Author Journey: January 13, 2023 - Friday the Thirteenth? Meh Whatever

 Yep. This year starts with a Friday the Thirteenth. Whether that means the opposite of bad luck, considering how all the 20s have been awful so far, or not, I'm of a "whatever" kind of mindset on that. For a Christian, there's no such thing as 'luck', though we do have a tendency to toss that word around from time to time. 

Author Journey: Where Things Stand

There's nothing new to update here, other than I've been enjoying writing the story I started a week or so ago. My goal with that one is to create an adventure/romance type of story. But we'll see how it goes. This was the thirtieth story in my Nano project. I love that it's continuing and extending. 

Outh'n Durr's tale sits waiting, patiently or not, for the day when I have the money I need to complete all the steps required for publishing it in ebook format. It is what it is and times are tough all over. But I choose joy and am content that God's purpose is greater than my own. His plan for me and my craft is going to be far better for me than anything I could think up and carry out. 

For now, I'll just keep doing what I'm doing. 

Writer's Life: New Beginnings

New year, new church family -- well, technically, we started visiting this church in December. My husband and I have a tendency to remain in a church for around three years or so, then move on as God directs. It's not something set in stone, but this seems to have been the pattern over past years. 

We stayed in our previous church for around that amount of time. I knew in my heart our time there was getting short. And sure enough, we recently moved our membership to a new congregation and have been made welcome there. We're already seeing areas where our talents may be useful. It's a wonderful thing to belong and to be useful. 

Spartacus is thriving. He's still having a little trouble adjusting to the new feeding schedule, but he's a good boy. Quite patient, he is, and very polite for the most part. It's rather a nice and unexpected blessing, since we've had several cats and most of them were rude and demanding. 😂

"Ponce" means stomach, just so you know. He does love his food.

Just Keep Writing: Friday Fascicles

If this is your first time participating in this kind of writing exercise, you're in for a treat. If you've done this with me before, just keep scrolling for the prompt.

Rules:

1. You can use any/all of the words and/or the photo in the prompt below to create a unique written work. Fiction or nonfiction, poetry or prose, even lyrics are acceptable.  
2. Please keep the material you write clean (ie. nothing R-rated or worse) if you wish to share the link to your work here, as well as if you link back to my site. I strive to keep my site free of such things. My readers know and expect this. I respect your right to write whatever you feel you need to write. And you're free to use my prompts. But if your material is graphic, I'd rather not view it, and most of my readers will not wish to. 
3. Have fun! This type of exercise is perfect for growing in the writing craft, or for helping through a rough patch in your current WIP. If you're looking to push your author limits and you normally write in nonfiction prose, try a whimsical collection of lyrics. If you normally write poems about real life events, try your hand at a fanfic. Give yourself some room to explore.

Don't forget to leave a link to your creation (unless you're writing graphic material) so my readers and I can check out your work. I'd appreciate a link back to this post to help me reach more readers, but it's not required. 

Photo by Polina Chistyakova

I'd like to ask you to take a moment and check out some of the other photos in Polina's gallery on Pexels.com. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Just Keep Writing: The Bizhal Merchant

This story is a snapshot in the life of a Shinnoahn bizhal merchant. It's not meant to have complete closure. I may build more on this story some time in the future, but who knows? Here are a few things which might aid you in your reading:

• Deiliin Bernerr - (day LEEN BAIR nair) single ‘r’ is lightly rolled, double ‘rr’ is strongly rolled
• Matyas - (MAHT yahs) the ‘s’ makes the same sound as in the word ‘silver’
• Dahlsikin - (DAHL see keen) seasons
• Wuve (WOO vay) - a wolf-like creature, smaller than the wuveia (woo VAY yah) of the forests of Shinnoah, when standing its shoulders reach the height of an average man's hip, and domesticated to protect and guard both livestock and people
• Dawmal (DAW mahl)- breakfast in Shinnoah
• Zoleta (zoh LEHT tah) - Shinnoahn word for Heaven
• Bizhal - (BEE zhahl) small puff-balls of fur with two talons like small songbirds have, they have bright blue eyes, various colors of fur ranging from black, to brown, to mottled neutrals, to gray, to white; they exude feelings of happiness and comfort which transfers to nearby humans, making them a much-sought-after pet
• Tsimikin - (TSEE mee keen) years
• Minsikin - (MEEN see keen) months
• Aftmal - (AHFT mahl) the afternoon meal, lunch
• Tiav’yag - (TYahv yahg) exile; outcasts, people banished from their homes and villages to wander the wilderness of Shinnoah. Whatever their crimes, they weren’t worthy of death, but were serious enough that their people want nothing to do with them
• Slitchit - (SLEE cheet) a long, sinuous animal with a nasty, poisonous bite, which inhabits parts of south-eastern Shinnoah, north-eastern D’Koruyi, and northern M’Neshunnaya

Deiliin Bernerr tightened the cord, cinching the patchwork skirt comfortably at her waist. The bright colors made both her and the stock happy. They never failed to catch the eye of many possible customers, too. A bright red blouse and a heavily embroidered black vest topped the skirt. The pattern on the vest was as colorful as her skirt and the theme encouraged her — the changing of the dahlsikin. Time was one of the few things, besides the Creator, one could count on in this life.

Running her fingers through her shoulder-length straight hair, she worked out the biggest knots, then sent her brush through the thick tresses. When no knots remained, she worked it into a braided crown, twined with a bright red ribbon. Checking her reflection in the shiny metal tray she’d bargained for long ago, she nodded in satisfaction. She’d long ago decided reflectors weren’t worth the money. The colors were far more important than how her face and figure appeared, at least to her. Her tray worked well enough for both, so she comforted herself with that thought.

Calling her wuve to her side, she gave him a good scratch behind the ears until his tongue lolled in contentment. Then she shared a portion of her dawmal with him. As he snuffled and chomped, filling his belly until it was nice and round, she nibbled on her flatbread and fruit. 

Continuing in the bizhal trade after her lifemate had gone on to Zoleta had been difficult, quite possibly the most difficult thing she’d had to do in her lifetime. At least their stock was pleasant and kept from slipping completely into a pit of depression. Maybe he’d known all along that he’d leave her behind. He was, after all, seven tsimikin her elder. Maybe he planned to have the bizhal for just such a time. Only Tugansol knew and the Holy Voice wasn’t sharing the information with her. 

Shaking herself from her dead-end thoughts, she finished her meal, but not before her companion. He lay at her feet, fat and content, his eyes half-closed. 

“Are you ready for this dawning, Bala?” His shaggy gray ears twitched toward her voice. “I think it’s time we begin setting up the stall.” 

Deiliin stood and stretched. Tsifi’ra had shown half of herself and Mit’ra was just peeking over the horizon. The dampness and slight chill in the air would soon fade, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. With a small smile and a nod of her head, she set to work.

Three tsimikin of doing everything alone meant she’d become adept at the process, discovering all the tricks which made the job easier. She’d even figured out a few things which made her own stall stand out from others. The most recent addition to her stall was a long white banner with the shop name embroidered on it in a red, outlined in a vibrant purple. Two poles at the sides topped with long, bright red streamers held it up and marked the entrance. Red was the key, she’d learned. 

Setting up was a thirsty job so she returned to the covered cart which served as her home. Deiliin poured a beaker of warm khafket and took an appreciative sip. Her thoughts continued tumbling about in her head. Normally, red washed out her pale skin, but whatever brought customers, right? That was a lesson learned within the first six minsikin without her lifemate. 

She’d do whatever it took to thrive and survive. The alternative was unthinkable. Taking a deep breath, she uttered a heartfelt prayer to Tugansol for a flood of sales and stepped out into the cool, misty air with her beaker in hand. Turning, she fished her key out of the hidden pocket in her skirt, locked up, and then turned to find a man hovering nearby. Startled, she gasped and sloshed her khafket onto her hand. 

“Oh, no!” she mourned as it dripped onto her skirt, marring the colors down the front. 

“My apologies, Deiliin,” the deep, rich tones rippled over her, at once calming and disturbing. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was whistling when I came up. Thought you’d heard.”

“Matyas, as the Holy Voice breathed all of creation into existence, I do not know how you walk so silently, even while whistling.” She grimaced. “Now I’ll have to change.” She sighed and replaced her key in her pocket. “Would you mind the stall for me while I do so? I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She turned to see Matyas nod, concern rippling his brow. “I’ll pay for the cleaning fees.”

“No need,” she assured him as she stepped inside her cart. “I clean everything myself.” And with that, she shut the door. 

Quickly, she changed her skirt. Thankfully, she’d made two more patchwork skirts for this very reason. The merchanting business could result in some strange messes from time to time. Working with live stock increased that risk. It was best to be prepared. Simple, single-colored tunics never drew the crowds like the bright colors did. Her sleeve had a small stain when she inspected it, so she switched it to a vibrant, sky-dome blue one and shrugged as she check her reflection in the tray. It would do. The variety of colors was important, too.

Hastening out her door, for Matyas could hardly deal with two stalls for long, she grumbled when she couldn’t find her key. Rushing back inside, she rummaged through the folds of the skirt she’d flung over a chair. Finding it, she fled out the door, locked it, and hurried into her stall. Almost immediately, she sensed the calm coming over her as the bizhals worked their gift upon her. 

Matyas came to meet her, reaching for her elbow and searching her face. “Is everything alright?”

She gave him the brightest smile she could manage, then winced at the resulting flicker of interest in his eyes. She hadn’t meant to caused that. “I’m fine. Thank you for watching the stall, Matyas. I can take care of things now.”

He nodded, releasing her elbow and backing up a step. “Alright. If you need me,” he let the implication speak for itself.

“My thanks, Matyas. I know.” She nodded back and allowed a smaller smile. Even though three tsimikin had passed and the loneliness seemed to grow, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go through a life-mating all it entailed for a second time. To have a successful one was hard work indeed. She already had more work than she could handle. 

Turning, she busied herself arranging the beautiful cages crafted by skillful Ikhel’duri and M’Neshunnayan weavers. The variety was sure to appeal. And in each and every cage, a bizhal nestled in a bed of moss and twigs. It was too bad their favorite food was too poisonous to risk having it in her stall. But they also enjoyed snagging small flying insects and those which ventured into the floors of their cages. The happiness exuding from them wrapped around Deiliin like a soft blanket and she smiled. Surely, customers would be clamouring to purchase such a wonderful pet.

As the dawning wore on, many people came to look, but few wanted to spend coin on something they couldn’t or wouldn’t eat, it seemed. Frustration gnawed at her previously good mood. When it came time for aftmal, she still hadn’t made a sale. Closing up the shop, she retreated to her covered cart. Before she could enter, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and shiver raced up her spine. 

She’d only felt that so intensely in one man’s presence. He was back, the one with the mark. How he got past the guards which patrolled the market area, she hadn’t quite figured out. He was also the main reason she made sure to set up shop beside Matyas. After that first time, she refused to be caught unaware and friendless. 

Spinning around, she scowled. “What do you want this time, tiav’yag?” She spat the last word. Wandering exiles were supposed to stay away from honorable citizens. “I told you last time you dared come near me I wasn’t interested in anything you had to say.”

“I see you’re still alone, Deiliin,” his sibilant, velvety tone didn’t do anything to calm her. “I come offering companionship, once again. You are a beautiful woman and still quite young. It’s a pity you’re missing out on,” he paused and licked his beautifully shaped lips, “well, on the wonders of a life-mating.” 

It was a shame someone blessed with such handsomeness on the outside, lacked it so greatly where it counted. She frowned. “You are mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” He looked around and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see anyone else here. Is your new life-mate chopping wood perhaps?” 

His tone spoke volumes. He didn’t believe his own words and was scorning her. A tiav’yag, scorning an honorable citizen! How he riled her. 

“I neither need nor want a life-mate. And you will leave or I will call down the guards on you.” She didn’t bother to tone down her rather strident voice. Keeping her chin up and her shoulders straight, she dared him to do or say anything which might prompt her to follow through with her threat. 

“Well-played, Deiliin. I’ll return again. The game’s not much fun without a challenge. And you are by far the most beautiful challenge I have yet come across.” He smiled and while it radiated with beauty, coldness hardened his clear blue eyes. 

“I don’t know how you learned my name and I don’t care. But you will refrain from using it so casually. I don’t know you and I refuse to associate with you. You’ve ruined your chances at living a life like the rest of Shinnoahn society by breaking the laws. I prefer to keep company with honorable people.” 

She almost turned her back but remembered in time that he was indeed the worst of slitchits. 

A step to her right caused her to jump. “Is there a problem, Deiliin?” 

Matyas’ presence relieved her so much she almost leaned into him. Holding herself rigid, she said, “I think we’ve resolved the issue. This tiav’yag is leaving now before the guards are called.”

The intruder spun on his heel, but his words echoed back. “I’ll return, Deiliin, and your personal guard won’t be around then.” 

When he disappeared into the temporary gathering of tent stalls, her knees gave out. Matyas’ hands caught her at the elbows and he gently helped her sit on the steps at her door. She dropped her face into her hands. “What am I to do, Matyas? I thought he’d eventually give up. Instead, the rogue follows me from town to town.”

“How long?” There was a sharpness to his tone.

“Six minsikin now, I think. I can’t seem to convince him I’m not interested.” She sighed and raised her eyes to the sky-dome as she leaned back against her door. “I’ve prayed but the Holy Voice speaks so low I can’t hear. Either that or my problem isn’t worth speaking of at all.” She closed her eyes and an errant tear escaped to roll slowly down one cheek. 

A gentle touch startled her. Her eyes flashed open to see such a look of concern on Matyas’ face, she really was worried. “I’m sorry, Matyas. I shouldn’t unpack all my worries on you. I meant what I told him. I neither need nor want another lifemate. It’s too hard when they go away to Zoleta.” She turned her face away. 

“I hear what you’re saying, Deiliin, but I’m your friend. And I’ll always be that, if you allow it. I will help you as I can.”

“But he’s right! You can’t always be beside me. Even if you were my life-mate, there would be times when we’d be apart. I appreciate your help, but,” Deiliin sighed, “please don’t despair if there comes a time he manages to do something horrible. It will never be your fault. Yes?”

Matyas cocked his head to one side and simply stared at her. His silence spoke loudly of his disagreement. 

“Please, Matyas,” she pleaded, “work with me on this. I will accept your help only if you agree to what I said. That man makes his own choices and the results of his actions will be only his fault. Well, perhaps partly mine, too, if I consider all the angles. I won’t have you taking on responsibilities that you don’t have to carry.”

“What if I want to? Deiliin, why do you think I make sure to plant my own stall beside yours since we met?” The quiet words, echoed by the gentleness in his hane’en brown eyes, brought tears to her own. “I’m happy to be whatever you need me to be, Deiliin. If we are only ever friends, that’s fine by me. If Tugansol points us in the direction of a stronger bond, I’m happy with that, too. And if the Holy Voice commands our paths to divert, I will remember you fondly always.” He sighed and shook his head, looking away. Then he  swung his head back around, searing her with a fierce glare. “But one thing I will not do is stand by while someone is forced into things they don’t want any part of. This is not just because the person is you.” 

Matyas was an excellent friend and had her heart not been so utterly broken when she lost her life-mate, she could’ve been swayed at that moment to see if their friendship might strengthen into a deeper bond. Instead, she nodded acceptance of his declaration, rose to her feet and turned to enter her home. “I’ll see you on the morrowdawn, then, Matyas,” she spoke low, and toward her door. “My thanks to you — for your understanding, and for your friendship.”

“Peaceful rest be yours, Deiliin. On the morrowdawn, then,” came the soft rumble of his voice as he turned and headed for his own cart-home.

Who knew what any dawning would bring? Only Tugansol. And perhaps on the morrowdawn, she’d be able to forgive herself a little more for the part she played, though inadvertently, in her husband’s sudden death. Perhaps.

So what do you think? I hope you enjoyed the story. I had fun writing it last November during Nanowrimo. I wrote thirty stories, one of which is still in progress.