Friday, February 25, 2011

The Ongoing Story of The Daisy Lemmas Riff

Blog Chroniclers
Started By Roy Durham

Howdy! Are you ready to have some fun? Are you ready for some adventure? Do you want to look for hidden treasure? Visit new places? Travel the world? Meet new people? Make new friends? Maybe find a new job? Do you like to play games? Read a good story? Travel back in time or go into the future? Have you ever just surfed the web? Do you seek wisdom and knowledge?

If you have answered yes to any of these questions then you’re ready to begin your journey.

Here are the rules: Follow the links - read the story and you are off on the adventure. As you travel, report on face book where you have been or tweet about your adventure. Have fun.

A growing group of blog writers, artist, and photographers, have joined to write a story; each has written a chapter to the story, and you are the main character in the story. The story is ongoing and changing at will - your will. You are in control.

Watch for new links as the story evolves.
Last rule; leave a footprint or your mark the trail by leaving a comment at every page of the story

*Note to Bloggers: if you want to join in, contact any participating blogger and you will be added.


Chapter 13

Every since he came into my life, I have struggled and cried and tried to run away. I have watched my life come apart is confusion and turmoil. I have seen the world I thought familiar fragment into chaos. An elephant? In my apartment? Where did it come from? Where did it go? Why is it bronze? Who really cares? Not I. No more. A bronze elephant in my livingroom is the least of my worries.

As if that chaos wasn’t enough try sorting out the sudden appearance of a bar straight from the old west held up by a gun-toting mad cat hunting a doubly mad mouse that ate Garfield’s cousin for snack. I’m outa there hot on the heels of the closest dude and I land with a roll just in time for the dude to open some exotic box. Why would he open someone else’s box? Of course, I know the answer to that question as soon as I ask it. He’s here same as me, he’s just been here a moment longer and he’s too curious for his own good, and for mine.

That box opens and he is all around us again. Or rather, he’s all around me - who knows where curious dude went - I sure don’t. That box wasn’t big enough for this, this vastness that was nothing, this darkness that was filled with emptiness? Or was it? Does emptiness take up space? Or does space fill volume?

I’m pissed now. Where is my life now? How dare he intrude in my world? I’ll get even. I’ll get my revenge. All I have to do is fill the emptiness, fill the page. I reach out and there is magic. I reach in another direction and there is a space ship. And in another direction is a herd of centaurs. Yes, I can do this - fill the page with worlds and ideas, subterranean and extra terrestrial, ancient and far future. And then I reach out again and you are there. Join me and help me fill the void.

Chapters of this amazing journey include:

Chapter 1 - Roy’s Garage Sell and Auction
Chapter 2 - Peace from Pieces
Chapter 3 - howaboutthis
Chapter 4 - Memoirs
Chapter 5 - My Journey Through The Pages
Chapter 6 - Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World 3.0
Chapter 7 - Scattered Musings of a Creative Mind
Chapter 8 - Holes in My Soles
Chapter 9 - Roy’s Garage Sell and Auction
Chapter 10 - Ravings Ramblings and Rants
Chapter 11 - Almost There
Chapter 12 - Ravings Ramblings and Rants
Chapter 13 is right here
Chapter 14 - Ravings Ramblings and Rants
Chapter 15 - Explore
Chapter 16 - Legend of the Void....I am " Raven"...

Keep an eye on this. New chapters could be added at any time.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Guest Post by G.L. Drummond

My guest this week is G. L. Drummond, a sword-toting alien with a fetish for fur and four-legged creatures who writes fiction and tweets. She is also 'Mom' to The Chihuahulha -!/theChihuahulhu
Visit her blog, Feral Intensity -
or follow her on Twitter -!/Scath

The Voices

One of the questions I’ve been asked, as I’m sure most writers have been, is ‘Where do you get your ideas from?’

Because of that, I’d like to talk about my Voices today.

The Voices are characters; they live in a section of my brain I’ve dubbed the House of Craze.

The House of Craze is a 2-story tavern built of stone and wood. First floor is the tavern room, kitchen and storage. Second floor is a long hallway with doors on each side that extends as far as the eye can see – no matter how far along it you walk.

Behind each door lies a reality. Some are alternate Earths, some are alien worlds, and some I haven’t had the chance to peek behind, or have seen any characters come out of yet.

Downstairs, the current tavern keeper is Nyx. She’s a Reality Shepherdess. She calls herself ‘Homo Sapiens Ultima’, and if you piss her off, she might chuck a star at you.

There is no one better qualified to keep order, as she’s far more powerful than the rest of the Voices. And that? It’s a good thing, when you have humans mixing with aliens, Psionics, witches, elves, shape shifters, dragons, vampires, cyborgs, genetically created beings and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Of course, sometimes Nyx’s idea of crowd control is filling the first floor with extra butter popcorn. Then all I’ll hear for a while is the steady sound of crunching as those in the tavern at the time eat their way out.

But that does tend to put an immediate halt to brawls.

The Voices first began to appear in 2000, when a witch by the name of Sienna Moore whispered a little story to me. Aside from the occasional mutter of a few other Voices, it was quiet from there until 2007.

That year, my brain exploded and once the dust and goop had settled, there were hundreds of Voices and hello, House of Craze!

Where did the Voices actually come from? What gave birth to them?

Thirty-six years of reading, TV & movie watching, life experiences, interacting with and watching people around me. All of that percolated in the dark, dusty recesses of my subconscious, waiting for the perfect opportunity to burst out of the shadows and attack me.

When I read a book and thought ‘I can write this well – maybe better’ and stopped watching TV, their perfect opportunity arose.


There they were, and they haven’t stopped multiplying since.

I don’t have a muse, but hundreds, maybe thousands, of people living in my head. Some whisper, some scream. Some get pissed and go gryphon hunting on Faedriae for a few months, when I don’t pay enough attention to them.

This is my life as a writer, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.

Not even when the Voices are driving me insane.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Halfbreed - my latest idea


My first memories of my mother are really quite dim. She was comfort and security and a full belly. Father was safety too, though a little more distant. He was strength, power, speed and protection - everything I wanted to be. I had a brother and a sister too, but I remember even less about them. They were play.

When we were old enough, it was time to take the trails again. It was too easy to over hunt a single area. It was much better to roam wide and travel fast. That is when my life began to fall apart. Only once was I able to hunt with my mother and my siblings - only when the great eye in the night sky saw fit to look directly at me. The rest of the time I was slow on the run and couldn’t make a kill at all. Even the agile rabbit eluded me most of the time while my brother had the opposite luck; not many got away from him. Anything larger than that was quite beyond me.

As my siblings grew, it was possible to cover more distance between sunup and sunset, but I could not keep up. For a time my mother or my sister would come back and find me, but neither of them could help me cover the distance any faster. A day came when they no longer returned. Some days later, I saw my father. He made it very clear I was no longer to follow. I was no longer welcome in the pack. I was different.

I suppose I always knew it on some level, but I never thought I’d be cast out, shouldered away, left behind. What was I supposed to do now? To be lobo was almost assuredly a death sentence and I did not want to die.

With traveling and hunting the only thing I knew to do, I headed away from my father’s territory. What else could I do? I was not welcome nor was I strong enough to contest the issue and win; I was only a half-grown pup.

Mice and the occasional rabbit filled my belly once in a while, so infrequently though that I took to eating long grass and fat leaves and drinking a lot of water just to fill the gap under my heart. By the time the eye in the night sky saw fit to look upon me I was hungry enough to try for a young deer. When I missed I sat, exhausted and hungry, and howled my frustration and grief to the stars. Why would you make me this way? What did I ever do to deserve being less than half - useless.

But that is the law. There was no use wailing over it. If I wanted to live, I would have to figure out a way. I would have to try harder.

A few days later I came across a rank smell. I remembered from months ago, shortly after starting to travel. Father had sneezed his disdain at the long dead, mostly eaten eater of grass, and he had found the track of the hunter that had left it there. Tracks far larger even than mine. Tracks that smelled almost as bad as the carcass he’d been feeding on not a couple days before.

I was very hungry now, but not hungry enough for that. However I needed to be extra alert for the hunter whose tracks were larger than mine.

I found the tracks at nearly the same moment I found the creature that created them. The tracks were in the soft sand along the river, and the creature was out in the water doing something I’d never seen done before.

Stunned into immobility, I had to watch. This hunter was many times larger than my father, but where my father was black, this one was brown. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out what it was doing out in the river. It wasn’t trying to wash the smell off; my nose had no trouble telling me that. Suddenly it plunged its face down into the water and came up with a swimmer, which it proceeded to shred and consume before discarding the head and the tail. Then it must have spotted me. It gripped the remains of its meal in its mouth and stood up on its back legs.

He stood like me. Never before had I been much like anything. I came closest to being like my father when under the gaze of the eye in the night sky, but even then there were major differences. I was, even during those times, more like this creature. But it was so big. Maybe if I could learn to catch the swimmers, I would get big too. But my lesson in this new form of hunting was over. The big brown hunter dropped to all fours and was gone.

I waded out to where he had stood. I found a few of his discarded prizes caught among the rocks and hungrily tore the rest of the meat off their bones. For the first time my belly was truly full. But catching one of the live ones wasn’t nearly so easy. Three days I tried before being able to scoop one out of the water and many hours later still before getting one out of the water and being able to keep it long enough to kill it and eat it. My first prize, and all my own, I was such a mighty hunter of swimmers. My father would have scoffed in humiliation, but I slept that night with a full belly and dreamed of growing big.

I continued following the river wherever it led, interspersing my hunting for swimmers by chasing the occasional rabbit or squirrel, more to warm up after being in the cold wet water than to actually catch red meat, though I was taught never to waste a hunt and I relished the meat when I caught it. Swimmers, though slippery, were far more abundant.

One night, always on the lookout for a new family willing to take me in, I was tracking another pack under the eye in the sky. Suddenly, I heard a sharp sound echo through the trees and I heard a yelp of pain. A member of the pack had been hurt, but how? Why? I sprinted ahead to answer those questions.

I came upon another hunter I’d never seen before. It was like the hunter of swimmers, the eater of carrion, only it was even more like me. It was only maybe a little bigger than me. It was not facing me. It was facing across the clearing, and there, just inside the trees was the most beautiful she I had ever seen, more beautiful even than my mother. I was a mighty hunter now. I could take care of a she now, but first I needed to protect her.

Then the sound stunned my ears again and the hunter jerked back. At first, I thought something had hit him, the way he jerked, but when the she yelped, I knew it wasn’t so. I looked in time to see her dart into the protection of the trees, but there was blood on her back.

Furious, I attacked. Mother had taught us to go for the neck but the neck on this creature was small and I missed. I knocked him down though, ensuring that the she would get away. I would be able to find her later. Only the sound split the air again, and later sank into painful blackness.

I opened my eyes to daylight and a warmth I hadn’t felt since being shouldered away from my family. I opened my eyes; it was hard, but they finally came open enough to see the blue sky above. The hunter was there and very close, but I couldn’t seem to dredge up enough alarm to get away. He rested a warm hand on my head and the sounds he made were oddly soothing, and the water he dripped into my mouth was very welcome.

This stretch of time was broken and confusing, and very painful. There was a very loud growling noise and a painful vibration, but the hunter’s hand was on mine. Why did I find that comforting, I don’t know. I was so scared. I hurt so much. And in a way, looking at him was like looking at myself in the calm water - different, and yet so very alike. I had never been so ‘like’ anything, not ever.

Later, there was another screaming sound and more painful movement, less vibration though. And still later the screaming sounds were distant, but the closer sounds were a constant rumble and there was so much white all around. So noisy, these creatures, how could they possibly hunt if they were so noisy? But then it all went black again.

When I was able to open my eyes again, it was quiet. The white was still there, but much of the pain was gone, not that I felt much better. I felt heavy and tired, weak like a newborn pup, though I don’t remember what that felt like. Lifting my hand was a chore, but lifting it brought it into contact with the creature from the clearing. He was still here. He must have protected me and brought me here to take the pain away. He was my protector now. I had a new pack, even if it was a pack of only the two of us. Two hunters were always better than one, and we could always find a she. Maybe his pack was larger than I saw and they just weren’t here, wherever here was.


I gotta love my dreams when they produce ideas like this. What the rest of the story is, I haven't a clue yet. Maybe you have an idea. Please, feel free to offer any suggestions.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

January Writing Contest Winner - Eliana from Ambitious Writers, Goodreads

Title: Republic of Music
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: M
Word Count: 1924
Summary: A modern fairy tale.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there were two kingdoms who hated each other. They loathed, abhorred and detested each other to such an extent that there aren't enough synonyms to continue describing how they felt towards each other. And like most conflicts, this animosity was the result of their differences, and the eternal struggle to better than the other. These kingdoms were called Rock Realm and Popville. No one remembered when exactly these two places began hating each other, for all they knew, the hate had been going on forever.

Only in very rare history books, which weren't available for everyone, did it say that the kingdoms had once been united. And as you know, when history isn't taught or remembered, truths become stories, and these stories become legends. Eventually, these legends may even become nursery rhymes who no one takes seriously. No one even knew about these books, and no one cared. They were happy having someone to hate.

Realm of Rock stood tall near the ocean, with strong black buildings made of stone. Every house had graffiti painted in the walls, doors, or roofs. The people called themselves Rockers, and to honor their kingdom, they also dressed like their homes. Everyone wore black, with a green or red touch here and there, and their hair was always multicolored or dark. The nobility was forced to wear spiked hair do distinguish themselves from the rest, and the longer the spikes, the better. Some spikes were so long they were prone to attract lightning, so most of the nobles stayed indoors during thunderstorms.

If you were to walk down a Rocker street, you would have had a sensory breakdown. The smell of hairspray and vodka hung heavily in the air. The smells were particularly stronger near the bars, and not surprisingly, every neighborhood had at least two bars. Two were required by the government, but some neighborhoods even had six bars, one for each block. Everyone played music so loud, that it seemed like the sounds came from the walls, but if you listened closely, you realized the sounds came from inside people’s homes.

There were very few laws in Realm of Rock, and the few that existed were always broken, because there wasn’t an organized law force. The only three unbreakable laws were: no playing music that wasn’t strictly rock or similar to rock, no platinum blonde hair, and no crossing the forbidden wall. The king promoted anarchy, as long as the citizens provided him with enough booze, original music and food. And the citizens loved their free-spirited king. The normal work days were Sunday and Saturday, and they had the rest of the week to relax, drink, play music and enjoy.

On the other side of the wall, which concealed the cacophony from Realm of Rock, was a forest surrounding a mountain. The kingdom of Popville was built on top of Gaga Mountain, so high in the sky that it was hidden by the clouds. The air in Popville was cool, fresh, and the days seemed longer there because it was so close to the sun. Contrary to the dark architectural style of Realm of Rock, Popville was built out of glass. All the homes were different shades of pink, and sparkled crystal clear in the sunlight. Instead of bars, every neighborhood had hair salons and dance studios. You might here some music here and there, but mostly, Poppers kept to themselves and their phones. Sometimes you would see a small group of people breaking into song and dancing in the streets. Everyone had blonde or highlighted hair, and wore tight, bright colored clothes which brought out their naturally tanned skins.

Each kingdom kept to itself for the most part; except for a few occasions where they were they accidentally collided during festivals. The festivals were weeks of celebration and concerts, and sometimes both kingdoms played their music so loud that the other kingdom heard it. And of course, the rulers from both kingdoms sent their respective apologies whenever that happened. However, one steamy September night, during a Rocker festival, an unprecedented event occurred. Metallica was onstage, and the guitarist, Kirk Hammet was playing a solo. He was drunk as usual, and accidentally raised the volume of his guitar so loud that it went beyond the human hearing spectrum. Everyone went silent, but Kirk quickly adjusted the volume and kept playing. No one even remembered what happened after ten minutes, because everyone was drunk and having a great time.

Up in Popville, people were doing what they usually did. They were buying clothes, getting manicures, or taking their daily dosage of botox injections. Suddenly, their world came crashing down. An extremely loud sound wave hit the kingdom, the ground shook and the glass houses shattered. There was pink glass everywhere, people running and screaming, trying to text their loved ones to see if they were alright. A royal assembly was immediately took place in the barely standing palace. They debated whether the sound wave had been intentional or just an accident. The king, Michael Jackson, said to his nobles and family, “They don’t care about us. Of course it was intentional.” Queen Madonna was frozen in her chair while princess Gaga stood speechless, next to her in the verge of tears. Princess Gaga had been the ambassador to Realm of Rock, and all her hard work to bring the kingdoms closer meant nothing now.

The kingdom of Popville decided to counterattack swiftly, regardless of Realm of Rock’s role in the sound wave. They had had enough of the stinking, wild Rockers, and they would teach them a lesson once and for all. That same evening, pink planes and helicopters flew down from the mountain and launched a series of bubbles containing air toxins down at the audience in the festival. When the bubbles exploded, fumes filled the Rocker’s nostrils and paralyzed them. All they could hear was “Hit me baby one more time” playing in their heads as they writhed in horror. A second wave of bubbles hit the ground, and a pink gooey substance covered everyone. The goo hardened and immobilized those it hit, and everyone ran for cover, trampling whoever stood in their way. Finally, they launched a third wave of bubbles with bleach that disintegrated the stone and washed away most buildings. While the paralyzed and wounded were taken to the bars to be healed, the nobles hurried to wake up the King. Normally they wouldn’t bother him even if the sky came falling down, but Prince Ozzy was nowhere to be found. King Elvis had slept through the whole incident, and had no idea what was going on. What the Poppers failed to see, or deliberately ignored, was that the Rockers had no idea that Kirk’s riff had destroyed Popville. The Rockers thought Popville had just declared an open war, and they were going to fight back.

The next day, as the sun rose in a still shattered Popville, people woke up to a very strange smell. The refugees had spent the night in the spas and malls that still stood. Outside, it seemed like it had rained, but no one had heard rain during the night. Suddenly, a roaring song was heard from the sky, saying “You’re on the highway to hell.” The next thing they knew was that their world was on fire, everything was lit up and blazing. People ran for their lives, and in panic they ran across fires that lit their clothes and hair up. They fell down to the ground and burned in pain, and realized they weren’t really burning. They felt the pain, but the fire wasn’t consuming them. They ran to fountains to put themselves off, but the fires blazed even harder. That’s when they realized all the water had been replaced by Vodka, and that was wad had been covering the streets.

Both kingdoms were severely damaged, and prepared their most lethal weapons in case the other decided to attack again. Realm of Rock possessed a weapon of mass destruction called The Riffoblaster, which destroyed everything in a blast. Popville possessed a similar bomb called Fakemonster that spread acid in a humongous radius, disintegrating anything in its path. Both kingdoms pointed their weapons to each other while they waited to see who launched first. No one knew who ended up firing the first, but both kingdoms launched their weapons at each other. The bombs collided with each other in the clouds, sending down ash and acid rain all over Realm of Rock and Popville. Citizens of both kingdoms ran to the forest, since it was the only place they hadn’t destroyed. They were surprised by the nightfall, and couldn’t tell who was from what kingdom. Everyone looked the same with burned hair and clothes.

Surprisingly, no one asked who belonged to which kingdom. They began to help each other out, getting water from the streams, gathering food and healing the wounded. When the sun came up, the differences were more visible. The tanned ones were obviously from Popville, and the ones with piercings from Realm of Rock. However, no one seemed to care anymore. At noon, they gathered at a clearing, where King Michael Jackson and King Elvis Presley announced a cease fire and a promise to sign peace treaty that would guarantee that both kingdoms would work together to reconstruct what they had destroyed. While everyone cheered and clapped, Prince Ozzy suddenly came out of the trees with a book. He said, “I was drinking down at the palace’s library when I heard the commotion upstairs, but I was way too wasted to come up. Look at what I found.” He opened the book in a marked page, and handed to book to King Elvis.

He read it, and passed it to Princess Gaga, who was standing beside King Michael. She read aloud. “We came from a planet called Earth in a yellow spaceship. Our planet is very similar to this one, except it’s bigger and populated and filled with crazy people. It’s plagued with people who spend their lives working in jobs that make them unhappy, people who don’t dream and people who hurt other people. It’s filled with materialist, dishonest, fanatic people, who refuse to give peace a chance. In an effort to make a better world, we hereby declare this planet The Planet of Music, to honor the one thing our planet has that knows no boundaries, religion, discrimination or ethnicity. We also declare ourselves the first monarchs of the Kingdom of Music, and swear that the laws of this kingdom will be written by us and upheld with utmost love and honesty. Signed by King Ringo, King Paul, King John and King George.”

From that day on, the kingdoms of Popville and Realm of Rock no longer existed. The Republic of Song was founded, and the rulers were elected by the people. They built the Republic in the sky, so they could always look down to where their kingdoms had once stood and be reminded of the destruction they had caused each other. This time, they would make sure history was not forgotten. In a few years they had prospered into a wealthy, beautiful kingdom, and decided it was time to discover the place they had come from. They took turns visiting Earth, gracing humans with their presence for a few decades. Then they faked their deaths on Earth and went back to their planet in the stars, where they belonged.