Hidebound Hump Day — #WritingPrompt! The Guardian

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

#GetCaughtReading!  May is Get Caught Reading Month.  Artie is coming back to Jazz Age Wednesdays!

Artie sketch thinking color steampunk

Artie, courtesy of Chris Graham

Get Caught Reading is a nationwide (USA) campaign to promote the fun of reading books for all ages.  Chris Graham, the one and only Story Reading Ape, will be a story telling ape.  We’re getting together again for a short story in support of this initiative.  It will be here next Wednesday.

Now to Hidebound Hump Day

Be warned… I’m just dashing this off quickly.  It is so hard to resist the prompts from Diana Wallace Peach.  Then I read Rob Goldstein’s story (click here), and I simply had to join the fun.

Steampunk black man Brigitte Werner_Pixabay

Brigitte Werner, Pixaby

You’ve probably heard me bemoan my unfinished novel, the second book for the alchemist, Cornelis Drebbel.  It includes one of my favorite “unfinished novel characters,” Jack.  Since the steampunk story is so fitting for Diana’s gorgeous image prompt, Jack hopped into my head.

In my “Cornelis-verse,” the second novel happens in a parallel place where Cornelis crash-lands.  There, Copper is not a little girl, but a quirky young woman.  She grew up with Jack as her only companion.  The vignette inspired by Dianna’s prompt takes place there.

The Guardian

Jackalope Superstition Mountains

Image by Teagan Geneviene

Jack didn’t understand why no one seemed to heed his warnings.  He even created a probability chart when they would not listen.  Being ignored when he presented data agitated him.

“The risk is far too great!” Jack insisted.

“I’m perfectly capable of handling any ack ruffians who try to bother me,” Copper told him in a tone that Jack thought meant disdain.

“We can’t stay here forever, old boy,” the Alchemist added.

“I understood what you both have said,” Jack replied.  “However, a guardian is required.  I propose that you at least hire a guard to protect you.”

The Alchemist chuckled.  Miss Copper gave Jack the long-suffering look that meant she thought he was being what she called a mother hen.

“My grandfather was my guardian after my parents left.  I’ve done just fine without a guardian since he disappeared.”

“Jack, my chuckaboo, we would still have to go into town to hire a guard,” the Alchemist reasoned.

Small Cornelis steampunk man dreamstime_xxl_87472463

Dreamscape.com

Jack admitted Cornelis Drebbel had a point, but it was no less dangerous.  In frustration he hopped into one of the mine cars Miss Copper had automated several years before.

He went up to the surface, and out the hidden door of the mine.  There he checked his weather instruments.  He didn’t really know why, but whenever Jack felt uncertain or conflicted, he monitored the weather.  Tracking the weather readings had been his very first job.  When he worked with the data, an out of balance world seemed more comprehensible.

Jack paused.  He detected a strong atmospheric gravity current in the area below his high observation point.

“A storm,” he muttered, instantly focused on his work.

The air pressure fluctuated.  His aneroid barometer vibrated.  Jack sat back on his haunches and then stretched to look at the device.  It reminded him of the day the Alchemist appeared.

Barograph_Analogue barometer Wikimedia

A stacked analogue recording barograph aneroid barometer

Jack’s first encounter with the Alchemist had altered him.  He became more than a clockwork jackalope.  He had fur and a bunny shape.  His antennae took the appearance of antelope horns.

The gears in his head whirred as Jack remembered that day.  Then they suddenly stopped, clicked into place.

Jack jumped back into the mine car, and went to the store room where Miss Copper kept her projects and inventions.  She was becoming as skilled as the Inventor, her grandfather.

Miss Copper didn’t like Jack to catalogue her projects.  However, she didn’t specifically forbid it, so he made an inventory when she was otherwise occupied.

“As long as she hasn’t moved anything, that one should be back here,” he muttered as he hopped to the back of the long storage room.

It was too big for Jack to move.  Carefully he hopped from shelf to shelf so he could reach the switch at the back of the thing’s head.

Gears hummed.  A tall clockwork man stiffly moved away from the wall.  It took a few steps.  However, with a screech of metal parts, it stopped.

Jack stopped too, when he heard Miss Copper behind him, clearing her throat.

Copper crop 1

Copper, Dreamstime

“Jackalope, what are you doing?” she asked in a too calm voice.

Jack’s horn shaped antennae twisted and tilted as he considered how to respond before turning.

“Oh, what have we here?” the Alchemist chortled.  “Were you making yourself a friend, Copper?  My, he’s a big one!”

Copper swatted Cornelis Drebbel, and the Alchemist popped away from her.  An instant later he appeared across the room, beside Jack.

Jack held out a vial of glowing purple goo.

“Alchemist, you can finish this clockwork creature.  I kept this sample from the pool that was created the night you gave me life,” Jack said.  “Then he would be able to protect Miss Copper and you if you insist on leaving the mountain.”

Copper’s face relaxed.  She looked at Jack in the soft way that made him feel balanced.

“Dear boy,” the Alchemist began then cleared his throat.  “Your transformation… well, you see, it was a side-effect of uncontrollable events.”

“Do you mean I was an accident?” Jack asked, causing Cornelis to blush.

“Well accents happen no matter how careful a parent might be,” Cornelis murmured as if to himself and smirked.  “Plus, there’s that mysterious device in your chest.  Copper won’t let me take it apart so I can unravel how it works.”

Cogs and gears made soft sounds.  Jack’s antennae twisted so that one pointed to Copper and the other to Cornelis.

“He means the heart my grandfather made,” Copper told him.  “Before the things that happened that night, the heart already made you more than an ordinary clockwork creature.  We don’t have another one.”

heart-red blue Pixaby

Pixaby

“Then you should remove the heart and use it in this one,” Jack declared, pointing to the huge clockwork man.  “I’m not big enough to provide adequate protection.”

“No!” Copper exclaimed.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t work out the same way,” the Alchemist told him.  “I wouldn’t really dismantle you.  Besides, Copper and I would have a huge collie shangle if I tried.”

Jack was assailed by an over-abundance of what he termed emotional data.  He struggled to process so much at once.  Mutely he again moved the vial of glowing goo toward the Alchemist.

“Well, I suppose we could try,” Cornelis Drebbel muttered.

The Alchemist found a bit of chalk and drew a circle around the clockwork man.  He added various symbols.  Jack only recognized a few of them.  As he drew, Cornelis murmured in a language that Jack thought was a combination of Latin and an archaic West Germanic language.

The symbols and the Alchemist took on a green glow.  Cornelis poured the purple contents of the vile along the circle.

Nothing happened.

The Alchemist looked crestfallen.

Abruptly, blinding light filled the storage room.  When the light subsided, Jack saw the clockwork creature had changed.

“It wasn’t enough,” the Alchemist muttered.

When Jack was transformed, he was completely covered with flesh and fur and became sentient.  However, the clockwork man had random patches of exposed metal and machinery.  As Jack looked into his eyes, they seemed… unfinished.

“I don’t think he’s fully processed,” Jack commented.  “Perhaps it will take some time.

The clockwork man turned to Copper.  He dropped to one knee.

Steampunk black man Brigitte Werner_Pixabay

Brigitte Werner, Pixaby

Haec protegimus,” he said in a rusty sounding voice.

“Blast it all, Cornelis Drebbel!  Why did you have to use Latin in that spell,” Copper complained.

“It means this we guard,” the Alchemist explained in a voice that combined awe and self-satisfaction.

“The Guardian!” Jack exclaimed in delight.

The end.

This story was written for Diana Peach’s monthly write photo prompt. You can play along  at her May Speculative Fiction #Writingprompt.

If you haven’t been part of my new serial, Brother Love here are links to the first two episodes.  Chapter 3 will go live on Saturday at midnight Eastern.  I’ll meet you at the crossroads!

Chapter 1.   Chapter 2.

T

***

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

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

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USA:  Atonement in Bloom

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USA:  The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee

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USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

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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 ©  2019 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.

 

Atonement Ganesha

Saturday, February 9, 2018

Elephant mice tree house HEARTS_Pixaby

Pixabay, altered image by Teagan

Diana Wallace Peach started a  monthly feature at her blog, Myths of the Mirror.  I caved into the temptation to play along. Click the link to learn more. 

Each month, Diana issues an image as a prompt. This time, my response is a twofer! My first response is my alteration of the original image.  Click the link above to see the original at Diana’s blog. 

As you can see, I was hoping to make a Valentine’s story.  However, whatever and whomever my muse is, apparently it has no relationship with Cupid.  Even so, I wrote a vignette and once again, made my response part of my “Atonement, Tennessee” universe.  I’ll leave Ralda Lawton to tell you about it.

***

What is that up ahead? I wondered.

I was about to turn my Toyota into the long, rhododendron lined driveway of Sunhold.  Before you get any glamorous ideas, the plants had run wild and hiring gardeners wasn’t high on my list of allowable expenses.  It looked nothing like Manderly.  However, it did look deserving of the Creepy Hollows nickname the locals gave the old estate I had won at auction.

As I was about to say, I stopped my car.  Just down the street, opposite the Sunhold cemetery, a van was broken down.  It was painted with colorful, almost psychedelic designs of whimsical shapes and animals, including a beautiful paisley elephant.

Ganesha painting suyinorlowski_Pixabay

Suyinorlowski, Pixabay

I saw a person, whose posture spoke of confusion, leaning over the open hood.  It was selfish of me, but I held back.  I had to get home for an appointment.  A squirrel had gotten into the house.  Annie from the antique shop recommended Jo Davis’ son Billy.  I didn’t want to miss him.  Guilt got the better of me though, and I went to see what the trouble was.

“Hey, is everything okay?  Do you need help, s―” I stammered.  “Um ma―”

I stopped mid-sentence.  I didn’t know how to finish because my eyes beheld such androgyny.  Blue jeans and a loose shirt were worn with whimsical athletic shoes patterned to resemble mice, as if each foot was a big mouse.  Glossy, straight black hair hung below shoulder-level.  Brown skin had a warm yellowish tone that made me think of turmeric.  Or maybe it was just the aroma of curry wafting from the van and going from my nose to my empty stomach that made me think so.

Huge soulful brown eyes turned to meet my puzzled gaze.  When I tore my stare away from those mesmerizing eyes, I noted the firm jawline, and then a rich voice that, while tenor, was certainly male.  A scar on one side of his rather long nose added ruggedness to his face.

He wiped his hands and closed the van’s hood.  He pushed back his bangs, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand.  I glimpsed what looked like a henna tattoo of an om symbol on his forehead.

“Hi!” he greeted me with a disarming smile.  “I think it’s good to go now.  I heard a noise and thought I’d better stop and check under the hood, just in case.  Besides, I think I missed a turn.  You couldn’t tell me where the Sunhold place is, could you?  Billy’s Critter Ridders was over booked and he asked me to pick up the slack.”

Squirrel scratching bbc

Comprehension abruptly dawned.  I took another look at the artwork on the van.  The psychedelic elephant was in a humorous pose with one foot on a mouse that appeared to carry the pachyderm.  Lettering beneath the image stated, “Humane Pest Removal.”

Tension gripped the back of my neck when another van stopped.  It was from Fae’s Flowers.  Gwydion, locally known as Guy Fabdon, hoped out, green eyes glittering flirtatiously.  He seemed to take quick stock of the situation.  There was something territorial in the set of his shoulders and the way he eyed the stranger. 

Just then the newcomer spoke.

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself.  I’m Bheema,” he said and shook my hand.

Bheema proffered his hand to Gwydion, who gave a snort.  I shot the florist a surprised look for his rudeness.

“Doesn’t that mean one who is gigantic?  A Hindu name I believe?” Gwydion asked in a sardonic voice.

I couldn’t imagine why Gwydion would know anything about Hindu name meanings.  Then again, I supposed he would know all sorts of things, considering the fact that he was a supernatural being of the fae variety.

I couldn’t help noticing that Bheema’s hand was not as androgynous as his slim body.

One who is gigantic? I thought.  Keep looking at his eyes.  Don’t look down, woman.  Don’t even glance.  Just don’t. Look. Down.

“Ralda, luv.  I heard you had a tree-rat lose in the old manse,” he told me in his lilting accent.  “I can take care of that beastie for you.  No need to bring in extra help.”

There was no wonder Gwydion was posturing like an alpha male.  Yes.  I confess, I looked down.

Dark haired man, face half in shadow, soulful eye

Lee Campbell, Unsplash

“That’s not necessary, Gwydion,” I said, tiptoeing to peep inside his van.  “I know you need to get those flowers to the refrigeration units in your shop before they wilt.”

“So, how long are you going to be in Atonement?” the florist continued as if I had not spoken.

“That’s not clear yet,” Bheema said, and I found his choice of words odd.  “I’m helping out Billy for a while, but I’m also house sitting for his mom while she’s in Florida.  Not sure how long Mrs. Davis is going to stay.”

“Considering what happened the last time Billy took care of Jo’s place, I can understand why she’d want someone else there,” Gwydion replied with a knowing chuckle.

I resisted the impulse to ask for details.  I was still avoiding Gwydion and wanted him to get on his way.

The sounds of meowing came from Bheema’s van.  I moved to look inside.  Two pet carriers were secured in the backseat, along with a large duffle bag.

“Ah.  You’re a cat person,” Gwydion commented in a smug tone.  “Nice shoes,” he added, smirking down at the mouse designs.

Apparently having cats and whimsical shoes neutralized any threat Bheema posed to Gwydion’s territorial alpha male impulses.  He excused himself and left a moment later.

The meowing resumed.  Bheema reached into the van and brought out a configuration of clear plastic tubes.

“Oh, meet Siddhi and Riddhi,” he remarked with a motion to the carriers.  “I haven’t gone to Mrs. Davis’ to settle them yet.  Don’t worry.  The cats will be okay because this won’t take long.  I’ll just bait these traps and that squirrel will oblige before you know it.  Then I’ll take him far enough away that he won’t come back to munch on any more of your woodwork.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.  I like squirrels, but they can do a ton of damage when they get inside a house.  Plus, I’m worried about what might happen if it gets into a part of the house that my cat, Lilith, can access.  Such a little creature can cause such a big problem!”

“Ha!  I understand.  There’s a saying,” he began.  “Don’t tell Ganesha how big your problem it.  Tell the problem how big your Ganesha is!” Bheema said with a motion to the elephant painted on his van.

I chuckled as I looked into his soulful, reassuring eyes.  The om tattoo showed again when he tossed back that mane of black hair.  I looked from the symbol to the odd scar that marred one side of his long-ish nose.  I looked at the shoes that lent a fanciful illusion of mice carrying him.

Siddhi and Riddhi gazed at me from their carriers and gave affirmative sounding meows.

two brown tabby cats lay on wood planks

Nathalie Jolie, Unsplash

The end.

***

 

There you have my response to Diana’s image-prompt.  What do you think of Bheema?  Would you like to see more of him in my Atonement, TN universe? 

The #steampunk submarine will be at the port on Wednesday for Hidebound Hump day and the next serial episode of “Copper, the Alchemist, and the Woman in Trousers.”  Then Straightlaced Saturday will be back with another Victorian novel next weekend. 

Thanks for visiting.  Mega hugs! 

Now some shameless self-promotion.

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

USA:  Atonement in Bloom

Amazon UK

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USA:  The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee

Amazon UK

Atonement Video Cover copy

USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

Amazon UK

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USA:  Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Amazon UK

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

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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 © 2019 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.

Atonement TN Meets the Ice Dragon

Saturday, January 5, 2018

I had the next episode of Copper, the Alchemist, and the Woman in Trousers ready to post today.  Instead, we’re visiting Atonement, TN.  Why?  Diana Wallace Peach started a new monthly feature at her blog, Myths of the Mirror.  I caved into the temptation to play along. Click the link to learn more. 

Diana issued this lovely image as a prompt. I mistakenly thought she titled it “Ice Dragon” but that was actually the first reply to her prompt… Okay, so I’ve got a lot going on… and I’m blind as a bat too. (eye roll) So, now she has two “Ice Dragon” responses.  My bad.  What’s done is done.

stefan keller ice giant pixabay

Stefan Keller, Pixabay

I made mine part of my “Atonement, Tennessee” universe.  I’ll leave Ralda Lawton to tell you about it.

***

Shivering uncontrollably, I stiffly swung my legs off the bed.  The floor was not terribly cold, I couldn’t help being surprised to notice.

The brass bed was up to its old tricks.  

Not long after I moved into the rundown estate house in the quaint, but not so peaceful town of Atonement, Tennessee, I learned it was no ordinary bed.  It gave one dreams.  The dreams were often violent and always strange.  The trouble was that the far-fetched scenarios also had something to do with reality.

“I have got to get rid of that bed,” I muttered aloud.

Lilith, my cat, meowed in reply.  The calico was still nestled warmly in the covers, where my knees had been a moment before.

 

Lilith in snow

Dreamstime

I shuddered, remembering the dream, and not just because it left me cold.  The dream froze my heart with the pain of betrayal, abandonment, and isolation.

Instantly all the events and feelings of the dream rushed back into my mind and my body.  Sudden pain pierced my ribs.  I fell back onto my bed.

It started as another prophetic dream from that bed had begun, with Arianrhod’s silver wheel.

In the dream I hung precariously from the spokes of the wheel, taunted by voices that were not seen.  In fact, they weren’t really heard either, but I knew what they said nonetheless.

Despair overtook me and I relaxed my grip on the wheel.  I wondered if I should simply fall into the nothingness.

A gust of artic air lashed my skin.  My hands knew the pain of extreme cold.  The joints of my fingers stiffened.  As the wind howled, I lost my hold and fell.

My heart hammered wildly.  My arms flailed useless as I tumbled.

Then a fiery jolt rocked me as something hit my rib-cage.  My descent into nothing stopped.

I gasped first in pain, and again in shock.  I was flying.  Or rather the massive beast that caught me flew.

The impact to my ribs caused me to shift uncomfortably.  Then I realized that I was held in huge talons.  I abruptly stopped moving.  Even if it had not hurt to take air into my lungs, I would have been afraid to breathe.

blue claw beast-pixabay

Pixabay

My hands grasped an icy talon, desperate to hold on, in case the beast dropped me.

The midnight clouds retreated, allowing the moon to light the sky.  Tiny lights winked far below.  As the beast flew lower, I recognized the town of Atonement.

I felt a gentle shift of the creature’s muscles as its wings caught a current of air that again took us higher.  Moments later it deposited me on a ridge.  I could see the town below.  A few people were out and about at the late hour.  They were so far away that they seemed like ants.

Oddly, they carried lanterns.  Suddenly I wondered when I was.

I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt the tears begin to freeze.  Trails of tears froze on my cheeks and collected at my chin, as if they would form an icy beard.  With the back of my hand I brushed the cold moisture from my face.

A sound like steam from an old-fashioned radiator caused me to turn.  It was the beast.

In the moon’s light I could see it clearly.  The creature’s hide was blue as if with cold.  Everything about it was either blue or white, from pale blue eyes that glittered like diamonds to the white clawed tips of its blue wings.

It snorted, causing a cloud of condensation.  Although its breath was only slightly warm on the cool night air.

Fortunately, and I use the term loosely, I’d had enough experience with the brass bed to know that I dreamed.  Else I would have been terrified, rather than just scared witless.

“Who―  Why―” I stammered unable to find sufficient words for the many questions that collided in my mind.  “Are you a― an―”

“Dragon?” it supplied.  “An ice dragon?

The steam sound came again in a quick succession of hisses.

“Are you laughing?” I was startled into asking.

The giant pale blue eye nearest me blinked.  I could have sworn I saw the glint of mischief there.

eyes forest aqua fantasy-pixabay

Pixabay

“Look down there, Esmeralda,” it began in a rumble.

The creature instructed and jutted out its icy bearded chin as if pointing toward the town below.

It worried me that it named me Esmeralda rather than the shortened “Ralda” that I claimed for my name.  In my experience up until then with my new town, that didn’t bode well.  The supernaturals were the only ones who insisted on calling me Esmeralda.

“I borrowed Arianrhod’s wheel to speak with you, and though her power is nothing compared to mine, I will only borrow it, not take it.  Of course, I could have used the Queen of Winter to relay a message… but the wheel amuses me,” the ice dragon rambled in a reflective tone before getting back to business.

“But I digress.  Where was I?  Oh yes.  On occasion I give in to an odd, altruistic impulse.  So, I have brought you here to impart something important,” the dragon told me.

I was much too close and it was far too large for me to be able to see more than the one eye.  However, that eye narrowed slyly.

“I probably should not tell you, but where would the fun be in following rules?  You, Esmeralda,” it used my given name again and the tone suggested it knew the thought I had about that a moment before.  “If you want to break the cycle that keeps giving you rebirth into the same betrayed, embattled situations.  If you want to one day be born into a safe, loving existence, then you must learn and understand your origins.”

I stopped breathing.  With ice in the pit of my stomach, I knew that dream was just as prophetic and just as real as the first dream ― the first time I dreamed in the brass bed.  I also knew the real events that would result from the dream would be equally dangerous, and worse, full of detestable fae magic!

“But Esmeralda, that is not enough.  The Queen of Winter could tell you that much ― although she would make you earn the knowledge, probably through that willful mirror.  What you also must learn and understand is the origin of the town itself,” the dragon added.

Abruptly, rough gusts of cold wind battered me.  I staggered backward.  The ice dragon lifted into the night sky.  I stared up at the darkness.  Then I looked down at the tiny lights of the town below.

I jerked convulsively when the hiss of laughter was again at my shoulder, through whatever kind of magic the dragon held.

“Esmeralda, you must comprehend that some inhabitants of Atonement are not there to atone.  They have a fundamental relationship with the place.  If you want to survive, you need a better understanding of the townsfolk, like the Metatron sisters.  And you must, must understand why the wings of Cael Adriel are black, rather than gold,” the dragon finished emphatically.

gold angel on black pixabay

Pixabay

The huge blue eye glittered playfully.  It blinked and the dragon was abruptly gone.

Now wake, Esmeralda!”

Shuddering, gasping, I tried to shake off the aftereffects of the dream.

“Coffee… I really, really need coffee,” I muttered.

Lilith jumped down from the bed and went to the door.  In her mind, coffee meant breakfast for her.

I gave a different kind of groan when I sat up on the edge of the bed.  I lifted my pajama top and looked in the mirror.

A wide bruise purpled across my ribs.

***

Now some shameless self-promotion.

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

USA:  Atonement in Bloom

Amazon UK

Pigs collection cover banner

USA:  The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee

Amazon UK

Atonement Video Cover copy

USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

Amazon UK

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USA:  Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

Amazon UK

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

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

Amazon UK

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.

Book Review: Atonement in Bloom

Blue-Rose-Orb-52327

I feel like everything is coming up roses for “Atonement in Bloom” (you know I couldn’t resist the pun). I’m tickled pink that Diana Wallace Peach hosted me at her Myths of the Mirror blog. She gave me a one question interview. Then she added a review of “Bloom” that made me positively giddy! Click on over to visit Diana. I’ve disabled comments here, because I want you to visit her amazing blog. Hugs!

Myths of the Mirror

I’ve been aboard Teagan’s tour bus for a few days and just hopped off for some biscuits and gravy in Atonement, Tennessee. While I’m at it, I’ll attempt a little magic for Teagan and share my review of Atonement in Bloom.

But, oh, not so fast. First I had to delve into Teagan’s amazing technicolor pantser brain and find out how she does it! Here is my question:

I know that you’re a pantser, Teagan, and I assure you that this is foreign territory for us dedicated outliners. Your stories are full of magic – people, objects, places, lore – and they all converge on the small town of Atonement in a zany adventure with eight plot threads whirling around at once. How do you keep this literary cyclone straight and make sure that it arrives at “the end” in one piece? I’d love to learn about the method to…

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