Week 3 Comic: Jo Has a Cat

I have been working on this comic here and there all day. I couldn’t nail a concept then the idea of what was going on in my character’s world kept changing. I don’t have a cat but I feel like my anxiety is like a cat sometimes and today I wanted to illustrate the stealthiness of it.

This week I ‘fleshed’ the character out a bit more and gave her hair that literally has a mind of its own. Mine has so many layers from different stylists that I may need to cut it into a short bob just to even everything out. I wanted that for the girl in the comic. This is a way for me to make light of my C-PTSD at times and I’m hoping to introduce new characters throughout. I have committed to 52 weeks (a year’s worth) of comic doodles. I don’t quite have a name for my little comic yet. Any ideas?

 

Fates Dread

I had such a difficult time with this story. There is so much more I want to add and write but I have to get ready for work and if it’s any longer then it’s no longer considered a short story. I strayed from the normalcy of Norse mythology and wanted to dabble a little in romance and fate.


Even at night in the comfort of darkness, Asta felt uneasy. She had a gift and honed it over the years. A völva is respected, feared, and regarded but Abigail couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. She was feared more than anything as her beauty was still intact but she accepted the solitude as it was her path in life. She paced with nervousness and rubbed her sweaty palms on the back of her linen gown. She thought about tossing her runes and thought perhaps not and knew it wasn’t her time to be taken from the earthly realm.

She could hear the wind pick up outside as if helping her dread come to her door. The candles flickered on the tables in her room and the fire roared a little louder than it should for being in a hearth. Asta sat at her weaving and began to work on her blanket when she lost herself between the threads and hand motions. She could see a man walking away from bodies, sword in hand. With every footstep, she could hear thunder and feel the steps vibrating through her. A feeling of emptiness consumed her but was rescued from it with a banging on her door.

She opened the door to find a young child looking up at her. This was not her usual seeker of truth. She knelt to his level but he said nothing. ‘I’m Asta. Would you like some stew?’ The boy didn’t answer but took her hand. Not to lead her but to show her. The moment he gripped her hand she was taken back to the bloody field. This time the man was walking to her and not just in her direction. When the boy let go of her hand she was standing in the field behind her home and in front of her was the man from her visions.

Asta finally spoke, ‘Gulbrand.’ She said in a knowing timid whisper. He stepped closer to her, ‘Asta.’ They knew each other’s names without knowing one another. He took her hand and the final scene was revealed when he kissed her cheek. The moment his warm rough lips touched her smooth cool cheek she was taken back to the field. In a tent of red fabric, she sat in a chair cradling a full term belly rubbing the soles of her feet on furs that covered the ground. Gulbrand entered and washed his hands and face before kneeling in front of Asta. He cradled the unborn child looking up at Asta and smiled. The field of bodies was a cost of protection. Then Asta was shown the same field where Gulbrand was playing with a young boy. He was the same child at her door, her future son.

Then it was darkness and dread and willed its way back to her. Gulbrand, as if reading her mind, ‘Don’t fear your fate. Our saga began the moment your vision revealed me. Our paths were chosen by the Gods. Our son is destined to be the future of man.’ Asta knew more than Gulbrand. Their son is may be the future of man but also ends the futures of others. That was the dread she felt.

6 Word Story: 5/7

I use to believe that I really didn’t have a purpose. Truth be told, there are days that I still feel like that but those are my really bad days. The ones where I call in sick to work. Now, I do things that make me feel worthy and take care of myself the best way I can. Everyone has one of these.


Prompt Word: Purpose

 

My Fav!

I needed a mental break from all the writing and thinking I’ve been doing for the past couple of days and thought I would participate in ROE’s What’s Your Favorite Monday’s question. If you need a mental break or a little entertainment,  click on over and see what it’s about. While your there also wander through her valley of words.


 

This isn’t a huge surprise as my favorite holiday is Halloween. It’s something that my children haven’t grown out of because, well I haven’t. It’s not about the candy but the traditions that I grew up with. Without going into detail, yes we did decorate. Yes, we did wear costumes. We also ate certain foods (oh all the awesome yummy foods) and held sacred the ‘between hours’. Yup, you got it Irish Samhain which my grandmother was a firm, set-in-her-ways believer. And no I didn’t dance naked and we didn’t sacrifice anything. I still hold a feast for my family (my kids look forward to it every year), we do costumes, some trick-or-treating, decorate and I tell them the same stories that my grandmother told me.

So what is your favorite holiday?

 

Swallow Hope

Legend has it that swallows were a sailor’s land omen, or at least that’s how my grandmother’s story went. I would ask my grandmother, ‘Tell me how you and pawpaw met again,’ and she would tuck me in and sit in the rocker beside my bed. ‘Swallows let sailors know if they are close to land. They are the messages they look for when they need to find land or carry messages of hope.’

She continued, ‘I was just a young girl when I became interested in the boats that came in from the sea bringing foods, goods, father, and husbands. I would help my dad unload the fish and my mom set up at the market. My father had hired a young boy that he found orphaned on the streets. My dad would invite him to stay with us sometimes but he would barely speak a word. He would quietly eat dinner, get cleaned up, and sleep in the stables. Even when he did that he was out there tending to the horses. I always thought it was to show gratitude.

The more he spent time with our family the more he would open up. I learned that he couldn’t read or write and I was now the proud teacher to my only student. In return, he taught me folklore of the sea. I was fascinated by mermaids, sirens, large man-eating sharks and the effects of the moon. He taught me about the constellations and I taught him, French. A bond and loved formed between us. I loved that man so much then and more now. As the years passed your grandpa saved enough for his own fishing boat. He asked my father for my hand in marriage. Your great-grandfather agreed on the condition that he provides a house and a lifestyle better than he could give his only daughter.

Because of this, your grandfather was rarely home. He was always fishing and saving his money. I would receive love letters mailed from different ports from around the world. Until one month they just stopped. July, August, and September passed without a word. I would sit at the docks in the mornings watching the swallows in the distance praying for one of them to carry on their wings a wish of hope that my love would soon return. It was now November and we were sitting down for a meal when there was a faint tapping at the door. There your grandfather was, on one knee. He asked me to marry him but without a ring. Instead in the golden box was a key embossed with swallows.

I gasped, said yes and embraced him before my dad could react. My father invited him in for dinner like when he was a little boy. I sat a place next to my plate and sat down next to my future husband. ‘Son, where have you been? You stopped all communication with my daughter. Why should I believe you won’t abandon her again after you’re married?’ My fiance looked down at his plate and said, ‘Sir, I was out fishing. I have seen beautiful mornings and starry nights. I earned enough money to purchase the mansion on the hill. I also purchased four other charter boats so I can stay home with your daughter more and earn a living off my newly built company.’

‘The reason why it took so long for me to get home is that I got lost.’ My father rolled his eyes but the young man continued, ‘I have never seen such giant waves or heard roaring winds. I got turned around several times and almost capsized twice. I held tight and the crew doubted every decision I made but obeyed. I was even doubting myself trying to make it home. The next morning’s sunrise was like looking at angels. I realized I was lost and had no idea where we were. Then a lone swallow landed on the rail and hopped from side to side and take off. As if the bird was trying to tell me something. I know they don’t fly far from land and headed in the direction of the swallow. I planned on sending word to your daughter but seen it was our home port. I purchased the house, set up credit so she can purchase whatever she likes for the home, and purchased foods and goods. So with your permission and with the help of your wife, can I marry your daughter and help us plan a wedding fit for a princess?’

Speechless my mother gripped my sleeve and looked towards my father with hope in her eyes. He grinned, ‘Martin, you may marry my daughter. Let’s eat and see the fine life you will give my baby bird.’ My grandmother finished the story with a mist in her eye and a smile on her face, ‘And that’s how you were given the name Terney, my sea swallow. Sleep well baby bird.’


Ok, writing love stories isn’t my forte so this gives me a starting point to build from. But Discover’s Daily Prompt gave me a push. I happen to have two swallows tattooed on my shoulder. I also learned from a little research before naming characters is that Martin is a bank swallow and Tern (the granddaughter’s name is Terney) is a sea swallow.

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