a list of some awesome websites, apps, and more that I highly recommend for every writer -- new or not. 

1. Baby Names Genius (free)
If you write fiction like me, you likely get sick of trying to come up with names for characters. Also, being named Stormy, I think I have some (unrealistically) high standards for a name to be fitting, unique, and interesting. That's why you need this app! The awesome thing about this app is that it not only presents you with a bunch of baby names at the touch of a button, you can browse by gender, origin, country, and more. My favorite feature, though, is the "genius" button, where you can thumbs up or thumbs down names, and using some sort of cool science-y algorithm, the app gives you more of what you like. And those names you thumbed up? They save so you can go through them later. MAGICAL.


2. Heromachine.com (free)
I am a visual person, so I love seeing my characters come to life. With Hero Machine (also free!), you can do just that. It does take time, but you create animated versions of your characters like the one I have below. Once you're done, you can save in two ways - just a headshot or full body. The background is also relatively customizable, and the color choices are absolutely incredible! Check it out!

My main character, Eroyn Fairchild 

3. Quotescover.com (free)

Again with the visual stuff. quotescover.com is a free tool that allows you to create quotes layered over images. Of course Photoshop does the same thing, but uh... it costs money. This website is obviously much simpler, but it gets the job done. And it lets you choose the format, whether it be a FB or Twitter cover or something else. Here's one I made for promo for my upcoming release The Elimination. 

4. The Creative Habit: Learn it and Use it For Life by Twyla Tharp ($11.80)
Okay, so now we're done with free stuff. But if you're truly a writer, you have to be okay with investing in yourself. This book is one investment that I really recommend. Even if you aren't a writer, the book is applicable to any creative outlet. In fact, the author was a dancer before she wrote the book. You can buy it here. Or pretty much any other book retailer. 



5. MiracleBind Notebook ($17.29)
This notebook is the stuff dreams are made of. The "MiracleBind" refers to the fact that the binding is made specifically so that you can remove and rearrange pages easily. On top of that, you can buy refill pages, so you can use the notebook as long as it will hold up. And so far, for me, it's been a year and still going strong. That may not seem like a long time, but if you knew the places I've dragged that notebook to, you'd be applauding it. The Blueline website carries the notebook, and I promise it's worth the money.


This list is not even scratching the surface of the resources I use on a regular basis, but it is a pretty good place to start. I'm sure that there will be a part II in the future, but for now, check these out! 
What do you use? 

Winner of Free Write Friday #2

   So after a week of open submissions and lots of tough deliberating, a winner for #FreeWriteFriday #2 has been reached! 

Congratulations to Adrian Bojan, of Berks County, for his untitled story below. Give it a read. It definitely touched my heart, and anyone who has a pet that is part of the fmaily will surely agree. 

Here it is:

There was once a girl named Alyssa who lived in Oley, Pennsylvania. She owned a light brown Labrador Retriever, whose name was Rusty. Alyssa absolutely loved Rusty, and she would beg her parents to bring the Retriever wherever they went. Whenever Alyssa would go to school, Rusty would follow her to the front door and wait there for her until she came back. Everytime Alyssa got home from school, she would get jumped on by Rusty. They were best friends, until one tragic day. On the last day of school when Alyssa got home, Rusty wasn’t there to jump in her and lick her face.

She called, “Rusty? Where are you Rusty?”

Rusty was nowhere to be found. Alyssa ran outside panicking, looking everywhere for her beloved dog. She then felt her phone vibrating in her back pocket. It was her mom. As she answered the phone, her mom told her calmly,“Come to the Veterinarian, it’s an emergency”.

Alyssa ran to the Veterinarian as quick as she could. When she walked in, she saw her parents sitting in the back of the room, with tears in their eyes. Alyssa walked to them and asked,

“What’s wrong? Where’s Rusty?”

Her father looked at her and told her,“Go through those doors”.

Not knowing what was about to happen, Alyssa slowly walked through the double doors. She was greeted by a tall, slender women with blue eyes.

“Alyssa,” she began. “Rusty is diagnosed with cancer, I’m afraid he doesn’t have much time. I would say your goodbyes now,” she concluded, leaving Alyssa alone in the room.

Her eyes full of tears, she approached the body of her best friend.

“Rusty no! This can’t be happening! I’m dreaming, someone wake me up please!” Alyssa cried.

She buried her head into Rusty’s body, her tears soaking his fur.

As Rusty’s eyes began to close for the last time, he looked at Alyssa in the eyes, waving his tail and barked one. Rusty’s eyes began to close. Rusty was dead. Alyssa’s eyes burned with loss and grief. She picked up Rusty in her arms and walked out of the room. She walked past her parents, still with tears in her eyes, and walked out the front door. Once she was home, she grabbed a shovel and started to dig a hole in her backyard. After she was done, she carefully laid Rusty in the hole. Before she buried him, she put his favorite chew toy and bone on top of him and started to cover his lifeless body. Alyssa would never be the same again.

It’s been 3 years after Rusty’s death, and Alyssa is still struck with loss and grief. Everyday she goes outside and visits Rusty’s grave. Sometimes she swears she can hear him barking and walking up the stairs, but she knows he’s gone. Even though Rusty is gone, Alyssa still has dreams of her and Rusty doing everything they used to do. 

Free Write Friday #2 -- Loss

Since I just started back to school this week, I think it's about time to have another Free Write Friday writing contest! My 8th graders just experienced FWF for the first time, and they ROCKED it. So proud of their creativity and bravery. This teacher is one happy camper. 

On another note, this week's FWF topic is loss.

 Interpret that whatever way you want-- as long as it relates somehow to the concept of loss, you're in the clear! 

A reminder for the rules: 
1. No more than 500 words
2. All genres (poem, short story, essay, etc) are accepted
3. You must email it to me by this coming Friday (September 2) at stormy.russell001@gmail.com

Your prize:

This week, I'm giving away a signed book plate, postcard, or an eBook of "The Feathered Egg" (a fantasy short story)! The choice is yours if you're our victor.

Your work will also be featured on my blog, and I will promote it in my author's groups. 


So...
Write on! Any questions? Email, tweet, message, smoke-signal me! 

Happy Birthday America -- Here's Your Gift

Yay it's America's birthday! So I won't take long on this post, only long enough to tell you that on this glorious of occasions, I have a gift for you, America (And, you know, every other country I suppose). Here is part two of my newest story, "The Feathered Egg"! Enjoy here or on my Wattpad.

Part II of "The Feathered Egg" - The Boatman's Song

Crispel Habok was a large man, and though his excitement about his daughter’s wedding was boundless, his purse was not. These things in conjunction made it impossible for him to find suitable wedding clothes, and for that reason, he could not attend. Amya, upon discovering this, declared that she would not cross the Great Water without him. Their love, admirable though it may have been, ensured that Yadia would have to cross the Great Water alone, just as her sister had one week prior. The difference was that Sasia would be greeted by a husband, while Yadia would be greeted by no one. Still, she was not afraid, and she was not upset with her parents for their decision. Truth be told, this passage would be much cheaper, and it set Yadia at ease to know that she would not need to sell as much fish as she had previously thought. She wasn’t sure how long her talents would reign in the marketplace, so fewer wedding clothes to buy was good news.

She did relish in buying her own, however. She settled on a bright goldenrod set with a matching veil, scarlet hand-embroidered details, and twinkling anklets in the same deep red hue as the thread holding it all together. It was blinding beside her other clothes from Munkai Island, but at the floating barn of Castor, she knew that she would be little more than another face in the rainbow of wedding goers. Her clothes would pale in comparison to the jeweled splendor of a Castor wedding. She expected that she may well go blind within a fortnight.

All that aside, she felt like royalty when her mother’s eyes grew as round as saucers beholding her other daughter dressed in such lavishness.

“Oh Yadia,” she breathed. “Perhaps one of the men there, at the floating barn, perhaps--”

“Mother.” Yadia smiled sadly. “I will not scout a husband at my sister’s wedding. No man will give me a second look, we both know that.”

“He need only look twice to see you,” her mother said softly. “And with Sasia married, perhaps more people will. You are not all that plain, you know.”

“I know,” Yadia said, though she did not quite believe it. She did not mind being the plain sister. It was much preferable to being on display.

“Leave your veil loosened.” Amya fingered the light fabric of the scarf as she spoke. “Let them see you, even if they do not choose to look.”

Yadia was confused by her mother’s words, as she often was, so she just smiled and pulled a few strands of dark hair forward so that it was visible. It was the same deep mahogany of her eyes, and with the bright yellow beside it, she could admit that she did look pleasant. She knew, though, that “pleasant” would not be enough to draw the eye of a man attending such an extravagant event. But that was all right with her.

She gave her luggage, such as it was, to her navigator. He was a scrawny man missing several teeth in his crumbling mouth. When he smiled, his eyes and gums both glittered black. She was not altogether comfortable with the man her father had chosen to convey her across the Great Water, but she had no other choice. She must get to Sasia. It may be the last time she ever saw her sister, given that her rich husband would not likely make a habit out of traveling to Munkai Island. Still, she tucked a small filleting knife from the HABOK tent into her slipper, wrapped in a rag. She could dress a large fish in under a minute, so she imagined that a man wouldn’t hold up all that well against it.

Goodbyes were shorter with Yadia than they had been with her twin. Her parents looked grayish, like worn out rags in dingy dishwater. In other words, they were beginning to look like the rest of Munkai. Despite their lack of money and energy, there was no shortage of love. Her father kissed the top of her head, and her mother even looked a bit tearful as her boat sliced through the water and into the fog. Once her parents were out of sight, Yadia withdrew her little blade, hiding it in her sleeve for safekeeping.

The fog was all-consuming. Not seeing was something that Yadia was used to, but the utter silence, the stillness of the world, was something that she was unprepared for. It made her shiver under her gauzy sleeves, pulling her veil closer to her neck. It was even worse when the boatman began to sing. The song was low and mournful, in the language of another island, not the common one. Its foreign intonations made her feel inexplicably sad and thoughtful, but at least it distracted her from the oppressive mist.

It was said that the floating barn of Castor was staffed by one hundred people hand-chosen by the family. They even lived in cozy cells within the barn for all their lives. It was a thought that Yadia could not seem to get from her mind, and she wished she could. She had no experience but that which she learned from her father’s fishing business. The one thing that the floating barn did not raise? Fish. It was ridiculous to think that her sister could somehow get her a job there; people on all the islands of the Great Water wished for the same, she knew.

The only difference is that the other people of the Great Water don’t have Sasia as a sister, she was reminded by an unbidden thought. Soon to be Lady Castor, she corrected herself. She wondered whether she would be allowed to call her sister by her first name after the union. She hoped so; there was no chance that she would stop using her twin sister’s first name. It was her favorite word to say, from the moment she could speak. She felt a smile touch her face as she remembered that for her sister, her own name was the most important word in their language. Yadia’s first word had been “no,” and Sasia’s had been “Yadia.” It said a great deal about them both.

Yadia reclined against the rough stern of the little vessel, letting the mist in the air form little droplets on her eyelashes. Through the droplets, the world looked shiny and sparkling instead of dull and gray. It helped her fight off the anxiety from the boatman’s song and drift off to sleep.

New Free Fantasy Story!

Apologies for my absence, internet friends! I've been all over these past couple weeks (Firefly Music Festival; woo hoo!) and I'm just getting functional again after a yucky summer cold. To make up for lost time, I'm going to shut up and give you what you want, which is FREE CONTENT.

Yes, really, free. I've been so grateful for the support I'm getting from people reading my new novel, The Separation, and so I wanted to give back to YOU.

If you're anything like me, you pretty much live your life around watching Game of Thrones. If you don't, good GRACIOUS you better start. I mention this because the story I'm about to share with you is comparable to GoT's genre. If I had to label it, the label would read something like medieval-fantasy-awesomeness.
But you can judge for yourself. The story will be 10(ish) segments long, and I'll release them every week or so. If you don't like reading on here, check out my Wattpad account where it will also be available.

Happy reading, all!

The Feathered Egg -- Part One -- Yadia Habok

“I really must go now.” Sasia’s kiss fell on the apple of her sister’s cheek like a feather. She adjusted her headscarf and, after one last tearful smile, she disappeared from the little house on Munkai island. Yadia could not see her step into the narrow boat that would convey her twin sister across the Great Water, but she know that must be happening now. She had to get to the wedding somehow. It was Sasia’s marriage, after all.

Yadia sighed when she looked back at the house without Sasia in it. Not only was she gone, it seemed that she had taken their parents with her. Yadia’s mother was draped across the window sill, allowing herself to look haggard now that Sasia was out of sight. Her father was at work fishing the Great Water. They had all been working as much as possible to get the money to send Sasia to her husband. Even Yadia had stopped going to school and began helping her father fish. Now, with the wedding only a week away, Yadia could not even return. Not only had she missed the last exam of the term, the other girls at the Munkai school would never treat her the same now that Sasia was to be wed to a son of a Castor.

It shouldn’t matter, Yadia thought bitterly. It’s not as if Sasia’s new life will make mine any different.

But she knew that was not true. Sasia would be a Castor now, the richest people this side of the Great Water. Their floating barn was the envy of all the residents on Munkai. It was said that you could see its shape for miles and miles before you arrived. It was also said that the barn was a gift from the gods to Polix Castor in the years when magic was still alive and well. His sons had maintained the massive structure, filling it with stock of all kinds, for hundreds of years. Soon, Yadia would at least get to test the former theory. She was set to follow her sister across the Great Water to the floating barn of Castor in only a week. Though the wedding was sure to be dazzling, Yadia could not find it within her to be excited.

“Yadia,” her mother called softly. “Go into the market and find your father. You must help him sell today. Our work is not over.”

She sighed. Of course she knew it was not over. It would never be over. The family had hired a travel vessel for Sasia -- no cheap endeavor. It was for that vessel, and new wedding clothes, that Yadia and the rest of her family toiled. It would be easy for her to be angry with Sasia, but it would be no use. Yadia’s twin was pure, and she ought to know. They had shared a womb, a bed, and a mind for their entire lives. It was not like the stories the marketplace crones would tell; no magic was involved. But with only a look, Yadia could tell what her sister was thinking. She imagined it worked both ways, but now it would be hard to ever ask. Her sister was a half a world away, and Yadia was selling smelly fish in the market on Munkai.

It did not take long for her to locate her father’s tent. She’d been there time enough to know the tent solely from the feel of its canvas between her fingers. She did not need to read her father’s name hastily scrawled across its side. HABOK it read. Then, simply: FISH. Her father was not a clever man, and she wished he had let her do the lettering. She’d gotten top marks for penmanship at school.

As she swept the canvas out of her way, a gush of air entered her veil, and she held her breath to defend against the odor of fish. Yadia suddenly found herself in a new world of bickering men tearing money from each other’s fists one moment and laughing heartily the next. After she’d gotten used to this, Yadia found that she liked the cacophony of the marketplace. It allowed her to slip, unnoticed, tent to tent or dock to dock as the case may be. The men thought nothing of a dark clothed little Munkai girl, covered all but her eyes. That made it easy to get their money. She could tug on their arms just a little, lead them, guide them. And somehow they never seemed to notice the plain brown eyes that peered out from under her headscarf. They only noticed the fish, meager though it was, and usually they bought some. Yadia’s father said that business had never been so good as when she was there, “assisting.”

While she led them, she listened. They spoke of all sorts of things, in all sorts of words, most of which young ladies should not use. Yadia’s mother made sure that she never repeated what she heard in the market ever since she got caught whispering curses in Sasia’s ears. If her sister hadn’t been so quick to blush, they may never have been caught. But, as always, Sasia was too good of heart to be found guilty.

That’s why it was so easy for her parents to choose Sasia to become the bride of Tristan Castor. And her beauty didn’t hurt. But even the most beautiful girl in the world would have no chance to gain the admiration of a Castor without some intervention from the gods, which is what Yadia’s father attributed their good fortune to. Yadia wasn’t so sure. The story seemed to have reached legendary status on Munkai Island for as often as he told it. Each time, she thought it grew more and more extravagant. The last time she had heard it, it had gone something like this.

When Crispel Habok had married Amya Bodom, it had been for love, not status. Such was the way on Munkai, and thankfully his bride was thankful for it. What Crispel lacked in cleverness, he made up for in affection, though he would shower most of it on his wife before he fathered twin girls. Even then he worked as a fish merchant, long days spent on the Great Water alone and even longer nights finding his way back to the young Amya. On one such journey home, he came across something that would change the course of his life forever.

It looked like half an almond silhouetted in the reflection of the moon. After a moment, even Crispel could recognize that it was an overturned vessel, and the water was deadly still. Unlike most people of the Great Water, Crispel could swim, a side effect of having watched fish every day since he had gotten old enough to row. And in that moment, something struck him, and he leapt overboard.

At this part in the story, Yadia always rolled her eyes because her father said that the gods led him beneath the water with a glowing orb, an orb which led to a motionless body. Once Crispel had pulled the man aboard his own humble vessel, his body leaden with wet silk, he discovered that the man was not breathing. Somehow Crispel revived the man, and if the story was to be believed, a solid gold fish had spilled from his open mouth and disappeared into the Great Water. Regardless, when the man regained his senses, he was so overcome with gratitude for his savior that he made a significant promise: his first born son would wed the first born daughter of this man. It was then, and only then, that his life’s debt could be paid. Crispel readily agreed, although it wasn’t until morning light that he recognized the golden C emblazoned on his clothes as standing for Castor. The man was Lord Oryan Castor, and to be married to his son was better fortune than anyone on Munkai Island could ever dream of receiving. It was indeed a blessing from the gods, until Crispel fathered twin girls two years later.

As the story went, Crispel and Amya had decided to wait until they came of age to decide, but when Amya gave birth to Sasia, her beauty was so profound that they chose on the spot. And as she grew, she only became more comely, not to mention sweeter than any child the island had ever seen. And Yadia simply grew up beside her.

That was the part in the story when everyone would clap and cheer and Yadia’s parents would take Sasia’s veil off so that everyone could see how truly beautiful she was. And Sasia would blush and stutter until everyone had taken their fill of her face.

At least she was able to escape that, Yadia thought. She knew, just as she knew everything about her sister, that Sasia didn’t much like being shown off. When Yadia yearned to take her scarves off in the heat of the day, Sasia wrapped hers even tighter. The only person she allowed to look upon her face was Januel, the boy who helped her father sell in the market. Januel knew that in order to keep his job, he mustn’t stare, so he seemed the only man around whom Sasia relaxed.

“My darling!” The booming sound of her father’s voice pulled Yadia from her reverie brusquely. “I’ve needed you all day. Thank the gods you are here! There, a traveling group has just docked, go and lead them my darling.”

With a kiss on the top of her head, Crispel pushed her gently out of the tent toward the new group of men. Within just a few moments, Yadia had them all laughing in her father’s tent, buying scrawny silver baitfish. The haul today was especially pathetic, but they hardly seemed to notice. She only hoped she could keep providing them to her father. Before long, she would need to find a husband herself, though the prospect brought her no joy. In the meantime, she decided, she would stay married to the fish.