Wild Daisies?

These daisies had cute little bugs that look like baby ladybugs on them.
(They aren't baby ladybugs, of course. Baby [larval] ladybugs actually look nothing like adult ladybugs, just like caterpillars don't look like butterflies.)

These are tall flowers; they nod and wave in the breeze. The field is full of buds; soon we will have enough for daisy chains and garlands.

The Sea Sami and their Boats

 Although the Sami are most famous for their reindeer, many, if not most, were traditionally fishermen who lived on the edges of the fjords and built strong, sea-worthy boats.

 Traditional Sami boats were often made without nails. Instead, the boats were "laced," their boards stitched together with cords made from various local materials, like leather or plant fibers.

 Sami boats were popular with their more southern neighbors, the Scandinavians. The Scandinavians bought many boats from Sami builders.

Here is an old picture of the inside of a permanent Sami house, from a Sami fishing (Sea Sami) community. The Sea Sami were sedentary--they didn't follow herds of reindeer around, but tended to stay in one place.

In the picture to the right, you can see fish drying in the background on two poles.

 Since the seashores of northern Europe are very cold, the walls of Sami houses had to be very thick to keep families warm through the winter.

Families built houses out of whatever materials they had on hand--where wood was common, they used wood. Where wood wasn't common, people built houses out of stone or sod (dirt.) Some of the oldest still-standing houses in the world were built of stone and surrounded by sod in very cold places, thousands of years ago. A stone house is very sturdy and can last for a very long time, after all.

Dwarves

Listening to Wagner's Ring Cycle and thinking about dwarves.

They're a pretty standard character in the fantasy writers' domain. Hardworking, honest, industrial: they're the background of many a far-flung economy, the quiet toilers who get the ore dug and smelted and don't ask for much in return besides some music and ale.

Though there may be whole cities or kingdoms of dwarves, in fairytales they're associated with loners and outcasts. They scuttle about rocky moors after dark or entertain misshapen hunchbacks and lost travelers.

Folklore speaks little of dwarven women; Tolkien supposed that they, too, sported beards, and so were indistinguishable from the men. Others have supposed that dwarves have no women and simply spring fully formed from the stones.

Mostly I suppose that dwarven women keep to themselves, and do not dally in human company. But on nights when the rain falls like a river and the power goes out, I favor the stones.

I am quite fond of dwarves.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia: Wroclaw's dwarfs. 

Future Published #5: Great Believers, by Elizabeth Larivee

Hello and welcome to Future Published, where I interview promising new writers whose work I have read and believe deserves to be published. Today's fabulous author is Elizabeth Larivee, who has traveled all the way from the speakeasies of 1920s Boston to tell us about her new book, GREAT BELIEVERS.

So, tell us about your novel. What inspired you to write this story?

Ms. Larivee: Great Believers is about a flapper who decides to try and take down the mob when she learns they’re working with government officials to purposefully poison booze to unsuspecting people. It’s set in the dimly lit speakeasies of Boston, Massachusetts during the notorious Jazz Age.
I can't remember how, but I started to become fascinated with the 1920s. I knew I wanted to write a story that took place during Prohibition. I watched Ken Burn's Prohibition and in the documentary they talked about a woman named Louis Long. She wrote speakeasy reviews for The New Yorker and that was when the story for Rosemary started to emerge. When I found out the government had purposefully poisoned alcohol to scare people from drinking, I knew I had to write about a character who tries to expose them.  

Who was your favorite character to write?

Ms. Larivee: My favorite character to write about was definitely Rosemary. She was so much fun, and I loved taking her to the speakeasies. Those were some of my favorite scenes to write about with her.

What motivates your characters?

Ms. Larivee: I think what motivates a lot of my characters is a search for justice. A lot of the people I write about tackle moral and political issues from different time periods. They want to expose the truth about the society they are living in and will do whatever it takes to achieve it.  

What kinds of moral questions do your characters wrestle with?

Ms. Larivee: My character, Rosemary, is in love with a bootlegger. While he’s trying to save money for his family, he is still breaking the law and works with the mob. By exposing the mobsters and their “political connections,” she also risks exposing him and could get him into trouble. Her boyfriend, Aiden, also has to come to turns with the fact that he unknowingly delivered a tainted bottle of hooch to a man who later died from alcohol poisoning.

How do you feel about killing off characters?

Ms. Larivee: Honestly, I don’t find it that hard. If it needs to be done for the story, then I’m surprisingly comfortable with killing someone off. I usually plot my stories out so I know who is going to get it in the end. In a way I’ve already mentally prepared myself to say goodbye to them.

Tell us a little about yourself. What are you reading these days?

Ms. Larivee: I’ve been reading a lot of historical fiction set in the early 20th century. Right now, I am really like reading books by Beatriz Williams. I like her snappy prose. It’s very fun and modern, but still also grounded in historical accuracy. Recently, I finished The Light between the Oceans and I loved it. Another great read about life in the 20s after World War I.

What are you working on now? Do you have a sequel planned, or something new?

Ms. Larivee: The next thing I'm working on is a story about suffragettes and the passing of the 19th Amendment. It's a part of our nation's history that I feel is often overlooked. I'm really excited about this latest project and have already started writing it.

What's your favorite kind of coffee?

Ms. Larivee: My favorite kind of coffee depends on the season. Right now, I really like getting cold coffee and I have a slight addiction to Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino. In a few months, though, I will be one of those many white girls drinking pumpkin spice lattes in boots.

It's my observation that books seem to reflect their writers. What aspect of you is reflected in your book?

Ms. Larivee: Like my characters, I also want to see justice in the world. I try to keep up with current events, and I can get really frustrated when things don't happen the way I want them to, politically speaking. You see horrible people get a lot of power or someone get convicted of a crime, but only serve a little jail time. Sometimes they aren't even convicted of the crime I feel like they committed. Anyways, I think I'm like my characters in that I want the truth to come out, and for everyone to get treated fairly. For any Harry Potter fans out there, my characters and I are all definitely Hufflepuffs.

Would you like to leave us with a quote from your book?

Ms. Larivee: “It (the 1920s) was a remarkable, exhilarating time to be alive. It was when the brassy notes of Duke Ellington played in dim speakeasies. Mobsters befriended politicians while couples danced the Charleston and fell in love.” She smiled as she thought of Aiden. His golden smile still haunted her dreams and filled her with hope. “Since those days, the world has changed so much, but then so little at the same time. The sun still rises in the east and the tides still move. My parents tell me the world is going to hell, but folks have said that since the time of Moses. There was—and still is—hope to be had. Despite this wretched crash, the Jazz Age has taught me there’s still love to be found and something to believe in.”  

Just lovely. Thank you so much for joining us today!

Narwhals!

The Narwhal and Beluga Whale are (somewhat) closely related species, similar in size, shape, and color (but not tusks.)
Narwhals live near the polar sea ice. Their tusks probably help them keep breathing holes open through the long arctic winters.


The narwhal and beluga should probably be actually called "dolphins," rather than whales. They are in the superfamily Delphinoidea, which contains dolphins, porpoises, belugas and narwhals.
Of course, dolphins (and all Delphinoideas) are themselves members of the "toothed whale" sub-order of whales, but one does not normally call a bottlenose dolphin a whale!
Here is a beluga:

I think it looks much more "dolphin" than whale. :)

Author Interview: Alex Wu, author of Morocco, Maybe: A Love Story

Today's interviewee is Alex Wu, who recently released his debut novel, Morocco, Maybe: A Love Story.

Thank you for journeying all the way to Elflandia! Why don't you tell us a bit about your book?

Happy to be here! It's not every day I get to be in a magical realm like Elflandia. Let's see, my book … A woman backpacks through Morocco and falls in love with an archaeologist, only to discover that her job requires her to destroy the priceless historical treasure he's desperate to save.

What inspired you to write this story?

Years ago I traveled through Morocco. I thought it'd be a fantastic setting for a love story because the country is so atmospheric.

How did you learn so much about Morocco?

Most of the descriptions about Morocco came from my memory, aided by my photos. I also did some research online. Many of the things in the book, like the tomato thief and the train creep, actually happened to me.
What was your favorite part of Morocco?

The Sahara. I'd been to deserts before, but nothing on the scale and beauty of the Sahara. You can read all about it and look at all the pictures, but being there is completely different. Immersion is much more powerful, almost overwhelming. It's striking how vast, quiet, and lonely the Sahara is. Really made me feel minuscule.

What was the hardest part about writing this book?

The proofreading. I read the manuscript so many times, and every time I found at least one error.

The best part?

Finishing it, and getting it into a form that I was reasonably happy with. I had never written a novel before, so I wasn't sure I could do it. The most creative writing I'd done was a crappy short story I wrote in my high school English class. In the end, I realized that simply cranking a novel-length draft isn't that hard, since I write pretty fast. The harder part is the endless rewriting to improve it.

Who was your favorite character to write?

Kai. I gave him a lot of qualities I like in a human.

What motivates your characters?

Sara Meadows, the protagonist, is pragmatic. She grew up poor and in a broken family, so all she wants is security, even if it means doing things she finds distasteful. But as she realizes, that goal has a cost deeper than she anticipated.

For Kai Rissdale, the archaeologist Sara falls in love with, he is more of a free spirit and idealistic. But of course, his ethos has a cost too. There are no cost-free actions in life.

Do you sympathize with people who've had to give up their dreams?

Absolutely. I traded my dreams for a more pragmatic career. Most people do. I get that. After all, for most folks, feeding yourself is a bit more important than ideals. On the other hand, a totally pragmatic life is pretty boring. It seems like a waste of what is already a very short life. It's about finding the right balance, and the right balance is different for everybody. The hard part, of course, is finding that balance.

Do you ever kill characters? (You don't have to answer that!)

As a general matter, yes. I'm prone to killing characters. Perhaps I'm just a murderous person. There are few things that are as dramatic or sad as death, so it's tempting to use it in a story.

Tell us a little about yourself. What are you reading these days?

I'm reading Justin Cronin's The Passage. While writing Morocco, I read a bunch of women's fiction because I wanted to understand the genre the book is most likely to be shelved as. But generally I try to read widely, as that is the best way to learn about writing. Also I get bored reading the same genre over and over again.

Where did you grow up?

I was born in Taiwan. Moved to the US when I was nine. Since then, I've been living in Los Angeles except for a couple of years in Virginia.

What are you working on now? Do you have a sequel planned, or something new?

No sequel. Sara's story is done.

Now I'm working on a scifi novel. I'm not sure what genre I'm good at (if any), so my hope is to write in different genres until I find it. Also, since I get bored easily, it's more fun to write different things.

It's my observation that books seem to reflect their writers. What aspect of you is reflected in your book?
I'm an introspective kind of person, and I definitely overthink things. And I worry a lot. So I guess Sara is kinda like me, whereas Kai is more like who I want to be.

Would you like to leave us with a quote from your book/query?

A Yiddish proverb says: “Man plans, and God laughs.” Perhaps the trick is not to plan for the life you want, but to deal with the life you never expect.

Me: Good luck and thanks for everything!

The Magic Carpet

By Vasnetsov, 1880.

Gamayun: The Prophet Bird

Gamayun: The Prophet Bird, by Vasnetsov.

Moonlight

Kuindshi, Moonlight Night on the Dnieper, 1880.

Cut bits--from ch. 4, The Brindled Bane of Heave

Lusmore bustled into the room, then halted. "Your majesty." He bowed quickly.
Jasper stood and extended a hand, eager for any excuse to set aside his troubles. "I'm not a majesty." Face to face, Lusmore appeared only thirteen or fourteen years old, with a splash of freckles and a shock of sandy blonde hair. "You're human, aren't you?"
"Yes, your -- sire." Lusmore shook Jasper's hand as though afraid it would bite him. His insecurity smelled like fresh salmon. Humans, in Japer's experience, could barely perceive each other's hearts, and so made no effort to conceal their own.
"My mother was a human. Join us."
The hunchback stared. "Your mother, sire?"
He nodded. "We could be brothers, for all I know."
Lusmore smiled. "Then let me play you a tune, my brother." He tapped out the first few notes and began to fiddle. It was a simple version of a human piece, but he played it after his own fashion, and the rhythm danced in Jasper's heart and made him feel well again. Lusmore finished with a flourish, to which the listeners gave enthusiastic applause. He grinned. "Do you play, sire?"
"Not well." Jasper pulled a slim volume from the pocket of his coat and flipped it open. "I have tried to write some songs. I've translated a bit of dwarven poetry, if you care for it -- Alberich the Cunning."
This caught the attention of the baron's servants. "What does a fae want with the Great Smith?" asked a stout dwarf with the air of an ale-steward. Several grey-bearded dwarves grunted in agreement, glaring warily at Jasper.
"It is a gift for my nurse, to give to her children and grandchildren," said Jasper. "Many of the city dwarves no longer speak the mining tongue."
"Give us a read, then," said the steward. "Let's test the metal of your work."
He flipped through the pages, looking for a passage that was both well-translated and entertaining, gave up, and went back to the beginning.
"When the brindled bane of Heaven, monster of the river Van
Burst forth and overran the Earth, stretched his jaws to snatch the Sun
And devour the Moon and Stars...."
The steward grunted as Jasper finished. "Dwarvish is an uncommon interest for a fae." He rose and made to leave, his duties no doubt summoning him elsewhere. "The translation could be worse, though. I wouldn't mind a copy of it myself."
Jasper tucked the little volume back into his pocket. Of course, even if he did finish the translation, few dwarves could ever afford it. The cost of hand-copying manuscripts was enormous, and those funny presses used in the human world were still banned under some ancient edict.
He had once pressed his father on the matter, but the king had simply looked aghast. "And put a thousand of copyists out of business?" He would do no such thing.
Lusmore shuffled his feet. By his expression he seemed not to have particularly understood the poetry, but was too polite to say so. "Are you marrying Wilgis?"
"Wilgis?" Jasper almost smiled at the familiarity in the name.
"It is what her mother calls her," the hunchback hastened to add. He tugged his cuffs. "She is a gentle soul."
Jasper downed his ale and frowned at the dregs in the bottom of his cup. "She's simple."
"Aye, sire, but I'm as ugly as they come, and she has always been kind to me."
"An act of kindness is the greatest beauty in the world." Jasper sighed, remembering how Lyta had tried to heal the gash in his side.
Lusmore spread his hands. "When she walks in the garden, the hummingbirds land on her. She gives crumbs to the mice, and even the shadows gather to hear her sing."
Jasper bit his lip. Who was he to judge? Perhaps he did not deserve so good a wife.
And yet, no matter how fine a person she might be, she was still a child. He could not possibly marry her, but how to go against his father's wishes? If the whole affair were his stepmother's doing, perhaps he would not be too enraged if Jasper quietly refused the lass?
He shook his head. It would never work --
A thunderclap burst through the castle. The floor buckled. Lusmore grabbed the table as Jasper fell. Candles clattered to the ground and shadows ripped through the walls.
They were under attack. The nightmares had returned.
Jasper ran, terrified. Another thunderclap, and the shadows tore past him. Spines slashed his cheek. He stumbled into the banquet hall as flames rippled up the wooden walls and into the roof. Shadow teeth sank into his arms. He yanked off the oozing mass of darkness and flung it into the flames. Thatch crashed down around him, heart pounding. He was trapped.
Jade emerged from the smoke and grabbed his hand. She dragged him through the roaring darkness to a break in the wall. Starlight winked beyond. He gasped and filled his lungs with cool wind. Dust and ash stung his eyes as they crossed a ditch and made their way up a small hill. Jasper spotted his other sisters, flanked by goblin footmen. Rob ran toward them, shouting. They were safe.
Wilgefortis. Jasper whirled. Where was she? He'd left her behind.
The chief steward knocked him over as he tried to climb back through the crack. "Move!"
Jasper ducked back in and weaved through the smoke. "Lusmore!"
The human lad staggered toward him, helping Wilgefortis over the flaming debris. She looked hurt. Jasper grabbed a timber that barred their way and heaved it aside. Lusmore leapt through the gap in the wall, and they pulled Wilgefortis into the night.
The ground began trembling again. Jasper pelted toward Jade as an enormous black wolf rose from the wreckage. It rushed at them, mouth agape, eyes burning.
The brindled bane of Heaven.
Jasper wrapped his arms around Jade, shielding her as burning cinders rained down. The king cried out the spell of light, summoning an enormous, flickering ball. Baron Willis charged forward, sword in hand, splitting the creature's flaming breath and driving the glowing blade deep into the monster's chest.
It screamed and was no more.
It was a moment before Jasper heard his own breathing, the pulse throbbing in his ears, the soft hiss of mist falling on embers. The wind had died, and he was bleeding from gashes in his arms and legs, smarting from burns on his hands and face.
The king's magic light rose above them like a second moon, casting its silvery rays over the little group gathered on the hill. Jasper picked an ember from Jade's hair and cast it aside. Everything was soon coated with a fine mud. Baron Willis knelt in the grass, panting, the blade of his sword still glowing red, the grass before it burnt away for a hundred yards. This was why he had been made a baron.
Sapphire, Jasper's youngest sister, began to wail. Jade knelt to comfort her. Wilgefortis and Lusmore stood nearby, arm in arm. She was standing on one foot, but looked otherwise all right. Jasper felt pricking shame at having nearly forgotten her.
To Hell with this marriage. The girl he could not love had someone more worthy than himself, and he would not betray her for the memory of a kiss that never was.
Amber, future queen of the Golden Isles, stood apart from the others and watched the fire burn.