Give Yourself Something to Write About - More Prompts!
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Well, those writing prompts…they just keep on coming! I’m fairly pleased with these, kind of nice to use photographs as inspiration. I hope you get much inspiration from these. Something for everybody, really.
There’s an erotic novel in here somewhere. What do you think? Should Narcissus and Vanity have a go at it?
“Tell me I’m pretty.”
Tired of Vanity’s never-ending demands, the mirror remained silent.
“Tell me I’m pretty!”
Vanity slapped her reflective surface.
The mirror cracked.
Vanity stopped and leaned in to embrace her reflection.
She was beautiful.
The Bridge of Serenity is always there for us.
Cross the Bridge into the realm, find a comfortable seat, take a few deep breaths, and ask yourself these questions:
“What does peace look like to me?”
“What brings me peace?”
When you’re ready, write down what you found inside yourself.
“I was not one of those personable peasant girls…No possibility of a fairy tale twist of fate for me.”
Claire surrenders to the water. She is filled up with air, but already the pressure squeezes her lungs. From the depths, she hears people screaming from the pier.
They think she jumped in for tragic reasons.
Nothing could further from the truth.
Claire waits for her lover to claim her.
What’s the best way to make friends with your shadow?
Go hang where your shadow is invisible.
In the darkness.
Follow the path into the deepest recesses of the tunnel of your mind.
Invite your shadow to join you and just listen.
Your shadow has a lot to say.
Got Writer's Block? Here, Have Some Writing Prompts!
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Writer’s block is such a bitch. Prevention is worth more than cure here, of course, and one of the best ways to prevent the dreaded writer’s block is to write your story ideas down as they come to tinker with them later.
But in case you didn’t do that, here are some prompts and story ideas that might get you rolling. One could be used as a journaling piece or memoir.
What do you think about doing a series of essays on your most embarrassing moments – those times we’d prefer to forget? I think the experience would be both humbling and liberating at the same time. It’s very empowering to embrace our human frailty.
At last, the people came back to worship.
Once enough people returned to the earth, to honor the mountains, the woods, the streams, and the seasons, the Mother returned and brought with her the Maiden and the Crone.
“Hail to the Resurrection of the Goddess, may the Feminine save us all!”
The Goddess yawned and stretched.
“It’s not that simple,” she replied. “Humanity must redeem themselves.”
When Cassandra woke up and saw the rose on the pillow next to her, elation flowed through her.
Then she saw the note underneath.
Instead of words of love and devotion after a beautiful night together, this was an epistle of desertion.
Seduced only to be abandoned.
Cassandra vowed revenge.
Embarrassing moments make great stories.
When was the last time you wanted to crawl under a rock and hide?
Why?
What’s the story?
Go.
“We only have 5 minutes!”
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Nothing! There’s nothing anybody can do about it!”
“And you’re telling me this why?”
Anne hesitated, then figured she had nothing to lose.
“Since we’re doomed no matter what, wanna make out?”
Imagine a world where the scaffold of shame made a comeback.
How would this happen?
What broken rules would result in this public display of disgrace?
How long would this punishment endure?
Who would be the hero or shero who would make this stop?
What would be their driving force?
In case these aren’t enough, there are plenty more prompts to be found here and here.
Memes and More Memes!
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This one is fun. I used Canva for this one.
Hey y’all,
As I said in an earlier post, I got to making lots of memes to promote my existence here in this world and in cyber space. I think Cole and I came up with some pretty awesome images, and thought it would be cool to share some of our collection in the blog.
These memes are original in the pairings of images with words. Many of the quotes are from those who are wiser and more experienced than I - not to mention famous. Unless the author is unknown, I always credit brilliance where it is due. And of course, I didn't take the pictures. But many are quotes from my work, and in one meme, my perspective.
These are some favorites of mine as well as those pinned often on Pinterest. I don’t know how all of this will shake out, but for the sake of passing on some good advice, I recommend Canva as a great place to design memes for free. My second choice is Quotes Cover, which is where I got started. I was pretty limited with how I could design the image and where I could put words on Quotes Cover. I think Canva makes a cleaner, more pristine image, so I use it all the time now. But I had to figure it out and have somebody show me a little of how to work that site. Both sites are free to work with, which is always a bonus. That said, I hope y’all enjoy the images and feel free to share them on your own social media – especially those that have Free Flying Press on them. ;)
Canva. Personally, I would contact improv with my shadow, with moments of tango. And you?
This meme is one of my favorites, but it wasn't pinned as much as I would have liked. Made it on Quotes Cover.
This meme is one of Cole's. I think they worked with Adobe on this one, but I'm not sure. I was also surprised it didn't get the Pinterest love because I think it's lovely.
This meme I used to promote my work, Ella Bandita and the Wanderer. Made on Canva. I hope the model doesn't take offense I used her face, because she's beautiful.
Just in case you are intrigued, this quote is also in a free download because Part 1 is a freebie.
Made on Canva. This meme may get some Pinterest love yet.
This bit of awesomeness was made by Cole.
I made this on Quotes Cover.
And I made this meme on Canva. I also altered the color from my computer to make the blue deeper.
This meme is by Cole, and the quote is out of Ella Bandita and the Wanderer. It makes me wonder if people are scared of sex, bondage, or both because I'm surprised this didn't get a lot of attention. And no, this doesn't imply a bondage scene. You'll have to wait for the second novel to get something like that. ;)
This meme was much loved. And I'm proud of this one!
I reused this picture to make a different meme. I'm fairly proud of it too.
It shouldn't surprise anybody that this was a big hit. I couldn't have made this meme so graceful without the tools on Canva.
Meme made on Quotes Cover. This was pretty fun!
Quotes cover meme. This one surprised me. It was pinned a lot.
I'm proud of this meme, and I'm proud of the attention it received because it was personal, and especially because the quote is not out of a novel I wrote. This is advice I've given many friends and family when a relationship falls apart. I came to this conclusion over the years after experiencing my relationship disasters and observing others. The kind of catastrophe that happens after somebody has given everything except their blood to make someone happy - and more loving - only to have that blow up in their face when their beloved leaves.
Cole. This meme got some Pinterest love - which was well deserved, I believe.
I was pretty disappointed this didn't get much attention on Pinterest. Maybe the word "Loneliness" put people off. Made on Quotes Cover.
This meme is one of my first attempts at making a writing prompt. Made on Quotes Cover.
This meme is one of Cole's first and it's one of my favorites. I love the ferocity of it, but those on Pinterest did not. I guess a woman with a bloody sword may be off-putting.
This meme is one of my recent writing prompts, and I'm proud of it too. It's gotten some respectable attention on Pinterest. But again, I was surprised it didn't take off in a spectacular way.
It's also part of collection of writing prompts if you care to check that out here.
Cole. Isn't it fabulous!
One of my early ones, and I still think it's one of the funniest. Making myself laugh is a real joy. Made on Quotes Cover.
So there y'all have it. There are many more. I hope y'all enjoyed viewing these as much as we did making them! It's a lovely creative pursuit to make some memes!
Peace,
Montgomery
7 New Writing Prompts!
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Hey y’all,
It never ceases to amaze me the variety of stories that can spur from a few lines.
I’m sharing some lovely graphics complete with excerpts from my novels and blogs that could potentially inspire you to a work of your own. Usually, I come up with original prompts that are not connected to my writing, but I’ve done something similar to this before and I’ve never seen anybody come close to what I wrote. I’m not saying it couldn’t happen, so I’m not worried about plagiarism, at least not really.
Give it a try. You never know what you might come up with.
Enjoy!
8 Nudges to Write Fantasy With These Gorgeous Writing Prompts!
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I’m going to come straight out and just say it. I’m proud of these!
What’s not to love about beautiful images with a chunk of story to get your creative juices flowing?
It’s that time of year again.
When the faery folk come to dance upon the earth.
So light the way for them beneath the ancient tree.
If you remain still, you might get a glimpse of them.
Be careful though.
If they suspect a trap, they will grab you and imprison your soul in the tree for 1000 years.
“Dance with the Devil, you handsome darling. If you please me, all your dreams will come true.”
“Are you saying you’re the Devil?”
The sensuous woman smiled and shrugged.
“I never thought of the Devil as a woman. So what dance?”
“Tango. Of course.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am. Lie upon the yellow lines and the genie will come to grant you three wishes.”
“I thought genies lived in bottles and oil lamps.”
“Times have changed. Genies are now captive beneath the cement of roads and sidewalks.”
“What if a car runs over me?”
“That’s how the portal opens.”
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
“No. That’s the chance you gotta take. How badly do you want this?“
Isabelle knew she was disappearing into the world of words, but she didn’t care.
Carlos begged her to stay, but she shook her head.
“I’d rather cease to exist physically if I get to enjoy all the pleasures of fantasy, of the erotic and romance.”
“What do you want, Isabelle, from the ethers of imagination? You will cease to be.”
”I know, darling Carlos. But ordinary life is mundane. I can’t bear the mundane.”
Bernado’s heart pounded. This was the portal. it had to be.
But how could he get past that brick wall?
If he didn’t, Celeste was lost forever and their parents would perish from heartbreak.
Fern yearned for the glory of humans. As psychic beings, plants healed, soothed, gave solace, and offered insight.
But there was no power. Plants were at the mercy of humans and animals.
Until the day a sad looking woman came into the forest undergrowth and lay down on top of Fern.
Fern felt her sorrow, and knew its time had come. This woman no longer wanted to be human.
“How about if we trade places?” Fern whispered. “You become me and I become you.”
The woman looked right at Fern.
“Is that possible?”
She was emerging. She could feel herself coming back to flesh, blood, and bone.
After so many centuries held captive in the trees, she would be free at last.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why let me go now when the world is so changed?”
“Because we need you to convince humanity to protect us.”
“Why would I do that?”
Ophelia threw herself into the water, but instead of the death she sought in her despair, she found conviction.
She deserved life. Only revenge would do for her father’s death.
Hamlet would suffer.
SO HERE THEY ARE, THE FANTASY WRITING PROMPTS! I HOPE YOU LOVE THE IMAGES AS MUCH AS I LOVED PUTTING THEM TOGETHER. AND I HOPE THEY GET THE STORIES SPINNING!
PEACE,
MONTGOMERY
The Power of the F*ck
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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
As wonderful as it was to grow up without shame, the lack of it had its annoying consequences.
Ordinary people thought us a bunch of whores.
It grew tedious to be stared at through narrowed eyes and whispered about from prim lips.
Except for me, of course. I was pointed at for other reasons. But I’ll get to that in due time.
The good-looking rogue didn’t prove he was a Pan by shapeshifting. I think Mamie had always been disappointed by that.
Perhaps he wanted to stay handsome as he f*cked Mamie.
Shapeshifting into a half goat would have distorted his face enough to wipe it clean of beauty.
Or perhaps Great-Aunt Dottie was right that he was second or third generation Pan, and thus less likely or less able to shapeshift.
As Pans always did, whoever seduced my grandmother left her after a full night of the raucous, unrestrained F*ck.
Mamie tried desperately to stay awake to make the night last as long as possible. But eventually, the F*ck exhausted her and she passed out.
As was the usual way, she woke up to an aching c***, shaking limbs, and very alone beside the riverbank where she had enthusiastically given up her maidenhead.
But Mamie never got over her night with the maybe Pan.
Most women didn’t.
Pans were notorious for the siren call of animal lust they awakened in women, as well as their ability to satiate the hunger hidden between a woman’s legs.
No woman who ever crossed their paths was able to resist the sudden urge to f*ck and be f*cked senseless.
The only problem was that stirred up a lifelong craving. For the women would never know such carnal satisfaction again.
They only got to have that one night.
I was sixteen years old the first time I met a Pan.
I was also a virgin at the start of that adventure, and I wasn’t by its end.
But things didn’t go as they usually did, maybe because the Pan was in the middle of the F*ck when I came across him.
I saw him in the oldest parts of the forest. Of course, that’s where I found him.
Most of the stories about Pans took place in the natural wild – in the woods, near rocks and cliffs, beside rivers and creeks, and even under waterfalls.
Where else could Pans feel most comfortable shedding their human forms, to don their animal selves, and let the horny half goat live, breathe, and f*ck?
I was in the woods hiking with the girl I considered my best friend at the time.
Adele was a pretty girl, who I both loved and hated in equal measure.
I always yearned for more of her, more of her time, more of her attention than she was willing to give.
My treacherous best friend liked the shape of triangles, especially of the human variety. I rarely had the pleasure of enjoying Adele to myself. There was always another best friend or her boyfriend joining us.
On this particular day, we had gotten an early start to go hiking.
Her new best friend of the moment – and my least favorite – was with us. Adele insisted Lise was necessary, for she was the one who had a license and a car, and could take us to the oldest part of the woods.
Reluctantly, I agreed.
I found her personality close to unbearable, and I didn’t understand what Adele saw in Lise, with her simpering smirks, and a grating voice with an insipid tone that worked on my last nerve.
But Adele had a taste for malice, and girls like Lise were made for that kind of poisonous indulgence.
Since triangles are always two sides against one, it was hardly surprising I was on the outs that morning.
Adele and Lise walked arm in arm, either in front of me or behind me, whispering secrets in each other’s ears, and giggling.
I fumed, which is exactly what they wanted. I even realized that at the time, which made my impotent wrath even more palpable.
The forest saved me that day.
To keep from losing my temper and my dignity, I forced my attention on the beauty around me.
The woods were particularly exquisite.
It was the middle of spring, right after the rainy season. The moss covering the trees and ground was resplendent and heavy with ample moisture.
The powerful softness of morning light highlighted the forest canopy of dark green, yellow green, bright green, the colors most vivid right after the rains.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nostrils.
The aroma of the last rainfall permeated the earth below, and fed the leaves and budding blossoms, the hint of spice in the air around me.
I also heard the creek in the distance. The sound of riotous peace of a waterbed streaming fat with fresh, luscious water brought me back to myself.
As the great-great-granddaughter of a water nymph, this was my favorite element.
Water was my savior that gave me strength and power during times of stress.
I opened my eyes again. I could finally notice the flurry of squirrels, the wing-flap and songs of the birds.
Everything pulsed with life and my heart beat strong inside my breast.
I turned around and faced the ugly nasty of Adele and Lise, sniggering at my expense. The malice gleaming from their eyes was undeniable.
Suddenly, I knew I was played for a fool to accept the role they gave me.
It’s incredible how quickly love-hate can dissolve in an instant.
Adele caught on to my indifference immediately. The vicious glee in her face disappeared and her brow furrowed.
If I had possessed less inborn composure, I probably would have laughed out loud.
Adele and Lise seemed so dull and ordinary in that moment.
Really, what was I doing with these silly girls? I’m descended from the magic of nymphs.
“I’m done,” I said.
“What are you talking about, Dusky?”
“I don’t want to hike with you and Lise anymore. I’m going my own way.”
“Are you nuts?” protested Lise. “We’re more than an hour’s drive from town.”
“Then I’ll be home by nightfall.”
I took off at a violent run.
I became giddy with each stride that took me away from them.
The delirious freedom borne from liberating myself from invisible shackles that rendered me powerless only because I had allowed it to be so.
Adele and Lise didn’t bother chasing after me, because what’s the point of futility?
My father was tall and lean, with far more physical power in his physique than his appearance implied.
I took after my father in that way. I was several inches taller than Adele, with longer, stronger limbs. There was no way either she or Lise could keep up, much less catch me.
They shrieked after my departing back.
I didn’t hear all of what Adele said, something innocuous like calling her when I got home.
The euphoria of freedom kept me running hard for nearly twenty minutes.
The forest was a blur of green, while leaping over rocks, cracking twigs, and the earthy spice in the air.
Then I hurled through the trees to the creek bed where I intruded on the Pan in the F*ck.
That stopped me in my tracks.
How to Write When You'd Rather Netflix and Chill and the 15 Steps to Get There.
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You’ve made progress on your novel. You’re on your second draft and past the halfway point. You can’t believe it. Once you’re done with this, the novel will need work, edits, polish, maybe even one more rewrite.
The second draft is coherent in a way that the rough draft was not. The rough draft was a mess. Once you have finished the second draft, you have finally finished a book - a novel that needs work, but still a book.
Then your monkey mind starts swinging through the trees and your ADD goes off the chain. You can’t focus.
You remember you forgot to pay the electric bill. Then while you’re on your phone to pay that bill, you see 2 Facebook Messenger notifications, and wonder who is reaching out to you?
You open them only to find out it’s a nudge to say hello to your latest Facebook friend and another is an annoying group chain.
You leave the conversation and scroll through your feed only to find garbage. You wonder why you don’t have the nerve to disable your Facebook account because the bastards are violating your privacy anyway.
Then you remember that you forgot to pay the frigging garbage bill, and if you don’t pay it today you’ll be charged late fees. So you actually pay the bill, and suddenly, watching your favorite Netflix series sounds like the perfect reward for paying that garbage bill at the 11th hour.
But wait a minute. You haven’t written your pages today. You didn’t write your pages yesterday either, or the day before. You feel the stirrings of panic in your belly and guilt weighing your shoulders down into the I-hate-myself slump.
You lose momentum when you miss writing days. You know every day you miss writing only makes it worse because then the Shame Monster comes to life and laughs in your face.
“Slacker,” the Shame Monster chortles. “You’ll never finish that book. I knew you didn’t have it in you.”
I like happy endings.
So in this version of the story, your will resurrects from the dead and comes to the rescue.
Step 1) Tell the Shame Monster to go *%$# itself;
Step 2) Grab a notebook and pen.
Step 3) Write every bit of nonsense and distraction you can think of, every random thought that comes to your head. Write freely and keep your pen moving. Write until you feel calmer, more focused. If you want to time yourself, go ahead.
Step 4) Have a light snack. This step is optional.
Step 5) Open your laptop (or typewriter, some people still use these) and get to the last chapter you were working on when you got distracted. Read that chapter out loud.
Step 6) Any awkward places or light editing that comes to mind, go ahead and make those changes. That gets you back inside your story.
Step 7) When you get to the last lines of the unfinished scene, WRITE. Even if your writing is clumsy, KEEP WRITING until you finish that scene or that chapter.
Step 8) If the writing sucks, allow it. That’s what rewriting the next day is for.
Step 9) Have a light snack.
Step 10) Keep writing. If finishing that scene or chapter didn’t bring you to your minimum word count goal, continue writing the next scene or chapter until you have.
Step 11) If your writing sucks, allow it. That’s what rewriting the next day is for.
Step 12) Write past your minimum word count goal. You’ve slacked off and you need to push through that resistance until you’re in love with yourself and your writing again.
Step 13) Once you feel complete, close down your laptop.
Step 14) Do a happy dance.
Step 15) Netflix and Chill without shame.
For more advice on how to discipline that ADD monkey mind, click here.
Writing Prompts for Creative Introspection and Journaling!
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So I’ve been writing often for Medium, which has been an experience.
Of course, this has taken my focus away from my blog, Give Yourself Something to Write About.
Obviously since it’s taken me until the end of the month to get any writing prompts out here, whereas before I was cranking out prompts at least 4 times per month for a while there.
Anyway, these have more of a journaling flavor because my inner world and process is where my mind and heart is right now.
But a couple of them could transform or even inspire fiction.
Anyway, disillusionment has begun and I’ll likely to give some love back to the blog.
In the meantime, enjoy these prompts!
6 Writing Prompts!
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Writing Prompt Original by Montgomery Mahaffey from Free Flying Press
Show me the love, Stacy!
You know I <3 U 4ever!
Evan
“Well Isn’t that sweet of Evan?”
Stacy shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"Sure it is,” Stacy scoffed. “That is, if you find desperation endearing. Come on, Andrew. Let’s get a drink.”
The Writing Prompts, they keep on coming. Some smaller images and pithy excerpts, I hope they get your creative juices flowing.
I do love doing these, and it’s easy when I can’t think of any big theme to put out there, and I hope to get to offer some inspiration for my sister and brother creatives and writers who may find themselves stuck or stumped or simply like to collect ideas for new stories. So happy to oblige.
Writing Prompt Original by Montgomery Mahaffey from Free Flying Press
Dino pressed his ear against the moss covered brick and tapped with one hand.
“What are you doing?” Belka asked.
“Listening and feeling for the hollow spaces.”
“Why?”
“Because I can.”
“That’s bull. You’re after something.”
“Of course, I am. But I don’t have to tell you, Belka.”
Francisco loved Adina as much as a hot taco on a cold, damp Seattle day.
Adina was not impressed.
Her mind was filled with Roberto, who made the most delicious tacos.
Writing Prompt Original by Montgomery Mahaffey from Free Flying Press
“Show me the magic!”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re too greedy. You’ll only use it for ill.”
“But when you do, it’s ok?”
Writing Prompt Original by Montgomery Mahaffey from Free Flying Press
“Space Traveler? That’s what you’re dropping out of school for!”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do a stupid thing like that? Everybody knows Space Travelers get devoured by the Cosmos!”
“That’s why I want to go.”
Writing Prompt Original by Montgomery Mahaffey from Free Flying Press
“It’s been a long time coming. But we’re finally in the pink.”
“I’m so relieved.”
“Don’t be. By next week, we have to be in the red or we’re out.”
“We’ll get there.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Marco is going to help us.”
6 Conversational Writing Prompts - Inspiration Through Dialogue!
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Writing prompt original by Montgomery mahaffey from Free Flying Press
“I take it Rosco talked you into this?”
“That’s one way to look at it, Adele.”
“I’m very pleased you’re staying, Martinez. I didn’t think you would.”
“Yes.”
“Did Rosco blackmail you?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”
“But you are not here willingly.”
“No. I’m not.”
Writing prompts are back. Sweet chunks of dialogue to get your imagination revving! What’s the story behind these intriguing pieces of conversation? One way to find out is to take the deep dive and see what you come up with. Enjoy!
WRITING PROMPT ORIGINAL BY MONTGOMERY MAHAFFEY FROM FREE FLYING PRESS
“What a foolish vanity you have. Lady Fortune is fickle. Luck always changes.”
“Not for me, it doesn’t. You saw what happened here tonight.”
“Tell me, Gambler. Are you looking for the game you can’t win?”
“No. I’m looking to see that I always will.”
“Perhaps you only play the games that are easy to win.”
WRITING PROMPT ORIGINAL BY MONTGOMERY MAHAFFEY FROM FREE FLYING PRESS
“You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess now, darling. Wasn’t I enough trouble for you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your fancy courtesan.”
“She wants you dead, woman.”
“Of course, she does. Beautiful courtesan has lusted for my blood for a long, long time.”
WRITING PROMPT ORIGINAL BY MONTGOMERY MAHAFFEY FROM FREE FLYING PRESS
“Congratulations.”
“Why feign your good wishes? You weren’t cheering for me.”
“Why do you love it? What do you love about gambling? Is it the money you don’t need?”
“No. It’s the games.”
“So you like to play games? Why the games of chance?”
“Because I love to win them.”
“Why not games of skill? The victory would be sweeter.”
“Luck has no play in games of skill.”
WRITING PROMPT ORIGINAL BY MONTGOMERY MAHAFFEY FROM FREE FLYING PRESS
“What about Anthony?”
“What about him?”
“Doesn’t he deserve vengeance?”
“Hell no! That vicious little brute got what he deserved!”
“So what if he was horrid? Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“He’s despicable.”
“Well now, he’s a drooling mess of an imbecile, and your lady love is to blame.”
WRITING PROMPT ORIGINAL BY MONTGOMERY MAHAFFEY FROM FREE FLYING PRESS
“You aren’t the kind to take the coward’s way out.”
I turned around to see the Sorcerer behind me. I was never afraid of the Sorcerer. Not then and not later, not even once I knew what he was capable of.
“I’ve been watching you,” he continued.
“Oh yeah? And what do you see?”
“I see a girl who wants what she can’t have.”
How to Structure Short Stories, Chapters, and Novels
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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
One of the greatest gifts I ever received as a writer was the most basic story structure that could be as simple or as complex as the tale needed. This worked for novels, screenplays, short stories, and even poems.
Welcome to the journey of the Inverted “C” - Cage, Escape, Quest, Dragons, and Home.
At the time, that I learned this valuable lesson, I desperately wanted to become a novelist and had no idea how to get started.
Being a voracious reader of novels did not make me adept at writing them.
The Inverted C is very similar to the Joseph Campbell’s narrative structure that is known as the Hero’s Journey.
I like the Inverted C because it is simple and flexible.
However, if anybody struggles with a Quest cursed with a sagging middle, the Hero’s Journey would help to flesh out the meat of the story.
The Inverted C is perfect for beginners.
Over the years, I’ve shared this in 5-10 minutes with friends who were natural writers, but didn’t know what to do when it came to structuring a story.
When it comes to the Inverted C:
1. The arc of the entire novel is to fit the curve of the Inverted C;
2. Every chapter is to be structured on the Inverted C;
3. Every character should have an inverted C storyline, even the minor players.
For the purposes of simplicity, I’ll stick with the protagonist.
Cage: This is where the Protagonist begins.
The Cage could be attractive, the protagonist a Lucky Dude who has everything – beautiful and loving wife/girlfriend (or both), exciting career, beautiful home, Master of the Universe status, etc.
Or the cage could be the prison of misery. A Wretched Dude has a broken spirit, broken bank, addiction, depression, despair, etc.
Escape: Enter the Intruder and the Protagonist leaves the Cage.
The Intruder can be a friend or a foe. A murderer could kill the Lucky Dude’s beautiful wife/girlfriend (or both), and the character is now kicked out of his Cage of a wonderful life.
Or Wretched Dude could be visited by an angel or a demon (or both) and be challenged to change, heal, grow, or perish. Thus Wretched Dude leaves his miserable life to start the Quest.
Quest: What does Protagonist want?
What does Protagonist yearn for?
No Longer Lucky Dude wants vengeance for his dead and beautiful wife/girlfriend (or both). So he has to find the killer, find why the killer chose him and his loved ones, figure out the best revenge for killer, and meet all kinds of characters along the way, one of whom is a Comely Lady Cop.
Wretched But Wanting a Better Life Dude yearns for wholeness, healing, abundance, and redemption. Wretched Dude is in a battle against himself and his inner demons that lead him to make such bad decisions. He still meets friends and foes along the way, those who would help him grow and heal, and those who would keep him stuck, addicted, and toxic. These adventures and journeys make up the bulk of the novel story.
Dragons: The moment of truth.
Challenges/confrontations lead to the Crucial Choice.
Not Lucky Dude finds the killer of his wife/girlfriend (or both), and they battle. He has his chance to torture and kill the killer, and avenge her death (or their deaths). But he has met the Comely Lady Cop is on his tail, knowing that he is on the killer’s tail. Does he let Comely Lady Cop bring killer to justice or does he take it in his own hands?
Not So Wretched Dude has conquered his addictions and is feeling renewed hope in life. He goes to a party to celebrate his acceptance into school, but there are cocaine and a Hooker there. The Hooker’s Pimp is a dealer and it is her job to get Not So Wretched Dude back into his addictions. She pressures him to snort and swallow. Wretched Dude feels an uprising of his self-loathing and takes that silver straw to snort. But then he thinks of all he could have ahead of him. Does he give in to habit and the temptation of his weaknesses, or does he choose redemption and the unknown of a sweeter life?
Home: The destination at the end of the Quest.
Back to the original Cage, on to an open wide Vista, or descending into a deeper and darker Cage.
Has the protagonist changed? Or did the protagonist remain the same?
What did the protagonist learn? Did the protagonist find liberation or did the protagonist die?
Home can be anything from a happy ending to the abyss of despair to emptiness.
Lucky Dude could become Transcendent Dude if he forgives killer enough and chooses a second chance at joy and love with Comely Lady Cop. Or Lucky Dude could become Convict Dude in the Cage of prison by killing killer and getting caught by Comely Lady Cop who lives by her Cop-ly duties even with a man she’s fallen in love with.
Wretched Dude could become Healer Dude if he says no to cocaine and the Hooker, goes on to school, and becomes a therapist. Or Wretched Dude could become Homeless Dude because he succumbs, and goes down the spiral until he loses absolutely everything.
If every chapter and every character has the story curved on an Inverted C, and you’re golden.
This works for short stories, novellas, plays, screenplays, novels, and it would probably work well with poems too.
This is a structure, not a formula.
And it is ancient.
Myths and fairy tales are structured along the Inverted C.
Even Pulp Fiction was told along the Inverted C. Every character in that crazy movie had an Inverted C storyline that was spliced up and rearranged.
Hope this helps. Thank you for reading and happy writing!
The Fall of the Patron and the Rise of the Thief of Hearts
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Something was horribly wrong.
The manor had not been a joyous place since the death of their Patroness, but there had always been the motion and noise of activity.
Now everything was quiet.
A few servants waited before the front door, the personal maid to the Patron’s daughter, the Cook, and the man in charge of the stables.
The rounded features of the lady’s maid were swollen, tears streaking her cheeks. The Cook’s face, which she often boasted turned red from the stove fires, was the color of ashes. The head of the stables was composed, but the anguish in his eyes seared through the elderly Doctor when they shook hands.
“What happened?” he asked.
“We don’t know, Doctor,” the other replied. “I think it’s best to just show you.”
They entered the house.
The stillness inside was eerie.
Instead of the bustle of servants and tenant farmers and visiting patrons from neighboring counties, there was nothing but the muffled sounds of weeping.
The walls seemed to close in on the Doctor.
This grief was fresh, raw.
He could feel the sorrow throughout the house as he followed the stable hand upstairs to what he recognized as the daughter’s room.
The Doctor gasped at what he saw inside.
The creamy white quilts on the bed were soaked with blood, cascading down one side to make a small pool beneath.
He had to fight the urge to retch, unable to speak until he steadied himself.
“Where is she?”
“She’s gone,” the stable hand replied. “One of the boys had a tale about her running off in the middle of the night on a giant stallion, the wild gray colt that ran away from here several years ago. He swears he saw her blow something that dazzled around the beast and say ‘immortal like me.’ And he claims there was blood all over her face and gown.”
“Well, she can’t have gone far. Shouldn’t we send for the lawman?”
“I suppose we could. But if what the boy says is true, that won’t do any good. I saw that stallion last year at the river. He’s a monster of a horse.”
“And where is…”
The stable hand squeezed his eyes shut, but a stream of tears escaped. Breathing deeply until he regained his composure, he opened his eyes and beckoned the Doctor to follow.
The Doctor was relieved at first when he came into the study and saw the Patron sitting in his chair.
Then he looked into the glazed eyes staring right through him, noted the slack jaw and witless expression.
His heart ached at the sight of him, and the Doctor had to fight back his own tears while searching through his bag. He took his time preparing his instruments, not starting his examination until he recovered his poise.
The Patron was quite robust, showing the health of a man half his age until the Doctor felt for a pulse and found nothing.
He froze, his mind reeling over the telltale mark of the Sorcerer of the Caverns.
But that was impossible, for the Sorcerer only preyed on young women.
“Patron, what happened to you?”
“Eh…” he said, his voice ravaged. “Eh…la bandita stole my heart…”
The Doctor frowned and shook his head.
“I don’t understand. Who is this Ella Bandita?”
The Patron looked confused at the name. Then his face cleared for a moment, a spark of intelligence flashing in his eyes only to become nothing.
“Ella Bandita…” the Patron said, nodding and his voice dropped to a whisper. His left eye welled with single tear which fell down his cheek.
“Ella Bandita,” he repeated. “She’s my daughter.”
The Patron stood up.
The Doctor watched him leave, scarcely able to believe it was the Patron he saw.
His gait was almost silent, too soft to leave an echo.
The Doctor closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hand shaking while making the sign of the cross, only a thought kept intruding on his prayer.
The Patron had finally given his daughter a name.
*****
The Bard took his place before the hearth, his figure a dark silhouette in front of the fiery mound. The children heard the soft hiss of deep breathing.
He always claimed a moment to enjoy the fragrance of wood burning before he spoke.
Then his voice rang clear, rising from the depths of his belly, its subtle cadence rolling through the cabin as the Village Bard began another tale about his favorite villainess, the woman known as the Thief of Hearts.
“In the south of this country, there’s a fashion town built into the upper walls of high cliffs where the sea crashes against the walls below. The buildings of this village change color through the day, depending on the place of the sun in the sky.”
“In evening time, the town is invisible. The buildings are the same muddy pink hue of stone bluffs at sundown.”
“Nobody knows how this town was built. The structures are ancient, and those skills were not passed to the masons of today. No one now has the knowing to carve deep into the rock, to find the support for buildings jutting out from the cliffs and hanging over the ocean.”
“During winter storms, the waves get high enough to flood the streets with salt water. Yet the village stands, half buried in stone, half suspended over the sea.”
The Bard paused a moment, his silhouette completely still. The sharp cracks of the blazing fire echoed through the cabin.
“But this fashion town has no protection from Ella Bandita.”
6 New Original Fiction Writing Prompts!
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They just keep on coming, these writing prompts! Get them while they’re fresh and while the floodgates are open. I may have a dry spell that lasts months after this! Then again, maybe not.
These could inspire suspense, coming of age, romance, fantasy - because after all, isn’t everything fantasy?
If you’d like to check out earlier prompts that are strictly fantasy, click here.
6 Post-Breakup Freedom Drunk Writing Prompts Because I Can! And They're Original!
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Breakups come with dubious advantages. Here, one advantage is that I find it a safe distraction to make up writing prompts that have nothing to do with my ex-relationship. Since I’m having a hard time concentrating on everything else, this is a gift for other writers.
These prompts work for fantasy, romance, suspense, adventure, and journaling - which could help with memoir or even fresh ideas for a novel. It all depends on YOU and your inspiration!
Perhaps you’d like to check out my novel, “Ella Bandita and the Wanderer.” If so, click here!
If you’d prefer a freebie (Part 1) to check it out, click here!
In the meantime, enjoy these prompts and I hope they inspire you!
The Perfect Moment of Weakness
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Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay
Ironically, the perfect moment came from my suppressed irritation.
I was already in a dreadful mood when I met up with the Patron’s Daughter.
It was the peak of harvest season and that day had been viciously hot.
Working the fields had been pure misery. Even the most stoic of workers cursed as we pulled vegetables from the ground, drenching the earth with our sweat.
I almost passed out, and several others did.
So there was no holding my tongue when I met with the Patron’s Daughter, who was especially petulant that day.
“Aren’t you getting bored with this?” I declared. “Do you ever think about what you want, or do you simply like to complain?”
I can still remember the pitch of irritation in my voice.
I was both aghast and exhilarated by what I said.
I have no idea where those words came from, but what I said was perfect. I knew from her first reaction.
Her blue eyes grew wide for a moment. Then she glared at me.
It was clear I had offended her. Yet what she didn’t do was storm off in indignation.
“How dare you!”
“If you want to marry the Noble Son that much, I know somebody who might be able to help you.”
“That is absurd. How could you, Addie, possibly know anybody who could help me marry the Noble Son?”
The Patron’s Daughter had recovered enough to regain hauteur. She puffed herself up and looked down on me.
“The same way I came to know you and all your secret sorrows.”
What I said next made me writhe with self-loathing for days, but it sealed my change in destiny.
“People confide in me because I don’t matter. Just like you do.”
The ruthless honest stopped the Patron’s Daughter in her tracks. Her expression could best be described as frozen.
“Everybody needs to confess,” I continued before she could recover. “And I’m no danger to anybody. So I know things and I know people.”
“All right,” the Patron’s Daughter said hesitantly. “Tell me more.”
I had her.
This was her moment of weakness that I had been waiting for.
This moment was also the first time I felt the delicious thrill of power.
It made me giddy for days.
“There’s a cabin deeper in the woods-”
“Nobody goes into the Ancient Grove,” she interrupted. “Everybody knows that.”
“We’re in the Ancient Grove right now.”
“We’re at the edge. That’s not the same thing.”
“We’re deep enough that nobody can see us here,” I countered. “So what difference does it make if we go a little further in?”
The Patron’s Daughter paused. Before she could argue further, I pressed my point.
“As I said, there’s a cabin in the woods and the man who lives there swears he can see inside a person’s soul and know their true desires.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know, but he swears he can bring people what they truly desire.”
She frowned.
“That is ridiculous!”
I swore inwardly.
I had known the Sorcerer’s bait was weak when he told me what to say. I protested that it wouldn’t work.
But the Sorcerer had insisted that’s what I would tell her.
The Patron’s Daughter was stupid, but even she wasn’t so easily fooled.
Yet the Sorcerer had insisted on a certain script and that I follow it word for word, even in the face of her resistance.
So I did.
I shrugged as the Sorcerer told me to, and kept my tone light and casual.
“Well, that’s what I heard. I also heard he only takes visitors on the eve before the holy day of rest.”
“And what does he want in exchange?”
“I don’t know.”
The Patron’s Daughter shook her head, and gave a rather unladylike snort.
“I’m only trying to help. I know where the cabin is. I can take you there in a few days if you want.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Suit yourself,” I said and shrugged again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I cursed the Sorcerer and his paltry script when the Patron’s Daughter flipped her long raven hair and walked off.
The savory taste of invincibility and power disappeared, leaving bitterness in my mouth and my being filled with despair.
I had actually had the Patron’s Daughter where I had wanted her. Yet because of the Sorcerer, I had blown it.
I still went to the cabin as I was supposed to.
When I walked in, it struck me how barren this cabin was, only one room with meager furnishings. Perhaps a monk might have been comfortable there, but it was incredible the Sorcerer believed this could be the setting for the seduction and downfall of the Patron’s Daughter.
To my surprise, the Sorcerer was almost beaming when I walked in.
“Excellent work!” he said. “Addie, that could not have gone any better!”
“Are you mad? She said no.”
“Of course, she said no today. Everybody resists at first. She’ll say yes, probably by the end of the week.”
“I really doubt that.”
“You underestimate yourself. How many times have I been right when you’ve disagreed with me?”
I said nothing.
“Trust me,” the Sorcerer cajoled, his tone almost soothing. “You hooked her. She won’t stop thinking about what you said. She’ll even start obsessing about it. Chances are she’ll look exhausted by the time she comes to you. Keep up your melancholy walks in the woods.”
Writer's Block in a Sex Scene? How to Open Up and Break Through
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Writer’s block hits in so many different ways.
Technically, right now, I’m not “blocked” per the usual meaning, because I’m writing regularly.
Even if I’m in a slack phase in my writing, I am making progress on the crucial second draft of “The Shepherd and the Courtesan” (working title only), and I have to keep up on the blog.
Since I was blocked in the truest sense of the phrase for years in that I didn’t write at all, what’s holding me up now is not that much of a big deal.
But I do find it interesting.
There’s one scene that’s holding me up – the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan. This scene does not happen right away in this novel.
In fact, it doesn’t happen until the second half of the novel, and there are several sex scenes before the reader even gets to them - sex scenes that are juicier, more transgressive, and more exciting.
Before we get to this, we have the psychological BDSM sex scenes between the Patron’s Daughter and the Brute – neither of them main characters – while the main character, Addie, who will later become the Courtesan, acts as voyeur.
We get to Addie’s flight to the Capital City, and none of the sex scenes are with her as a Courtesan for the sake of pacing.
But we do get the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Woman who would become Ella Bandita; and the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan is right after that.
But the difference between all the other sex scenes and this one is that this sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan is much more vulnerable.
This scene is rooted in tenderness, whereas the others have some element of drama, hedonism, and intrigue.
Also in the scene between these characters, I’m writing about those who are not the usual players in an erotic scene, mainly because of age and ageism.
The Shepherd is 50, and the Courtesan is 60. They are still true to the usual standard of romantic fantasy in that both characters are exceptionally attractive.
In an erotic scene, the Courtesan suspends disbelief because she’s been very sexual for more than 40 years; and any woman who stays highly sexually active keeps her juice much longer than those women who don’t.
The Shepherd, however, has been mostly solitary and without a mate for 25 years. There is a lot of vulnerability there. I’m resistant to write about that, and I wonder why.
I wasn’t resistant to writing about the psychological and physical violence between the Brute and the Patron’s Daughter.
For the record, that’s not how I approach sexuality in my personal life. I’m not into BDSM, although I have a lot of friends who are and they are fascinating people. Perhaps that’s why. I’m emotionally detached.
So maybe I can’t be emotionally detached at the thought of a character who had embraced his solitude, and was now suddenly confronted with emotional and sexual intimacy, along with the fears that would entail.
That hits closer to the home of my experience.
Then I arrive at the logistics of impotence.
Erectile dysfunction is reasonable to expect in a middle-aged man who has not had sex in a quarter century.
That likelihood cannot be ignored because it would render the scene ridiculous, even in a “fantasy.”
Oh, and then there’s the logistics of being a woman writing a sex scene from the POV of a man.
I’ve done it before with the Wanderer in the previous novel, but it adds a whole new level of awkwardness to writing it.
Since Viagra is not an option for a story set in pre-Industrial fairy tale times, I consulted with my Tantra teacher on natural methods to induce a solid hard-on for the good Shepherd.
She shared the finger-in-anus-to-massage-the-prostrate technique that she claims would raise an erection in a dead man. (Ok, I exaggerate.)
Although that information is very pragmatic, I couldn’t figure out a graceful, poetic way to introduce it in the scene.
And the sensitive Shepherd, who has long been celibate, is more likely to be scared off with a move like that. Maybe I’ll use it later in the story once they get better acquainted.
Another tantra teacher suggested that the Shepherd start waking up with erections, getting back in touch with his sense of arousal before they ever get together.
Now that, I can use.
For their first time, so far, I went with tender loving care, encouragement, tantric breathing, and palpating the perineum.
Although there’s no guarantee those gentler methods would be effective in real life, who is to say that’s impossible? It only has to be in the realm of possibility, and that is good enough for me.
As far as insights and how-to advice, I think I led by example.
You can write a blog or a Facebook Note, and open up to strangers. Writing this post gave relief to my shyness. I've never used Facebook Live or Instagram Live, but I bet that would lead to some pretty out there input, and there’s always something useful.
If you prefer a more intimate place to get feedback on your sex scenes - in fiction and in life ;-) - I recommend talking about it with people face-to-face.
Discuss the sex scenes with close friends or your writers’ group. I will need to do this eventually for that masculine perspective on those sex scenes told from the man’s experience.
But even without that, other perspectives can be very helpful in fleshing out a challenging what ifs and snafus. And talking about it in person is likely to break you out of your reticence and embarrassment.
Oh, and there’s always masturbation. With a fantasy going on inside your head, maybe even the sex scene you’re stuck on.
My golden rule when it comes to writing about sex: If what I’m writing doesn’t turn me on, how can I expect that to stimulate the reader?
I’m ready to take on that sex scene now. How do you handle being shy about writing a descriptive sex scene?
For anybody who’d like a nibble - and this is only a nibble - because sex is part of the background, not the main event in the scene, click here to view this excerpt out of my work-in-progress, “The Shepherd and the Courtesan.”
Desperate For a Way Out
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My initial resistance must have caught him off guard.
To convince me to sacrifice my heart, the Sorcerer promised to cast a spell that would endure the test of time. I would grow more beautiful as the years passed.
At the time, I thought that a frivolous temptation. Youth never considers the brutal reality of old age, and vanity is not an indulgence available to the ugly.
I only gave in because the Sorcerer wouldn’t.
Now, I am grateful and relieved I took all he offered.
The winter, and sometimes the autumn, of life has often been described a woman’s hell.
That is usually the outcome for the women of my sisterhood, especially those who don’t leave the life to marry well.
Perhaps that humiliation may be mine when I am close to death, but thankfully, I have not suffered any loss of status or income, even though I am in my sixtieth year.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
To go back to that moment when I was offered the chance to change the dreariness of my fate, it may surprise you to know, my dear Shepherd, that I took a few days to think about it. To be made over into the image of beauty and grace was a dream I never had the audacity to imagine for myself.
Yet I couldn’t fathom how this could actually come to be.
First, how could I possibly lure the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer of the Caverns? We absolutely loathed each other.
Second, how could the odious Sorcerer possibly seduce such a vain and arrogant creature as the Patron’s Daughter, given how ugly and ancient that he was?
“You need not concern yourself with that,” the Sorcerer actually laughed when I asked him. “I, too, have my methods of transformation.”
Since we are here now, we both know I accepted.
Really, how could I simply resist the reward?
I would never be ugly again.
I need not have worried about finding the possibility to influence her.
I started running into the Patron’s Daughter on my solitary walks through the Ancient Grove not long after meeting the Sorcerer.
The first time I ran into her, she was in tears.
She glared at me, of course.
But I was too stunned by the spectacle of her showing any sign of pain to take offense.
Apparently, the rejection of the Noble Son made her had gotten to her, and that made her vulnerable. That had never happened to her.
At first, I wondered if she now understood how her suitors felt in how she treated them.
But I would later find out that she didn’t give that any thought.
The abandonment left her dejected, but it also made her petulant.
Again, I get ahead of myself.
After that first unpleasant meeting, I ignored her and kept going on my way.
The next day, the Patron’s Daughter rode past us working in the fields, her demeanor as haughty as ever. But on this afternoon, she looked me in the eye and gave a slight nod as she passed.
That she had never done before.
The forbidden Ancient Grove must have been a favorite place for tearful girls suffering romantic disappointment.
Every time I went for a walk amongst the massive trees, the Patron’s Daughter was also there.
I wondered if the Sorcerer cast some kind of spell to make these frequent meetings happen.
It hardly mattered if he did.
After a couple of weeks of running into each other every time I went for my evening walk, the Patron’s Daughter finally spoke to me.
It was the first time I had ever heard her sound somewhere near pleasant.
“Do you come here every day?” she asked. “I imagine you would be too exhausted.”
“I do and I am exhausted,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
To my surprise, she almost apologized.
“I beg your pardon. I did not mean any offense.”
I accepted her self-correction with a nod and a thank you.
After that, we started to chat lightly whenever we ran into each other.
That was rather awful for me.
From what I’ve already told you about my former life as Addie, darling Shepherd, would it surprise you to know I was not particularly liked?
Anger, resentment, and envy were the strongest traits of my personality.
Who loves the bitter?
I was consumed with bitterness long before I turned eighteen.
Looking back, I don’t like who I was at that time.
Now, it shames me to admit I was every bit as petulant as the Patron’s Daughter, and that was without being spoiled. I thought myself above my company, the other peasants who worked as hard as I did under miserable conditions.
Yet I was the one who complained incessantly.
It was impossible to be held in esteem or respect with such a ridiculous attitude. Even my parents thought me a fool. For an indentured peasant born to a life of servitude to want more than I could ever have, instead of making do with the life that was offered me, seemed to everybody a state of lunacy.
And looking back, they were right. It really was.
But one thing I had never been was a hypocrite.
The reason the people around me knew of my envy, bitterness, and angry desire for more was because I let it show.
So to act in such a way to encourage the trust of the one girl I had hated and envied my entire life to get what I wanted made me feel vile.
To make my point, the only baths I knew during those years were the ones I could muster at the edge of the river, scrubbing myself with the scraps of meager soap that were left after doing the wash.
Most of the time, my personal stench made me nauseous.
Yet my pretense of friendship with a girl I couldn’t stand made me feel so much dirtier in a way that a lifelong deprivation of baths never could.
But I had a choice. Between the promise of beauty and the freedom of an unknown future, and a meager integrity that would keep me in a life of misery, what would you have chosen? Really?
I chose beauty and freedom.
I was truly desperate.
Please remember that, Shepherd, in case you feel tempted to judge me as my story unfolds.
The First and Most Dangerous Gamble
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Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
“Now that I’ve shared with you a little something from my life,” Adrianna murmured, “I’d like it if you let me see your drawings. I’m very flattered you took such an interest.”
The Shepherd looked down, startled by the strange shapes he saw.
Adrianna was there, but not recognizable in the flurry of shapes in motion on the paper.
“Ok,” he said. “But I’m not sure you’ll like it. I can probably have a better one for you later after having some time to focus.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Adrianna replied.
Glancing to his cache of drawings, she grinned wickedly.
“By the way, I would like to see all your drawings, not just the one of me.”
The Shepherd said nothing, but scowled.
The Courtesan threw her head back and laughed when she saw his expression.
Again, the slightly masculine mannerism disconcerted the Shepherd. The familiarity of it unnerved him, as much as how unexpected it was every time she did it.
“In case you’ve forgotten, my dear Shepherd, we made an agreement to trade stories. Perhaps your drawings would be a good start to open you up.”
“You do this every night?” the Shepherd asked in an attempt to veer the conversation.
Adrianna nodded, and finished off her water.
Without warning, she took his pad with his latest sketch and spent a few moments peering at it
“This is really quite good,” she declared. “Are you sure you wish to keep drawing only as a hobby?”
The Shepherd remembered how much the Butler boasted of his mistress as a benevolent and influential patroness of the arts, and was alarmed.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Adrianna laughed again.
“Sweet, shy Shepherd. As you wish. Please let me know if you change your mind.”
A maid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a long fur coat draped over her arm.
The Shepherd did not hear the girl enter.
“Ah yes,” Adrianna said. “It is the cocktail hour. I don’t feel a pressing need to change for supper. Do you?”
Without waiting for an answer, the young maid stepped forward to help her mistress into her coat.
Then the Courtesan looked at the Shepherd expectantly, slowly raising her brows when he didn’t move.
The Shepherd flushed when he realized she expected him to offer his arm.
Adrianna smiled and linked her arm through his once he did.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I think dinner promises to be quite lovely. And of course, I will entertain you with another of my stories.”
“I look forward to it,” the Shepherd said, suddenly remembering the details of the intrigue from the night before and eager to learn more.
*****
You are very fortunate, dear Shepherd.
I’ve shared this story when occasion called for it over the years, which gave me the perspective and ability to articulate all that I witnessed and felt.
At the time though, I couldn’t because I lacked the insight to understand the madness that happened. So you get to hear my perspective seasoned with the wisdom of experience.
My world blew apart and wide open during those next few months. I gained much wisdom that would serve me well.
But the most unexpected and shocking lesson was the insidious power of hatred, and the ties created from it. The blind loathing and envy I cultivated for the Patron’s Daughter had bound my soul with hers, and therefore my destiny.
I had no idea that’s what I had been doing to myself. If I had known, perhaps I would have found another release for those violent emotions.
Then again, perhaps I wouldn’t have been able to.
The Sorcerer of the Caverns must have understood this because he certainly used that to his advantage.
He was the must cunning monster I have ever known.
I had no idea how to get him what he wanted.
If you know anything about the Sorcerer, you must know he would never have wanted to seduce an ugly peasant girl named Addie.
Of course, it was the Patron’s Daughter he wanted.
Beautiful and vicious, she presented an unusual challenge for the Sorcerer.
He had always ensnared his conquests through desires that were out of reach.
The Patron’s Daughter had been indulged and pampered all of her life. Never wanting for anything, she had no yearning.
Since the Sorcerer had no way to tempt her, she would never give up her heart to satisfy a forbidden longing.
So I would have to give up mine. But only if I was able to deliver the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer.
You look confused, darling Shepherd. I get ahead of myself.
Our plan was both complicated and dangerous.
I was to lure the Patron’s Daughter to the Sorcerer, so he could seduce her. After he claimed her maidenhead, he would transform me into the likeness of the Patron’s Daughter.
Except for my eyes, as I said yesterday.
But my heart would be the payment instead.
Although I was never one for sentiment, I resisted.
I didn’t understand why taking my heart was necessary since the Patron’s Daughter was the one marked by the Sorcerer, and I was risking death if anything went awry.
It was an argument I lost.
His premise was that I had the most to gain. Also, since I had been ruminating on death as a choice when we met, I had nothing to lose.
Much later, I learned that although the Sorcerer obviously savored the power that comes with a successful conquest, it was not seduction that kept him alive as centuries passed.
Feeding on the hearts of girls and young women - all of them virginal until he seduced them - was how the Sorcerer gained immortality.
Since the Patron’s Daughter could only be lured to the Sorcerer through deceit rather than her own choice, it was impossible for him to claim her heart even after he took her.
Since the Sorcerer could never have the heart of the Patron’s Daughter, he had to take mine in her place.
And I was definitely a virgin.
Oh the despair that would have followed if we had been caught!
I would have been publicly hanged, and my parents would have known nothing but disgrace for the rest of their miserable lives!
Don’t think I didn’t consider that as I made my deal with the Devil.
