Archive | June 2, 2016

Goat Diplomacy, a story of Reiassan in the early days, up on Patreon

“They burn dung.” The junior ambassador to the Ideztozhyuh hissed it out in a horrified whisper. “They’re burning goat waste in those horrid little stoves, Angirie!”

“They do.” The senior ambassador didn’t share his associate’s horror; indeed, he was smirking. “And they drink the fermented milk of their nanny goats, and they wear underthings made from spun goat wool. They boil the hooves down for a kind of gelatinous stew and they wear the horns as jewelry. They’re goat-riders, Hanzio. What did you expect?”

(read on…)

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German Potato Salad & tastes of home

Guys, I made German Potato Salad this weekend!

This is a ~thing~ for me, because GPS (always “GPS”) is one of the major staples of family picnics in my natal family. My grandma made it, my mom makes it… I’ve never made it.

I made it with purple potatoes and jowl bacon, which did a bit to get my brain out of the “will this taste like home?” place, and I think it turned out pretty delicious. Not just like grandma’s or Mom’s… but still delicious.

I was a slacker and forgot to call Mom for the receipt – thus part of the problem with getting it to taste right – so I used this recipe – and added chives, because this time of year we have loads and loads of chives and not much else.

It didn’t taste quite like home, but it tasted reminiscent of home, which, I think, is pretty darn good for a first try.

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#ThrowbackThursday: 100 millihelens

June 2, 2005: I had to go way back for this one; turns out I don’t write on June 2 very often. I was in a microfiction phase back then, certainly not for the first or last time. This is actually one of my favorites:

This is what they mean when they say “she’ll leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

Look at her. She’s fragile and lovely, like a butterfly’s wings, like a peacock feather (the eyes of a jealous goddess). She will break in your hand if you’re not careful; she’ll fly away if you’re not patient. You are drawn like a (dull, drab) moth to those lovely colors, the brilliant blue of her eyes and the clear gold of her hair. If you were a more clever predator, you’d realize that (as with many pretty little things) those bright hues signify “poison.”

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June Patreon Theme: Reiassan

The poll has closed, and June’s Patreon theme is Reiassan!

Home of Rin & Girey, Edally Academy, goat-riding Calenyena and the Bitrani that just can’t win, Reiassan is a setting spanning thousands of years and an entire continent and then some.

And you can read more of it!

Think about it this way.

For $1/month, you’re getting $40 worth of my writing – and for everyone else who pledges, that amount goes up. It’s a magazine subscription, but one with no ads, where you get to vote on the content monthly.

For $5/month, you’re on the editorial board. YOU tell me what to write. YOU pick characters and themes and even pregnant forests for the serials. YOU pick characters for me to commission art of. You’re in the driver’s seat.

And if you like that, for $7/month, you can have your own super-secret story, written only for people at that prompting level (Be the first! Pick your very own story!)

Want even MORE exclusivity? Pledge $15/month and it’ll be like commissioning your own very story – a short piece of fiction ONLY for you.

Check it out!
Every pledge made gets us close to all patrons having more words in their inbox each month!

Icons by djinni (1st & last 2), [personal profile] inventrix (3rd), [personal profile] itsamellama (4th) and [ profile] ev1ct-cm

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The Jury, a story for #ThimblefulThursday

“I don’t like him.” Steven clearly had a group agreeing with him already – four of the 12 refugees in their little haven were nodding along. Steven’s reasons were obvious; Mal equally so. The rest had their own logic.

“I don’t think ‘like’ really enters into it,” Connie countered. She could see four others siding with her – including Inga, the reason Steven & Mal were against this.

“I think with all of us crammed in here, like is pretty damn important,” Steve argued. “Besides, I don’t trust him, and that definitely matters.” He wasn’t looking at Connie; he was looking at Dave and LaTasha, who both were still on the fence. “How did he survive out there? He doesn’t look like he’s been going all that hungry. What if some other group trusted him, let him in…”

“Hey!” Inga glared at Steven. “Spurious much?”

“I’m just saying…”

Connie cleared her throat. “Regardless… It doesn’t actually matter.”

“Bullshit it doesn’t.” Mal glared at her. “He can’t be trusted; he can’t come in.”

“None of us filled out an application. None of us were voted on,” Connie insisted. “We found this place. It’s not like we owned it, before.” She caught LaTasha’s eye. She’d nearly swayed her. “We were looking for a safe haven. And we found it.”

“Exactly!” Steven glared at her. “WE found it. Let him find his own.”

He’d nearly convinced Dave. Connie dropped her voice to counter his shouting.

“There’s nothing nearby. We’ve all looked. Guys… he’s a human being, and we’re human beings. We have to let him in.”

“Do we just let everyone in, then?” Mal spat. “Where does it end?”

Ing jumped to her feet. “This is ridiculous! I’ll be out there. Waiting.” She ignored Steven & Mal calling to her and swung the door open.

She stopped just outside. “You bastards. All your arguing… and he’s just gone.”

Connie was pretty sure she was the only one that heard LaTasha mutter “Case closed.”

This is written to May 19th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt

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