Category Archives: magic realism

The Black Cat Blue Sea Award

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blackcat

Haven’t done one of these in quite awhile. I was nominated by Grace on her blog: The Life of a Teenage Princess. Thanks, Grace. What’s fun about her blog is seeing life through a different lens. I “think” i’m a little bit older than she, but I’ve been enjoying her passage and writing passions. Give her a look when you can.

What is

The Black Cat Blue Sea Award?

This award is for bloggers who strive to write for everybody, and no matter how many viewers they get, make an impact on a reader. This award is an expression of gratitude to the nominee. It should be awarded to anybody that you choose deserves it, and it doesn’t mean that they must have hundreds of followers and likes.

The Rules:

Anybody nominated can nominate seven (lucky number) other bloggers. Anybody nominated answers three questions.The questions you ask while nominating can be any three questions.

If any of the questions asked are offending or the nominee simply does not want to answer them, the nominee does not have to answer them to earn the award.

Grace’s Three Questions:

  1. If you could choose anywhere to go (with no expense in mind) to have the perfect day, where would you go, and what would you do?  Scotland. There is something about Scotland that has a huge draw on me. I feel I NEED to be there.  I’d go to Edinburgh first. Then, castles, moors, theater, music, and I’d try to find the non-touristy spots to explore. 
  2. What literary character from The Princess Bride would most likely reflect your personality?  Hm. I have never thought of a connection to any of the characters.  This is a movie I do love. Hmm. I’d say, at this moment, Miracle Max (Billy Crystal). “Have fun storming the castle.” Yeah, that character. 
  3. What is one thing you have discovered about yourself during Quarantine? I am more introverted than I had thought. No problem navigating my apartment. Plenty of Zoom, calls, texts, books, and writing.  I miss hugs, cuddles, and other human contact (get yer mind(s) out of the gutter) more than I thought I could want as much. 

My Seven Samurai Picks: 

There’s enough going on for many that this could be that ONE MORE THING!  So, if you are so inclined, go for it.  You can link this back to Tale Spinning, or not. I’d love to read your responses. Just answer my three questions (below). Cop out? Maybe, but I have a lot to get done before 4:30 (two hours from now. My apologies). If you feel you fit the criteria, go for it.

My Three Questions

  1. If you have had an epiphany that has changed/challenged/strengthened your life journey, could you please state what it was and its consequences?

  2.  What is your favorite food DISH, not the general “Italian,” Chinese,” “Mexican,” etc. What is the dish called?  Extra bonus points if you can paint a detailed picture for us so we all drool when we read it. Not the recipe, how you feel when it is set before you and when you take your first bite.

  3. What does your idea of Utopia look/sound/touch/taste like?

ON THE EDGES

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Bouquet, Van Gogh

On The Edges

The invitation was relatively concise

Arrive at two, the brightest of light

A short path to the house

Brings you up the three steps

A porch sweeps the space

The entryway is here

Knock once, twice, thrice

The door swung upwards

Letting you in

Gusty wind plays on your back

Pushing you inside the two-floor house,

First flight

Swiveled head & searching eyes

The walls were white

And nothing else

The place was bare, except

A sweeping curved stairway centered itself

Polished cherry wood atop

Carved wood posts with intimate designs

Of plentitudes of flowers; a bouquet of railing

Uprooted vines holding these tableaux

It caught your fancy

Drawing you near

Noticing the details grow deeper

As you traveled the veneer

The steps asked you to climb

Even though you initially declined

The curves, the peaks, the depth drove you so

Up the stairway was where you needed to go

Upon the landing, three doors were in view

The first a white blank

The next as vacant as the first

But down the hall, the third door was ajar

Difference cascaded with what could be seen

As you thrust this door open

Into a dream

The walls were a garden

A multitude of colors

An aroma on your lips

Laid out with grace, so serene

From floor to ceiling, white walls a memory,

A facing of beauty only nature provides

Spaced only apart when a window sat between

You count the varieties, the mixes, the hues

You softly place fingers

Coming away with light dew

Turn to the right, to the left

Back again and reversed

Taking in this garden menagerie.

One window tracked you

Wanting you to gaze through

Stark contrast unappealing

A blank whiteness with edges

Of shadows descending

You shiver as you walk back to room center

Sitting down on the floor

In equidistant space

The facing of flowers

Moves you inside

Embracing your vibrancy

Of peace and good faith

HUZZAH!

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Amanda-Palmer_Photo-By-Kahn-and-Selesnick_1

Amanda Palmer © Photo-By-Kahn-and-Selesnick_1

HUZZAH!

by Stuart H. Nager ©

What is unknown appears known; of this, I am uncertain. Perchance beguiled, for last I knew I was there but, alas, here I be. This path through trees lacks familiarity, copses gnarled but tidy. A hedge I found to assist my invisibility, a vantage point to confuse me further.

So many passed by, speaking in words yet understood. I scent of fresh hops filled the air, roasted meats, and the stale sweat produced by the heat of the day. This was familiar, but the rest? Skin hues, the variances of body types, the way they laughed, swore, or what I took as such, were a jumble only experienced in the largest of gathering towns and cities.

Swords! In the distance, a clang of swords. Blade upon blade, the shrieking of steel. Cheers, mirth, sad wails erupt from that direction. As one, what I glean to be a crowd, yells, “Huzzah. Huzzah. Huzzah!”

I am undone.

My feet lead me away from the hedge, into the ebullient throngs. My spirits lift somewhat, having spirited away a mug of foul ale. Yet, I quaff to a drop as the mug refills. Foul but fair, I merrily wander to explore my thoughts and this strange happenstance.

The lasses are comely; the lads as well. Their states of modesty thrown to the wind. Music is precise. I join in the dances encountered, elevating the pleasures of all who participate. Some of the cavorting was of my accord. More of the repellant beer made its way into my hands and down my gullet. I skip off to find what I shall find. A need for the small forest calls.

Ho! A pair of churlish ruffians. Drunk, their lazy attempts to lay hands upon a lass are buffeted away. Yet still, they take no heed. She, red-headed and fair, yells with no results for assistance. Ah, this language is beginning to open. Help she will have. Swifter than an arrow, I am beside her.

Drolly, I smite the louts with my sharpened wit, enough so that their desires for the pretty turn to anger towards myself. I lead them on a merry chase, up and down, forward and back, until the befuddled duo collapse into heaps. Thanking them for this escapade, I return to the lasses.

She of red hair awaited my return, mischief in her eyes that complimented my own. She takes my hand as we become unseen behind a large oak. Their language is becoming more explicit still.

“Huzzah!” fills the air throughout.

~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Sunlight is fading, and I still find myself here. Megan of the red hair has left, alas, alas, alas, with friends dragging her away. She made a promise. Surprisingly, I gave one in return. Yet, the day has passed, more sweet beer drowning melancholy away.

Something has been pulling me throughout the day, drawing me further. Except for my Lord, I am nobody’s plaything. It was easy to turn this away with the ethereal emissions of the masses. Now, so few remain. This “Ren Faire,” as Megan related, closed down at true nightfall.

I give in to the call.

I have reached a series of small but fierce pavilions. Each draped with runes, gemstones, carvings, feathers, and lace, enveloped in candle glow. I walk down the lane, peering into each. Women, swathed in rich earth tones, turn their heads away as I come upon them. Except, this one ahead.

She is waiting for me, knowledge in her eyes.

I know her as well.

“Sprite,” she warbles, her withered countenance neither friend nor foe.

“Crone,” adding a shallow bow to her presence.

“Inside.” She hesitates. “Please.”

I follow. She deigns to sit on a wooden stool while I stand, examining her craft. The damask cloth covering her centerpiece table is of the highest quality, the colors swirling as they lay in place. I would say hypnotic, laying down such schemes myself.

“He was angry with you. Anger festered for a long while. The King almost commenced a Wild Hunt. My Mistress lured him to her bower. No Wild Hunt was issued. It was she who moved you here.”

“I see,” thank you, My Queen, for this gift. “I still owe him my fealty.”

“No, you do not. The King has withdrawn any compulsion over you. Residing as far away, and as long, as the Queen and King have, He has no need of you. Anymore.”

This news. I never wished for it. Yet, I surprise even myself at times.

I glowed inside. It felt. Good.

“What will you do now, Robin?

The question was an excellent one. For the first time, I feel befuddled.

“I do not” was left unfinished. There was a tap on the pavilion frame behind me. I turned.

A vision appears before me. Be still, my aching.

What a glorious smile. She holds out her hand. Our eyes meet. Our hands join as one. Megan leads me away from the pavilion.

I hear the crone: “Mistress, what fool this Puck be!”

Could she not stay quiet?

Her cackles followed us as we left the faire.

Together.

Huzzah!

! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

This week, Shut Up & Write offered their monthly five-day challenge with the Prompt Theme of

Through a Stranger’s Eyes

Each day’s prompt was to give your character’s POV through their very first time at a specific place, meeting another, etc. No length restrictions. Any style of writing. Any genre.

I took on the challenge, even with the growing number of projects that I am involved with. If you’d like to read the five in order:

August 3rd:    First Impressions: Planet Earth    a twinkling defense

August 4th:    Holiday Study: Trick or Treat        Samhain

August 5th:    Extreme Sports                                 Lemmings to Slaughter

August 6th:    Modern Exercise                               Level

August 7th:     Big Events: Ren Faire                       Huzzah! (above)

 

COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME

 

Level

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Level

Level by Stuart Nager©

 

Overload.

Reroute.

Rebooting.

******offline******

Restart. Automatic.

Now.

Aware.

No visuals.

Reroute. Send.

Audio. Incoming.

Metallic. Clanging

Human. Words

Human. Grunts.

Song

Hey ya! Hey ya!
Hey ya! Hey ya!
Hey ya! Hey ya!
Hey ya! H

Audio. Off.

Code. VB.

Active.

Contact.

Humans. Legs: Movement. Moving track. Damage track.

Humans. Arms: Push. Pull. Mechanical. Scraping. Abuse.

Humans. Deformed: Arms. Legs. Chests. Tuchas.

Humans. Sweating. Severe. Mechanical; Overload.

Humans.

Humans.

Humans.

Extend. Voltage regulator.

Level: 42

Mechanical. Screaming.

Humans. Deceased.

Ticking. Machines. Cooling.

Cool.

Online.

Appreciations.

Suction: On

Mode: Deep clean.

Automatic.

 

 

Demise On Old Blackwash Road

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Julie and Steve
In teenage lust angst
Lantern lit, hidden nook
Atrocities attacked ere consummation
Sending them heedlessly running along
On Old Blackwash Road

Julie was screaming
Until her voice decayed
Steve pulled ahead
No thought of her pumping away
Julie tried to catch up
Down Old Blackwash Road

If words could take aim
Steve would have heard her pleas
Curses tossed through him
Voiceless, running still
Left alone under moonlight
Fever pitch dashing on Old Blackwash Road

Steve's mind was blanker
Except for grinding terror
Pushing himself faster on
It was primal, fierce 
As his lungs began to seize
Slowing on Old Blackwash Road

Julie haven found above
Crawling up an ancient oak
She saw Steve plunge to the ground
Closed her eyes ridigidly shut
Prayed, then dug her nails into the wood
Surrounding Old Blackwash Road

Steve's wails turned raw
Before they abruptly terminated
Julie clung for more than her worth
Tree sap glued her to her spot
Unaware of it till morning light
Dawn awakening Old Blackwash Road

Time moved through Julie
Frozen to the spot
Heat of the day came fiercely 
Freeing her from tree secretion
Setting her down upon
Empty Old Blackwash Road

She fled the scene half naked
The ground was bare of Steve
Her throat hurt as she sobbed aloud
No tears were left inside her
As she stumbled upon Route 40
Connected to Old Blackwash Road

Julie withdrew and hid inside
While the Sheriff did his best
Steve was never found, even a tiny bit
"It's happened before," they all knew for true
Julie shrugged. What could she say or do
About Old Blackwash Road?