Jazz Age Wednesdays 20 ― Pip and Holding On Part 2

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

1923 Harold Lloyd Safety Last clock

Harold Lloyd in Safety Last, 1923

Welcome back to Jazz Age Wednesdays.  Last time I posted part-1 of a story I wrote because Hugh Roberts, of Hugh’s Views & News, asked me to participate in his new feature series.  (Click here for Hugh’s post.)

Writing Process

Lately the real world has provided an over abundance of the “s” word.  Take that anyway you want, but I meant stress.  Stress drain.  It leaves me depleted of… well everything.  When that happens it’s extremely difficult for me to write, as this story proves. I spent two weeks of my writing time developing a simple short story.  I finished it last week, but I didn’t manage to make it short enough for one post, but today we have the conclusion. 

Pip and Holding On

Conclusion

City Hall Savannah 1920s

Savannah, Georgia City Hall 1920

After parking the Model-T, I walked with Miss Olive inside the echoing halls of the grand building, making sure she got to the right office.  It seemed like we waited at least an hour for someone to come to the desk.  However, the clock insisted that only ten minutes had passed.  I had never seen a secondhand creep along so slowly.  Someone finally came to help Miss Olive. 

Yes, I admit it.  I was bored that easily.  There were no distractions in that room.  Nothing to occupy the mind, no magazines, zipola.  Maybe it was all my fidgeting, but the elderly woman took pity on me.  Miss Olive told me it would be fine if I went to look around outside while she attended to her business.

I exited city hall and strolled a short distance down the sidewalk.  A commotion caused me to turn back.  A high-pitched call split the air.  A man screamed.  I heard Hank Hertz yelling.

When I looked up I saw the reason for the uproar.  The hawk we saw earlier had snatched Charlie’s little Chihuahua!  The raptor had caught the ruffles of the tiny dog’s dress.  Chichi dangled by her frilly dress, as the hawk flew high above the street. 

Two statues representing art and commerce adorned the fourth-floor balcony of city hall.  The hawk alighted there, Chichi in tow.  Charlie kept up his shrill scream so long I wondered where he got all the air.

Ramon Novarro chihuahua Chiquita1920s

Ramon Novarro with his chihuahua Chiquita, 1920s

Hank ran from the other side of the street toward the three arched entries of city hall and disappeared inside.  I went after Hank.  I didn’t see him anywhere, but I heard the pounding of his shoes on the marble floors.  I followed the sound.

I was breathing hard when I stepped out onto the fourth-floor balcony.  Maybe the hawk was spooked by all the yelling from Hank and Charlie Chilton.  Some of the people on the street were yelling too.  It flew erratically, hampered by the weight of the dog, as it flew from the statues up to the clock on the sixth story. 

(You can read the chapter of Murder at the Bijou that included Charlie and Chichi here.)

I leaned against one of the statues trying to catch my breath.  Thankfully that also put me in a shadow.  It was already getting hot outside.

The hawk stopped on the minute hand of the clock as it pointed at twelve.  Worse than the Chihuahua suspended high in the air, Hank Hertz had climbed out onto the face of the clock.  The bells gonged as the clock struck nine. 

Savannah’s youngest policeman cautiously stepped onto the hour hand.  Hank stretched up toward the vertical minute hand as far as he could, trying to reach the dangling dog.  However, the hawk flew back down to the statues.  Hank made a grab for Chichi, but lost his balance and started to fall.

Hank grabbed onto the huge minute hand of the clock, scrambling to get his footing.

Harold Lloyd clock

The Chihuahua struggled as the hawk glided down.  I stood stock still.  If the hawk saw me it would fly away with the little dog.  Or it might drop her.  That would be awful too.  Horsefeathers, it would be horrible if Hank fell from his predicament to the pavement 140 feet below.  What was he thinking?

The gears of the clock and the metal of the minute hand groaned.  Hank’s weight pulled it downward. 

Slowly I tilted my head to look up at the statue against which I leaned.  Chichi saw me and renewed her struggle for freedom.  The hawk was preoccupied by Hank’s presence on the clock. 

But what if it looks down? I worried.

I heard the scrape of Hank’s shoes as he scrabbled against the face of the clock for a foothold but found none.  Metal moaned as the minute hand moved again.

Involuntarily I gasped when Hank lost his hold.  The hawk heard me. 

Chichi yipped, tiny legs working furiously.

Hank managed to grab onto the railing below the clock face.  I held my breath as he swung one leg up over the banister.

The Chihuahua’s ruffled dress ripped where it was pierced by the hawk’s talons.  She sagged as her dress tore.

Hank finished pulling himself to the relative safety of the ledge behind the stone railing.  I heaved a sigh of relief.

Then the hawk launched itself from the statue.  The awkward burden of the dog caused the bird to bob downward as the frilly dress continued to rip.

I was never any good at catch.  However, the bird was directly above me.  As the fabric tore free and the little Fido fell, I put my hands out and caught her.

***

1920s Ice cream Flapper

Viola Dana, 1920s Film Star

“Lord have mercy.  Paisley, you are a sight.  Your headband is all catawampus and that short skirt looks like you slept in it,” Miss Olive told me in a half-scandalized tone, but then she chuckled and waved her hand.

To my surprise, Miss Olive was sharing a cup of tea with a stranger.  Looking at the scene you would have thought they were old friends.  The man looked like a traveler, probably on his way to Union Station.  A suitcase sat at his feet with labels from England, Ireland, and Wales.  He spoke with an accent that sounded kind of British to my ear.

When the man finished his tea, Miss Olive dumped the tealeaves into the saucer.  Her wrinkled face squinted into even more creases as she peered at the pattern of the leaves.

“Miss Olive, do you see great things in my future?” the stranger asked lightly with a kind, patient smile.

“I see happiness for you,” the very old woman told him.  “That’s a great thing, Mr. Roberts.  I’m just a little puzzled that the main thing I’m seeing is not you.  It’s one of your descendants.  A brilliant novelist.  He’ll be called Hugh.”

The End

***

As a footnote, “Charlie Chilton” never looked anything like handsome actor Ramon Novarro, pictured above with his chihuahua Chiquita.  Sorry Charlie.  For more about the Savannah City Hall dome, click here.

Thanks for visiting.  You are pos-i-lutely darb!

PS:  Of course, I have to show you the links to the books about Pip and her friends. 

Bijou front only 2

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Novel-book-The Three Things Serial Story-Teagan Riordain Geneviene-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-spotlight-author

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam 22 — A Hair Aflame

Saturday, January 27, 2018

It’s nice to see you here in the faery land of Thistledown.  

The Time of the Dreadful Drain

Once in a blue moon things change — in a good way. I wrote this intro last week, when for weeks I had been wondering if I could continue blogging/writing at all:

“Real world” things have severely drained me the past several weeks, depleted my energy and the will to write — or do anything else for that matter.  I made a downright herculean gathering of my will and energy and managed to write a few episodes in advance.  This is the last chapter from that group.  As much as I hate the idea of leaving you hanging, I’m so drained by the way things are, exhausted in every way… I might have to take a break for awhile. I’ll try, but I thought I should give you a heads-up.

Scrubbing bubbles

That’s what I was going to say. However, a few things happened… Yes the drain is still there, sapping away, but I have renewed inspiration via working with other bloggers in our wonderful community. 

Coming Up at Teagan’s Books

I’m going to do a guest post with Teri Polen at Books and SuchThat’s coming in April.

Then came a delightfully unexpected, spontaneous collaboration with Robert Matthew Goldstein at Art by Rob Goldstein.  He’ll create a Roaring Twenties image and I’ll add another story to the Pip-verse! 

Thistledown has been the hardest to continue during my Time of the Dreadful Drain.  But the little renewal I’m having today began with Suzanne DeBrango at A Pug in the Kitchen, when she suggested another collaboration related to Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam.  Look for that soon.

By then, my momentum was so high that I just up and asked John W. Howell at Fiction Favorites if he’d like to do another joint post for the Pip-verse.  And he said yes!

Maybe you should thank these bloggers.  Because of them Thistledown and Jazz Age Wednesdays won’t end yet. These shout-outs are my way of thanking them for helping me much more than they could realize.

Now to Thistledown

As stories sometimes do, the timeline backs up for this episode.  This scene was happening concurrently with “Hanging by a Hair” when Bedlam Thunder was in the dark abyss and her friends disappeared one by one. It’s the best way for me to show separate events that occurred at the same time.  Once again we view events from the point of view of Bob the hummingbird.  

Previously in Thistledown — Midsummer Bedlam

From Episode 21 (click here)

A chorus of warnings and exclamations erupted from the crochet circle.  However, before the first syllable was finished…

Field Yewwasp leapt into the black void.

Thistledown

Midsummer Bedlam 22

A Hair Aflame

 

Fires Bi-Colored jacob-kiesow-349451

Jacob Kiesow, Unsplash

Breezes from the broad open window rustled the pages of the Etheraris Spiregris.  Some magic in the dangerous book anchored the periwinkle colored muskox hair there.  Bob the hummingbird saw the hair begin to vibrate.  Intuitively the little bird knew the magical hair should not behave that way. 

Field Yewwasp wouldn’t listen to reason after he rescued Rhymer Rainbow from the black maw of the abyss.  The furry faery was determined to try and reach Bedlam Thunder and River Mindshadow as well.  All the faeries of the crochet circle clearly thought it was too dangerous for him to go back into the dark portal.  Seeing the vibration from the muskox hair, Bob was certain the circle was right.

Bob darted toward Field to try and make him understand about the hair.  Valley Hummer was the only one who could easily communicate with Bob, but he had to try and make Field see reason.  However, Field Yewwasp was the fastest of all faeries.  He flew back into the portal before Bob could figure out how to tell him about the vibrating magical hair.

The faeries of the crochet circle held tightly to the thick rope of blue muskox hair.  They didn’t even notice Bob.  Meanwhile the periwinkle colored hair vibrated harder.  It started to sparkle and spark.  Bob flew in wild acrobatics just above the ancient volume that anchored the hair, trying to get the faeries to notice it.

Hummingbird Kunstformen der Natur 1904

Hummingbird, Kunstformen der Natur 1904

Willow Rainbow had left the other faeries to the rope while she made sure her niece, Rhymer was unharmed.  Rhymer seemed fine to Bob.  The girl reached for a plate of cookies and started eating them while her aunt fussed over her.

“Aunt, the cookies are so good they make me sputter,” Rhymer began, clearly hungry after her ordeal.  “But look at Bob, he’s all aflutter.  He wants us to know he’s on the job.  He must mean the hair ― see it throb?”

Gradually all the faeries turned to look at the periwinkle hair draped like a bookmark on the Etheraris Spiregris.  Bob noticed their looks of consternation and murmurs of worry.  Willow Rainbow approached it with caution while the others continued to tightly hold the crocheted rope. 

The magical hair sizzled and popped loudly.  Willow jumped back from it.  Her wings unfurled with her surprise and rustled in agitation.

The dark portal started to make a groaning noise.  The sound made Bob think of metal that bore too much weight and was about to collapse.

Fairy_CE Brock

Fairy_CE Brock

Field Yewwasp flew back out of the black maw, though not as quickly as he had entered it.  He held to something that seemed to resist being brought back.  With a firm tug he pulled River Mindshadow out of the portal.  To Bob’s astonishment, River tried to resist and go back into the abyss!

“You don’t understand!” River cried.  “Bedlam is still in there.  We can’t leave her alone in the darkness.  Worse than being lost to us, I’m afraid she will lose herself.  There is something powerfully wrong about that light-less place!”

Bob darted up to the ceiling as the periwinkle muskox hair sizzled and lifted up from the pages of the ancient tome.  The hair sparked and burst into purplish-blue flame.  Then it was gone. 

The black portal popped shut.

The End

***

This Week’s Faery Namers

Click the links to reveal the identity of the namers.  Enjoy a visit to their fantastic blogs.

Willow Rainbow http://cerobinsonauthor.com/

Rhymer Rainbow  https://whenwomeninspire.com/

River Mindshadow  http://www.authortranslatorolga.com/

Field Yewwasp https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/about/

Is Bedlam lost in the dark abyss forever?  (Is Teagan lost there with her?)  Fly over next time and maybe we’ll find out.  Until then…

Hugs on the wing!

 

 

Copyright © 2018 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene 

All rights reserved. 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise. 

 

Jazz Age Wednesdays 20 ― Pip and Holding On Part 1

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

 

1922_Saturday_Evening_Post

Hey, Sheiks and Shebas!  It’s pos-i-lutely darb to see you at Jazz Age Wednesdays.  I have something to share.  When handsome, humorous, honorable, most huggable Hugh Roberts, of Hugh’s Views & News, asked me to participate in his new feature series, all I could say was, “And how!”  

Here’s Hugh’s description of this feature: In this feature, I will be sharing snippets from my diary of 1988. We’ll also take a trip in Hugh’s Music Time machine to hear some songs from the 1980s which have been chosen by some specially invited guests. (Click here for that post.)

Writing Process

Writing a story is not as easy as you might think.  Plus, I never can make things simple for myself… For Hugh’s feature and my favorite 80s song I wanted to pick something to which I could relate a new story from the Pip-verse.  I chose Blondie’s The Tide Is High.  I thought that since Savannah (where Pip was staying with Granny) is on a river and on the ocean it would be easy to write a story around a high tide.  Unfortunately a search for images of high tides in old Savannah got me nowhere. Horsefeathers!  No inspiration there.

Next I considered the lyrics. The tide is high, but I’m holding on; I’m gonna be your number one… didn’t help either.  Bushwa!  I gave up and searched movies of the era, and that gave me the 1923 film Safety Last with Harold Lloyd.  I saw the numbers (number one) on the clock from which he dangled, and he was certainly holding on! 

That created a new problem.  I needed building in 1920s Savannah, with a clock, that was high enough to risk life and limb.  I did a lot of research.  How could I possibly rope all that together and put Pip in the middle of it? On the level, that wasn’t easy.  Applesauce… I’ll stop beating my gums.  Here’s part one of two… 

Pip and Holding On

Part 1

1925 Model-T ad

The Model-T puttered down the street.  Somebody laughed, hollering that it was an old flivver but it was going as fast as most of the other vehicles.  I told myself that the old automobile was a breezer, as the wind ruffled my strawberry blond bob.  My cloche hat might have blown off with the open vehicle, so I wore a wide beaded headband instead. 

I could have gotten more speed out of the Model-T, but it was the first time Granny Phanny had let me drive the automobile without her.  You can be sure she would find out if I drove too fast, and she’d have a hissy fit.

There was more traffic than you might have expected, but the population of Savannah, Georgia had more than doubled since the turn of the century.  Heads turned to see me behind the wheel of an automobile.  A young woman.  Driving.  However, I was a flapper.  I guess I always will be.  So, I returned their stares of shock and disdain with an impudent grin.

1920s Downtown Savannah

Downtown Savannah, GA 1920s

My passenger was tiny enough that a passing motorist might mistake her for a child.  However, the countless wrinkles on her face would prove their mistake.

Miss Olive surely must be the oldest person alive, I thought for the fiftieth time.

(Meet Miss Olive here.)

Granny Phanny told me to take Miss Olive to the courthouse, wait for her while she attended to her business, and then drive her home.  It sounded horrifically boring, but I would do just about anything for a chance to drive Granny’s cherished yellow Model-T. 

It turned out Miss Olive was good company.  From our brief first meeting I remembered that the elderly woman read tealeaves.  Something clicked into place in my thoughts, and I thought about how Granny taught me to read tarot cards.  I remembered her doing the same with tealeaves a time or two.

“Miss Olive,” I began.  “Were you the one who taught my grandmother to read tealeaves?”

“Oh Paisley, I haven’t thought of that in years,” she told me with a chuckle.  “I met your grandmother when she was a young’un, not long after her parents were killed in that awful tornado.  She stayed with me for a time.  That’s when I showed her how to read the tealeaves.  She needed a distraction from her woes, and I thought it might comfort her.”

The day was bright and sunny.  The shadow of a large bird caused us to look at the blue sky.

“What was that?” I pondered aloud.

“That’s a hawk,” Miss Olive replied, squinting to watch the bird.  “And one of the biggest ones I’ve seen in many a year.”

We watched as it glided gracefully to alight on a railing high atop the copper dome of City Hall. 

City Hall Savannah 1920s

Savannah, Georgia City Hall, circa 1920

“He’ll be up there using his ‘hawk-eye’ to watch for something to eat.  I guess it’s pretty slim pickins’ here in the middle of town.  He might spot a rat or something,” the elderly woman remarked.

The thought gave me the heebie jeebies.  I tried to suppress a shudder, but I didn’t do a very good job of it.  Miss Olive gave me a sidelong look.

“That’s just nature’s way, Pip.  All God’s creatures have to eat,” Miss Olive reminded me as she gazed back up at the hawk. 

He spread his wings majestically as he perched atop the copper dome of Savannah City Hall.

“He sure is a beauty,” Miss Olive added.

Automobiles were parked on both sides of the palm tree lined street where the government buildings were.  Savannah City Hall reigned at the end of the drive, crowned with a copper dome that glittered like gold in the sun.  I imagined a stout monarch with a crown presiding over the other structures.

A motorized bicycle came up beside us.  I recognized the odd-looking contraption.  Hank Hertz built it himself.  He honked its little horn even though I was looking right at him.  I figured Hank was making a delivery from the police department to city hall.  He waved and kept going. 

“Well bless my old soul,” Miss Olive said.  “I’ve never seen such a thing in all my days.”

For a moment I thought she was making a comment about Hank.  Then I beheld what she saw on the sidewalk.  It was Charlie Chilton and Chichi the trained Chihuahua.  The rotund man in his pink seersucker suit and boater hat was eye-catching enough, but the tiny dog wore a ruffled dress as she pranced beside him.

End Part 1

***

Now for a special treat, here is a YouTube video of Safety Last!  (If you are unable to access the video, I sincerely apologize.)  Is it also a hint about the conclusion?  Horsefeathers!  I’ll let you guess.

Thanks for visiting.  You really are the cat’s pajamas!

PS:  Of course, I have to show you the links to the books about Pip and her friends.

Bijou front only 2

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Novel-book-The Three Things Serial Story-Teagan Riordain Geneviene-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-spotlight-author

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam 21 — The Crochet Circle

Saturday, January 20, 2018

It’s been such a cold winter so far for many of us, so I happily welcome you back to the faery land of Thistledown.  As stories sometimes do, the timeline backs up for this episode — happening concurrently with the previous chapter.  It’s the best way for me to show separate events that occurred at the same time. 

We are once again viewing events from the point of view of Bob the hummingbird.  The next two episodes take place during the same moment of time when Bedlam Thunder suddenly found herself alone in the dark, her two friends having been snatched away by some unknown force.

Glitter person blue h-heyerlein-199082

Heyerlein, Unsplash

Previously in Thistledown — Midsummer Bedlam

From Episode 15 (click here)

“I thought the girls would be in here, studying away,” Willow Rainbow murmured in a concerned tone.

 “Based on these half-eaten cookies, I think they must have left abruptly,” Luminous Twinkle added.

 Then Bob the hummingbird saw it.  The periwinkle muskox hair dangled like a book mark from an ancient tome.  Bob recognized the volume.  The faeries all saw it too.  They made a collective gasp.

 The Etheraris Spiregris.

 From Episode 20 (click here.)

River screamed.

 Then I heard a grunt, as if the air was knocked out her lungs.  I no longer sensed the large presence that came so suddenly.  It left as abruptly as it arrived.

 “River?  River!  Rhymer!”

 No one answered my calls.

 The sensation of falling became more intense.  I felt I was moving faster, hurtling downward through darkness.

Thistledown

Midsummer Bedlam 21

The Crochet Circle

Yarn oscar-aguilar-327798

Oscar Aguilar, Unsplash

Bob the hummingbird flew with all his tiny might.  He had left the home of Carver Eastdoor where he briefly stopped to rest.  It was a long distance for such a small bird.  He was a little proud of himself that he managed to focus, and was not distracted a single time.

He darted into the farmhouse of Willow Rainbow, where Bedlam Thunder, River Mindshadow, and Rhymer Rainbow had last been seen.  At that moment chaos ensued.

Willow Rainbow yelled something unintelligible when she saw the dark portal behind the Etheraris Spiregris.  She jumped halfway into the dark gaping maw before Blossom Stargazer and Crescent Glimmer each grabbed one of her legs.

“Rhymer!” Willow Rainbow exclaimed.  “I know my niece is in there!”

Luminous Twinkle shook her head sadly as she spoke, “We all know how dangerous the Etheraris Spiregris is.  You can’t just jump into that… that thing unprepared.”

Blossom Stargazer often wore crocheted blue finery due to the abundance of soft muskox yarn.  She put a hand to her head as she thought, pushing her tam to one side.  Blossom stared down at the arm-load of muskox yarn she held.  She looked from the yarn to the odd periwinkle-colored hair in the ancient book.  The yarn sparked with static, as if in response to the long hair in the book. 

Ancient Book daniele-levis-pelusi-221717

Daniele Levis Pelusi, Unsplash

“I wonder,” Blossom began.  “That strange hair must be a cousin of my team of muskoxen.  Perhaps there is an affinity between the two.”

“You think the yarn might be drawn to the hair?  Able to follow it?” Crescent Glimmer asked.

“Maybe a little anyway,” Blossom suggested with a shrug.

All the crochet circle seemed to have the same idea at once.  They took the blue muskox yarn that Blossom brought and began to crochet furiously. 

“Hold on,” Pepper Stargazer, the lamp maker said.  “That portal is pitch black.  Let’s add some light to things.”

Pepper took a small pouch from her bag.  It contained flash peppers.

“Isn’t that stuff extra combustible?  I’ve seen people blow up their kitchens with it,” Tinder Willowtree commented in concern.

“It can be if you don’t know what you’re doing, or if you have the wrong peppers.  This is a new variety,” Pepper said as she carefully sprinkled the yarn with ground red flash pepper powder.

The circle went back to work.  Their needles moved with magical speed.  A thick and long rope was rapidly created.

Insides_of_a_Amethyst_Geode

“I have an idea,” Tinder Willowtree told them.

She removed the finder from her bag.  Its dark reflective surface looked like an ordinary scrying stone unless someone was attuned to the device.

(Read the episode about the finder in episode-4 here.)

“A slight affinity between the periwinkle-colored hair and the muskox yarn probably isn’t strong enough to help very much.  And my finder should be useless when it is not attuned to someone.  But Willow Rainbow, you have an urgent, emotional need.  I’m hoping that will let both you and Rhymer, since she’s your kin, attune to the finder,” Tinder Willowtree continued, handing Willow the device.  “Hold it to your heart and think of your niece.”

Willow Rainbow held the finder to her heart.  Bob and the crochet circle watched in silence also focused on Rhymer.  The hummingbird noticed the multicolored chickens had gathered under the window.  Their gentle clucking sounded like encouragement.

Willow’s wings rustled in rhythm to her heartbeat.  Slowly the other faeries in the crochet circle unfurled their wings, all softly moving to the same beat.

1 Butterfly wing

After a moment Tinder Willowtree took back her finder and whispered words over it.  Then she tied it to the rope they had crocheted.  She turned to the others.  With a collective nod, they tossed the rope and the finder into the black maw.  Forming a line, each of them held onto the blue muskox hair rope.

They looked expectantly at the dark opening.  The flare peppers provided a bit of sparkling light.  It was just that there didn’t seem to be anything to illuminate.  The dark void appeared to be empty.

Willow Rainbow and Pepper were closest to the portal.  Suddenly they staggered forward.  The crochet circle tightened their grip on the blue rope.

“It has caught something!” Willow Rainbow began.  “But I can’t see what it might be.”

They all looked at one another uneasily.  Everyone knew that there might be something other than the missing girls inside that black portal.  Who knew what evil might live in such darkness?  Even so, they held tightly to the rope, steadfast in their determination.

Red Smoke_ Wong Unsplash

“What’s that?” Crescent cried fearfully as she turned her head to look out the broad window.

Something huge and red soared through the turquoise sky.  Then it barreled through the open window.  A round of gasps and startled screams came from the crochet circle, but they never loosened their hold on the rope.

Field Yewwasp!” Tinder Willowtree exclaimed. 

They quickly told the furry faery that they believed the three girls had been pulled into the portal.  He added his strength to theirs and they pulled the rope harder.

“I hear Rhymer’s voice!” Willow Rainbow cried.

Field moved to the edge of the black maw.  He drew a breath and with a faery trick, his voice boomed into the void, though he did not yell.

“Rhymer, are River and Bedlam there with you?” he asked.

“Yes, or I think so,” Rhymer’s muffled voice could be heard.  “I can’t see them though.”

Everyone pulled even harder on the rope.  A slim foot came into view.  The blue rope was tied around it.  Willow and Pepper let go of the rope to grab Rhymer and pull her back into the farmhouse library.

Field moved to go into the portal.  Tinder Willowtree caught his thick arm.

“I know you are the fastest of all faeries,” she began.  “If you are thinking what I believe you’re thinking, you’ll have to be mighty fast indeed.  Field, I have a bad feeling about it!”

“If I’m quick enough I might be able to follow the faint trail left by the flash pepper back to the other two girls,” Field said.

A chorus of warnings and exclamations erupted from the crochet circle.  However, before the first syllable was finished…

Field Yewwasp leapt into the black void.

The End

***

This Week’s Faery Namers

Click the links to reveal the identity of the namers.  Enjoy a visit to their fantastic blogs.

Blossom Stargazer http://www.eloisedesousa.wordpress.com/

Willow Rainbow http://cerobinsonauthor.com/

Crescent Glimmer  https://annetterochelleaben.wordpress.com/

Luminous Twinkle  http://www.adelemariepark.com/

Pepper Stargazer  https://anotherfoodieblogger.wordpress.com/

Tinder Willowtree  https://www.etsy.com/shop/MurrayHillGlassArt/

Rhymer Rainbow  https://whenwomeninspire.com/

River Mindshadow  http://www.authortranslatorolga.com/

Field Yewwasp https://thestoryreadingapeblog.com/about/

Will Field Yewwasp fly fast enough to save River and Bedlam?  Or will the furry faery be lost as well?  Fly over next time to find out.  Until then…

Hugs on the wing! 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene 

All rights reserved. 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Thriving Thursdays: Willing Instead of Wishing

Welcome everyone. I’m visiting our wonderful Story Reading Ape.  I’m there to encourage you to thrive.  However, I’m on the run from one campus to another at work today, and it will be hard to keep up.  So please leave comments at Chris’ blog here.  And please be patient with me.

Thriving Thursdays: Willing Instead of Wishing

Did you ever throw a coin into a fountain?  Make a wish when you blew out the candles on your birthday cake?  How about wishing on a star?  I honestly do hope your wish came true.  

Wishes are akin to dreams, so I’m all for them.  Keep wishing.  As someone once said, don’t just dream (wish) big — dream even bigger!

However… for many of us, wishes just don’t come true.  “Willing” is a different matter.  Whatever your wish is, will it.  Focus.  Be definite.  Be persistent.  Will it into existence with every last little gray cell in your brain.

“Riches do not respond to wishes.  They respond only to definite plans, backed by definite desires, through constant persistence.”   Napoleon Hill

So whatever “riches” means to you, don’t wish for it.  Will it.

Have a thriving Thursday,

Teagan

Copyright © 2015 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

Jazz Age Wednesdays 19 ― Pip & Artie Meet Again – Part 3

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The New Year’s celebration is finally wrapping up, here at Jazz Age Wednesdays.  Chris Graham, the Story Reading Ape! collaborated on a story with me that started here.  I couldn’t resist keeping the tale going for a few episodes.  However, today I present my conclusion.

Part-1 (here) began with Chris’ character, Artie — a genius time traveler chimpanzee determined to meet up with Pip again.  In Part-2 (here) we left Artie and Mona being pursued by the police.  Now, the conclusion.

Pip and Artie Meet Again

Part 3 — Conclusion

1920s Dance Party

The Christmas tree still stood in the parlor corner.  Granny and I had made the decorations for it.  I frowned at the strings of popcorn, remembering how many times I stuck my finger with the needle when I made them.

Light reflected on the German-made glass ornaments of which my grandmother was so proud.  They were shaped like things from a Nativity scene, although there was one I just couldn’t identify.  To me, it looked a lot like a motorcycle, but that couldn’t be right…

The shiny ornaments reminded me of that labradorite pendant I found at the corn maze site.  I thought it would look darb with my costume.  So, I hurried to my room and took the gem out of my little jewelry box and hung it around my neck.1925 Theatre Magazine jade necklace jewelry

A loud peal of thunder shook the cottage.  I figured Miss Olive’s prediction of a severe storm was about to come true.  Then I heard the coppers’ sirens, so I hurried to the parlor window. 

Sure, enough it was a police vehicle.  A Ford was right behind it.  Oddly, I couldn’t see anybody they might have been chasing.  Both automobiles slowed and stopped.  A tall man got out of the Ford and talked to the officers for a moment.  He made broad, frustrated seeming gestures as he spoke.

The man was Detective Dabney Daniels.  He headed up the walkway as the police vehicle turned around and drove away.

At the same moment I heard a loud commotion from outside, in the backyard.  I felt the need to see what that was, but I knew Granny would have my hide if I didn’t politely answer the door.

I met Daniels at the door and asked what was happening.

“Some hood on a motorcycle got balled up and went the wrong way on a one-way street near Union Station.  Speeding too.  There was a flapper on the back of the bike.  When he headed this way, for a minute I thought the girl might be you.  Then I saw she had dark hair,” Daniels said as he took off his fedora hat.  “Anyhow, I don’t know how he managed it, but he gave us the slip.”

Durrusehvar, daughter of the last Caliph of the Ottoman dynasty, circa 1920

Princess Durrusehvar, circa 1920

He finally noticed my attire and looked at me like I must have escaped from the looney bin.  People were wild for anything to do with Egypt or the Orient.  So, I wanted my costume for the party to be from either one or the other.  I finally put together a costume that looked like Dürrüşehvar, an Imperial Princess of the Ottoman Empire.

It bugged me to death that nobody knew who I was.

“I’m on duty,” Daniels began, but looked hopefully toward the hallway.  “I can only stay a moment.”

“Everyone is either in the dining room or the kitchen getting food,” I told him.  “Go on back and make yourself at home.”

Movement at the corner of my eye caused me to glance out the window again.  Cinnamon Bun! 

Granny’s Flemish Giant rabbit shouldn’t be out of his hutch, but there he was in the front yard.  I guessed that was what the noises I heard out back were.  Then I saw two people chasing him ― a man in a suit that made me imagine a formal military uniform from some strange country and a flapper.

(See more about Cinnamon Bun here.)

“Mona!” I cried and ran outside.

“Pip!” my friend exclaimed and hugged me.  “I remembered you describing Cinnamon Bun in your letters.  I knew your grandmother wouldn’t want him running around, so we were trying to catch him.  We ran into his hutch when we… err… when we stopped,” Mona told me in a rush.

Cinnamon sat up tall on his haunches when the man offered him a treat.  I could tell the big bunny liked the guy.  Then he turned toward me and took off his cap.  He grinned when recognition spread across my face.

“Artie?”

“I had to do a mini-jump with my portable time machine to evade the police,” Artie said sheepishly.  “When we popped back, we bumped the rabbit hutch.  I sincerely apologize.  Nothing was harmed, but the door was knocked open, and this magnificent rabbit got lose.”vintage bunny

“Pip, it’s amazing!  Who’d of thought I’d meet a talking chimpanzee!” Mona enthused.  “And travel in a time machine!”

Artie looked embarrassed.  I could tell that he was humble for a genius.

“The time machine still has some bugs in it.  It had trouble locking onto the transponder, but I see you found it,” he said with a grin as he motioned toward my labradorite pendant.  “So, Mona and I accidentally took a detour to Germany, a decade or two ago.”

Artie gave me a bright-eyed look and in a devil-may-care tone asked me when I’d like to visit.  With all of the world and all of history to choose from I was dumbfounded.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mona asked.

“Your costume gives me an idea.  Would you care to see the Ottoman Empire and meet the real Begum Sahiba Hatice Hayriye Ayşe Dürrüşehvar Sultan?” Artie offered.

He knew!  This talking, time traveling, genius chimp knew who my costume was supposed to be!

“No phonus balonus?  We could really go there?” I asked.

He nodded and Mona grinned.

“Granny Phanny will never even know you were gone,” Mona winked and told me.

“You realize of course, that you can’t tell anyone about this escapade,” Artie told me with a regretful expression in his big brown eyes.

“I guess they’d think I was spifflicated if I did,” I muttered.  “Okay.  Let’s get a wriggle on!

The End

Horsefeathers!   It’s too bad Pip can’t tell anyone about her time travel adventure.  I guess that’s why it is not mentioned in her novels!  I’ll leave all you sheiks and shebas to imagine the endless kinds of trouble Pip, Artie, and Mona got into for that little jaunt through time and space.  Thanks for visiting.  You’re the cat’s pajamas!

Now, for that shameless self-promotion… Here are the links to the books about Pip and her friends. 

Bijou front only 2

Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Novel-book-The Three Things Serial Story-Teagan Riordain Geneviene-The Writer Next Door-Vashti Q-spotlight-author

The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Thistledown – Midsummer Bedlam 20 — Hanging by a Hair

Saturday, January 13, 2018

I’m glad to see you were able to come back to Thistledown.  This episode is a brief return to the point of view of Bedlam Thunder. 

Sparkler hands be the spark

Previously in the Etheraris Spiregris

To review episode 14 click here*.

River turned to the next page and the hair sparked, shocking me yet again.

 “Do you think this is the one?” River asked excitedly.  “A Perversion of Phantoms,” she read aloud the title at the top of the timeworn page. 

 At River’s words the long muskox hair fell limp against the page.  My hand dropped, resting against the page as Rhymer and I echoed River in stating the name of the spell.  All three of us happened to be touching the pages of the incantation as we spoke.

 “The name of the spell reminds me of how we were talking about learning whether people had disappeared from Thistledown.  Missing faeries being like phantoms,” River continued.

 The three of us exchanged a look.  It was spontaneous, a coincidence.  We didn’t mean to speak in chorus but as one we gasped.

 “A Perversion of Phantoms!”

 Abruptly the heavy volume snapped shut.  The periwinkle muskox hair was still within, like a bookmark.  The room spun wildly.  It was like looking into a kaleidoscope. 

 Then the world shattered. 

 Quickly I moved my hands away from the book and caught the hands of River and Rhymer. 

Thistledown

Midsummer Bedlam 20

Hanging by a Hair

Face in water blue

Vivid black.

How could black be vivid? I wondered dizzily as I spiraled.

Then I remembered that while black was the absence of all light, it was the presence of all color.  I supposed it could be vivid at that.

Though I could see nothing, the world around me seemed to toss and turn.  Nausea surged.  I tried to put a hand over my mouth, but something restrained me.  Then I remembered Rhymer Rainbow and River Mindshadow… and the Etheraris Spiregris

The magically charged periwinkle colored muskox hair was tangled around my wrist.  I remembered being snared by it just as the ancient tome snapped shut and the world seemed to shatter.  River had been trying to free me from the muskox hair, so she already held onto my arm.  If Rhymer had not reached for my hand at the same moment that I caught hers, I wouldn’t have been quick enough.

At first, I was blind.  It felt like I was falling, yet not moving.  After a while, I could see vague forms from the soft purplish glow of the special muskox hair.  I recognized the shapes as my friends.

Abruptly the sensation of falling became a sharp yank.  The three of us were jerked upward, but then the motion stopped.  I heard a scream.

August_Malmström_Dancing_Fairies

August_Malmström_Dancing_Fairies

“I can’t stay put.  Something’s got my foot!” Rhymer cried.

Even as I felt my grip on the rainbow-haired faery’s hand begin to slip, I felt River move so she could reach Rhymer’s other hand.

“By something woolled I’m being pulled!  I’m being wrangled, it’s got my ankle!” Rhymer gasped as her hand was yanked free of mine.

“Rhymer!” I heard River shriek, and knew that she had also lost hold of our friend.

I heard Rhymer’s muffled voice, but her words made no sense to me.  It sounded like she said the wool was sprinkled with lights that twinkled.

“River, you’re much faster than me.  Go get her,” I said.

“We shouldn’t get separated!” River exclaimed in a torn sounding voice.

River let go of my hand and I felt relieved, thinking she would try and help Rhymer.  I was an awkward flyer at best, and with my half-healed wing I would be a hundred times worse.  I couldn’t make the choice for River, but I felt she should go after Rhymer.

However, River merely shifted her hold from my wrist to my ankle.  Her free arm flailed as she felt around the darkness for Rhymer.

“Rhymer, say something!  Where are you?” she yelled.

“I’m still here,” Rhymer said with a grunt.  “But not for long I fear!”

Her voice sounded as if she was being forcibly yanked backward.

“You said ‘woolled’ ― did you mean something wooly has you?” I called.

Rope Bare feet Dark_eva-blue-42498

Eva Blue, Unsplash

“A vast wool rope.  I’m held too fast to cope,” she replied, but sounded farther away.

“River, if you don’t go now, it will be too late,” I sobbed.  “I can’t see her anymore.”

“Oh!” River cried in epiphany.  “I have it.  This way I can still find the way back to you.  Just don’t get untangled.”

Then River took off her belt and looped it around the periwinkle colored muskox hair that was firmly tangled around my wrist.  She held onto the other end of the belt.  Despite the awkward position it caused, she flew quickly in the direction we thought Rhymer had gone, but remained close to the hair that would lead back to me.

For a short time, I could see a vague shape that I knew was River, illuminated by the glow of the magical hair.

“River?” I called.

“I’m still following the muskox hair,” she replied, but she sounded so far away.  “I think I see Rhymer.  Maybe.  I’m not sure.”

I don’t know how to describe it.  Perhaps it had to do with my supposed “gift” as a seer.  Or maybe the air pressure was displaced by something large coming into our presence.  That’s how it felt ― like something else was added to the space where we were.

River screamed.

Then I heard a grunt, as if the air was knocked out her lungs.  I no longer sensed the large presence that came so suddenly.  It left as abruptly as it arrived.

“River?  River!  Rhymer!”

No one answered my calls.

The sensation of falling became more intense.  I felt I was moving faster, hurtling downward through darkness.

The End

***

 This Week’s Faery Namers

Click the links to reveal the identity of the namers.  Enjoy a visit to their fantastic blogs.

Rhymer Rainbow  https://whenwomeninspire.com/

River Mindshadow  http://www.authortranslatorolga.com/

Okay, I hear you yelling about the “cliffhanger” ending.  Is it really a cliffhanger if the character has stopped hanging and started falling?  I see that didn’t settle you down at all.  Fly over next time to find out what happens in The Crochet Circle.  Until then…

Hugs on the wing! 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene 

All rights reserved. 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.