May’s Guest Storyteller, Cybele Moon

Cybele (L) & daughter
Cybele (L) & daughter

“Not all who wander are lost” – or have attention deficit disorder

By her own words Cybele Moon is a somewhat introverted but passionate traveler in many realms, seeking old bones and philosopher’s stones, – and other such treasures! History, astronomy, and paleontology have been among her interests.

She loves to wander off the beaten path in search of adventure and is a great friend of  Murphy who states “when all else fails, read the instructions” — or in this case refer to the map. Just ask her daughter, the navigator and keeper of time, who, by the way, is a grand travel companion and never misses a train.

She was an English Lit major in college way back when, and has always had a fervent love for the written word. At the same time she also enjoys photography and so began a quest to create visions and tales that complement each other.

 #

An Extract from Niamh’s dream journey (Tales of the Tuatha)

Niamh's path of dreams

She had followed the stag down from the knock until it disappeared into the grove. The people of the Sidhe were near. She could feel them as Aine’s red mare climbed the hill, spreading her bright cloak across the star scattered sky and the trees below. For a few moments there was silence before the sweep of light awoke the birds to their exaltation. The sacred spring was deep in the forest and any who drank from it were granted great wisdom. Not all had the eyes to see it, but she was, after all, a daughter of the Tuatha.

beacon streamsmall

As she followed the way deeper into the woodland, Niamh became confused. She looked at Etain’s map. So, was it right or left at the tree by the little stream? Something was definitely wrong and nothing looked familiar. Should she go back to the beginning? She untied the small pouch on her belt that contained  her dreams to make sure she wasn’t confusing one with another, but the purse slipped out of her fingers. All the dreams spilled out onto the path and went spinning backward into the soft curve of the early morning mist. “Now I’ve done it!” she thought.

She retrieved one that had rolled up against a tree. This as going to be very troublesome she thought as she held onto it tightly. There had been nine dreams in the pouch including the one that had begun her quest in the early morning light — and still no spring was in sight! She didn’t even think she could find her way back to the mound, and she couldn’t return without her dreams! How could she have been so clumsy?

tuathacoloursmall

As she searched the thicket she suddenly found herself standing by a shining lagoon. Everywhere there was the glint of gold!

#

Sarah says: Thank you so much Cybele for this beautiful tale, told in traditional storyteller style, and  for your magical photographic illustrations.

And fellow bloggers, you can read the ongoing Tales of Tuatha from the beginning, as well as lose yourself in more of these illustrations at Cybelshineblog, where she calls herself Dune Mouse, which I think is a lovely name for a creative introvert!

#

For a catch-up read of previous stories, please do visit my page https://sarahpotterwrites.com/guest-storytellers-2/

Quote: “I’ve been disappeared”

SarahWriting

Question: Whose favourite expression is “I’ve been disappeared”?

Answer: The main character in my novel, Anna.

Next question: Why am I quoting him (yes, “him” not “her”)?

Answer: Because I have been disappeared, editing onward to THE END.

Of course, this doesn’t mean the work is over. Far from it. This Speculative Fiction novel of mine evolved out of a decision to stop second guessing the market and write something original. I even dared swim against the tide with a non-dystopian version of the future. Yes, the human race is threatened; no, the planet is not trashed beyond repair.

The project began on 1st January, 2013: what better New Year’s Resolution than a creative challenge? You can read a summary of my progress during that year here.

The next step was to throw my novel upon the mercy of three beta readers: themselves published, and one of them a freelance editor. Their verdict … beautiful prose, original, a few plot holes needing mending, too abstruse in places in an effort to avoid exposition, more dialogue tags needed, and greater differentiation required between character voices.

Back to the drawing board for four months, with the occasional cry of “not another thing to do!”. I admit to having felt annoyed with my beta readers at times, but that was because their constructive criticism was about 90% right. Of course, I’m eternally grateful to them for all the work they put into their detailed reports on my manuscript, considering they have such busy lives themselves and did it voluntarily in their spare time. Ultimately, I decided that if all three of them pointed out the same thing, then it needed attention.

It’s unusual for a second draft to end up longer than the first (62K words, grown to 90K), but I went for minimalism initially and then had to build on this. I did edit some things out, just because they didn’t fit with the characters’ voices as they developed. There was a degree of juggling around chapters, putting some back story  into real-time and, where this was impossible, turning back story into proper flashbacks.

This next week, I intend to print out my manuscript and check the plot hangs together after all the changes I’ve made. At the same time, I will do a full proof read as it’s so easy to miss mistakes when checking work on the computer screen.

Just as a closing bit of fun, does anyone remember that tagging game named Lucky Seven Time that did the rounds of WordPress a while back, where you had to post an extract from page 7 or page 77 of your work in progress? Having just looked back at my Lucky Seven post, I thought it would be interesting to compare my page 7 extract from then with a page 7 extract from my present version of the manuscript.

15th February 2013 version

“You’ve gone insane.”

“No, it’s you who’s insane for bringing me fish?”

You scowl up at the sky, as if there’s a cruel memory pinned to the stars. I look up. There are no stars. Only the face of a mother—the last mother on earth to have given birth. Your mother.

“She’s dead,” I remind you.

“She lied to me.”

Current version

“Oh, Anna, I can’t bear it. You’ll have to wear a hat until your hair’s grown back.”

We’re both spurting tears as Ka moves between hugging me close, pushing me away with the flat of her hand, or poking at me with a finger. I wonder whether it’s my bones or hers that will snap first. My arm bleeds, where she’s jabbed me with the scissors whilst wrestling them off me. I think I’ve cut her, too. Our blood and tears are smeared together.

“I love you, Ka, I love you. I really love you.” These words spill from my lips while I’m thinking, I hate you, Ka. I really hate you.