A Sea Monster at the Bottom of the Garden

Between getting reaching double deadlines at work and getting ready for the festive season, there hasn’t been too much time to write. Ok, I must admit, I have also been watching more TV than usual and doing crafts (usually at the same time – must keep hands busy!). I’ve made quite a few quilled Christmas cards, am crocheting a couple of things for my home and busy with a needlepoint piece that I want to frame for the bedroom once it’s done. And I have been studying in-between, believe it or not!


I am really looking forward to some time off over the festive season and New Year. I always have a giddy pleasure to put up my new calendars and start using a new diary. For 2011 I have a Terry Pratchett wall calendar with Josh Kirby artwork – I love the covers he’s done for the Discworld novels and it is sure to put a smile on your face!

After struggling with severe headaches for the last couple of weeks the doctor has found a concoction that seems to be doing the job of keeping them at bay. So I’ve been jotting down a lot of ideas for stories, without doing too much to flesh them out – something I hope to be doing next week. I’ve only recently discovered Evernote and find it such a big help in keeping all the ideas in one place. That way, if I get the chance to write during my lunch hour, I can just log on and see what I was busy with last. It also helps to save articles and websites there where I have found inspiration. Brilliant!

Now you might ask why there is a sea monster at the bottom of the garden… well, when the summer rains really start to fall there are big pools of water that collect on the clay soil at the bottom of the garden. I am sure on one day there was enough to house at least a baby sea monster! But I am very grateful for the rain – especially that which have fallen in the Southern Cape where there is a severe drought.

Johannesburg is emptying quickly before Christmas with many people heading to the coast for vacation and every year I realize how pleasant it is to have a couple of weeks where the streets are much quieter and everyone slows down from the hectic pace of city life to stop and smell the roses.

May everyone be blessed this Christmas and may everyone find again in their hearts the truth of this celebration. May people’s hearts also be turned towards God and may Christians truly show the spirit of the season and show others what this time is really about.

Merry Christmas! Geseënde Kersfees!

“Cookies and Milk”, a flash piece for Christmas

Here’s a piece for Christmas, called “Cookies and Milk”.


Die Afrikaanse vertaling kan op die “flitse”-blad gelees word, of by www.woes.co.za of http://bit.ly/fx7W2S / The Afrikaans translation can be read on the “flitse” page or at www.woes.co.za or http://bit.ly/fx7W2S

Cookies and milk

“Do you think I’ve lost some weight?” Nick asked, looking at himself in the hallway mirror. The green carpet beneath his feet was scuffed and threadbare in places. It was much, much older than the new, box-like house in which it now lay. “I’ve tried to cut down on sugar and carbs, you know. Only fat free milk as well.”

“Spot of brandy?” Bob, the younger of the two asked as he made his way from the kitchen to the spare-bedroom-study, past the living room where a boot was thrown through the glass of the TV. He didn’t ask.

“Why not? Boeing's long gone.”

They sat down in identical leather chairs in front of a fake fireplace with fake logs and flames. A small nativity scene stood on a shelf. Bob looked at it and smiled. “I’m glad to see you still have it.”

“Of course, not another in the world that can craft wood like that. And the paint? Perfect. Don’t see much of them anymore.”

The younger blushed. Though wrinkled, his face and eyes still held youth pent up inside. “Made another sheep,” he said and took a small, white, wooden sheep from his pocket. “You need a flock. The shepherds can’t just watch three sheep. And you need a few more angels. I’ll make them next year.”

“Thank you.” The old man placed it reverentially on the mantle with the others.

They sat in silence sipping their drinks.

“How’s life treating you?” Bob asked.

“As it does all old people, Bob,” the man said. “They don’t want you around anymore. No more letters. Small house. Lots of people. The neighbour’s kid cursed at me yesterday for moving too slow and called me fat.” He sighed. “Most are like that now. I prefer to stay here with my memories and thoughts.”

A dull thumping sounded from the house next door.

“And my own music. Not this noise.”

“The TV?”

“They had Santa selling some awful pre-cooked soya turkey dinner. Then he strutted around drunk as sailor on leave, in a nightclub, with what looked like teenagers. I couldn’t find the remote, so I chucked the nearest thing. Let’s just say I’ve not felt that good in years. Didn’t like the damn TV anyway.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“I made a toy for my nephew. Wind up train. Built the whole thing by hand. Painted it. Made the tracks – a replica of the track outside town. Trees, people, buildings, you name it.”

“And?”

“He walked into the garage while I was busy. He laughed.” He took a swallow of brandy. “Later he and his friends set it alight. Apparently they wanted to see if painted wood burns faster than unpainted wood.”

“Did it?”

“The varnish wasn’t dry yet. It was like throwing a butt on dry grass.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Should’ve kept it in my room. The paint fumes just got too much.”

The older man grinned. “Ventilation’s the key, hey.”


Someone hammered on the front door.


The men looked at their watches. “Not four yet, he can wait.”

“I’m not getting in the car if he’s drunk.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, of course he’s drunk the useless –“

“O, say it. I’m thinking it too.”

“The sheep’s nice. I’m glad you brought it. Does look more real with more sheep. The donkey’s still my favourite, though. That hanging ear… the spitting image of old Daisy.”

“You know, my nephew asked me what the sheep was for,” he said.

“And?”

“I said for a nativity scene.”

“And?”

“He didn’t know what it was.”

“His parents?”

“Quite useless, the both of them.”


The knock on the door sounded again, loader this time.


“Not yet four. Anyway, we’re deaf old men.”

“Some cookies? Their home made.”

“Never say no to cookies and milk. Best time of the year for them as well.”

“And some music? We’ll have to put it loud if we want to hear it, what with being deaf and all…”

The eldest of the two turned the stereo on and a carol started to play.

The other went to the fridge to get the milk. It was filled with drinks and jelly shots.

“And this?”

“The neighbours didn’t have enough room in their house for all their liquor. They probably need it for the dry Christmas their having.” Neither of them laughed.

Bob ate another of the Pfefferneuse and took a gulp of milk while the hammering at the door continued. They turned the stereo up.

Come, they told me

“Funny how it’s suddenly two days of binge drinking. Or until the day after New Year’s if their livers last.”

Our finest gifts we bring

“And now all everyone’s wants is video games and expensive gadgets. Nobody even wishes anymore. Everything’s a have-to-have. Do you remember the gifts we made?”

So to honour Him

“And the music. And the lights. The joy of the children’s faces? Now their all greedy little buggers.”

I have no gift to bring

“And that feeling of peace when you walk into the church? That could calm your heart for another year, knowing you’re safe.”

Shall I play for you

“And now?” He didn’t have to say anything. They knew.

There was knocking again. “I’m leaving if you don’t come out now!”

Bob took another two Pfefferneuse and dipped them in the milk.

The ox and lamb kept time

“Do you think they’ll ever find the houses, Nick?”

I played my drum for Him

“No. Never. We made sure of that. Nobody will look there anyway. The whole story was a good idea after all, especially the bit about the elves.”

I played my best for Him

“Humph! Stupid Google Earth, it’s the North Pole! Who goes and searches the North Pole!”

Then He smiled at me

“More milk? There’s another tin Pfefferneuse here somewhere.”



END.

New Speculative Article for December 2010

A fictional account of a history and people that never existed


I am ecstatic to report that my follow-up article for the Speculative Grammarian can now be read at: http://bit.ly/hCXg8F

The name of the piece is A Brief Essay on the Language and Mythology of the Ekhié and the neighbouring Mákek Peoples of the Highveld Forests and the Ancient Watmákekhié Site and was written under the guise of By Mr. J. Doe of the International Centre for the Studies of Previously Presumed Mythical Beings and Peoples and is a follow-up piece by certain J. Doe that tells a bit more about the world that the travel piece used in November 2010 is set. Find the November article at: http://bit.ly/aXDkDe and learn about Sir C.J. Cockspur’s dastardly plans to void the world of all but one, very much simplified language.

I had a lot of fun writing “A Brief Essay” because I could really let go (and use as many footnotes as possible) and sketch the peoples of the Highveld Forest which they inhabit. The idea of the builders of the pyramids building the first ones on the Highveld before moving on to Egypt was fleshed out with the idea of extraterrestrial people building them (or at least supervising) before moving on to Egypt. (And then, probably South America.)

I also got to play around with words in English and Afrikaans. For instance, “Watmákekhié” is taken from “Wat maak ek hier?”/”What am I doing here?”, while the greeting Hoo’gha’nitte is taken from “Hoe gaan dit?”/How are you?” (Lit. How goes it?), a phrase which in informal circumstances is sometimes assimilated so that it sounds like one word. Although Gha’nê is completely made up. Other words, like “broker” and “fairy dust” is just written with atrocious spelling to give them an exotic look.

I have a feeling Mr. J. Doe and the International Centre for the Studies of Previously Presumed Mythical Beings and Peoples will have some more research to share in the future. Maybe Mr. J. Doe will even manage to get his doctorate!

Good news for fans of Dean Barkley Briggs’ first book in The Legends of Karac Tor series. He has found a new publisher for the rest of the series! If you have not yet read The Book of Names, you will be in for a treat (and a belated Christmas present to yourself) if you can get your hands on it in January. I am going to post a review of the book on the blog “Ramblings of a Lone Bibliophile” within the next month (after a reread), but, until then, check out Dean Barkley Briggs’ site at: www.hiddenlands.net

Until next time.

A Speculative Article for November

With boiling temperatures every day, who needs a better excuse to stay inside (in the shade) and write? While having to move my study nook from upstairs (extremely hot until about 9 in evenings) to downstairs (not fun dragging oodles of books down a flight of stairs, but at least it’s a lot cooler below), and not having done much in the writing of fiction, I can at least say that I have a piece published in November. Yes, the long awaited article for The Speculative Grammarian has been published under the pen name of Sir C J Cockspur. Find it at: http://specgram.com/CLX.2/11.cockspur.npicml.html


I’ve spent some time on the earlier history of the Midlands of Airthai and ended up with two good ideas for two short stories and half an idea for a third. The rest of the half-ideas fluttering around still need to be pounded into something useful before I can post it. Now if I can just finish those maps!

Otherwise I’m knee-deep in Nineteenth century Dutch poetry, which is a lot more interesting than it may sound!

Food for the Soul – Some Musical Inspiration

I nearly always have some kind of music playing. Whether I’m studying, writing, quilling and, yes, even sometimes while I’m reading. I came into the habit of studying with music via my sister. If I remember correctly, I was in grade 4 or 5 and trying to study to Bon Jovi. In time I found my own kind of music that helps me to focus while studying – Celtic.


When writing, I often have music as background. Mostly I choose something that will fit the kind of scene that I’m busy with. The music that I play can range from epic and Classical that inspire the sweeping vistas of the Midlands and their plains, to the mournful sounds of the sea and upbeat ditties and alternative.

Early music brings the world of Airthai to life and Chant brings to mind the libraries and studies of the Ealda and the Keepers.
Of course, what with listening to a lot of folk songs, some of them start to seep into the subconscious of Airthai (for instance the tale of the River of Gold)…

Folk song of the Midlands: The Maiden of the Stars

The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the east,
When Elven knight left the woods of green, and wandered forth to war.
The mist it decked the mountain side and singing filled the vale,
By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the sweetest voice he’d heard, t’was the maiden of the stars.
She sang a song of olden thought, unknown throughout the vale,
And drew to her power to calm the beast t'was raging there.
The fiery breath of dragon stilled, and calmed was his heart,
When she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, when she sang thus, in olden form, the maiden of the stars.
The evil there was thwarted thus, by her sighing voice,
Its words were pure, remembered still far west, where fire ‘fore moon dies.
And there they met, two lovers crossed, by stars of heaven named,
And stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and stood he there, entranced by song of the maiden of the stars.
The sun was fair, the sky was clear, no breath came from the west,
When Elven knight, and maiden fair wandered o’er the earth.
The mist it decked the mountain side, and laughter filled the land,
By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, By far the dearest love of all, t’was for the maiden of the stars.
But years of mortals short are cut, by illness or by sword,
And maiden young was slain in youth and her song grew silent then.
The Elven knight was damned to live, and wailed at his lover’s side,
And all knew love had died that day, with the maiden of the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and all knew love had died that day with the maiden of the stars.
And years of elf-kind long do last, and heartbreak will surely slay,
And wandered lost the elven knight and bewailed his lover’s loss.
The Elven knight was to grow old before his bones be dust,
And meet again, the maid and he to sing among the stars.
Sing maiden of the stars, sing maiden of the stars, and meet again the maid and he, to sing among the stars.

A Strange Ribbon and a Book Keeper…

Some good news! (Other than getting Riverdance tickets for the opening night!) Jou Wêreld have published "Die rooi lint", a sci-fi tale that plays out in my hometown.

Here's the link for the Afrikaans:
http://www.jouwereld.co.za/jf_rooi_lint.html
I'll also put up the English soon. In the meantime, here's another flash piece.

The Book Keeper


Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors. One of the young, new employees led two others with trolleys into his office.

“You can start loading it up.”

Bernhardt shot daggers at the little man. Had he no sense? You don’t spend forty-two years in one place and pack it up in a day. He would never be able to pack all his memories anyway.

The cold hand around his heart did not want to let go. He gulped, and blinked and cleared his throat, but nothing helped. He had to ask the question he dreaded.

“What about the books?”

The young man looked puzzled.

“This is the library – the books will be here.” He smiled the smile that young people give to their elders when they thought they were being silly.

“You said there will be a new computer room.” Swallow, gulp, blink.

“One room.” He smiled the same smile. “We’re knocking a wall down. Building a new wing.” He sighed. “The books will just be moved to the top two floors.” Grin.

“I was referring to the books kept in the basement.”

The young man mumbled something.

“Excuse me?”

“Pulped. We will pulp them. They should fetch a couple of bucks at the recycling depot.”

Bernhardt lifted his hand to slap the man, but stopped himself, an idea popping into his head. “I’ll buy them.” The voice was bereft of the emotion he felt, as if it was not truly him that had spoken so brashly. “I’ll pay by the kilogram, or ton. I don’t know. However the recycling depot would have paid you. I’ll match them,” he rambled. He started figuring out what his pension was worth. He would still have some money put away for a rainy day.

The young man stood at the window, hands crossed behind his back. The stark summer sun fell on his face, bathing it in a yellowish light. Again he smiled that arrogant, young man smile. Bernhardt wondered if he had also looked like that the day that he moved into this office.

The days he spent placing books back on the shelf, rearranging books, unpacking the new books with their heady scent of crisp paper and glue, seemed but a day old. Definitely not forty-two years. Maybe he was also arrogant once.

“What’s the difference if I take them or if you pulp them? Either way you’ll be rid of them and have the money.”

“It’s just a bunch of old books –“

“And I’m just an old man.” There he had admitted it. Yet, with those words, something changed in the eyes of the young man.

“I also love books, you know,” he said apologetically. “But we need to make money if we’re to survive.” He turned back to the window. Small drops of rain started to patter on the glass. He smiled. “Fox is marrying wolf’s wife.”

He suddenly looked very young for the task at hand.

“You know, I made it a point that they will not close this library while I can help it.” Swallow. Blink. He turned and left, heading for the basement.

The books arrived at his house three days later. They unloaded the boxes and unpacked the books for hours on end. They started stacking the books in his study, then the bedrooms and the hall before moving on to the lounge and filling the dining room. And the icy grip around his heart lessened as he picked a volume up.

Travels in the Petrified Forests of the Northern Highveld, he read the fading title. This was one he had rescued early in his career when they wanted to sell off the books no one borrowed. In the front there was even a signature and a photo of the author next to a giant baobab. Some piles constituted the libraries of whole families. One book case was totally filled with family Bibles, the names written in the front smudged, the pages scorched from surviving many wars. No, he would not forget them.

He sat down at his desk and took up a piece of paper. He licked the tip of his pencil and started writing.
Bernhardt van der Hout started clearing his desk. It was amazing what one person could gather in forty-two years. He had worked for almost half a century at the Johannesburg National Library. The building itself was Victorian, complete with pillars and stone work, with the date 1886 above the front doors.

Tiriane and the Tellerassar – A Glimpse of a Larger World in "A Dragon's Freedom"

The Tellerassar came into the world of Airthai quite early on. The first story I wrote about Airthai included one of the Keepers being a person that could turn into the form of an eagle and back to their human form at will. Soon I delved into their history – they had this gift (that they could also lose) and were a new race of people. Yet, they were part-human as well, which got me to thinking that they were normal humans once, which received the gift of shape-shifting from the Creator. They were also the "good guys" from the start, so they did not change their shape by using magic. It was a natural state of being for them.


The people of the Midlands called them "Heimfeie" according to the name that was given to their country. They, however, were not happy to stay on the fringes of the stories. In a set much later, an Elf referred to them as the "Tellerassar", a name which I felt had a lovely ring to it. It turned out that, in the Tellerassar's own tongue, they refer to themselves as such. "Heimfeie" is mostly used by those that are less educated in the peoples of the Midlands. Nasja, for instance, would only have learned to use the word "Tellerassar" from Tiriane.

The Tellerassar have their own tongue that was gifted to them when they received the gift of changing their shape. This tongue is mostly fictional, though there are some influences of the other tongues of Airthai, including the language that is used in "A Dragon's Freedom" to communicate with the dragons (Gothic). The Tellerassar language looks like this:

"A Agrai tellarias or s’agrélar silássa."

Which is translated as:

"May the Light of the One shine on your road" // “Mag die Lig van die Een op jou pad skyn.”

Note: The apostrophe is used to denote a glottal stop. "Tellar" means "Light" and "Tellerassar" means "People of the Light". "Agrai" means "One" and refers to the Creator. The Light of the One/Creator refers to a blessing