tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85652429275085630412024-03-12T18:19:37.530-07:00QUINN SMYTHWOOD: Life With Imaginary People (author blog)Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-68640620423116986412012-01-13T00:01:00.000-08:002012-01-13T00:01:00.385-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #8So I've spent the first two weeks of 2012 very busily not doing much at all and chiding myself for not putting up my first new year contribution to <b>Friday Flash Fiction</b>. <i>Oh! Belately, happy New Year everyone!</i> I hope 2012 has loads of good stuff in store for you and sends you lots of good friends and supporting family for any of the not so good stuff.<br />
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Now, without further delay, let's get onto to the flash fiction. Today's offering has a moral in the tale; ego boosts to everyone who spots it (<i>and the fairytale from which it twistedly derives</i>). <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/256/3/a/dust_by_gunnerromantic-d2ymvm3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/256/3/a/dust_by_gunnerromantic-d2ymvm3.jpg" width="247" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="by"></span></span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="by"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="by">by</span> *<a class="u" href="http://gunnerromantic.deviantart.com/">GunnerRomantic<br />
</a></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><b>BEAUTY</b><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
Again, I couldn’t breathe. The air thick with beauty. The taste of his kiss lingering on my lips like frostbite. <i>Did I want another?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">His bright and intent eyes saw past my twisted countenance. He had not turned from me in terror the first night or any other. His touch, my first caress, had chilled me. The light in his perfect beauty was stark against my dark grotesquery. First I imagined he saw deeper. Now as he leans in for a final cold kiss I finally see him for what he is. The monster that takes my last breath away. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b>100 words </b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">100 words (</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Drabble</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">). Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering. </span></span></span></div></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-22608681733811365522011-12-23T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-23T00:22:10.165-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #7Merry Christmas everyone! This is my official Christmas drabble for 2011 and I hope that you all enjoy it. Whether you're home for the holidays or going farther afield, have a wonderful one.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/354/b/4/xmas_bokeh_lights_by_arvael18-d359dq5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/354/b/4/xmas_bokeh_lights_by_arvael18-d359dq5.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><h1 style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal; margin-top: -4px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span class="by">by</span> <a class="u" href="http://arvael18.deviantart.com/">arvael18</a></span></h1><b>GIFT</b><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">The house is oh so quiet. I move through the dark to the bedroom where they sleep. In the night, I see all. They curve together, clinging to each other. Short breaths through half parted lips, the pulse of blood in their veins; they are a sweet temptation. Almost, I forget my promise, forget my reason for coming. </span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I leave before I give in to sensual desires. It is my furtive gift to them. I leave without tasting; without spilling a drop of blood. Past the twinkle of lights, beneath mistletoe and holly, I smile. Another secret Santa, another year. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b>100 words </b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">100 words (</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Drabble</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">). Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering. </span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-50715762396263844532011-12-16T04:17:00.000-08:002011-12-16T06:48:35.252-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #6<div style="font-family: inherit;">Today's supernatural Friday flash comes with a bonus drabble. It was the first piece I wrote that didn't quite fit in with my running theme of <i>supernatural</i> flash. </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cloud.lomography.com/576/937/c0/7ab1ac6f10c91e769317c09fbd26a339abf9cf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://cloud.lomography.com/576/937/c0/7ab1ac6f10c91e769317c09fbd26a339abf9cf.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by <a href="http://www.lomography.com/homes/zoezo" target="_blank">zoezo</a></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><b>LAMP</b></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">The lady in the lamp is weeping. Her tears are oil drawn up the spout, burning as light for the table. I’ve tried to release her—despite the beatings, despite the seal that binds her—too many nights to count. Tonight, as the gentry feast, her tears shine for me their true faces and I know what must be done. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">In darkness we flee together; the hounds quick at my scent till we fall into the keeping of the dark and quiet lake. The lady seeps from the spout. Her tears are seductive as she draws me down into dark. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b>100 words </b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">100 words (<i>Drabble</i>). Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> ***</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>bonus drabble</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">LAMP</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was no return address. Inside the parcel was a brash coloured lamp all fire and gold and oil-sheen-peacock. There was no note. Still, I kept it. At first only for its beauty until it consumed me with primal obsession.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">The lid of the lamp is sealed. The spout is a narrow pinhole. Yet a filament light twinkles within. My certainty grows as it shines day and night. I polish it, yet no genie is summoned to hear and obey my every command. I don’t give up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes I hear him laugh as I rub and rub my fingers raw. </span></div></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-37473054072669510242011-12-09T00:01:00.000-08:002011-12-09T00:01:00.256-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #5<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Happy Friday! What with only two more Fridays to go till Christmas and in the spirit of the season...no one dies. (<i>No supernatural creatures were killed, maimed or sent fleeing for their lives in this flash fiction offering....</i>) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://danaddington.com/art/new7/ancientarrival38x28.jpg" width="292" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> by <a href="http://www.danaddington.com/addingtongallery/addington/addington.html" target="_blank">Dan Addington</a></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">ANGEL </span></b></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">I thought I found the angel. Finders keepers, I told my friends. He wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t dead either. The skin was warm and the eyes followed every move. He didn’t have a pulse or breath, but I didn’t have to carry him home. He walked beside me. </span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">The angel always watches, never speaks. His lips are soft and fierce. The silence between us is golden. Each kiss a little more of me belongs to him. </span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tonight he rises from the bed, drawing me into his embrace. Stretching his wings around me, he whispers in my ear. “Finders keepers.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b>100 words </b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">100 words. Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering.</span><br />
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</div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-40841289071900548652011-12-02T12:01:00.000-08:002011-12-01T23:40:46.794-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #4<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's hard to believe that it is December already and here we are with the first Friday of the last month of 2011. Today's supernatural flash fiction has an SF edge...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/305/4/1/dragon__s_eye_by_victoriahighet-d4ess1g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2011/305/4/1/dragon__s_eye_by_victoriahighet-d4ess1g.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">by <a href="http://victoriahighet.deviantart.com/art/Dragon-s-Eye-266722036" target="_blank">Victoria Highet</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">DRAGON</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dragons are made not born, I think as I attach the last iridescent scale. Then he is wheeled out of surgery to the Hall of the Transformed.</span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">His final examination is a week later. I check his flame gland, his wings and the glittering sheath of scales. His skin is smooth and hard as diamonds. When he smiles, his teeth are predatory. I ask him again if he wants to change his mind. He doesn’t. I discharge him to the skies. </span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">With a heavy heart I fulfil my legal obligation and notify the knights. Perhaps I made him strong enough. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b>100 words </b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">100 words. Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering.</span><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-17629898552416537962011-11-24T23:43:00.000-08:002011-11-24T23:48:56.255-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's another friday and we've got another bit of supernatural flash fiction fresh from the seas...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://th09.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2011/199/3/e/deity_among_the_clouds_by_pskate1-d2hytbl.jpg" width="246" /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: xx-small;">by <a href="http://pskate1.deviantart.com/art/Deity-among-the-clouds-151110129?q=boost%3Apopular%20in%3Adigitalart%2Fphotomanip%2Ffantasy%20water%20man&qo=566" target="_blank">Katherine Lister</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;">SIREN</span></b></span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His voice makes it impossible to think. The words seep into my mind and stick there; smoky, rich, deep and eternal. He seduces me easily to the water’s edge. Without silence I can’t focus on the brazen glow of his skin and the muscled chest, the chiselled jaw and his eyes like green fire. The water is cold as I wade in. I go anyway. He reaches out to drown me and I place a kiss on his full lips and spell them quiet as I drink away his voice. He tastes of honey and his struggles don’t last long. </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">100 words </span></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></span></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;">100 words. Is it a story? You decide. Is there a mythic being/beastie you would like to see tackled in these Friday Flash Fiction pieces? I’d love to hear about your favourites and maybe you’ll see them in a 100 word flash soon! If you've written a Friday Flash Fiction piece why not let me know about it in the comments? I'd love to read your offering. </span></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-52542185633982391192011-11-18T01:27:00.000-08:002011-11-18T06:45:12.208-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #2<div class="ii gt" id=":73"><div id=":74"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This friday's flash fiction is a ghost story... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="362" src="http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs31/f/2008/217/9/1/Ghost_World_by_SamuraiChopstick.jpg" width="400" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">by <a href="http://samuraichopstick.deviantart.com/art/Ghost-World-93721695" target="_blank">samuraichopstick</a></span></div><b>GHOST</b><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">The air was rank with power. It curdled the blood like the screams of a banshee. Sweeping the flashlight in wide arcs threw muted illumination like silky cobwebs against stone walls. She was close, so close I was breathing her in. I brushed fingers across lips, uncertain whether I was revolted or aroused.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Her icy touch took me by surprise. Ghost eyes wide and dilated, like I was an opiate and she an addict, she fed on offered energy. I beckoned her closer and unable to resist, she was bound to me. <i>Mine</i>. My ethereal huntress. My new forged weapon.</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">100 words </span></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011</span></span></span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'd love to collaborate with others. Would you like to be part of an Urban Fantasy/Speculative Fiction Friday Flash group? Already writing Friday Flash Fiction then leave a link in the comments - I'd love to read your piece. </span></div><br />
</div></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-44274353571369113512011-11-10T23:54:00.000-08:002011-11-18T11:31:31.054-08:00Friday Flash Fiction #1<span style="font-family: inherit;">There's an interesting trend in the Twitterverse that peaked my interest, Flash Fiction Friday! I figured I'd jump onboard and make it a regular feature in the <i>'Life with Imaginary People'</i> blog. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sakimichan.deviantart.com/"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSKhVCw7x3BvMSC3wfZM6CoRwQ57jDdiVJFfxe2e5nUedlGFtvGxdB1cOrgKOibME7TIQOYdHyK1gCDImZ1Dt7gJ9dqC0NDxihSz546mQfUdj_7ELIehvO5g5trIo6qI4Kb_V14VP4Gc/s320/f2fe00dae951b0bbd2df6525cc826365-d38q2xg.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">by <a href="http://sakimichan.deviantart.com/">sakimichan</a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>DEMON</b></span><br />
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<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They say a demon's touch is hot. They say their lips are scorching. I'd heard that anyway. His kiss was cold. <i>Was he the exception?</i> His kisses were cold but he was smoking hot and pure blood demon. Heth looked liked like an angel, but seduced like a pro. The kiss was ardent and skilful. My lips felt pleasantly bruised. Heth seemed fragile and so easily broken. I could feel his heart beating, the pulse at his throat. Who'd have imagined demons could die? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His grass-green eyes didn't look predatory at all. I let him think me innocent and shy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">100 words </span></b></div><div align="left" class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">©Quinn Smythwood 2011<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'd love to collaborate with others. Would you like to be part of an Urban Fantasy/Speculative Fiction Friday Flash group? Already writing Friday Flash Fiction then leave a link in the comments - I'd love to read your piece. </span></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-66443024725540990142011-11-01T02:41:00.000-07:002011-11-02T02:41:36.260-07:00Five Benefits to Imaginary Werewolves<span lang=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3NcEf9gaJk1oue2lkpsyU9WbNB1UVhbp7vi8IbdCjJ25XysudQlJR9VY0spr80HJ3rHtRZ9IQUhji2fDbjZIO7v-yL1OKSuM7G7k8yXE0xGJaf30WteVew8GSDsh_Qxe4SeOzPHne68/s1600/blogtour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3NcEf9gaJk1oue2lkpsyU9WbNB1UVhbp7vi8IbdCjJ25XysudQlJR9VY0spr80HJ3rHtRZ9IQUhji2fDbjZIO7v-yL1OKSuM7G7k8yXE0xGJaf30WteVew8GSDsh_Qxe4SeOzPHne68/s1600/blogtour.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>In an ideal world, I would probably be a werewolf, but since that's not possible I write about them instead. Here's a few things I've learned since WOLF STRAP was published in Queer Wolf back in 2009.<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<ol><li>You make new friends – I've met loads of amazing authors and readers since Queer Wolf was released, who I would never have met otherwise! It's pretty cool how much one short story can bring into your life.</li>
<li>Drag queen werewolves – Glory is (probably) my favourite side character in the Urban Wolf series. How can you not love the red beehive, towering heels (that I could never walk in myself), and fabulous dresses?</li>
<li>Old dogs – new tricks - I'm a big fan of werewolf mythology, and I've loved putting my own spin on it with the Urban Wolf books. Everything I've ever read about werewolves has influenced the world building of the books, but I've tweaked it ever so slightly each time, which has been great fun to do!</li>
<li>Less fuss than a real dog – I'd love a dog, but really don't have time for one between writing, working, and the cat and snakes I already own. Writing about werewolves is a cheap alternative.</li>
<li>Travel the world – okay, I only got as far as Paris for DARK HUNT, but it's a start. My aim for a future book is to get to New Orleans so if anyone wants to read about Ayla and Shannon in the Big Easy, let me know!<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span></li>
</ol><br />
<span lang=""><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZupvNDwok5d0M__Tqrbdiwq11jDly9LSVpFlpp9YNOfAh1ZH6Xexw1qhYYLd8g69UE8oq0WicBprjZv0kjoFvjrcjqsgpRgc2D96llKVde-Lb4zQb6ZO7G7a4DaF8u2blSyZuF0Xn1w/s320/darkhunt-by-naomiclark.png" width="211" /></div><u></u></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><b><span lang=""><span lang="">DARK HUNT<u><br />
</u></span></span></b></blockquote><blockquote><br />
<span lang=""><span lang=""> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u> </u></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>Ayla Hammond is taking on Paris.</span><br />
<span lang=""> Hoping for a romantic getaway in the City of Lights with her girlfriend, Shannon, she finds a city under the dark thrall of Le Monstre.</span><br />
<span lang=""> Getting caught up in mystery and murder was the last thing Ayla and Shannon expected to find in the City of Love, but as the body count grows and tension rises between Parisian werewolves and humans they find themselves stalked by an unknown terror.</span><br />
<span lang=""> What is Le Monstre and why does it make Ayla's wolf want to turn tail and run? Can it be stopped before they become its next victims?</span></blockquote><span lang=""> <span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<u></u></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span lang=""><b>ABOUT THE AUTHOR</b></span><br />
<span lang=""><div><b>Naomi Clark</b> lives in Cambridge and is a mild-mannered office worker by day, but a slightly crazed writer by night. She has a perfectly healthy obsession with giant sea creatures and a preference for vodka-based cocktails. When she's not writing, Naomi is probably either reading or watching 80s cartoon shows, and sometimes she manages to do all three at once. You can follow Naomi at <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/naomi_jay">Twitter</a><span lang="">; <a href="http://www.facebook.com/naomijclark">Facebook</a> </span><span lang="">or on her <a href="http://naomijay.blogspot.com/">Blog</a></span><span lang="">. </span></div></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span><u></u><br />
<br />
<b>CONTEST TIME</b><br />
We're giving away plenty of swag in the <a href="http://tiny.cc/drkhunttour">DARK HUNT blog tour</a><span lang="">. There are daily ebook giveaways and hampers of goodies up for grabs at the grand finale of the tour including ebooks, limited DARK HUNT t-shirts, personal horoscopes and tarot readings by Naomi Clark, as well as postcards from Ayla, Shannon, Vince, Joel and Glory (urban wolf series characters). Leave a comment here (ask me a question or just say hello) with your email address to be entered. Enter at each point along the tour for more entries and more chances to win. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
We're also giving away a free copy of SILVER KISS, the first book in the Urban Wolf series, to everyone who comments. Just remember to include your email address to get your Smashwords voucher and find out how Ayla and Shannon ended up in Paris!Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-39825650595918817102011-10-30T23:43:00.000-07:002011-10-30T23:51:09.695-07:00Trick or treat<i><span style="font-size: large;">Hey Intrepid Readers, </span></i><br />
<br />
<strong>It's Halloween</strong> and for a treat I thought I'd put up a short for you all to read; maybe you want to save it for when darkness falls, the moon rises (or the storm clouds smother the light and stars) and ghosts and ghoulies come out to play...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5305/5589855881_872c8609a7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5305/5589855881_872c8609a7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/ljuphoto/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">lju photo</span></a></div><br />
Whatever you're getting up to this Halloween don't waste it on Monday blues! Now, for the treat...or is it a trick? You decide. Read on...and listen for the owl...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yours, </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/4963168459_3b5bd15e7f_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4089/4963168459_3b5bd15e7f_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">by </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/gfoster67/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">gfoster67</span></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Bitch is Dead</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The owl is gazing down from the tree. It’s dark out or I would see the pale green bark, the dark emerald leaves and the white ivory of the thorns. I wonder if the thorn tree is significant or if the owl would have been just as menacing sitting among the long leaves of a eucalyptus. The owl doesn’t call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Summer and the heat is oppressive. There are lines of bright shimmers across the cheeks of the men who dig the grave. There’s something wild about their eyes; like the whites absorb the sunlight and burn brighter than the darks of the iris. Sometimes you wonder if they’re even alive, until they raise their voices suddenly and you’re broken out of the illusion. I try to persuade myself that it’s only my morbid mood that colours the gravediggers this way. The bitch is dead. She’s not coming for you. I wish I could be more convincing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are no mourners. The plot of earth lies lonely among a dozen wood crosses. They’re thin like plywood and already a few are rotting, mirroring the process below their sharp African sun thrown shadows. Plastic flowers hang from a few, fading quickly in the hot harsh light. At last the gravediggers are done and the coffin—a box really, cheap wood with a splinter-touch surface—is lowered with small ceremony into the earth. The bitch is dead, I think, and watch as the fine dry sand is thrown back into the hole covering the box and the crone within. When it is done, I stand on her grave and look down at the freshly placed cross pegged into the ground. Goodbye, I silently tell her. A jewel falls from my forehead, a silver bead of perspiration that hits the arm of the wooden cross and draws a wet line across it. I fall back. The noon sun beats down and I retreat. The bitch is dead. I’m free. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The night falls slowly, but not slow enough. The owl is there among the mint green branches, watching me with unblinking amber eyes and I lock the doors and close the windows even though the heat of the day is trapped inside with me. I sweat. I perspire. Not all of it is the heat. The owl does not call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I dream of stars that are too bright. I am back in the past and I’ve drunk the hot liquid in the bone cup and my mind is not clear. My mind burns and my thoughts are a fever. The witch is watching me. Her smoke yellowed eyes are bruised with age. She’s old, so very old. They say she can talk to the spirits. They say she can cure all ills. They say she can make cattle barren, make their udders dry. I forget why I came to her in my dream. There are shells in her hair, shells and bones; the frail skeletons of small things, of rats and birds. She takes my hand and pricks the fingers one by one, grinning at me with dark lips over toothless gums. She’s old, so very old. I forget how I got here. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I wake drenched in my sweat, in my terror. I get up and on the way to work, I stop at her grave. I stand on it. The sun is rising but there are too many shadows still on the ground to separate her wooden cross from the thrown darkness. I stand there a long time in my mind, seconds on my watch and then hurry away. I work like the gravediggers, I work like the owl called my name. I work like I am dead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the fading day I pass her grave again on my way home. The light is thin when I walk under the thorn tree to reach my door. The owl is there and I feel its eyes on my back, drinking in my soul. I open the door and slink inside. The owl does not call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes I think I am going mad. The witch lies in her grave, but every night I feel she visits me. I dream of her tasting my blood as it wells from small pricks in each fingertip. I dream of spinning under the hazy influence of the hot drink she spills down my throat. I dream of the chanting words and the sharp bark of laughter like hyenas calling on the wind. The air smells of dirt and fire and I taste ashes on my tongue. Sometimes I know I am going mad. I don’t know how I came to be under her dark eaves. I don’t know why I drink her hot potion. I don’t know why I visit her grave. I think someone told me that the owl would call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I read the paper in the evening after work, curtains closed against the owl in the yard and the lights are all burning. It only makes the shadows longer, thinner, hungrier. I turn to the classifieds scanning the adverts that promise to dispel curses, drive away evil spirits, bring you good luck, make your lovers faithful. I cannot bring myself to call on any of them. Not even those who promise no payment unless the muti<span style="color: red; font-size: xx-small;">*</span> works. Black magic, dark magic. I know I am still under her spell. The bitch is dead. It doesn’t matter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then I go to bed and I dream. How do I know she is dead? I just do. I know that I must go to her grave and watch them put her in the ground. I know I must stand on her grave and so I do. And I remember drinking her hot brew that leaves the taste of ashes and iron in my mouth and sends fire through my brain. I remember her toothless smile, her yellow eyes. I remember the owl. I remember the hyenas laughing in the dark. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wake and morning is still so fragile and young that the night is still in the air and it is dark. Too dark. I should sleep more. I should dream more. But I don’t. I get out of bed and I wonder about the house, unsettled. Afraid. Why did I go to the witch? Why did I drink her dark muti? Why is she in my thoughts? Why does she haunt my dreams? I don’t think I know. I don’t think I ever did. I walk to the door and throw it open. The owl in the thorn tree watches me. It drinks my soul. It doesn’t call my name. Sunlight chases it away. I don’t think I can last another night. I think soon the owl will call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The day is long and hard and hot. I can’t concentrate. My mind wanders. My work is shoddy. My colleagues complain. I say I am sick. I say I should go home and then I leave. I go to the witch’s grave and I stand on it, staring down at the wooden cross, burning in the hot sun. I don’t care. I don’t move. Then the sun sinks and I’m free to go home. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The thorn tree is empty as I open the rusted gate and walk under the pale green arms. The night air is cool against my burnt and fevered skin. I feel worn out, faded like a mote in the air. I could float away, I think. I walk to the door and as I open it I hear the beat of wings and the owl slips into the tree, talons rasping at the smooth green bark. I turn back and face its amber glare. Unblinking, the owl watches me. I feel lighter already. I escape into the house and close the door. It’s not long now, I know. The owl is going to call my name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I make supper. The yellow butter melts and colours my potatoes like the witch’s eyes. I don’t eat. I go to bed after switching aimlessly from channel to channel. After scouring the paper for adverts I know I’ll never use. I go to bed hot from the heat trapped in my skin, the sunlight that I’ve allowed to seep into my pores. It’s not enough light to keep the dark at bay. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I dream of the witch. I tell myself that the bitch is dead. She says she knows. She says that is why. She doesn’t tell me why. She doesn’t tell me more. She just smiles. Her toothless smile is dark and gapping. Even under the spell of the hot potion, of the wicked brew, I shiver. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I wake it’s midnight. I don’t have to look at my watch to tell. I know. I get up out of the bed, turning damp sheets aside. I move quickly through the house to the door and out into the garden. I stand under the thorn tree, the moonlight full and bone white on the branches, on the owl. I think I see the witch. A shadow beside the tree. A shadow with yellow eyes. The owl blinks. The owl opens its beak. The witch shadow rushes forward. The owl calls my name. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: red; font-size: xx-small;">*</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><strong>Muti</strong> is a term for </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">traditional medicine</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> in </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Southern Africa</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> as far north as </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Lake Tanganyika</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">. The word muti is derived from the </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Zulu</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> word for tree, of which the root is -thi. In Southern Africa, the word muti is in widespread use in most indigenous African languages, as well as in </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">South African English</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> and </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Afrikaans</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> where it is sometimes used as a slang word for medicine in general. (</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muti"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Wikipedia</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">)</span></span></span></div>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-88840081300738903112011-10-14T11:22:00.000-07:002011-10-14T11:30:57.237-07:00I'm back from outer space<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey Intrepid Readers, </i></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>I know alien abduction</strong> ain’t gonna fly with you folks; so would you believe wicked witchcraft? Yes, okay, I’ve been a little on the quiet side and maybe someone noticed. (I hope not; I tried to be real circumspect about it.) The year has all but flown by and I came back from a little holiday away (it happened in March, I’m absolutely sure of it because I’m still paying off the instalments) and it turned into months and months and months…(and months!) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Seven months! Really? Good lord! I thought of it more like revolving credit, no more than three demands for payments…you know, 90 days final notice stuff, but alas no. Seven months! Regular correspondence shall return; but I hear a wicked witch call my name…and this Halloween so shall you…</span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yours, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</span></i></span></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-74271884452545600812011-02-23T11:09:00.000-08:002011-10-14T10:45:59.323-07:00Reviewing the 'Ungrateful Dead'<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey Intrepid Readers, </i></span><br />
<br />
<b>I'm talking mini-review</b> today. A while back I received an ebook from my 'tweep' Naomi Clark; a copy of her short story <i>Ungrateful Dead</i>, an Ethan Banning case. I figured I'd do Naomi a solid and give her something more than my quickie "@<a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="naomi_jay" href="http://twitter.com/naomi_jay" rel="nofollow">naomi_jay</a> Ungrateful Dead-Thanks for holding the zombies. Charlie-cute; Ethan-that's why they call them hard boiled. Demonised-cor blimey!" tweet. So here it is, my mini review. <br />
<br />
<b><i> </i></b><i>Ungrateful Dead</i> was<b> </b>an introduction to Ethan Banning for me, but not an introduction to author <a href="http://naomijay.blogspot.com/">Naomi Clark</a>. (If you've read <b>QUEER WOLF</b> then you've read the awesome <i>Wolf Strap</i> which introduces readers to girl-power-getting-her-bitch-on lesbian werewolf Ayla Hammond. A character whose tale is continued in the whoopass novel <b>SILVER KISS</b>!) But let's talk about down-on-his-luck, Ethan Banning, private dick. (<i>Psst ask <a href="http://naomijay.blogspot.com/2011/02/free-ethan-banning-short-story-for-you.html">Naomi</a> for a copy of Ungrateful Dead, it's <u>FREE</u></i>). <br />
<br />
Straight off the bat he struck me as the original 'hard boiled' kind of private investigator and the reader is plunged into the kind of seedy world you'd expect from the noir in which Ethan Banning lives and breathes. I could instantly imagine him chatting up a 'leggy dame' who walked into his office in a voice as dry as dirt; not that his client in this short tale is such a dame; rather it's a medical examiner and the only dame in the piece is dead and rather pissed about it. Reading <i>Ungrateful Dead</i>, I actually 'heard' Ethan (<i>you know like in my head</i>) with that deep, monotone Bogie voice going on.<br />
<br />
The short read itself is packed with humour and delivers high impact for all that this is a quick read; there's a ghost, a morgue, a client and I'm pretty sure there's even a knock knock joke thrown in there too. Or maybe that was just me. It's well worth grabbing and reading for anybody who loves a good ghost in the morgue and PI story; whether you're interested in the supernatural angle, the noir private investigator angle, or that touch of grim in your humour angle, <i>Ungrateful Dead</i> delivers and it delivers promptly. <br />
<br />
The story is also a bit of promo for the upcoming Ethan Banning novella by Naomi Clark called <b>DEMONISED.</b> The first chapter of this novella comes along with your copy of <i>Ungrateful Dead</i> and is a definite hook into another tale, another case. It's this opener that, to my mind, fixed that descriptor 'hard boiled' to Ethan Banning, PI, and it is a taster that promises a blooming brilliant read. What I got out of chapter one is that <b>DEMONISED </b>offers readers hardcore private dick like no paranormal you've read before. (<i>Yes I said it that way and I'm sticking with it.</i>) Will it deliver? I'm betting it will! <br />
<br />
I guess what I'm saying is keep an eye out for DEMONISED! While you wait, you can take Ethan out for a test drive by getting <i>Ungrateful Dead</i> and seeing how his engine races.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><b> DEMONISED: </b>(The Blurb)<br />
<i> PI Ethan Banning is smoking too much, sleeping too little, and hearing voices. One voice, to be exact: the voice of the demon that possessed him on his last case. A voice that urges him to hurt, rape, kill ... and Ethan doesn't think he has the strength to ignore it much longer.<br />
<br />
When his latest missing person case turns into a murder investigation, Ethan finds himself fighting not just demonic urges, but black magic, an incubus with a hidden agenda, and a client who just won't pay up. Luckily, Ethan's got a few friends on his side, like Detective Anna Radcliffe, and his trusty dog, Mutt. If Ethan can ignore the demon long enough, he might just solve this case before it kills him.</i><b> </b></blockquote><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yours, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</span></i></span></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-88821674691067687452011-02-15T06:16:00.000-08:002011-02-15T06:17:55.084-08:00Behind the Times<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey Intrepid Readers, </i></span><br />
<br />
<b>So it's 2011 </b>and where the heck has Quinn been? Oh I've been around living that wild ride they call life and generally behaving like I'm completely responsibility free... Oh well, it was fun while it lasted and now everyone knows that I procrastinated. Nevertheless it's a new year and with new years come great burdens that we like to call resolutions; new year wannabes just doesn't have the same sense of finality to it, though it may<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>just a tad<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>be more accurate. Yes, I realise it's a trifle late to be bringing new years and resolutions to the table, but I've been trying to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Estivation">estivate </a>through the usual resolution period and forgive me if I've just crawled out of my cave to greet 2011 and suss out the character of this spring chicken. <br />
<br />
So what's my wannabe...er resolution for 2011? Well I've got a couple dangling metaphors in front of me as we speak, but I'll highlight just numero uno: <u><i>Get a novel/la out this year</i></u>. I've been dancing around that one for a good while and I think this year stands there with goal posts wide open, so let's see if we can put aside the wannabe and hit this resolution on the nail.<br />
<br />
While I was sleeping the <a href="http://drolleriepress.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=49&products_id=109">HELEBORE & RUE</a> anthology (my contribution here is <a href="http://quinnsmythwood.blogspot.com/2010/12/gloam.html"><i>Gloam</i></a>) was released<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>mere days ago in fact, appearing on the Drollerie Press website (15% discount) and will be available at other distributors soon. ZOMBIALITY (my contribution <a href="http://quinnsmythwood.blogspot.com/2010/12/dead-boy-number-one.html"><i>Dead Boy Number One</i></a>) was nominated in the best book/anthology category at the <i>Mail Order Zombie Dead Letter Awards</i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>I kid you not; yes I'd not heard of it before either...but this is year three for the awards<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>and the votes are public, so throw in your two cents in categories ranging from fiction to film and even best score in a zombie movie! Voting happens <a href="https://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?formkey=dDdUbXliVk9iYjZ0UzVIN1dsUGI4SVE6MQ">here</a>. Pop ov<span style="font-family: inherit;">er, you know you want to; where else will you get to chose between "<i>Ball me sideways! Preserve my eyes!</i>" and "<i>It's your ass. If you want to get it kicked, who am I to stop you?</i>" among others for best one-liner in a zombie movie? That's a rare type of awesome. Don't forget to check your favourite anthology on the click out of your voting booth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I've made the social media leap and jumped onboard twitter. Say hello <a href="http://twitter.com/smythwood">@smythwood</a> if you're in the twitterhood. If you're a tweep</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>no really</i></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">what are you tweeting about? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yours, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</span></span></i></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-16015556895370199642010-12-21T05:54:00.000-08:002010-12-22T21:58:26.470-08:00Dead Boy Number One<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey Intrepid Readers,</i></span><br />
<br />
<b>It's almost Christmas</b> and what goes better with Christmas, the snow and the kissing under the holly than zombies... Zombies? Yes, zombies. I can’t imagine kissing a zombie and liking it, but when the call for ZOMBIALITY (Library of the Living Dead) came to my attention, I felt the urge to at least consider the subject. Perhaps, given the above introduction, it won’t be a surprise that I chose to make my submission more light-hearted than just dead flesh gore…although, don’t get me wrong, there are just some things about a zombie that you really shouldn’t change.<br />
<br />
I had a bit of fun with my contribution to <b>ZOMBIALITY </b>in my submission, <i>Dead Boy Number One (based on a true dead story)</i>. I decided to make my zombies a little less brain dead, a little more living dead; sure there's decay, but with refrigeration and preservatives, there's a lot more to death than zombie mayhem, but as my main character--the self styled and titular Dead Boy Number One--discovers, sometimes getting past expectation is a lot harder than simply beating death and running away to join the zombie theatre...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><b>ZOMBIALITY</b> (A queer bent on the undead.)</div><i> Zombies don't care who you love...they want to eat us all. </i><br />
This book contains 28 stories with a perspective on zombies never quite imagined before. These stories reflect a variety of queered lives and experiences and explor the depths of what a zombie is. From the traditional to the fantastical, these stories are sure to entertain all of humankind. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqG8aA3TDS7tnveruoyRD7fLyGvfyXWCOPRfk-dcMptKtydggC-0NKG92bZ0qeE0o__RAVlpRMlJ0GiCUGEvJL9aUoNzfO9dCzZhX3WBT0B0-qMLTY5HvpFUGS9y0UxL7Z8AP2VM-9S7A/s1600/zombiality-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqG8aA3TDS7tnveruoyRD7fLyGvfyXWCOPRfk-dcMptKtydggC-0NKG92bZ0qeE0o__RAVlpRMlJ0GiCUGEvJL9aUoNzfO9dCzZhX3WBT0B0-qMLTY5HvpFUGS9y0UxL7Z8AP2VM-9S7A/s320/zombiality-cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7gBxg8dxnFADMCHCyd3ldbmJbVCY5DfzRexkSn4notopLtgOxWDwc4KKGGIoulSaQD1q2d0yX74ios_1V-oFPjQGotb-tL_HLojblDOxlgjPHcojc2T6xgaXkVoRkbaKj1H4e6OuSag/s1600/zombialitybackcover.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7gBxg8dxnFADMCHCyd3ldbmJbVCY5DfzRexkSn4notopLtgOxWDwc4KKGGIoulSaQD1q2d0yX74ios_1V-oFPjQGotb-tL_HLojblDOxlgjPHcojc2T6xgaXkVoRkbaKj1H4e6OuSag/s320/zombialitybackcover.png" width="213" /></a><b>TABLE OF CONTENTS</b><br />
<br />
<i>Stonewall Rising</i> - Vince Liaguno<br />
<i>Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Die</i> - Rob Rosen<br />
<i>GirlWorld </i>- Lisa Morton<br />
<i>Just The Three Of Them At The End Of The World</i> - John Grover<br />
<i>Still Rolling</i> - Angelia Sparrow<br />
<i>Unrest In Cowpat</i> - Stephanie Kincaid<br />
<i>To Please</i> - Nicholas Alexander Hayes<br />
<i>Till The Last Beat</i> - Clancy Nacht<br />
<i>Zombie Fiction</i> - Dave Dunwoody<br />
<i>The Cairn</i> - Christopher Fletcher<br />
<i>Unholy Alliance</i> - Ben Langhinrichs<br />
<i>Eating Peaches</i> - Rachel Green<br />
<i>Accepting Death</i> - Tony Schaab<br />
<i>The Duval Crawl</i> - Dave Chrisom<br />
<i>Among The Living</i> - J. R. Rodriguez<br />
<i>Cocktail Conversation </i>- Patrick F. Murphy<br />
<i>Walk Through The Fire</i> - Jennifer Povey<br />
<i>ZOMB-mailion</i> - Eric Andrews-Katz<br />
<i>The Dead Walk In Brooklyn</i> - Molly Rydzel<br />
<i>Dead Boy Number One</i> - Quinn Smythwood<br />
<i>Quickened Wood</i> - Nathan Sims<br />
<i>World Without Snow</i> - Jesus Morales<br />
<i>Sweetness</i> - B. C. Edwards<br />
<i>Food Chain</i> - Steve Spinale<br />
<i>The Quick And The Undead</i> - Thomas Logan<br />
<i>Meatbots : A Love Story</i> - Timothy Capehart<br />
<i>Humans Being Human</i> - Patrick D’Orazio<br />
<i>Drag Queen vs Zombies</i> - MP Johnson<br />
<br />
<b> ZOMBIALITY </b>is out now and available at Amazon. If you want to share your holiday season with zombies...let me know how you survived. Was it easier defending against zombies than the seasonal family onslaught?<br />
<br />
Yours,<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><i>Quinn Smythwood.</i></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-1340972280526881262010-12-13T08:00:00.000-08:002010-12-13T03:55:35.365-08:00Imaginary Friend :: Nilla Hayes<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey Intrepid Readers</i></span>,<br />
<br />
<b>Writing; it’s life </b>without the boring bits and making friends with imaginary people. I’ve had a witch on my mind since writing the short story <i>Gloam</i> (HELLEBORE & RUE, Drollerie Press) and she’s been talking—over copious cups of exotic mochas (<i>Could I try that white chocolate mocha with an infusion of mint please? It sounds really good.</i>)—about witchy godmothers battling it out with candy bars and spells at twenty paces; demon night riders who string up mortals like puppets to dance; not to mention chasing stolen dreams as well as the less glamorous side of a magical life, covering the rent. I guess her BFF—Livia Darrow (who salsas through a room projecting Halle Berry at a Latin dance club, while looking like Reese Witherspoon taking afternoon tea with the Queen)—is dating someone new and consequently witch, Nilla Hayes, isn’t getting her quota of chat in. <br />
<br />
It’s part of the spill over effect that happens after writing—however brief a piece—about any particular character; those imaginary people don’t want to get out even after you’ve penned the end. They want to live on to see another page and as a writer, you’re feeling comfortable enough with them to actually indulge these post mortem conversations with imaginary friends that could have been so last chapter. It doesn’t hurt that the modern view on writing a series is all good news… (Don’t you wonder what the classics would have been like if the authors had lived in a similar publishing environment? At least those that didn’t end up killing off their characters, or so firmly ensconcing them in a Happily Ever After so as to make a series an impracticality short of going <i>Wuthering Heights: In the Hands of Resurrection Men</i>.)<br />
<br />
So you indulge your imaginary friend and even let her order yet another mocha that you’re half sure isn’t sold in any coffee store you know of outside of your head, because it sounds like she’s got much more in her than just one little short story for an anthology. In fact, you’ve got this thrilled little cocoon of a million butterflies ready to burst through you like a river of adrenalin; this little witchy imaginary friend has enough promise to fill an entire novel…perhaps an entire series with her quirky little tales. Of course, as she is your personal imaginary friend, you’re also completely convinced she’s got something original to contribute to a genre and so…you let her bend your ear a little more.<br />
<br />
Before you know it, you’ve jotted a few notes and penned a title (BUMP) for an undefined project (Novella? Novel?) featuring a lesbian witch who made (or as at this writing rather will make) her debut in the HELLEBORE & RUE anthology. Already I can see my beta reader (or is that prime critic), Misty, rolling her eyes and frowning at me…her meaning is obvious, enough with the imaginary coffee party, write already!<br />
<br />
Yours,<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</i></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-16413953584617808552010-12-06T08:00:00.000-08:002010-12-06T08:00:00.717-08:00Gloam<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Dear Intrepid Reader,</i></span><br />
<br />
<b>Do you like </b>a little witchcraft in your fiction? I do and so I was more than a little intrigued when I came across a call for submissions from Drollerie Press for their forthcoming anthology collection HELLEBORE & RUE: Tales of Queer Women and Magic edited by JoSelle Vanderhooft and Catherine Lundoff.<br />
<br />
"<i>We’re looking for stories about lesbian-identified sorceresses, witches, magicians and magic users of all kinds. Lesbian and trans protagonists are welcome. All stories must include a woman who identifies as a lesbian and who uses magic. The definition of magic is open to interpretation-surprise us, dazzle us, make us believe in all different kinds of magic all over again!</i>"<br />
<br />
When I sat down to write something for the anthology, I decided that it would take place within a tenative universe that has been forming as I've jotted a few short stories; a universe I hope to one day write a novel, or a whole series of novels set in. I call the stories that take place here 'Cusp Tales' and the story I finally submitted to the editors of HELLEBORE & RUE, entitled <i>Gloam</i>, is certainly a Cusp Tale. The protagonist of the piece, Nilla Hayes, is a witch with a problem. She's seen a shadow out of the corner of her eye, a corpse shadow. Somebody is going to die and as soon as the corpse shadow steps into the light Nilla Hayes will know who and when. It's the one thing she hates about being a witch. A bad start to her morning, but that's only the beginning...of course, things always get darker, darkest at the approach of the storm...<br />
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I was delighted when <i>Gloam </i>was accepted for the anthology and impressed by the various authors who joined me in the anthology. The Table of Contents of HELLEBORE & RUE promises an excellent collection of tales:<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4N6CKZqozLiKCOzJZwPMQXj8wM1LdEoDytwczp9Nec2K98ukieWeM0UtALkdfOU9hUGIHZ0hjuL0-0ds0xrQCU-T9KvFeqI-aBX9xMnAVHa6Un9VPorHhWZ4V8sqf5Q-F1NlPKOqpwjU/s1600/HR.lowres-200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4N6CKZqozLiKCOzJZwPMQXj8wM1LdEoDytwczp9Nec2K98ukieWeM0UtALkdfOU9hUGIHZ0hjuL0-0ds0xrQCU-T9KvFeqI-aBX9xMnAVHa6Un9VPorHhWZ4V8sqf5Q-F1NlPKOqpwjU/s1600/HR.lowres-200x300.jpg" /></a>“<i>Counterbalance</i>” by Ruth Sorrell<br />
“<i>Trouble Arrived</i>” by C.B. Calsing<br />
“<i>Personal Demons</i>” by Jean Marie Ward<br />
“<i>The Windskimmer</i>” by Connie Wilkins<br />
“<i>Sky Lit Bargains</i>” by Kelly A. Harmon<br />
“<i>Gloam</i>” by Quinn Smythwood<br />
“<i>Witches Have Cats</i>” by Juliet Kemp<br />
“<i>D is for Delicious</i>” by Steve Berman<br />
“<i>And Out of the Strong Came Forth Sweetness</i>” by Lisa Nohealani Morton<br />
“<i>Bridges and Lullabies</i>” by Rrain Prior<br />
“<i>Thin Spun</i>” by Sunny Moraine<br />
“<i>A State of Panic</i>” by Rachel Green</div><br />
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I may have a story in the collection, but it's a collection that I can't wait to read. There are twelve stories in the anthology and I anticipate twelve very different witches in unique worlds with boiling magic and bubbling plot lines. HELLEBORE & RUE will hopefully release soon. Do you like a good tale featuring a witchy heroine? What do you most like about witches? The magic? The familiars? The paranormal?<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Yours, <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood<a name='more'></a></span></i></span></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-44353875491404379422010-11-30T04:40:00.000-08:002010-11-30T04:40:01.245-08:00For Her Eyes -- Reprise<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">NOTE</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b>In the wake</b> of my recent posting on the Queered Fiction anthology <a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a> comes another review. This time from </span></span><i><span style="color: purple;"></span></i><a href="http://swampdweller.wordpress.com/">Swamp Dweller</a> reviewer <i>Ash</i> who had the following to say about <i>For Her Eyes</i>:<br />
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"...<i>snags you unexpectedly and sucks you in, both with the beautiful writing and intelligent, dark [plot]...</i>"<br />
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There was general praise for the collection as a whole with the review citing the anthology as a RECOMMENDED READ closing on a note that "[<a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a> is]<i> a great collection, and one of the better reads of the year for Swampdweller. I definitely encourage anybody interested in a unique anthology to give this book a try!</i>"<br />
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Read the full review by Swamp Dweller <a href="http://swampdweller.wordpress.com/2010/11/26/bloodfruit-by-james-em-rasmussen/">here</a>. <br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This NOTE relates to the post "<a href="http://quinnsmythwood.blogspot.com/2010/11/for-her-eyes.html">For Her Eyes</a>".</span></i>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-63416571653078968682010-11-29T08:00:00.000-08:002010-12-04T09:32:14.373-08:00For Her Eyes<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Dear Intrepid Reader</i>,</span><br />
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<b>I thought I'd </b>write today about my contribution to the Queered Fiction horror anthology, <a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a>. My short story in the collection, <i>For Her Eyes</i>, is a dark fairytalesque tale with the blurb: "<i>Angeline's life just turned into a fairytale, but there's something wicked scratching its way through the walls...</i>" The piece took as its central mystery/horror an idea that I had conceived many years before, which came to mind when I sat down to write something for <a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a>. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://i433.photobucket.com/albums/qq53/QueeredFiction/Horror/BloodFruit_qf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i433.photobucket.com/albums/qq53/QueeredFiction/Horror/BloodFruit_qf.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
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There have been some great reviews for the anthology overall and 'For Her Eyes' has been receiving some marvellous praise. <a href="http://www.naomiclark.net/">Naomi Clark</a>, author of the brilliant urban fantasy novel SILVER KISS, wrote:<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><i> The closing story, <u>For Her Eyes</u>, is a slow-burning tale of paranoia and obsession, pitting two young lovers against a sinister woman with a house full of dark secrets. This is the second story I've read by Quinn Smythwood, and it's one that will stay with me for a while. The slow build-up of tension as Angeline uncovers the truth behind her new employer's business is wonderfully rendered, and the final revelation is chilling. This is another star in the collection for me. </i></div><br />
Reviewer <a href="http://www.rainbow-reviews.com/?author=64">Ephemera</a> over at Rainbow Reviews wrote:<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><i> </i><i>Quinn Smythwood closes the collection with the five-star fairytale, "<u>For Her Eyes</u>." A little E.T.A. Hoffmann, a little Angela Carter, entirely a modern fairytale most unsuitable for children, with a beautifully paced inevitability and shiver-inducing conclusion. </i></div><br />
Author <a href="http://www.alexdraven.org.uk/">Alex Draven</a> also posted a review of <a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a> on librarything.com and had the following to say about <i>For Her Eyes</i>:<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><i> </i><i>Beautiful, creepy, delicate, spiky, modern fairytale. 5 Stars </i></div><br />
The entire collection boasts "<i>Eleven tales from new and established authors of Queer Speculative Fiction</i>" with stories by Shanna Germain, Jamie Freeman, Laramie Dean and others. "<i>A Queer Collection of Dark Tales of the Macabre and the Horrific</i>", <a href="http://www.queeredfiction.com/bloodfruit.htm">BLOOD FRUIT</a> is something wicked for horror fans and those who like a little dark in their fantasy. For those who open its pages--electronic or print--what were some of your favourites in the collection? Why did they tingle your spine just right?<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Yours,<i><span style="color: purple;"> </span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: purple;">Quinn Smythwood</span></i></span>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8565242927508563041.post-58128859695237592672010-11-22T08:03:00.000-08:002010-12-04T09:39:23.395-08:00Welcome<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Dear Intrepid Reader</i>, </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Welcome to my</b> small little blog on the web. It's not much, but it is home and this will be the place where I talk about (and with) imaginary people, as well as share musings on my own writing and writing in general. I'll also have the opportunity to interact with you, the reader...which is both a wonderful and a terrible (that's spelled terrifying) prospect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> After tentatively entering the fraught world of writing towards publication, with toes now wet in anthology seas (<i>A Wolf's Moon</i> in <b>QUEER WOLF</b> published by Queered Fiction; <i>For Her Eyes</i> in <b>BLOOD FRUIT</b> published by Queered Fiction), I've decided that it's time to establish a hub web presence and this blog '<u>QUINN SMYTHWOOD: Life With Imaginary People</u>' is it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> For those of you who tag along, I hope that you'll find life with imaginary people an interesting ride, as much as I have and do...but please note: I'm not on speaking terms with other people's imaginary friends. Although, I certainly don't mind if you're keen on introducing them.<br />
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Yours, </span><br />
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<i><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Quinn Smythwood</span></i>Quinn Smythwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04277558923979736635noreply@blogger.com0