Me Me Me Monday

It's Me Me Me Monday! A day to strut, share, and celebrate your Me-ness!

I'm not feeling very celebratory today. Three of my stories were rejected by Science Fiction Daily. ;_; Maybe I'm in the wrong genre. Only romance doesn't feel right, either. Maybe I should start my own genre. Aestheticism? It exists in yaoi, shounen ai, and BL. Perhaps there should be a genre in writing, too, one dedicated to creating beautiful prose.

I'm going to share a few lines from one of my rejected stories. If you like them, let me know. If you know of anyone else who accepts flash fiction, please share their link with me. I need to find the right home for these fantasy flashlets.

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Ashildr was trapped within the snowflake, perfectly preserved within the ice. 

“Here you will remain, my lovely,” the Snow Queen said in her melodic, unchanging voice. “Never to age. Never to sorrow.”

Never to see Ingold again. Ashildr could no longer despair at this. Fixed and frozen were her thoughts as well as her form. 

Saturday Snippet

It's Rainbow Snippets, a day where six sentences of GLBT fiction are posted and shared! This poor little Cauldron can no longer officially participate, due to being labeled abusive and being blocked by Facebook. :( It also uses cookies I don't understand, but I need to warn you about. Consider yourself warned.

All this said, my Cauldron would really like to offer up a snippet of fiction today. Here's a little more of 'Aissa and Polyxena', my m/m mythical WIP.

The fingers upon my arms vibrated with checked passion. Aissa’s lips were trembling. This mere mention of the word ‘battle’ brought a flush to his cheeks. His blue eyes darkened with a warmth, which enlivened his entire countenance. 

His gaze flickered to me. Heat warmed my face, as I stared back at him. 

QueerBlogWed

It's #QueerBlogWed! Something this Cauldron can participate in, since it happens on Twitter! Share a little something GLBT with this hashtag and join the fun!

It's time to share a little more of my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'. I thought I'd offer up another snippet of Troile's adventure on Scyros, courtesy of Ganymede.

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“Meneleus doesn’t believe Helen left him willingly,” Patrocles asserted. He was still staring at me, accusingly. “He’s certain she’s under the spell of Aphrodite, but truly longing to escape.”

“What is the point of bringing all this up?” Aissa asked. Her fingers tug into my arm. “If you’re looking for former suitors of Helen’s to avenge her, there are none here. Not unless this young Trojan was one of them and he’s willing to fight his own brother to defend Meneleus’ claim.”

A startled laugh escaped from me, a welcome relief amidst my growing fear. I’d heard nothing of this vow amongst Helen’s former suitors. No doubt there were many. If all of those suitors formed an army, to march against Troy, my people were in serious peril. 

“Not a former suitor, but there is someone we want. Right here,” Patrocles said. The angry gleam in his eyes softened, as they moved to Aissa. “Someone who could bring the Achaens victory. Someone, who could never bear to sit idly, when a battle was about to start.”

Me Me Me Monday

It's Me Me Me Monday, a day to promote and celebrate your me-ness! Unfortunately, this Cauldron can't participate officially, being blocked from Facebook. It can offer up something, though.

Here's a moment from 'A Rebel Song in Paradise, which was formerly titled 'On the Other Side of the Mask'. I've decided to split Byron and Shelley's story into two. The first is about claiming their names and singing their song, despite belonging to the Church in Paradise. The second is about being claimed by Lord Ruthvyn and struggling to hold onto themselves despite the madness in his house.

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“Why Byron?” The soft question wormed its way into his ear, through the silence of other breathing children, tucked away in their beds. 

Byron turned over in his small cot. Of course Shelley was lying in the cot next to him. Of course Shelley had asked that question.

“He fought,” Byron said, not sure why he was answering. “He fought in the world Paradise left behind. He kept fighting, until he died in a foreign land for the cause of freedom.”

“What did he fight with?” Shelley asked. Faint moonlight shone through the barred windows above. It illuminated the other’s boy’s pale skin, reflected off his bright eye. 

For one moment, Byron was tempted to reach out a hand to touch that pale cheek. Instead, he looked away.

“The wrong weapons,” Byron said. His whisper was entirely too loud amidst the gentle snores of the other children.

Saturday Snippet

This blog uses cookies I don't understand, but I'm required to warn you about. Consider yourself warned.

It's Saturday, a day of 'Rainbow Snippets'. This Cauldron is very fond of such samples of fiction, although it can no longer participate officially, due to Facebook's block. Today it offers a sample from 'Aissa and Polyxena', my m/m mythical WIP.  It's a bit longer than six sentences, but not too long.

“I see you’ve heard of the suitors’ promise,” Patrocles said, as his eyes roamed over Aissa. I found myself taking a step forward, in front of Aissa, reaching for a sword, which wasn’t there. Again. 

“All of Helen’s former suitors swore to defend her choice,” the big brute rumbled, as his meaty hands closed into fists. “She chose Meneleus, so we must defend Meneleus’ claim as Helen’s husband.”

“Now, Helen has been stolen from Meneleus,” Patrocles said, as his eyes fixed themselves upon me. They were filled with accusation, as if I were the one who’d stolen Helen. “By a pretty princeling, who’s no longer content with all the jewels, treasures, and iron he’s snatched through the civilized lie of eastern trade. Now, he’s stealing wives, as well!” 

QueerBlogWed

It's QueerBlogWed! This takes place on Twitter, so this Cauldron can actually participate! (cheers)

It's been a long time since we heard from Byron, Shelley, and 'On the Other Side of the Mask', hasn't it?

Right now, I'm wondering if Matt Bright and Lethe Press are going to do 'Gents' again this April? I'm thinking of splitting 'On the Other Side of the Mask' into two.

One story would introduce Byron and Shelley as church songbirds in Paradise, but they'd find themselves singing a different song. Maybe I'll call it 'A Rebel Hymn in Paradise'?

The second tale of life in the House of Lord Ruthvyn would remain 'The Other Side of the Mask'.

In case you've forgotten these two boys who dared to take on the names of two famous poets, here they are, once more.

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Poems can shape the world, just as poets shape it with their thoughts and ideas. Their legacy causes ripples across realities, inspiring the inhabitants of other worlds. Their very names invoke power. 

Which was why two, shivering boys brought before the court, before they were consigned to the church’s grasp called upon them. The court warden looked down upon them from her lofty dais, only to scowl upon her wards. 

“Your bodies and souls belong to the temple,” she said, as she turned her scowl from their small faces to their tiny, clapsed hands. Affection had no place in court, or in church, unless it was given to the Goddess. “The only thing, which belongs to you is your name.” She rose from her seat, the judgment of heaven resting upon her powdered head. “What name will you choose?”

The first boy, a sleek, dark haired lad, with bluish veins standing out from his small hands, raised his head with the pride of an aristocrat.

“Byron, Your Honor,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice, which carried throughout the room. 

A few people murmured at that. The second boy shot him a surprised look, which set his strawberry blonde curls to trembling. A tiny smile touched his lips, as he looked, not at the judge, but at his companion. 

“Shelley, Your Honor,” the second boy said, as he exchanged a secret glance with his companion, who squeezed his hand tighter.

Paula's Prompts

It's Me Me Me Monday! Since it's cold and I'm very late in responding to ptwyant's challenge involving a park bench, a snowman, and an empty bottle, here it is! You can find the challenge at ptwyant.com.

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The bottle was empty. Like his life. Winter was coming to an end. He sat down on the park bench and looked from his knobby, long fingers to the snowman, standing nearby. A group of children had carelessly packed him together from lumps of snow. 

Jack stared at his eyes, which a pair of cast off bottlecaps. No carrot nose graced this frosty fellow’s face. One of the children had stuck a broken twig in the center of his white countenance. 

An idea came to Jack. He hopped off the park bench to pick up the bottle. Careless of humans to abandon such treasures, both the container and the snowman! They understood nothing of the magic which resided in these things. Perhaps, he, Jack, would remind them.

He shook the bottle roughly. No, it wasn’t quite empty. A little golden liquid remained at the bottom. 

Jack skipped over to the snowman. 

“Have a drink, Frosty!” he half jeered, half sang. He upended the bottle over the snowy lump, who wasn’t much taller than he was. “Have an only too brief taste of life, as I have an only too brief taste of winter!”

Droplets of golden lights fell upon the snowman, disappearing into its white body. The button eyes changed. The holes in them started to gleam with the intelligence of human pupils. 

The snowman raised its round, lumpy bottom to reveal a pair of stumpy white legs. It began to shuffle and move.

“Come, Jack Frost!” the strange creature cried in a surprisingly merry voice for all its wintry brittleness. “Come and play, for winter is a waning!”

“Aye, Frosty, like your life!” Jack retorted. “Why should I celebrate something so brief, with a thing I gave on a whim?” He stared at the snowman. “A life, which shall be as short as this winter!”

“Why, because it’s brief, of course!” Frosty replied. Its voice grew warm and slurred as the emotions the drink conjured in humans. “Come, Jack, let’s have some fun, before everything melts away!” 

Saturday Snippet

It's Rainbow Snippets' time! Something this Cauldron can no longer participate in, because this blog is still being blocked by Facebook. :( It wants to participate, though, if unofficially.

Here's a snippet from my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena', right where I left off on QueerBlogWed. Yes, it's a bit longer than six sentences. Forgive me for that. (bows)

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“I see you’ve heard of the suitors’ promise,” Patrocles said, as his eyes roamed over Aissa. I found myself taking a step forward, in front of Aissa, reaching for a sword, which wasn’t there. Again. 

“All of Helen’s former suitors swore to defend her choice,” the big brute rumbled, as his meaty hands closed into fists. “She chose Meneleus, so we must defend Meneleus’ claim as Helen’s husband.”

“Now, Helen has been stolen from Meneleus,” Patrocles said, as his eyes fixed themselves upon me. They were filled with accusation, as if I were the one who’d stolen Helen. “By a pretty princeling, who’s no longer content with all the jewels, treasures, and iron he’s snatched through the civilized lie of eastern trade. Now, he’s stealing wives, as well!” 

QueerBlogWed

It's Queer Blog Wednesday! Time to share a blog about GLBT with the world!

I've been sick, so I missed the last Saturday Snippet, along with Me Me Me Monday. I'm not missing QueerBlogWed, though! We'll pick up right where we left off last Wednesday with my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'.

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“Aissa!” Lycomedes said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the shaggy pedlar. As if he was asking for permission to rise to his feet and greet us.

The pedlar man nodded, ever so slightly. He barely looked at Lycomedes, or Deidamia for that matter. His gaze flickered between Aissa and myself. 

“The lady seems to have captured herself a lost princeling, while wandering on this island,” Patrocles said. It was hard not to flinch, at the way his narrow eyes examined me. Their hungry jade shifted to a poisonous brightness. 

“He calls himself ‘Polyxena’,” Deidamia said, as she jerked her head in my direction.

This provoked a roar of bawdy laughter from the big brute. Patrocles smiled, but there was no humor in the curl of his lips. The bearded pedlar did not laugh. He simply stared at me, as if I were a riddle he was trying to comprehend. 

“You’re Trojan, aren’t you?” the bearded man asked, frowning. “From your bearing and manner, I’d say a high born Trojan at that.”

I tensed at this, really wishing I had my sword. Whoever this pedlar was, he was the truly dangerous one in the room. 

“What if he is?” Aissa asked. She raised her head, almost challengingly at the beared man. “Scyros has no quarrel with Troy, even if all of Helen’s former suitors do.”

QueerBlogWeds

It's QueerBlogWeds! A sort of twin to Rainbow Snippets, only Queer Blog Weds doesn't operate out of Facebook. Which allows this Cauldron to participate, so it's going to. Nor are we limited to six sentences. We just need to post something which is queer or GLBT.

I've decided to share a little more of 'Aissa and Polyxena', my m/m mythical WIP, which I've picked up once more. Below is a little taste from its pages.

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My free hand reached for my sword, which, unfortunately, was not there. Aissa’s hand was twitching on my arm, as if it, too longed to grasp steel. 

Why was Aissa pretending to be a girl? However, his sideways glances and twitching fingers weren’t directed towards the big brute. They were aimed at the two men with him.

One of those men was a shaggy, beared pedlar, with quick gray eyes that assessed us, as soon as we entered the room. They gleamed with an almost acquisitive hunger, as they ran over Aissa. They darkened with displeasure, when they settled upon me. 

The third man was a youth about the same age as Aissa. His eyes were a grayish green, while his hair was a sandy blonde. He wore a red tunic, which was as threadbare as Deidamia’s gown, or Lycomedes’ robes. His slim, wiry build spoke of hours of swordplay, while his slim, graceful hands spoke of deftness with dice. If the second man was offering Aissa hungry looks, the third man stared at him, as if he longed to bind him with chain of gold, locking him in a temple, where no one could touch him. The yearning turned his eyes a smoky jade, as they feasted upon her face, her lips, and her hands. 

I saw Aissa’s lips move, shaping a name. Patrocles. I glanced at the young man, who nodded, ever so slightly at the ‘lady’. 

Me Me Me Monday

It's Me Me Me Monday! A day to celebrate, post, and promote one's Me-ness! Alas, this Cauldron can't participate or associate with Queer Sci Fi on Facebook anymore, because of Facebook's cruel and unjust block. (I can't believe this Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration has been judged, condemned, and blocked by Facebook, considering some of what's allowed! Sheesh! I'm not sure whether to be offended or honored to be so singled out!) This Cauldron will continue to post on Me Me Me Monday on its own, though. Even though it uses cookies, which I don't quite understand, but I need to warn readers about. Especially if they live in the U.K. Consider yourself warned.

Today, we're going to share a little of 'Aissa and Polyxena', my m/m mythical tale. One of my New Year's resolutions is to finish this and submit it to Dreamspinner Press. Wish me luck in doing so!

“What can I do?” I asked. “Helenus believed that as long as survived, Troy would live.” I swallowed the lump, forced it back down. “Besides, Achille swore he’d cross blades with me, before anyone else, including Hector.” I raised a hand to clasp Ganymede’s hand. It was smaller and cooler than my own. “Achille wouldn’t break his promise.”

“Not lightly, no,” Ganymede said. He released my hand. “For Patrocles’s sake, he would.” Tears were forming in the former prince’s liquid dark eyes. “Patrocles is doomed to die tomorrow by your brother’s hand.”