Author aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #24

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Hello Everyone! It has been a while, I know, since I’ve put out an episode. I’ve been hard at work on three short stories set in Huphaea, which have taught me how all-encompassing writing within word counts is! They were all meant to be contest entries, but honestly, only two made it to submission. The third way over shot the word count and because I was happy with it, I didn’t feel the need to cut it down. Undoubtedly, it will appear as a perk for newsletter subscribers or in an anthology of Huphaea stories at some point. I actually have a bunch thanks to my weekly writing group. But anyway, I’m back to the time of Ivy and Elahna (anid 1830) instead of four hundred (which would be quardeccund in Huphaea) anid or more in the past and looking forward to recounting their journey once more.

I hope all has been well with you in the post-vaccine world. It’s nice to go places without masks again and see life taking on more familiar shapes. Personally, I’m just thrilled that I can visit my library and browse the shelves enveloped by the scents of paper and ink! Here’s what happened when I made my first visit in person…

hahaha…oops.

Take care and enjoy the summer for those in the northern hemisphere.☀😎🏊🏼‍♀️ It’s good to be back!

In the last episode, way back in the spring, Elahna and Ivy were preparing to leave Cragbend and head on to Irillo. Ivy had just diagnosed the problems with the giant planetree and we had seen an air magician, or air weaver, as they are called. Ivy had given Lisssa her word that she would recommend Scosy for a stablehand at the palace in Irillo once she got there. Let’s get back to the story, shall we?~

Felicity and Revel pranced and quickstepped out onto the Shoe and toward the main road.

Image by Albrecht Fietz from Pixabay 

We passed a bakery with a sign the reverse colors of Sweetnic’s back in Cragbend. Must be Rennay’s kinsman’s shop, I thought.

Cragbend confectioners

I still had the peach tarts wrapped in the spelled paper that kept them warm in my rucksack so I didn’t need to stop and replenish. Besides, there was bound to be confectioneries galore in Irillo, and we would be there that evening! Butterflies started rising in my stomach and I actually got a bit annoyed at myself. For a moment.

Why annoyed, you ask? Well, it’s not as if I hadn’t been in big cities before, I’d been to Boston, Dublin, San Francisco, even Moscow and Rome, and I knew Irillo wouldn’t be on that scale. There was just so much emotion and anticipation roiling around inside me that I just couldn’t deal with it. I don’t like being overly emotional about anything, really. So I drew in a deep breath of cool, pine-and-spruce-drenched air and relaxed into my blanket-saddle to enjoy the day.

Before the hour (erdur) was out, the edge of Venrood Forest was in sight. Sunshine blanketed the green fields that spread out as far as I could see. Here and there, in strategic locations I surmised, clumps of trees formed windbreaks, and as we passed, hedgerows appeared as boundaries.

Image by Jordan Stimpson from Pixabay 

“The fields are much larger on this side of the forest.” I mused aloud to Ivy, hoping to begin some conversation.

“Yes, well, they are within a day’s ride of Irillo, so production is important. Landholders a day’s ride out are the main suppliers of food for the city. Goods come down the Irilliscent too, but the surrounds are the largest source.”

“That makes sense. Is that a river, the Irilliscint?”

She nodded. “It runs through the middle of the city. We will cross the Irilliscint bridge just before entering Forelore. It flows in from the sea on the northwestern coast in the Foster lands, over an anek’s ride away. Out here, these homesteads are grain farms and hay farms mostly. Closer in you will find the animal farms and vegetable suppliers. They are close enough to leave home in the early morning hours and make it in to sell at the market or unload and be back in an anar. A long anar, but a profitable one.”

Image by Broin from Pixabay 

I turned to look back at the looming wall of the forest. I missed the relative shade of the trees already, but I really missed my sunglasses. I started mentally cataloging my pack contents in search of something I could use to shade my eyes. Ivy, however, appeared unaffected, which didn’t surprise me.

Revel seemed to be in his own zone, trotting easily in step with Felicity, so I loosened my grip on the reins and made to swing my rucksack off one arm and around to rummage through it. As the pack slid down toward my lap, its weight disrupted my balance so suddenly, I dropped to the ground on top of it. Revel shied, banging into Felicity and Ivy let out a startled yelp.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Thankfully, Revel kept his wits and didn’t run, as my right foot was still caught up on his side in the stirrup. I twisted my ankle slightly and freed my foot. The stretch in my hip lessened and I sat up to make sure nothing else was injured. But all was well, just a bit of pride hurt.

“I was trying to get something out of my bag without having to stop, but I guess I stopped anyway.” Then I winced as I brushed off my shoulder. That would be colorful tomorrow, for sure.

Ivy snorted delicately. “I don’t mind stopping, just speak up if you need to.”

“I know, ah, never mind. I just need something to shield my eyes. The sunlight is much brighter here than on Earth. Otherwise, I’ll have a headache in no time.” I drew a shirt from yesterday out of my bag and wound it up on my head. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Image by Dimitris Vetsikas from Pixabay 

“The sun would give you a headache? Strange, it always makes my head feel lighter and more clear when I am out of the forest. Maybe your eyes just have to adjust. Try taking all of the light in, not squinting to keep some out. It may help you.”

“I’m quite sure they do have to adjust, but I will try that.”

I remounted and we lapsed into a conversation about the geography of Irillo. The city is divided into four quadrants-Scholars, Verdant, Lodgings, and Merchants, with the palace, called Forelore, at its center. The Irriliscint runs along one side of the High Seat. She didn’t say it was for protection or anything like that, but my medieval-loving brain couldn’t project anything less than a walled castle. Ivy had mentioned something about old elven architecture, I recalled. I wondered what that meant.

She looked pensive at my query. “I’m not quite sure how to answer that. It is very distinct, you will have no trouble picking it out, even from the rise on the road when we approach the city. Perhaps curved where you expect straight lines, domed tops many times, but seamless in construction. And old. Forelore is said to be one of the first buildings on Huphaean soil. Or a part of it, at least. It’s an immense complex. You will see soon enough.” Her flawless face crinkled with knowing mischief. “So let’s return to the subject of judgments about whom one spends time with in your world. I’m truly interested to know why it is of such concern.”

I rolled my eyes away from her and groaned to myself. Of course, she wouldn’t forget. Here it comes…

The topic took us through the entire morning, noontime repast, and part of the afternoon. Much indignation and spluttering came from Ivy, but she continued asking questions and pointing out flaws in the norms of life on Earth. All I could do was nod, agree, or hold up my hands in unknowing.

Evidently, some of the prejudices and sentiments toward groups of people or races did exist elsewhere on Ereth, but not here in Huphaea. The Balance demands and provides for the acceptance of all who choose to live on the island continent, and it is a choice. Individuals are free to leave and not return, even those with Elemental blood and abilities, though any talents tend to wane outside of Huphaea. Vitae is present in other lands on the planet, but only in select places.

Outsiders could choose to settle in Huphaea as well, though it wasn’t terribly common. But enough so that the diversity of physical characteristics was woven through the people, in addition to the influence of the vitae.

“Some individuals’ abilities are such that they influence their physical appearance. Members of the Lunad and Fairmoon scions have ink-black skin in deference to their power being night active. Many air weavers, like Leverett this morning, are tall and slender, coming as close to the air they command as possible. There are myriad ways the vitae manifests itself.”

“Now that you mention it, I did notice that about him. But his presence still filled the space a larger person would occupy.”

“Exactly. That’s common with air weavers. Air is all-encompassing.”

“So the underlying message is that life is to be lived. As best you see fit. How does that fit into maintaining the Balance?”

A long pause ensued before Ivy answered. “I’m genuinely not sure how to answer this, as I’ve never had to think about it. In your terms, you would say it is one of the social givens, maybe? Being concerned for what another individual does takes energy away from your own anar, from what you do to fulfill your own wants, needs, and desires and contribution to the community. That would mean you would always be out of balance, giving out more energy than is necessary, perhaps more than you have.”

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay 

“There is no room on a balanced scale of the whole and the self for another pan.” She turned to regard me, genuine confusion reflected in a few tiny creases between her eyebrows and the set of her mouth.

“I can work with that. It’s a good starting place if I do end up having to stay here.”

We rode in silence for a while then. I certainly had much to think about. Perhaps the Earthly mindsets would just fall away after a while, like ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it.’

What was that? Oh, no, I didn’t regret taking those fellows up on their offer. (Recall the proposition at the foot of the stairs at the inn in Cragbend of episode #23) I just wasn’t surprised when such questions were asked the next time, lol.

*anek = week, anar = day, anos = month, anid = year

So far Huphaean society seems to be more simplistic than ours, but is it really? There was still a lot always going on, but their motivations and principles were very different. How about the idea of energy balancing per individual, could you do such a thing? Let me know below 👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼

I think I could. It makes so much sense. It would only work if the majority of people did, though. That’s why it did work in Huphaea. Everyone did there. See you next time!~

Wanna be a part of Huphaea? Subscribe to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Then you will be part of Eleanorah’s troupe of Nightingales, privy to extras and fun facts from this fantastical land of magic and elven kind once a month. You can join here:

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©2021 Eleanorah Starr and Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

Insecure Writers Support Group July Post

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!

Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

July’s question is: What would make you quit writing?

I can answer this in one word:

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay 

TIME.

Writing has become part of the package of the life I’ve built, but it isn’t what sustains or supports me. It is something I want to do and that I have recently found satisfaction in.

I’ve always known I needed a creative outlet, but it was an aspect that I ignored or boxed up to be let out ‘later’. I was far too busy for writing, I didn’t feel I had anything to write, and I preferred to read in my free time.

I also had landscape designing as my creative outlet. A few birds with one stone there, so to speak.

Since garden design is at a minimum now, I have searched for other ways to be creative. I can’t draw, I’m not musically inclined in the slightest, and poetry is ok, but I’m not often inspired in that manner.

Once I decided to write my own novel and stories, it has all come down to TIME.

It is a huge challenge to get in words when I can, in between gardening, living with three active dogs, house stuff, farm activities, and last but not least, starting and managing an editing business. So far, I get them in when I can, and I’m happy with that.

What tends to happen is if I get ‘into story’ then I stay there until that piece is written and let other things lag, like my blog.

Because I can only do so much.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay 

I’m putting my faith in the tortoise of the proverb, content that ‘slow and steady’ will get the book, story, alternate world written. When the muse whips me along, I go with it as much as I can.

Writing is the thing that I can put aside and pick up later, and it uses more energy than reading, so it takes some preparation during the day. Time is certainly the deciding factor.

If I write, it’s because I have the muse and the time. If I don’t write, it’s because I don’t have the time.

And now that I’ve started, if I stop, it will most certainly be a matter of something else requiring that time.~

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

The Farmhouse

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Another of my writing group pieces, this one came from the prompt of:

Write a story that takes place in the same place but at two very different time periods.

Enjoy!

the location of note

One of the underlying threads of my decision to live in my hometown again was that my dad and I would renovate the downstairs apartment in the farmhouse so I could live there.

I had two pretty noisy, active dogs and I knew there was no way I would be able to find an apartment with them, and I didn’t have the money to buy a house. It was an idea we had kicked around for some years at that point, and my decision to leave my then-situation cemented it.

I’d come home and stay with my brother until the apartment was done.

We had been demolishing this particular room for days, it felt like, and every wall we opened up revealed more problems. The list was continually growing longer, and my patience shorter. At times telling myself that it would all be worth it in the end worked, and other times it didn’t.

Today was one of the latter days. It was blasted hot, I was in as little clothing as possible when working with nasty musty horsehair plaster and lath, old cellulose blown-in insulation, and mouse infested fiberglass batting—or what was left of it. I was dusty, dirty, and cross. But I refused to stop. I wanted it done, the clock was ticking.

We had already discovered two layers of flooring, and because I decided to rip out the built-in cabinets to make room for more bathroom closet space on the other side of the wall, the upper layer had to be torn up. I wanted this room done right, it would be my office/study/reading room because of the big windows and the morning sun.

Actually, it is the room I’m in now, and in fact the exact spot I’m in now.

After all the cutting, wrenching, prying, and levering, the chunks of plywood began to come up, revealing an entire hardwood floor of two-inch planks, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. My frustration instantly morphed into curiosity—how old was this house, really?

My dad didn’t seem to know, just that it had always been here, and the previous owner had added on several times, even in his lifetime, with his help.

The floor had vestiges of greenish-gray-blue paint, typical of older farmhouses, and dips where it was worn thin from travel. Then under the windows, we uncovered several holes, possibly those of pipes, but not necessarily.

By the time we finished clearing the room back to the studs and lower floor level, it became clear that we had uncovered the first kitchen in the house.

As it stands now, the kitchen is in front of me, through two walls. But to see the arrangement of cabinet marks and holes, it made complete sense that this room would have been the kitchen. Even if the barn that is out my window now wasn’t there, there would have been a barn of some sort, and the kitchen would have been located at the back of the house to look out on it for keeping track of family members, and catching the rising sun because it faces east.

The pictures that formed in my mind drew on images from Little House on the Prairie, but that wasn’t really right. At the time of this kitchen, the whole hill would have belonged to this farm, from the apple orchard and the Thayer Estate on one side to Sterling Road on the other. This house most likely would have had all the amenities of the time.

Though I don’t know much of the history of the property before my father’s time, I have often thought about this house and who sat here in this kitchen taking meals, or preparing them.

How many people were in the family, did they have servants, (can you tell I have been reading a lot of historical fiction?), and most importantly, how did they deal with all the rocks in the land that we have thousands of dollars of equipment to deal with now?

Were they successful?

I tend to think so. It was a large property and traces of it are still visible on the land; there must have been enough impetus to continue. It’s difficult to see any of the age of this house now, with the modern improvements we worked so hard on for two years, but knowing that the bones of it stretch back to a time past is only more fodder for my imagination some days.~

© 2021 Aime Sund and Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

Why I Write: What Writing Is and Has Been to Me

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

This essay was written from a prompt during my local weekly writing group. It coincides with the QOTD for author Sacha Black’s Author Life #WritersofInstagram July challenge. I think it’s beneficial to examine motivations every once in a while, this was an opportunity for me to do so. I hope you enjoy it, and leave any comments below, I’d love to hear them.

Writing has been present in my life at different times and under different circumstances. I discovered an affinity for it somewhat in sixth grade when I was assigned my first research paper. My topic was Irving Berlin; a topic I had no real interest in, though I still learned much about the man and his accomplishments.

But I learned more about the process of writing.

That was when the process of research-outline-write according to outline-revise-submit was the accepted method. And being someone with high Strategic strength according to the Gallup Strengths Test, it worked very well for me. In fact, I kept the same process throughout high school and into college.

That was forced writing- done because I had to. My English professor in college told me that I wrote very well, and that it seemed to come easy for me, that he found a fluency and confidence in my work. At the time, I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but the comment stayed with me as a bolster when I needed it.

Once I graduated, I didn’t need to write any longer. My hands were tied up in soil, plants, and garden tools.

I journaled off and on, here and there, but never for any length of time. The exception to that being when I was in Ireland. I did keep an almost daily journal of that nine months for the express purpose of recording all of what I did, felt, and experienced there. It is one of my most cherished possessions, even today.

It was only three years ago that I decided I wanted to write my own novel after a book- A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness- had a real impact on me. I fell in love with everything about it, and have done so again since then with the Shades of Magic series by V. E. Schwab. Both of these ‘book hangovers’ have only reinforced my main motivation for writing- to give someone else the same feeling those influential books have given me.

There is a quote out there in the internet world that says something like “Don’t give up writing, maybe someday YOU will be someone’s favorite author.” That whole idea drives me. Very little apart from grand architecture and works of art truly survive through time like the written word. In some way, I think we all want to leave an impression, and this is how I’d like to. So I guess I’m writing to make a mark.

[Isaac] Azimov said he ‘thinks through his fingers.’ I can understand that, but my fingers have no hope of keeping up with my mind. One of my biggest challenges of writing is getting what I’m thinking down on the screen before it’s gone. By the time the sentence is finished printing, my mind is three thoughts ahead. I’ve even wondered if my fingers have some sort of memory of their own, honestly.

But that’s not to say that I know every line that makes it to the page ahead of time, or even that I know what my characters will actually do. I know their major actions, but not necessarily all the little steps in between.

For example, I started writing a short story a few months ago for an online competition. I had the prompt, and the max word count, so I started in on an outline. That went fine, too. Then I sat down to write. I read the opening scene of this story to my weekly writing group, it involved a dragon chase. When I got to the second scene, two characters jumped up and interjected themselves into the mix, and I had no idea where they came from. My fingers went along with them anyway.

That story is now finished but did not make it to submission. From a starting word count of 5000, it burgeoned to over 9000 words when it was done. Those two characters insinuated themselves into the story and took it into depths I hadn’t planned for, but which I really love. It may still make it to another submission, but I also think it will make a great reader magnet and prequel explanation to the novel series. It was not wasted time or energy.

Many writers say they write to let the stories inside them out, to give them life. This short story has been an example of that for me as well. When I’m in character, the words flow and my mind shows me all of the scenes in crystal clarity as we go, it’s almost like a trance. Then I have to go away and do other things for a while, because it is exhausting, despite the exhilaration I feel for being a vampire (in that story), or my magically-endowed protagonist while writing.

I guess I write to create something lasting, I hope, and to exercise my creativity. To be someone or something else for a while, and to paint the images in my mind in words someone else can interpret their own way. The mind is an amazing tool, so complex and unique. Did you know there are people who think in images and others who think in words? I can’t fathom thinking in words, my inner monologue is too full of images and color. Through writing, however, I can communicate with that other mind in their own language. That to me is reason enough to write, and why writing and human authors will never fade away.~

©Aime Sund and Red Leaf Word Services 2021. All Rights Reserved

 

Happy Earth Day!

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Huphaeans would honor Pater Below today by burning brown candles, as they do every third-quarter phase of Soror Moon.

How will you honor Pater Below today?

Insecure Writers Support Group April Post

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener 1 Comment

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!

Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!

Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.

April’s question is: Are you a risk-taker when writing? Do you try something radically different in style/POV/etc. or add controversial topics to your work?

*Image by mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

When I first glanced at the prompt I thought “No, I’m not a risk-taker in my writing.”

But then while pondering it further, perhaps I am somewhat. I don’t think of it as risk-taking, more like trying to make myself stand out in the sea of fantasy writers and bloggers. Building an audience is all about standing out and getting noticed, as is all the marketing I do for my freelance editing business. And is standing out risky?

It sure can be.

Well, it is to me, as I’m sure it is to many followers of this group (the word ‘insecure’ is what draws us together, right?). But it is also something I MUST do if I want to be a successful business owner and author.

Like many fantasy authors and game players, I have created a fantasy world where my stories will take place.

I say ‘will’ because they aren’t written yet. There. I said it. I’m going to write stories.

Even saying this feels risky to me. I’ve just put it in writing that I’m going to write novels. What if I never get to?

Honestly though, I have enough of the story on paper that there is no way I can’t write the books now. I’m dying to.

On to risk number 2. The blog series is written in the first person, from the perspective of the narrator who is doing the traveling, but she is telling the story to an audience (the readers) actively. Throughout the narration she ‘breaks the fourth wall’ and talks to the audience, giving them candid info about the scene or episode or answering questions they pose to her (the questions are implied in the answers).

It’s not a typical construction, but I need it to be more than boring blog posts talking about a fantasy land. It needs a purpose, a reason, and to be more conversational. What’s more conversational than someone discussing their travels to a foreign land and answering questions about it? It works well enough for me writing it, I can only hope it works for the reader.

Risk number 3. I suppose some of the idiosyncrasies within my fantasy world could be considered risky. For example, it is a matriarchal society. Heredity is through the female line for rulers, family lineages, and names, and the offspring remain with the mother’s family until they are at least 9. Marriage exists, but it rarely happens. There is no reason for two people to be only together.

There is no worship system, no houses of worship, no gods. Only what the people interact with on a daily basis- sky, earth, sun, moon.

I have a difficult time terming these points as ‘risky’ because it is fiction, and fantasy at that. There is the real risk that some readers won’t identify with it enough to read it, which is ok. That’s what target audiences are for.

Risk inherently implies that there is a reward. I am rewarded when I write the story and see it come to life on the page, and I can be rewarded if readers consume it and enjoy it also. Growth and change come about through risk. Without it, it can be difficult to move forward in life, business, career, in many things. Maybe my risks aren’t earthshattering, but for me, they still seem large. And I’ll keep taking them.

Reblog — Thinking Fiction: The Book as an Object — An American Editor

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

This topic caught my eye while I was scrolling. I enjoyed the discussion about the phases a manuscript goes through as it passes to different people on the publishing journey. We all believe our writing to be a part of us, but isn’t the idea that it becomes “real” only once someone else has read it a bit ironic? The section about the author-editor relationship and how an editor views a book is informative—something to be kept in mind when you send your work out. Well worth reading for writers and editors, enjoy!~

Carolyn Haley Writing a novel has often been likened to having a baby. The analogy is apt, in terms of gestation, obsession, pain, thrill, frustration, and all that goes with the long-term development of a new life. Less often discussed is what happens later in the process, when it’s time to push the fledgling out […]

Thinking Fiction: The Book as an Object — An American Editor

Nyssa’s Nuggets

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

“Start the day with something you love.”

Nyssa has two favorite times of the day—walk times and feeding times, both of which occur twice daily. Isn’t she lucky?

Since she was old enough, I have taken her for a walk first thing in the morning. Many people say it helps a dog merge into the day easier if they go out to “patrol” their surroundings first. It seems to work fairly well in the 25 years I have been doing it with seven different dogs.

We speed-walk three-quarters of a mile down the street because she can’t wait to get to the furthest point away from the house that I will go. Then we amble back, or rather I tow her back. She truly loves her walks, no matter when they happen.

When we return, she has her food and then settles in to perhaps play a little, but certainly nap the morning away. All is good.

I find the early morning walks energizing as well. It helps to set the tone of the day, or bring to my attention what my tone is so I can correct it, if need be. It gets my muscles moving and my brain working. I rarely have any sleep fog lingering after the first couple of minutes down the road.

It also gives me the opportunity to witness some truly amazing celestial moments and gorgeous sunrises. Because the traffic gets busy very early around here, we are always walking in the hour or so just before dawn.

The quiet is perfect for a morning mind-sort.

So though at times I rail against morning walks in my mind, (think winter and rain), I do enjoy them.

The open promise of what the day can become is so tangible in those hours before dawn. Starting the day this way has been part of half my life now, so it must be something good.

It gives you more of an opportunity to enter the editing day with a sunny outlook.

Or if you write, getting your own words down first can make the difference between finishing your book and not. You are, after all, your number one customer, right?

Put yourself first and do something that makes you feel good before sitting down to better someone else’s work. Mindset is everything.

Do you start the day with something that makes you feel good, feel strong, feel positive? Try a walk one warm morning, and I guarantee you will feel uplifted the moment the birds start singing while the sky changes color in burgeoning silence. Or get that next paragraph written, or master that yoga stretch. A few little endorphins patrolling around your brain and you will be ready to take on that block of text you gave up on last night.

Shake off the sleep, wake the muscles, drop off the dregs of yesterday, and walk home with a spring in your step and your tail curled high on your back. Like Nyssa does. Akitas do know best.

Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo!~ 🐕‍🦺

What is your morning routine, does it start with something that makes you feel good? If not, would you like it to? Let me know in the comments below 👇🏼, maybe we can help each other better our mornings.😊

If you’d like to get more editing tips for your own editing endeavors, subscribe to the Red Leaf Word Services newsletter and get your copy of my 15 Tips for Self-Editing checklist.

You can find the checklist popup at www.redleafwords.com, or use this link here to sign up and get your copy! You may even get more of Nyssa in the newsletter too 😉.

©2021 Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #23

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

Hello Everyone! Daylight savings time has ended in my corner of the world, and that means evenings are useful once again! Ostara is around the corner, too, marking equal day and night length. The energy of the season is rather frenzied, my animals are ecstatic to be spending more time outside without ice.

In other news, I’ve been working on a couple of short stories for contests and an anthology. They are both set in Ereth, I’ll keep you updated on how they do and where you may be able to find them in the future.😉

The next issue of Collata⚡ comes out this weekend, so if you want to see what being a Nightingale is all about, join us with the link that follows the episode. Hope to see you there!~

Elahna and Ivy had just made their way upstairs to their rooms at the end of the last episode. That is, after a healing soak in the hot pool and an unexpected proposition. Elahna was surprised and sheepish, Ivy rather unimpressed. What will the morning bring? Let’s find out!~

*Image by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay

I woke the next morning to the sounds of creaking and then a splash, which made me sit bolt upright. My head outpaced my body some in the movement and I clasped it to slow the bobbing images, then fell back against the pillow. I hadn’t had cider in some time, apparently Lissa’s batch had more of an effect than I had thought it would. But at least the splash hadn’t been directed at me. I sat up, slower this time, and peered out the open window.

Below, Scosy was drawing water from the stone well, transferring it into a large wooden cask that sat on a low cart.

*Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

The air was heavier than the evening before with the distinct earthy tang of evergreen forest. Tendrils of ground fog threaded through the tree trunks beyond the inn’s grounds. I fumbled in my discarded clothes for Aymur’s timepiece. It showed being in the fifth erdur. Well, at least I hadn’t overslept.

I watched as Scosy finished his task, hung the well bucket on a hook next to the winch handle and set off toward the stables with his bounty. It was good to know the horses would be well-tended before we left. Time then to see about myself.

After a meager breakfast of two glorious slices of toasted homemade bread with butter and some dark fruity jelly, I made a visit to the stables to check on the horses. Scosy hurried in when he saw me enter, a stricken look on his face.

“I wasn’t sure when ye would be settin’ out, miss, ‘pologies for not havin’ ‘em ready.” He grabbed for Revel’s stall door, but I held up my hand to stay him.

“Morning Scosy, no need to scramble. Ivy has to look at the center tree, we will be a bit yet. I trust he’s been good for you? No trouble?” I nodded at Revel, who munched contentedly on some extremely fragrant hay.

“Oh no, miss, he’s been a peach. No trouble at all.” His words trailed off as he shifted to look around me at something outside.

*Image by こうこう きちでん from Pixabay 

I turned to see Ivy striding across the yard toward the road and the center tree, I assumed. Scosy didn’t even seem aware of my presence any longer, so I stepped back out of his way. I recalled Lissa’s comment last night about the boy’s infatuation and felt a pang of sadness for him.

I trailed after Scosy, who lagged well behind Ivy as she strode toward the center tree. It was a magnificent specimen of a planetree. The camouflage colors of olive, gray, cream, white, and sage green cloaked the massive trunk in ribbons of brightness amid the morning shadows. Lissa hurried out the front of the tavern, joining Ivy, who gazed up at the canopy.

*Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay 

A stoutish man in a busy red, black, and green plaid shirt and caramel-colored trousers approached at a determined pace from the upper right of the Shoe. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows and the open buttons of his shirt allowed a forest of dark hair sprinkled with wood shavings to precede him by two inches at least. I had to stifle a giggle behind my hand. The man must be furred like a bear under the shirt, I thought to myself, but then quashed the idea, because what if there were bear-men here? Bigger curls of wood and more shavings clung to the canvas panels tacked onto his trousers above the knees. He must be a finish carver or something, definitely one who works wood with tools, not saw blades.

He nodded a brusque greeting at Lissa and the few other townsfolk who had gathered, setting the unruly nest of wavy hair on his head bobbing. “Elements be, Miss Ivy, well met. Lissa said you’d be out to have a look at our tree afore you set out. I’m much obliged.” He brushed wood dust off his hand after raising it in greeting.

“Elements be, Porter. Has there been something ailing the tree recently? It definitely appears less vigorous than I would expect.”

“We dealt with a bout of anthracnose last anid, but by autumn, it was looking well again.”

“This tree has a dryad, am I correct?” Heads nodded.

“But no one’s seen her for a while. The lads have been out in the forest blocks, I just haven’t had a chance to ask them to speak with her.”

Ivy nodded once in understanding. “I’ll try to get her to come out so I can ask her what she knows.”

I stepped closer to the gathering, but still on the outside edge, and watched Ivy place her palm against the trunk. After a moment, she stepped back, her gaze following something I couldn’t see. Then she gasped and held both her hands out as if to catch a baby bird.

I glanced around at the others in the group, whose faces all had tightened with concern. But they looked at Ivy and not her hands, so I surmised they couldn’t see the dryad either.

Ivy cocked her head slightly and said softly, more for her audience’s benefit than the dryad’s I wagered, “Show me, what ails you and your tree?” Her lips firmed into a line as she studied her hands, then she looked upwards into the canopy. “Is there an air weaver in town that can float me up?” She fixed Porter with eyes that brimmed with urgency. “She is very weak, but she shows me tunnels and chewing. There must be borers somewhere. I need to go up and look.”

“Ah, yes,” Porter pivoted to face Scosy. “Lad, run and find the Verticx chap. They may not have left for the blocks yet. Hurry!” Scosy jolted into movement, his gangly limbs propelling him down a side lane into the forest. “Is she in any danger?” Porter continued, “Can we do anything?”

“Do you have an Orderly? Some ginseng would help her vitality. We may need to make poultices to draw the borers out as well.”

*Image by whaltns17 from Pixabay 

A woman in a sky blue and pale yellow plaid scurried off up the left leg of the Shoe. Ivy remained focused on her cupped hands, her brow creased with worry.

I admit, it was strange watching Ivy attend to something I couldn’t see. And honestly, it made me feel a bit better knowing the others couldn’t see the dryad either. I knew that Lissa had some wood magic though, and I assumed Porter did as well, so there must be a threshold of ability that allowed someone to see the dryads. I did wish to see what one looked like.

No, at that point I wasn’t sure what the nature of the dryad-tree bond was, but I did ask Ivy later when we were underway. Dryads live in and on their trees, and they take on some aspects of them as their appearance. She said this dryad had skin that mirrored the tree’s, but that it was brittle and flaky and had become a slate gray instead of multi-colored. The creature’s hair was dry and crumbly and she felt slack like a wilted stem. I could tell she was very concerned for the dryad, but honestly felt that the ginseng root the woman returned with would help her immensely.

Scosy returned in half an hour or so with a silver-haired man who had very long pointed ears, the most elf-like ears I had seen yet. He was fairly tall, and very slight, but somehow managed to take up space within the gathered crowd. Ivy greeted him and told him what she needed. He smiled, nodding in agreement, and made a circular motion with his hand, the palm facing downward. A sharp breeze sprang up and the loose dirt and pebbles in front of him began to spiral around. Next thing I saw was Ivy step up into air, but obviously onto something. The elf joined her, and they rose straight up toward the branches, some sixty feet above. I bit my tongue to keep from drawing attention to myself.

They spent about ten minutes aloft, circling the trunk and examining three areas closely. Ivy confirmed the presence of borers and a secondary infestation of lacebug when she landed. She said the trunk was weeping in the three places she and Leverett had lingered at and prescribed poultices of tobacco leaves to be applied every few days, making sure the mash filled the tunnels.

“Leave a piece of ginseng root out for the dryad every tertia or quarta anar* for the next anos too. Whoever goes up with Leverett can also spray the lacebug with a soap solution. Just to lessen the pressure on the tree so it can heal. Send word to Aymur for him to visit in seisla aneks and check progress. I’ll recheck it on my return from Irillo as well. Hopefully I can perform some bark healing on the wound sites then.”

“Many thanks, Ivy. We will see it all gets done. Safe travels to Irillo, and give Sawyerset’s regards to the Regna. Elements be.” Porter ambled away back up the road, wood shavings littering his wake.

We returned to the tavern with Lissa to gather our belongings and say our farewells. She stood, shaking her head with a wry grin on her face, watching her son bustle about our mounts in the stable yard when we alighted from the back stairway. “Ah Ivy, you’ve saddled me with a mournful puppy for the rest of th’ anar. Look at him, his feet ‘ave barely touched the ground since you told him to make ready. You sure you don’t want ‘im to tag along, you’d only have to say the word.” I heard the mirth, but also the concern in her remark.

Ivy started to reply but Lissa cut her off with a waved hand, “I do jest with ye. He’ll be ‘imself again on the morrow. I do wish he had more of my wood skills, but evidently not so. Sawyerset isn’t the place for ‘im. The horses is what he gravitates toward, I’ll have to put out a word for him. Maybe some bigger inn could use a stable hand and he could work his way up. Quindecca isn’t too young to be settin’ himself up for later on.”

“I could ask when I’m in Irillo. Perhaps even inquire in Forelore’s stables. I can vouch for him, so that is more than a blind query.”

“Would ye do that? I’d be much obliged to you. And I won’t breathe a word to Scosy unless there’s something for him.”

“Of course, I’ll report back on my return, or send a message if there is something before. Do you think he’d be willing to go at any point?”

‘Oh, I’m sure he would. If he could work in a busy stable, my boy would be right at home. Almost as happy as seein’ you.” We all shared a laugh and a smile, said our thanks, and parted ways at the kitchen door.

Let’s leave off here for today. In case you are wondering, Ivy did indeed find a place for Scosy, in Forelore’s stables no less. They were happy to have another hand with horse ability on staff. I saw him at one point out in Irillo as part of a foal training unit. He seemed very content and at home. Lucky boy, but I’m sure Lissa missed him. And it was good to know Ivy was true to her word.

*anek = week, anar = day, anos = month, anid = year

I’m sure there are many arborists out there who would love to have levitating abilities to diagnose tree canopy issues. I was impressed with that, for sure. It was also interesting that we have the same problems with planetrees and sycamores here that the Center Tree suffered from. But no dryads. Poor Scosy, though, I thought about saying something, but I didn’t want to get involved. Would you have said anything? Have you been in a similar situation and not done anything? Drop a comment below about your experience or let me know how your spring is going 😀. See you next time!~

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Nyssa’s Nuggets

aimeredleaf, The Narrative Gardener Leave a comment

“I can still do what I love.”

The other night I was heading to bed and went to say ‘good night’ to the dogs. I couldn’t find Nyssa.

Yeah, I know. How could I not find an Akita? Had I left her outside? I was sure I hadn’t, I had just let them all in and given them their nightly liver treats.

I ran around looking for her, turning on lights I had already turned off, when the curtains behind the couch moved. Then she stepped out of the picture window and back over onto the couch where she sleeps.

Ah, yes. I forgot about that.

I constructed my picture window to be deep enough and strong enough for me to sit in and read. Complete with a slate tile sill so spilled plant water wouldn’t be an issue.

But it has become a favorite dog-napping spot instead. For Nyssa especially. I think she stays awake watching out the window for wildlife most of the night.

It is also a way for her to do what she loves—hunting. Just in a different manner.

I often hear that editors find it difficult to read for pleasure. I feel quite sad about that.

Reading is my escape, I have always loved it. It has made me want to write and to be an editor.

I can understand how the mechanics of editing could get in the way of reading. I have noticed my awareness of craft principles has ratcheted up manyfold, but it hasn’t diminished my ability to enjoy the story or my desire to read for fun. In fact, in many ways, it has enhanced it.

As important as it is for writers to read in their genre (and out of it), it’s the same for editors. Genre conventions, tropes, subject matter, reader expectations, all of these are constantly changing and the only way to keep on top of them is to stay familiar with what is rising and falling in interest.

Which means we have to read.

Yes, we read all day while we edit. Reading for our own enjoyment is another way to fill the editor’s toolbox, though. Much as writers absorb pieces of what they read and it all gets scrambled up to make their own author voice, the same happens with editors.

One author’s clever use of time could stick in your mind and then provide a new angle for a suggestion you make to another author several months later. Description techniques, first line hooks, chapter endings, the list of things you can pick up for use later on is endless.

Editing is a way to better reading, and reading is a way to better editing. As long as our eyes (and ears) hold out, there is plenty to be gained from pleasure reading. Let it enhance your editing skills. I have no doubt Nyssa’s nighttime window hunting improves her field hunting. She never misses a movement in a stone wall or in the tall grass.

Then maybe the next time you are searching for the right suggestion to take an author’s work that extra bit further, it will be relaxing in the back of your mind, waiting to be called upon. Pull it out of your picture window and let it work for you.

Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo! 🐕‍🦺~

Do you find it difficult to read for fun if you are an editor, or in editing mode? What exactly gets in the way? Let me know in the comments, I’m interested to hear your thoughts. 👇🏼

If you’d like to get more editing tips for your own editing endeavors, subscribe to the Red Leaf Word Services newsletter and get your copy of my 15 Tips for Self-Editing checklist.

You can find the checklist popup at www.redleafwords.com, or use this link here to sign up and get your copy! You may even get more of Nyssa in the newsletter too 😉.

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