“I’ll Take Those Odds” Part Four

It’s October, my favorite time of the year! And even though the pandemic has altered some of my holiday plans, I’ll still decorate my house and enjoy a good bonfire or two and maybe find a corn maze. I’m also really excited about all the quality, spooky TV this October. We’re currently watching Ratched on Netflix, and I am eagerly awaiting the release of The Haunting of Bly Manor this Friday. The Haunting of Hill House was so good, so I hope this next season is just as spine chilling and unsettling. It must be acknowledged that The Haunting of Hill House was nothing like the book. I expect The Haunting of Bly Manor will only borrow loosely from Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw. As an author, how do I feel about this? I wonder if Shirley Jackson and Henry James were still alive, how would they feel? I don’t know. I’ve never had someone borrow pieces of my work to create something else. I probably wouldn’t mind if it was as good as The Haunting of Hill House.

Anyhow, spooky season is back, and I’m ready not to sleep at night for reasons beyond the upcoming election and the pandemic and the overall state of the world. I’ll take fictional horror over real horror any day, thank you very much.

Speaking of horror, this is a good time to remind you that you can purchase Mountain Gap Book’s Haints and Hollers: New Ghost Tales from Appalachia from Amazon and the Mountain Gap Book’s website. It is excellent under the covers or campfire reading.

Now, on to the writing. Here’s part four of my short story in progress, “I’ll Take Those Odds.” I’ll include a few lines from part three to get us back into the story.

"Excellent. Second player bids first." Death set their glass down, indicating they'd like another pour. Charlotte filled their glass as they studied their hand.

"I bid ten," Death decided.

Charlotte nodded and looked at her hand. That was a high and sure bid. "Double nil," Charlotte replied after a moment.

Death laughed. "Bold, Charlotte Reeves, bold. It will be a shame to kill you."

"Bold moves are all I have left," Charlotte explained. She discarded three cards from her hand and took three more from the pile.

Death leaned in, propping their elbows against the table. "Now the question is, did those three cards just help you or hinder you?"

Charlotte licked her lips. "Let's find out."

"Excellent." Death smiled. They considered their cards for a moment before making the first move. As they were doing so, Charlotte noticed their glass was empty and refilled it. "If you're trying to get my liquored up so I'll mess up, it won't work. I'm not mortal, so I don't get drunk."

"That wasn't my aim," Charlotte assured.

"Being a nice hostess, then, are you?" Death took a drink and eyed her over the glass. "You wouldn't be the first person to try that trick." Death smiled again. "Your turn, darling."

Charlotte examined the cards on the table, took a breath, and made her fist move.

And so it went, as the minutes ticked on. Death would play and Charlotte would play. A glass would be drained and filled again. Albert would breathe heavily from his crib and Charlotte would fight the urge to go and check on him. At least he was breathing. All the while Death was telling her stories, stories about the people they'd bested, stories about the people who'd lost.

"Want to know who the biggest crier was? Go on, guess," Death goaded.

"I don't have the faintest idea," Charlotte replied, her tone calm but cold.

"Alexander the Great, wailed the entire time. 'Oh, please don't take me! Please don't take me, I have so much more to live for.' He would not shut up." Death chuckled and took a drink. "Abraham Lincoln was surprisingly stoic, considering the circumstances. Maybe death was preferable to politics?"

Death played another round and Charlotte paused in her motions. "What's the matter, can't follow suit?"

Charlotte ignored them and played a spade. Fortunately for her, it was a low spade. "Looks like I win again." Death reached over and collected the cards, adding the trick to their pile.

"Careful you don't sandbag," Charlotte commented.

That seemed to ruffle Death just a little. "You concentrate on your own hand, Charlotte Reeves."

The air in the room got uncomfortably cool. Charlotte cleared her throat. "Who else made a big fuss when you took them?" she asked. "Who else would surprise me?"

Death considered it for a moment. "Napoleon, although that's probably not surprising. Men tend to cry more than women."

"Also not surprising," Charlotte added.

"Except when children are involved, of course," Death leered. They watched her for a moment. "Genghis Khan was especially fun." Death leaned back and launched into the story.

When the story was done, the game was almost over. Neither of them had reached 500 in the first hand, so they'd had to draw again, but now the end was close. "You said you don't know where husband Frank is, right?"

"That is correct. He is still among the living, somewhere."

"And you don't know what my future holds?"

"My suspicion is it ends tonight."

"But if it doesn't, you can't tell me where I'll be in a year's time?" Charlotte pressed.

"I'm not a prognosticator, no."

Charlotte nodded and they played on in silence, but it was less than comfortable. In those last moments, Death was finally starting to pay attention to the cards on the table. The liquor had run dry, and there were no more stories to be told. "Wait a moment . . ."

"500!" Charlotte proclaimed.

"That's not possible." Death scrutinized the cards. "You cheated," they accused.

"You can't cheat death," Charlotte pointed out. "But you can beat it, fair and square."

"How?" Death was dumbfounded.

"Because you and I are the same, neither of us is God. You don't know what will happen tomorrow anymore than I do. And you don't know everything about me. You said I grew up rough and tough, and that's the truth. I grew up at my Daddy's card table, and I learned everything there is to know about life and death at that table." She took a deep, cleansing breath and looked Death right in the eyes. "Albert will be staying with me."

Death laughed, high and loud. Then their face turned terribly serious and it seemed less human than ever before. "You may keep your child, Charlotte Reeves, for now. You tell no one of this night, do you understand me? No one!"

"I understand."

"Your win saves him this time, but it does not make him immortal," Death pressed on. "If he rolls out of his crib or falls from a tree, or succumbs to the next, foul pestilence, he's mine. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," Charlotte replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Death leaned back, their expression softening. They looked fondly about the small house. "Enjoy your life, Charlotte Reeves, such as it is."

And with that, Death was gone, leaving only a lingering chill behind. Charlotte sat for a moment longer, frozen to the chair. Then she sprang into action, going to the stove and stoking the fire before hurrying to the crib and collecting Albert carefully into her arms. He fussed a little. "It's all right, Albert, Mama's got you. Mama's always got you."

I think there’s one more portion left to this story. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it.

Usually this time of year I’m in rehearsal for “A Spot On the Hill,” the cemetery play I do every year. The pandemic has changed that this year, but you can watch past stories from the show on the Chester Inn Museum’s YouTube channel.

Until next time, friends, get your spooky on in a safe manner!

October 6, 2020 0

“I’ll Take Those Odds” Part Three

I’m back! I didn’t necessarily mean to take a three week break, but such is life. I’m fighting my usual, sinus malaise that comes with the changing of the seasons, so I don’t have as much energy as I usually have. Also, my spouse and I finished The Big Bang Theory, which we have binge watched during this pandemic, and it was a nice catharsis. We watched the show late into the night as we sat up with our ailing cat Smudge. He’s gone now, at peace, and seeing the words, “The End,” after the final episode brought us both to tears.

We also watched the first part of season five of Lucifer, which may be my favorite current show. That of course inspired another story set in that universe. You can check it out at Archive of Our Own. It’s called “And I Would Have Gotten Away with It, Too, If It Weren’t for You Meddling Kids . . . And Devil,” and it’s the Lucifer/Scooby Doo mashup you never knew you needed. It contains probably my favorite line I’ve ever written. “At that moment, the side door to the church opened and in strolled the Devil with a deli tray.”

Part of me knows I should be focusing more on my original work, but writing fanfiction makes me really happy. And, yeah, part of it is the instant gratification of someone leaving a comment and wanting more. Also, I’m enjoying playing in worlds right now where the structure has already been built. Maybe that’s representative of my other fatigue or the struggle that is 2020? I don’t have an answer to that, but I do know I’ll get back to creating my own worlds someday soon.

Speaking of my own writing, here’s the next edition of my shot story, “Ill Take Those Odds.” When we left off, Charlotte was about to play a game of cards with Death. I’ve included a little bit from last time to get us back into the story.

Death laughed full and loud. “This is different. I’m so amused, I’ll entertain your little game. What do you propose, Charlotte Reeves?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “A drink and a game of cards.” She indicated the table set up by the window.

Death followed her gaze. “That does look inviting. What are the stakes?”

Charlotte released the crib and folded her arms across her chest. “I win, you don’t take Albert. He gets better and he lives a full life.”

“And if I win?”

Charlotte swallowed again, but her voice was clear. “You take us both.”

“You would do that for him?”

“We’re all each other has in this world. I won’t go anywhere without him,” Charlotte insisted.

Death smiled. “I’ll take those odds.”

And now, here’s part three.

Charlotte walked over to the table. She didn't want to leave the crib, but Albert was safe, at least for now. Charlotte hoped her steps didn't seem as nervous as she felt. Inside, she felt like she would shake apart.

"What game do you propose?" Death asked as they joined her. They unbuttoned their waistcoat and had a seat, eager to begin.

"I get to pick?" Charlotte was surprised.

Death smiled. "No, on second thought, I think it will be dealer's choice tonight." They picked up the cards and began to shuffle the deck. "What game to choose?"

Charlotte refused to look Death in the eyes as they sized her up. She busied herself with pouring the drinks. She had to work hard to keep her hands from shaking. "They just outlawed that stuff, you know," Death pointed out.

"Yeah, I read something about that in the paper." Charlotte handed Death a glass, still not meeting their eyes.

"But here we are nonetheless." Death clinked their glass against hers, and Charlotte flinched a little. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

Death set the deck down, satisfied with the shuffle. "I think we'll play a game of Hearts. Seeing as you wear yours on your sleeve, Charlotte Reeves, this game should be right up your alley."

"Fine." Charlotte took a drink and swallowed hard. The whiskey never went down any easier.

"I'll let you draw first," Death offered.

Charlotte took a steadying breath and reached out to take a card. She didn't like it. It was a bad draw. She felt her stomach tense, but fortunately Charlotte had another option. She discarded the first card and drew the second, sending up a silent prayer that this one would be better. She wondered for a second if God was anywhere in the room tonight. If He'd want any part of this?

The second card was better and Charlotte released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She was going to have to get control of herself and her poker face. This wasn't poker, per se, but the stakes had never been higher.

"Lovely." Death reached out and drew a card. They decided to keep it.

After that, they went back and forth selecting cards. "You're not the first person who's challenged me to a game for the fate of their mortal soul," Death mused.

"I didn't think I was."

"I've been challenged to cards, baseball, a foot race, a boxing match. I played a rousing game of tiddly winks once." Death smiled fondly and took a drink.

"How many times have you won?" Charlotte wasn't sure why she asked. She didn't really want to know.

"Oh, my dear, I never lose," Death boasted. They took another drink. "But I must say, you're the only person to offer yourself in the bargain. I had a bake off once with a particularly distraught mother, but in the end I took her child, and left her my rhubarb pie recipe. She did have other children asleep in the house, though. You, on the other hand . . ." Death looked around the empty room. " . . . are decidedly alone."

"That's thirteen cards each," Charlotte spoke. The deck had been divided.

"Excellent. Second player bids first." Death set their glass down, indicating they'd like another pour. Charlotte filled their glass as they studied their hand.

"I bid ten," Death decided.

Charlotte nodded and looked at her hand. That was a high and sure bid. "Double nil," Charlotte replied after a moment.

Death laughed. "Bold, Charlotte Reeves, bold. It will be a shame to kill you."

"Bold moves are all I have left," Charlotte explained. She discarded three cards from her hand and took three more from the pile.

Death leaned in, propping their elbows against the table. "Now the question is, did those three cards just help you or hinder you?"

Charlotte licked her lips. "Let's find out."

That’s it for now. Also, I do not proclaim to be an expert at Hearts. I Googled how to play the game with two people. If I got something wrong, let me know.

To learn more about the flu pandemic in Washington County, TN, check out this virtual exhibit from the Heritage Alliance and the Chester Inn Museum, “If You Don’t Watch Out: The Influenza Pandemic in and Around Washington County, September 1918-February 1919.”

Also, last time I told you I was working on a salmon gelatin mold for work. Well, I completed said mold and even ate it. To see my exploits, check out Homecooked History Special Edition Part One and Part Two.

Take care, everyone, and stay safe.

Photo by Sergi Viladesau on Unsplash

September 7, 2020 0

“I’ll Take Those Odds” Part Two

Last week I returned to my blog and the writing world. I also started an in-process story inspired by the current pandemic that continues to rage around us. Here’s where we left off last week on the fist installment of “I’ll Take Those Odds.”

“Tell it to me, please?” Albert asked again. “Grant the wish of a dying man?”

Death licked their lips and leaned forward. “Seeing as you’re on your way out and can’t tell another living soul, here goes.”

And now, here’s the next part. Happy reading.

January 17, 1919

Charlotte poured two glasses of whiskey and placed them on the table by the window. She looked out at the night, but it seemed bleak and cold as ever. Charlotte took a swig out of the bottle before setting it between the glasses. She fought the urge to spit it out and swallowed against the burn. The amber liquid danced in the light of the oil lantern. The small room was hot with the wood stove burning in the center. Albert was quiet in his crib, save for the constant wheezing. At least he was finally asleep, she told herself.

Charlotte walked to the chest of drawers in the hallway. Her fingers shook as she fought to open the top drawer. The drawer started to squeak at first, and she stopped, terrified she’d wake Albert. He was still asleep, though, so she pulled the drawer open slowly and took out the well worn deck of cards. As she closed the drawer, her eyes looked up the wall to the picture that hung there. The man in his uniform stared back at her, his eyes unseeing but seemingly judging nonetheless. “You’d do the same thing,” she told the picture. “You have no place to judge.”

Charlotte took the deck to the table and placed it next to the bottle. She fought the urge to take another drink. A hoot owl called outside and she startled. Oh, screw societal norms she thought and took another drink. Charlotte gagged on the liquor. She placed the bottle back and stole a look into Albert’s crib. He was asleep, thankfully, but his breathing was uneven. He was covered in sweat and the area around his nose was encrusted with mucus. If she wiped it off now, he’d wake up, and this was the first time he’d slept soundly in days.

She took a steadying breath and returned to the table, sitting in the chair beside it, her eyes searching the darkness that waited right outside. Her hands absentmindedly picked up her knitting. She was working on new socks for Albert. He would need them soon. He had stopped growing when he fell ill, but he would get better, and he would need the clothes then. Another bird or perhaps a stray cat made a sound outside and Charlotte’s head jerked up. She almost stabbed her finger with her needle. Silence once again followed, and she took another breath.

Charlotte returned to her knitting, trying to lose herself in the task at hand. Then, she heard it, the unmistakable noise of a porch board creaking. Her breath caught in her throat, and she returned her knitting to its basket. The porch creaked again, and then she heard the screen door open. She bit her lower lip as the front door knob turned. Charlotte jumped to her feet and moved to the crib, positioning herself between the crib and the door.

The old door opened slowly. She had not locked it, but she was certain it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. In walked a person, impeccably dressed in a gray, four piece suit with a bowler hat to match. The person closed the door and turned to size the room up in a perfectly casual manner. Charlotte wrapped her hand around the top of the crib and waited. The person looked at Charlotte and the face wasn’t cruel. It was shockingly kind and extremely amused. “Well, hello,” the person spoke with a warm and open smile.

“Hello,” Charlotte tentatively replied.

“You’re up past your bedtime,” they quipped.

“Haven’t been getting much sleep.”Her hand tightened around the crib.

“Usually I sneak in unseen, much like Santa Claus.” They smiled again, but this time it wasn’t as warm.

Charlotte took a steadying breath and assumed her full, five foot two frame. “I know why you’re here, and you won’t be taking him.”

“I don’t think you have any say over that.”

“You already got the Millers down the street, took all four of ’em, and the Turner’s two boys. You don’t need mine, too.”

The person cocked their head. “Again, I don’t think you have any say over that.”

Charlotte managed to stand a little taller. “I’m his mother. I think I do have a say.”

The person laughed lightly and removed their hat. “I know all about you, Charlotte Massey Reeves. Youngest of five, only girl in a house of boys. Grew up rough and tough. Never wanted to be a wife, or mother, but you were willing to become both when you married Frank Reeves in the spring of 1917. But then came the war, and Frank had to enlist. He went to France and you stayed here, had a son.”

Charlotte was not so steady on her feet now. “How do you know all that?”

The person smiled a third time, and this time it was anything but warm. “I’m Death. I know all kinds of things.” They looked around the room a second time. “Where is Frank now?”

“You took him,” she spat back at the figure.

Death laughed and it was far from comforting. “I assure you, ma’m, I have not.”

Charlotte’s heart sank. The telegram from the Army had said missing in action, but it hadn’t said dead. But as the months had drug on, Charlotte had just assumed. The last letter Frank had written her had been concerning. Frank had not been happy with the war. He had told her that if anything were to happen to him, that she was to move on, find another God-fearing man to raise his child. Charlotte was afraid he’d gotten himself killed on purpose.

“Do you know where he is?” she summoned the courage to ask.

Death looked at their hat, moving it from one hand to the other. They looked back at her, looking her directly in the eyes. “I don’t know everything, but I know he’s not with me. Could still be unidentified in a foreign hospital, or some prisoner camp?” they shrugged.

Charlotte shook her head. Frank had run off somewhere. That was the first thought she’d had when she’d received the telegram, but than death seemed easier to accept. Frank had loved her, sure enough, but he did have a wondering eye. She’d known that and had married him anyway, despite her better judgement. He’d probably found some French girl in need of help and . . . No, she couldn’t think about that now. Albert was all she had, she was sure of it, and she was all he had. Death would not be taking him tonight, she was sure of that.

“As pleasant as this all is, I do have business to conduct.” Death put their hat back on and set their jaw.

Charlotte inched back as far as she could, until the crib was against her back. “I’d like to propose a change.”

Death laughed full and loud. “This is different. I’m so amused, I’ll entertain your little game. What do you propose, Charlotte Reeves?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “A drink and a game of cards.” She indicated the table set up by the window.

Death followed her gaze. “That does look inviting. What are the stakes?”

Charlotte released the crib and folded her arms across her chest. “I win, you don’t take Albert. He gets better and he lives a full life.”

“And if I win?”

Charlotte swallowed again, but her voice was clear. “You take us both.”

“You would do that for him?”

“We’re all each other has in this world. I won’t go anywhere without him,” Charlotte insisted.

Death smiled. “I’ll take those odds.”

Copyright Anne G’Fellers-Mason, 2020

I have to hop off and go prepare a gelatin-based salmon salad from an old, Knox Gelatine cook book. It’s job related, don’t ask. Being a historian is never boring. Watch for that video on the Chester Inn Museum’s YouTube channel next Saturday. I’m sure I’ll be linking it to next week’s blog.

Next weekend my work will be hosting our first ever Taste of Tennessee event featuring lots of local, foodie goodness. Check it out! The full program for August 22 is available at our website here.

See you all next week!

Featured Image – Photo by Viktor Talashuk on Unsplash

August 16, 2020 0

Finding Time to Write Amidst the Chaos

Straight up, I haven’t been too good about this. This pandemic keeps going and it’s finally made its presence known in my neck of the woods in Washington County, TN. Case counts and hospitalizations are high. Schools are online right now and we’ve got a mask mandate through the end of the month. At work we continue to adapt, but I’m honestly getting tired of treading water. I had more fortitude in March/April. Now sometimes the urge to sink is overwhelming. On a positive note, my mother’s broken arm continues to mend. I’m back living in my house after living with her to help out since early March. I came back to my house in June because she was doing better and also because my oldest cat Smudge was ailing. Unfortunately, he passed away last week, but we got to spend a wonderful last week with him. Still, it was another blow in an already hard year. We lost Aldonza in March of 2019. Sometimes I feel like I’m a walking, gaping wound. I know I’m extremely lucky, though, because there are people all over the world suffering through MUCH worse. But it doesn’t make my pain hurt any less.

There’s my updated. Wish it was peppier. Here are some pictures from the last few months.

(First pic, the family the last time we were all together in May 2020, before we had to start distancing from one another due to health reasons and some of us having more public jobs than others. Second pic, me sporting my mask and my Victorian garb in the Chester Inn Museum. This was part of our attempt to encourage guests to wear masks before the mandate. Third pic, our bees made honey. In case I didn’t mention it, my spouse and I are beekeepers now. Fourth pic, my sweet sweet Smudge near the end of his time on this realm. Fifth pic, our four kitties earlier this year. Now we’re back to three.)

In the writing world, I did win a Haiku challenge, which I covered in my last blog. I had promised to share my other three entries then, but they have since been accepted for publication in the Shelved anthology from Mountain Gap Books. I hope to have a short story in that anthology, too. More info on that publication as it becomes available.

At work, we’ve been looking to past epidemics and pandemics to help contextualize the current one. Since I work in museums, we’ve been pouring through records for the Spanish influenza from 1918-1920. I had two short stories in mind for the Shelved anthology. This one didn’t get written in time, so I’ve decided to write it in stages via my blog. Maybe this will help me write more blogs? Here’s hoping.

I’ll Take Those Odds

July 4, 2020

The rhythmic beeping of the hospital machines was white noise now, and even though he was so tired, Albert found he couldn’t sleep. The oxygen cannual in his nose provided him with enough air to keep his heart beating, for now, but the rest of his energy was gone. He didn’t understand how he was still awake, even for a minute. The light from the window shone through the curtain and hurt his weary eyes. It had been night last time he’d checked, at least he thought it had been. He must have gotten some sleep, then. It didn’t feel like it, though. He felt like he’d never slept once in is 102 years.

The bustling of the hospital was a low level buzz on the other side of the door. They were trying to save someone. He was sure of it. The nurses were busy whisking a ventilator off to a soul that needed it to live. He’d told them he didn’t want one, that 102 years was long enough. It was much more than some got. Albert had made his peace with death long ago, on the shores of Okinawa. He’d survived the war, though, married and had two kids, five grandchildren, three great grandchildren, and two great great grandchildren. It didn’t make leaving them any less painful, but he knew he couldn’t be greedy with time. He couldn’t cheat death forever.

Albert thought he heard his room door open and someone walk in. It must be one of the nurses, come to see if there was anything he needed, anything they could do to make him more comfortable. His eyes looked up slowly, but it wasn’t a nurse at all. This person wasn’t decked out in full hazmat gear. They didn’t even have a mask on. For a second, Albert wondered how they’d gotten in. But then they smiled, and Albert realized he knew this face. He thought he’d dreamed this face when he was young, just a little over a year old. This was the face that’d looked down on him in his crib when he’d been sick with the flu. It was a sincere face and beautiful in its androgyny.

“Hello, Albert. It’s good to see you again,” the person spoke. “It’s been a long time. More than 100 years.”

Albert felt his chest lighten. It hurt less than it had in weeks. He also found he was able to speak without those terrible, hacking coughs. “I – I know you.”

The person smiled again. “Yes, you do.” They looked around the room for a spare chair.

“I thought I dreamt you.”

“Most people think that.” The person pulled the chair from the window by the bed, unbuttoned their waistcoat, and had a seat. They were dressed in an impeccable, blue suit with a dark bowler hat to match. They removed their hat and placed it on their knee, and their brown, bobbed hair framed their face nicely.

“You’re dressed up for church, or a funeral,” Albert observed. He mulled it over for a moment. “Is it my funeral?”

The person casually observed the machines. “Not yet. Not quite.”

Albert nodded, only slightly disappointed but also slightly relieved. “I don’t remember what you were dressed like last time. I just remember your face.”

The person thought it over. “I think it was my gray suit. I’ve been around since time began, but I can’t get over the fashion of the late 19th century, it was just so dapper.”

Albert chuckled a little. It hurt, but not as much as it should have. “Have you come to take me away?”

“Eventually.” The person leaned against the bed rail and placed their chin on their slender hands. They watched Albert for a moment.

Albert took the deepest breath he was able to. “I’m ready, Death.”

It was Death’s turn to chuckle. “I’m not.”

Albert turned his head slightly to look them in the face. “Why not? It’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Death surmised. They pressed their lips and leaned back in the chair. “But you’re the first person I ever lost in a bet.”

Albert’s eyes grew wide. “My mother always said she won me in a bet. Whenever I did something reckless, she’d say, ‘Albert, I won you fair and square, don’t you go risking your life.'”

Death smiled fondly. “Your mother was the best card player I’ve ever met.”

“Will you tell me?” Albert pleaded. His mother had come close to telling him once, when she’d been near the end of her life, but she’d decided against it, told him it wasn’t a decent story.

Death cocked their head. “You don’t think you’ll be seeing your mother soon enough to ask her yourself?”

Albert shook his head. “I don’t know how it works, but even if we get to meet again, she won’t tell me. She said it wasn’t a decent story.”

Death chuckled again. “I don’t know if I’d call it salacious, but it’s a good story.”

“Tell it to me, please?” Albert asked again. “Grant the wish of a dying man?”

Death licked their lips and leaned forward. “Seeing as you’re on your way out and can’t tell another living soul, here goes.”

Copyright Anne G’Fellers-Mason, 2020

There’s the first installment. Tune in next week for more, and I mean that. I’m going to make myself mean that. To help pass the time, I’ll keep listening to Taylor Swift’s new album “Folklore,” which is kind of the soundtrack to my current angst and melancholy. I’m holding out for the new Killers’ album which has been delayed by the pandemic.

If you’re looking for a wonderful piece of historical, fantasy fiction to read, I suggest Striking Balance by Jeanne G’Fellers. Read more about the book on her blog! It was my first time being sited as a recourse. Historian achievement level unlocked. Also, a huge congratulations to my sister Jeanne on her tenth novel! Now that’s a huge accomplishment.

August 9, 2020 0

I’m Still Here and Still Writing

Hello, all! So, I haven’t written a blog since September of 2019. Oops. My bad. I can’t blame it all on the Covid19 pandemic, obviously, but a lot of other stuff was going on before the world fell to pot. The Executive Director of the Heritage Alliance where I work retired at the end of September. I had been acting director for the organization since March when she went on extended medical leave, but I officially became the Executive Director in November. Since then, life has been busier than usual. I’m now in charge of two employees, a core of amazing volunteers, and at least five historic buildings and thousands of artifacts and documents. We had all these plans going into 2020, but then I was met with a challenge that no leader is prepared for, no matter how long they’ve been in charge. Life handed us all a pandemic. Needless to say, plans have changed.

In addition, right before the pandemic really made its presence known locally, my mom fell and broke her arm right below the shoulder. (Because we do everything extra around here.) I’ve been living at my parents since the first of March, helping take care of my mom and making sure my parents don’t have to go to the grocery store during these scary times. I’m happy to report that my mother is doing very well and on track for a full recovery.

So, what have I been up to writing wise these past few months? Well, Mountain Gap Books has pushed back the release of Flying Upon One Wing, my mid grades fantasy fiction all about dragons. It’s for the best, there’s a lot of editing work I need to do on the book. (This is what happens when you write the first draft when you’re 12.) I love the book, though. It was the first one I ever wrote. It’s my baby. I look forward to spending more time with the story and getting it out there for a 2021 release.

In the meantime, enjoy this working cover art featuring illustrations by my wonderful and talented friend Lauren Anderson. I can’t wait for you all to see more of her beautiful art inside the book!

So, have I been working on editing my dragon book? Well . . . Yeah, I know I need to get on it, but I have been writing. Last summer, I completed a ghost story set in the Stranger Things universe. I started a sequel for that story earlier this year, but then it went on hiatus when my mom broke her arm and the pandemic shut everything down, including my office and museums. I plan on getting back to it now, though.

In case you’re interested in getting caught up, here’s a link to Stranger Things: A Ghost Story and here’s a link to the sequel in progress “Somewhere Between Life and Death You’ll Find the Perfect Medium.”

I have been binge watching some great shows during this trying time with the rest of the country. My spouse and I recently finished Lucifer, and I was enthralled with the characters and the world. So, naturally I wrote a piece of fanfiction set in that universe. To check out my Lucifer story “Joy To You and Me,” click on the title. Obviously, I own none of the characters in any of my fanfictions, I just enjoy being inspired by them and the ability to share the work via Archive of Our Own. Writing these little stories, even though they’ll never be published in another format, makes me happy and eases my stress for a little while.

Okay, so what about original work? Well, I have being doing a lot of scripting for the Chester Inn State Historic Site and Museum’s YouTube page. Our museums may be closed to the public, but my WONDERFUL staff has been hard at work creating digital content with our historical resources. We’ve launched several video series, including Social Distancing with the Victorians, Amateur at Home Museum Theatre, and Homecooked History. Follow our YouTube channel and come along on our silly, historical adventures. We promise education and hilarity.

I’m also considering submitting some Haikus to the McKinney Center’s Haiku writing challenge. I haven’t written a Haiku in a hot minute or two. If I actually get it together, I’ll post them here next week. To learn more about the challenge, visit the McKinney Center’s website and look them up on Facebook! The Haikus, and you can submit up to three, are due by May 6.

Also, there’s a really exciting submission opportunity with Mountain Gap Books! Like everyone else in this world, Mountain Gap’s plans for the year have changed. Book releases have been postponed and festivals have been canceled. But, out of the darkness comes new opportunity. Submit now to Shelved: Appalachian Resilience During Covid19. To learn more about the process, visit Mountain Gap Books’ website. Submissions are due by June 14, so get to writing! (I know I need to.)

Be well, stay safe, and write/read on!

#writingupdate #FlyingUponOneWing #originalworks #fanfiction #ArhciveOfOurOwn #Covid19 #historyathome #Shelved #MountainGapBooks

Featured image Photo by Michel Porro on Unsplash

May 3, 2020 0

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 1 Voices of the Chester

I apologize for my absence from this blog. It has been a busy time at work and home. Last week I got the opportunity to perform my newspaper-based play “Things Are Changing” with my spouse for a National Youth Summit Woman’s Suffrage. We’re also rehearsing for my newest piece of museum theatre, Voices of the Chester. This unique experience will lead guests all around the Chester Inn State Historic Site and Museum and share the stories of the people who lived there, worked there, and stayed there during the building’s long history. (FYI, the building has been standing since the late 1700s.)

It’s my first time doing a play like this, and I’m excited about the possibilities. I also have a stellar cast that is working so hard to bring my vision to life. I’ve included an excerpt from one of the stories below.

This week (5/29/2019) I’m 29 sentences from the story of Sarah Roberts, an orphan who was bound to Dr. Chester to work at the Chester Inn. She was bound along with her brother James Roberts. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about her story, except that she was bound to Dr. Chester until she reached the age of 18. After that, she disappears form the written, historic record, but I based her story on what I knew of the building and town at that time.

Sweeping, that’s all I do, and make beds. Mornings come early, most days before first light. The mattress is small, especially now that James is all legs and arms. It’s safe, though, and warm enough, so I don’t complain too often, except when I wake up with a foot in my face. First thing I do is get dressed and then check the fires in the rooms, make sure they’re still alight. Once the guests begin to stir, James and I tend to the chamber pots. It’s our job to empty them and scrub them, put them back under beds.

Dr. Chester’s place has five bedrooms. There’s a great big chimney on either end and a small front porch that always needs sweeping. There are lots of houses in town, James says nearly 30, and there are more being built every day. All the people and the horses are always kicking up dust.

The days are full of tasks, from helping with the cooking and cleaning in the kitchen, to washing linens, to mending clothes, to tending to the horses, and always, always sweeping the porch and the main stairs. Days when court is in session are the busiest. There’s people coming and going, in and out, with their dusty, dusty boots. Some days I think I should just sew the broom to my hand.

Sometimes we help Dr. Chester in his apothecary shop. When we’re down there, he’ll read the bottles to James, teach him his letters. I know my letters, too, but James gets more time with it. A family came to call the last time we were working. They needed some medicine for their sick daughter. I could tell they loved her; by the way they were talking about her. James says it doesn’t do us any good to remember our parents. Maybe he can’t remember them. I remember, a little. I remember someone loved me, and she was warm and soft. They loved us enough to give us names, Sarah and James Roberts. That has to mean something.

I know I should be grateful for what I have, and I am. We’re not out in the streets.

Voices of the Chester will be performed on June 14-16.

*WIPpet Wednesday is a blog hop hosted by Emily Wrayburn wherein writers share excerpts of their latest WIP. All genres and levels of accomplishment are welcome. The only stipulation is that the excerpt must coincide with the date in some manner. For example, on 10/8/14 you might share 10 lines from page 8, 8 paragraphs from chapter 14, or perhaps 18 sentences by doing WIPpet math and adding the day to the month. We’re flexible like that.

May 30, 2019 2

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 10 Flying Upon One Wing

Happy May Day! I can’t believe it’s May already. It seems like time moves faster every year. Today would have been our sweet Aldonza’s 15th birthday. Sadly, she left us in March, but we celebrated in her memory. We know she’s having fun where she is now.

On an exciting note, one of my dearest friends Cassandra Snow celebrates the publication of her first book today. Get your copy of Queering the Tarot today! You can buy on IndieBound, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

This week (5/01/2019) I’m sharing the first paragraph of Chapter Five in Flying Upon One Wing, my middle grades fantasy fiction. Things in Ezklick’s life are not going as expected. The young dragon finds himself in a strange place surrounded by strange creatures. To catch up, take a gander at my WIPpet two weeks ago where Ezklick met the grumpy gryphon Gordo. (Points to myself for alliteration.)

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 9 Flying Upon One Wing

Ezklick was awake again. Day had fallen into night. Strange shadows danced across the floor and across his paws. The young dragon jerked his head up quickly. He did not recognize this place. His panicked eyes took the room in three times before his memory began to catch up with him. He was hurt. Some large bird creature had brought him here. “It’s not home,” he lamented. “But you’re safe,” his mind suggested. Yes, he was safe, but he was not in the safety of his caretaker’s wings. That was the only safety he was willing to accept wholeheartedly.

#FlyingUponOneWing #editing #midgradesfiction #dragons

Photo by Zak Boca on Unsplash

May 1, 2019 2

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 9 Flying Upon One Wing

Somehow, I missed last week’s WIPpet. But I’m back on track this week.

This week we return to Chapter Four in Flying Upon One Wing, my middle grades fantasy fiction. Things in young Ezklick’s life have taken a turn for the different, and possibly worse.

This week, I’m sharing 21 sentences from Chapter Four for 04/17/2019. (4+17=21) I’ve shared a bit from two weeks ago at the top to get us back into it.

Ezklick watched as a creature, the likes of which he’d never seen, stepped into view. The creature walked on two legs. It had neither claws, nor wings, nor scales. Many long strands of something goldish white fell from its head and stopped where its legs began. For covering, it wore something brown and long that moved with the creature as it moved.

The creature smiled sweetly at Ezklick.

It didn’t seem threatening. Ezklick didn’t shy away when this new creature bent down before him and spoke in a comforting voice. “I’m sorry Gordo scared you. He was only curious.” The creature nodded its head back at the large bird. Gordo squawked quietly, as if suggesting he was more vexed than curious.

Ezklick took a closer look at the black bird and realized it really wasn’t a bird at all. Gordo had the head of a bird. He even had wings like a bird, but his body was more like a dragons. He had four paws and a tail, but he wasn’t covered in scales.

“You were lucky he found you,” a new voice remarked. A Golden Scaled King emerged from the shadows. He was a tall dragon, and he filled the space. A silver chain ran around the scales on his neck, and a tiny brown bag dangled from the end of the chain. Ezklick had only seen a Golden Scaled King from afar. They tended to live away from the Red Evening Skies and the Brown Scalers. He had never been this close to one. They were said to be the wisest of all dragons.

“Yes, I find him, bring him here, and you give him my bed,” the gryphon lamented in his own tongue. “I should have eaten him instead.” The Golden Scaled King gave Gordo a sharp look. Gryphon tongue, while foreign to most, was perfectly understood by his ears.

Featured image is not Gordo, but it is an awesome free image of a gryphon I found by FerianMoon on DevianArt.

#FlyingUponOneWing #editing #midgradesfiction #dragons

April 17, 2019 5

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 8 Flying Upon One Wing

Spring has sprung in Northeast Tennessee. This week I’m skipping ahead to Chapter Four in Flying Upon One Wing, my middle grades fantasy fiction. Things are very different for Ezklick from where he left him last week at the end of Chapter One.

This week, I’m sharing 22 sentences from Chapter Four for 04/03/2019.

Ezklick was falling, falling down a never-ending hole. He was screaming as loud as his lungs would allow; but no one was listening. Wait, no, someone had to be listening. Ezklick could hear another sound in the darkness, like some type of bird. The further he fell, the louder the squawking noise became. Ezklick thought he would be falling forever. The instant this thought entered his head, he hit bottom.

Ezklick’s eyes opened slowly. Suddenly aware of terrible pain in his left wing, he tried to move, to lift it, but it was pinned down. Ezklick grimaced and looked around, trying to identify the blurry figures around him. There was that terrible squawking noise again! Ezklick blinked twice, bringing the world around him into focus. To his surprise, a giant black bird was standing not two feet away from him, squawking directly in his face. Ezklick yelped in fright. He tried to get up, tried to run; but the pain shooting down his back kept him firmly in place.

“Gordo, leave the poor thing alone,” a gentle voice reprimanded.

Ezklick watched as a creature, the likes of which he’d never seen, stepped into view. The creature walked on two legs. It had neither claws, nor wings, nor scales. Many long strands of something goldish white fell from its head and stopped where its legs began. For covering, it wore something brown and long that moved with the creature as it moved.

The creature smiled sweetly at Ezklick.

What has happened to the young dragon to put him in this predicament? Who and what are these strange creatures he’s found himself surrounded by?

*WIPpet Wednesday (link temporarily broken) is a blog hop hosted by Emily Wrayburn wherein writers share excerpts of their latest WIP. All genres and levels of accomplishment are welcome. The only stipulation is that the excerpt must coincide with the date in some manner. For example, on 10/8/14 you might share 10 lines from page 8, 8 paragraphs from chapter 14, or perhaps 18 sentences by doing WIPpet math and adding the day to the month. We’re flexible like that.

Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash

#FlyingUponOneWing #editing #midgradesfiction #dragons

April 3, 2019 7

#WIPpet Wednesday Number 7 Flying Upon One Wing

So, I last posted at the end of January, and even though that was less than two months ago, it seems like two years has passed. I apologize for my absence, and I’ll try to do better the rest of this year. Some good things and not so good things have transpired since last I blogged. In the good news department, my family went to Greece! The country was beautiful, the people were charming, and the history was amazing. It was truly the trip of a lifetime.

On a not so good note, our sweet kitty Aldonza passed away last week. She had stopped eating again. The tumor was back, and she was tired. We didn’t want her to suffer, so we made the decision to help her on her journey. Now we are adjusting to a life without her, a house without her. She was the talkative one out of our group, and the house is too quiet. We were able to recount her many adventures before she passed, and there will most certainly be Aldonza books in the coming future.

In my authorly world, Flying Upon One Wing is off to my editors and beta readers. I’m also working with a very talented illustrator, and I’m excited about the prospects.

This week, I’m sharing more from the first chapter. I’ve got 41 sentences for 03/26/2019. (3+26+2+1+9) I’ve included a little bit (in red) from my last WIPpet post to help ease you into this week’s selection, especially since it’s been too long.

Morning’s breath entered the cave, scattering bits of shell about, blowing a piece out of the cave and onto the ledge. Ezklick followed it. He waited until it stopped, then he dropped down close to the stone and began to stalk the shell. Walking on silent paws, Ezklick crept closer and closer. Shangalaya watched with amusement as he prepared to lunge. Ezklick jumped forward and struck his target directly on the mark. The shell crumbled into pieces. Giving his opponent one last crunch, Ezklick stepped aside so his mother could see his victory.

Shangalaya smiled and stepped fully out onto the ledge.

She walked to the center and sat down on it. Ezklick remained near the front. He looked up at the sky and blinked. The entire forest spread out before him, the many pine trees wet with morning dew. The air was warmer in the mornings now. The days were getting longer, and summer was well on its way. A bird shot out of one tree and disappeared into another. Somewhere nearby, a dragon roared a morning yawn. Ezklick roared in return but did not receive an answer.

Ezklick turned to his caretaker, a smile upon his snout. She smiled back, her soft brown eyes staring into his. He walked to her, and she closed her eyes as he clawed his way up over her snout and onto her back. He looked down into her eyes as they reopened.

“What was my other caretaker like?” he asked her. It was his usual question of the morning. “Did he look strong, like me?”

“Oh, no, he was never as strong looking as you,” she assured him.

“Tell me again what he said about the stars.” Ezklick settled himself at the top of her head.

“Every night he would fly toward the heavens. He always said he was going to pluck a star out of the sky. And when he did, he would bring it to me.” Shangalaya sighed. She’d told and retold this story several times, but it always made her sad to speak of it.

“Did you ever get a star?”

Shangalaya looked at the sky. The last few, visible stars were fading away into the dawn. “No, he never picked one.”

“Why did he leave us?” Ezklick asked. Everyday he saw other dragons his age with both their caretakers.

“I don’t think he was ready to be a caretaker to eight dragons. When I told him about you all, he flew off to be alone for a while. There was an accident, though, and he fell.” Shangalaya rested her head on her paws.

“Did he love you?”

“Very much, and he would have loved all of you.”

Ezklick could see the tears in Shangalaya’s eyes. He rubbed his scales against hers affectionately. “I’ll get you a star,” he assured her. “I’ll bring you the biggest, brightest star in the sky.”

Shangalaya smiled. “I’m sure you will, Ezklick; I’m sure you will.”

Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash

#FlyingUponOneWing #editing #midgradesfiction #dragons
Continue reading “#WIPpet Wednesday Number 7 Flying Upon One Wing” →

March 27, 2019 1