Saturday, February 28, 2009

Section 1: Just Below the Surface

http://www.lilystrange.com/

Giving you another chapter from Section 1 of my book today. Why? Because I like you or something.



Just Below The Surface

July 13, 2009

Balthor, Ontario

Aldon Quay shuddered as he read the beautiful, eerie poem sent to him by his longtime friend and fellow author, Terry Bruckham. Terry was like a daughter to Aldon, and “Beneath the Surface” seemed an apt title for her as well as her latest creation. There was always something unspoken beneath the facade that Terry presented for the world. Aldon had known Terry since the time that she, at age 14, had written the then thirty-year-old author a letter praising his debut novel, Nightshade. He was impressed with his young fan’s intelligence and genteel yet forthcoming manner, and the pair had forged a friendship that had lasted a lifetime. Terry and Aldon both were now well-known novelists and, in 2007, they finally released their first collaboration to the delight of their readers, who thought that it was many years overdue.

Terry had always been prone to melancholy and had suffered several debilitating traumas over the years. Aldon hoped that things had settled down and that his friend could at last be happy and at peace. Aldon thought about Terry’s engagement to his second cousin, Elvin Barris. Both Elvin and Terry had previously endured long, unhappy marriages. It was good, Aldon thought, that two of his favorite people seemed to be making one another happy. But obviously, not everything was what it seemed.

In the email that the poem was attached to, Terry said she had an idea for a story. It would be a gothic romance interspersed with poetry accentuating the protagonist’s dark emotions. Terry thought that this poem should be the starting point. It certainly would work well in such a tale, Aldon agreed. It wasn’t the dark atmosphere of the poem that concerned him. He too usually wrote dark subject matter, though he was actually a reasonably happy fellow. A big bear of a man with dark red-brown hair liberally frosted with gray, Aldon sported a full beard and tended to favor checkered flannel shirts and jeans. He looked like a member of the logging crews that worked up the road from his farm and was far more jovial in manner than would seem to befit a famous horror novelist. But it wasn’t Aldon’s waking self who was inspired by sepulchral visions of rotting creatures who refused to die or malevolent spirits who destroyed the lives of those who accidentally invaded their territory. Rather, the visions came to the self who journeyed behind the walls of sleep and communed with the Gods and Goddesses and benevolent spirits who roamed the Elysian Fields and the gardens of Celephais and who gathered in Thoth’s library and Freya’s palace for grand festivals and intellectual discussions. For, in order to partake in such blessed events, one must also be prepared to defend against those who would bring ruin in a desire to subjugate all beings to their whim. Aldon’s gifts allowed him to see things that ordinary people could not perceive. And, he realized, most people would think him mad if he presented such things as real. Terry had inherited the same gifts. Like Howard Phillips Lovecraft and Ambrose Bierce before them, Aldon Quay and Terry Bruckham hid their real otherworldly adventures in the guise of fictional works.

“The truth is there for those aware” was a catch-phrase popularized in a series of light-hearted novels about a trio of reluctant Scandinavian monster-hunters, thinly disguised versions of three of Aldon’s real-life friends who also knew that not everything real was visible to the physical eye.

“’T’ain’t logical, McGee,” Aldon said quietly, exaggerating his slight Irish brogue. “But methinks perhaps logic be overrated.”

“Ah hell, Terry,” he sighed, switching the telephone nervously from hand to hand as he contemplated calling his friend. “How can I address my concerns about this to you without seeming callous about your feelings? Please, Angela Mia, don’t let this pain rip you apart. Heaven help me, what do I say to her?”

“Aldon?” his sister-in-law’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“What is it, Hannah?” Aldon asked.

“Aldy, I’m so sorry to interrupt you,” she said. “But something awful is happening to my sheep. All of the lambs have fallen ill. It may be anthrax. Dr. Kippersoff and Will Wyzynski are quarantining them from the other animals. They want to test all my livestock and it could take them awhile. I know it’s been years since you took those veterinary courses, but I wonder if you could come help. They really have their hands full.”

“Sure, Hannah, I’ll be right there,” Aldon said, putting the phone back in its cradle. He scribbled himself a note which he understood completely but which anyone else might find cryptic and eerie:

Call Terry re: poem.

Have the dark dreams returned?

Aldon followed Hannah up the stairs, his worries about his friend temporarily pushed below the surface of this current concern.

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Talk about an odd auction

Asian Beauty Lily’s  Two Horror Books starting bid $3,000,000.00 dollars?



WHAT?  Is this for real?  Apparently it is and both auctions will end on May 30th.  The winning bidders will secure the rights to the books.    It seems like a scam but apparently she is trying to sell off details from her relationships with 2 well [...] <a href='http://cli.gs/vQ5G2a'>http://cli.gs/vQ5G2a</a>

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blue star, green comet

utterli-image

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Friday, February 27, 2009

crabbing

I fear I may have to put working on the new book on hiatus for a month while finishing this semester. I am feeling like death warmed over.

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Poem: Lost Beneath the Surface

This is the lead-in poem for Section 1 in my published novel. It is ostensibly written by my protagonist.

http://www.lilystrange.com/



The One Who Waits Beneath the Surface



I hate the moon—I am afraid of it—for when it shines on certain scenes familiar and loved it sometimes makes them unfamiliar and hideous.

H.P. Lovecraft

“What the Moon Brings”



Beneath the Surface

Forgotten over the years

Pushed to the back of minds weighed down with mundane concerns

He waits in solitude for the day

When someone may remember, and keep him company



A chill wind blows from the north

Reminding one who lives along the shore

Of someone she held dear in time long past

Yet the thought is more a whisper than a shout



He feels the pain of being a promise broken

Yet still he abides behind the veil

A soul immortal cannot die

But can be buried by the wretchedness of anguish borne alone



He looks down upon the sea below his vantage point

And longs to be free of his boundless solitude

He extends his arms, and falling forward from the height, joins the sea birds in their flight

Twisting, wheeling, unafraid



The soul immortal cannot die

He touches surf and is drawn beneath the waves

The sun reflects off the surface of the water,

Revealing a dark, familiar shape below



Along another shore in a world far away

A woman feels a pang within her breast

She is weary and wishes she could sleep forever

And walk the shores of an eternal dream



Something lies beneath the surface of her memories

A treasure that she lost long ago

Someone who understood the unflagging sorrow

A breath inhaled and exhaled, lost forever



She will reach beyond the veil this night

And take the hand of the one who waits

Forgotten to the conscious mind that buries dreams beneath stacks of unpaid bills

Burdened by joys thrust aside in favor of unending toil



Some things cannot be explained away by logic

Tested away by science, prayed away by dogmatic religion

She has labored long and hard for futile gain

Happiness has waited long enough



Tonight she shall sail away to join the one who waits beneath the waves

To dwell on shadowed shores where the blinding light of the orthodoxy never reaches

She is weary of a world wherein to survive she must forget what she holds most dear

Tonight is her last night among the striving masses



Tonight at last he rises from the sea

To dwell forever in the shadows of a land

Created by the dark dreams of souls misunderstood

Never again shall he abide alone

For at last he has someone to dream with



Teresa Kathleen Bruckham

July 12, 2009

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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

crabbing

http://ping.fm/XxpS1 Latest Care2 Share describes my mission and gives links to ways you can help make it a reality

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crabbing

www.change.org/myfundraising/wfmhchange My drive to raise $500 for WFMH by the end of the year.

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Imooch

http://ad.vu/q2tb Check out my Mooch, another way to pimp the book, and find out about Imooch, a way to pimp your own work.

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crabbing

http://ping.fm/3fKnW Got something interesting and informative to say? Trade your intelligence for back links at Qassia!

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crabbing

http://ping.fm/8uQ5a

Poem from Section 1 featured at Quarterlife.

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crabbing

I don't know how they do it, but http://ping.fm/5usoP offers lots of online storage space, free. Back up your critical files.

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What Goes Around Comes Around

Moonlit Path gave me a reciprocal link so I'm spreading the love. Check them out! http://www.moonlit-path.com/

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Wendy's Writing article

http://www.squidoo.com/…tdidntwork

Check out the article and my responses.

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Monday, February 16, 2009

Prologue

http://www.lilystrange.com/

Prologue

Bringers of Decay and Fallen Angels:

A Genesis of Evil

Before the dawn of the world as we know it, the great Gods and Goddesses, angelic beings, devas, genii and nature spirits were born whole from the Wellspring of All, which is called Kether. They were created out of love to always tend and care for the beings who would be born on the developing worlds in the material universe. Yet while the Heavens were still taking shape, a group of these spirits began to believe that they knew more than the power that had created them. And some among the Gods and Goddesses came to care more about power than about the developing Universe over which they had been given stewardship. These wicked deities were cast out of the Heavens and the evil angels who followed them were also exiled. Swearing revenge on those who had spurned them, they began to seduce the minds of the developing children of the Universe that had been created out of love by the Lord and Lady of Kether.

On the developing worlds in the material universe which is called Assiah, many of the children began to assume a crude imitation of the higher beings who watched over them. Most followed the path of the Benevolent Ones who had created and guided them. But some followed the blighted path of those who promised power over others. These were filled with an unholy passion. Seeing the intensity of their emotions, the evil angels were intrigued. Some of them entered the bodies of these young beings, possessing them, controlling them. And over time, many of the fallen angels forgot that they had once been celestial beings, but subconsciously remembered the power they once held and their former immortality. Desperate to re-achieve that once immortal status and break free from the cycle of reincarnation, they heeded the voices of their former companions, the unholy deities of corruption and decay. The Fallen committed horrific acts under the direction of their immortal, unholy masters, giving rise to a race of Undead, a perverted offspring of incarnate mortals and fallen angels and a mockery of the Divine. Thus have vampires existed since the dawn of humanity. The first are rumored to have come from the lost continent of Lemuria, which formed a land bridge between the Malay Archepelago and Asia some 55 million years ago. The late medium Madame Helena Blavatsky spoke of a race of highly intelligent apelike humanoids who were capable of mind control and telepathy. Most people laugh at Blavatsky’s assertions; but there are those who know better.

In the time of Lemuria, a group of these beings sought to dominate the other early humanoids, believing themselves to be superior. They saw the other humans as lower than herd animals and treated them with a contempt and brutality. Inspired by the telepathic communications from hideous ancient gods mercifully forgotten in this modern age, the Superior Race enslaved and experimented on the lesser beings, sacrificed them, and consumed their flesh at ritual celebrations. They were especially fond of eating the brain and heart and drinking the blood, as they believed consuming the brain would enhance their own telepathic abilities, the heart would bring them strength, and the blood would lengthen their lives. As the dreaded ancient Gods, horrible beings far older than the earth itself promised, the Superior Race changed swiftly. From consuming the brains of the other humanoids and ancient dolphin-like sea mammals, their telepathic abilities increased tenfold. From consuming animals such as the wolflike creatures that walked the night they experienced improvement in their night vision so drastic that daylight began to hurt their eyes and they preferred to be out after dusk. And from consuming these wolf-kind and other strong animals, their strength multiplied to ten times that of the lesser hominids. For their obedience to the terrible Great Old Ones, their lifespan increased to the point of virtual immortality. Thus were the Vampires born.

The benevolent deities were horrified by what was happening on the young Earth. They smote the evil race, destroying the continent of Lemuria to stop their spread. But some Night Stalkers managed to escape. They slowly spread their taint wherever they settled, though their race no longer held the mastery it had in Lemuria. The survivors vowed to regain mastery of the Earth even if it should take an eternity. This is the story of a pair of these immortals and those whose lives they touched. They were brothers, princes and heirs to the throne of a long and unjustly forgotten kingdom, a province in what is now Romania at the time of the reign of the family Dracul in Wallachia. Called Stracha, it sat by the sea near Moldavia and Wallachia and was a place hailed for its beauty, prosperity and the benevolence of its rulers. It is also the tale of an ancient and fearsome being who brought the plague of immortality to these princes, casting fair Stracha into undeserved oblivion. Long-lived though this being was, he was a mere babe compared to those who had bestowed upon him the curse of immortality, and they were but infants compared to the ancient undying evil that had spurred their creation.

The vampire race was perfected as the human race evolved and new civilizations arose. Beloved were they of the powerful but lesser-known malevolent deities warned of by Howard Phillips Lovecraft and others in tales thought to be fiction. Kali, merciless Indian goddess of death, helped increase the power of those who made sacrifices to her. In Egypt, the cunning and manipulative Set took up their cause. In Mesopotamia the cult rose to power again when Lamashtu gave them newfound glory through blood sacrifice. But this rise to greatness truly began anew in lost Atlantis where the race almost achieved world domination. This is why the benevolent Gods had to destroy Atlantis as they had Lemuria. Many lives were lost on that fateful day, many who loved one another were separated.

But the wheel of reincarnation shall ever turn. None of those souls that lived in lost Atlantis were destroyed in that calamity. With successive incarnations the calamity that ended their physical existence in that lifetime was consciously forgotten. But late at night many lifetimes later the more enlightened of them would dream of that fearsome event and would wake in a cold sweat.

This book occurs near the end of a story of a great battle for the souls of this world. This is a story of love and loss, of triumph and destruction, and of the knowledge that nothing in this world will last forever. It is a story of the fear of death, the pain of betrayal and the triumph of the eternal soul. It is a story of ties that cannot be severed, kindnesses that cannot be forgotten, longing that cannot die. But souls are not of this world. They shall never die. Within each soul is a limitless capacity for love. Each being was created with love by a benevolent source. The love within us can never die. The soul is eternal and love is eternal.

This is, if you will, a love story.

Thoth, Scribe of the Holy

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New Plan for Story Promo

I'd been doing just sentences and paragraphs on Utterli but think I'll do full chapters instead. As Mehitibel would say, Ohwhatthehell.

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Saturday, February 07, 2009

Chronological Sentence from prologue

And over time, many of the fallen angels forgot that they had once been celestial beings, but subconsciously remembered the power they once held and their former immortality.

http://www.lilystrange.com/

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Sunday, February 01, 2009

Write, Durn Ye!

Well, I'd best work on a chapter before my co-author lays an ass whuppin' on me.

Only joking. He's never done anything of the sort. The worse he does is mess with my hair. And since I'm hardly the perfectly coiffed type, this is far from a big deal.

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Beevities Tilson

WTF, you may be asking? I know I was when I got this word verification!

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Chronological sentence from book prologue

http://www.lilystrange.com/ Some of them entered the bodies of these young beings, possessing them, controlling them.

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