Ancient Stories I Once Wrote

The Tale of Tyrel, a Male out of Jail.

So this rough diamond appeared on my Facebook page today. I thought I wrote this for college for a challenge, but I guess I did it nearly ten years ago, where the challenge was to use only ONE rhyme sound (and near-rhymes) as often as possible and create some sort of story. 

A later version of this ALSO had 21 syllables in each line, but I have no idea where it is but I’ll post it when I find it. But for now, enjoy the Director’s Cut!

Ancient Stories I Once Wrote

The Tale of Tyrel, a Male out of Jail.

My name is Tyrel, and I’m going to tell, of a time that I easily got out of jail.
How did I prevail? I can’t merely tell and I have to say that you would probably fail.

One day the guard Dale, was walking and fell, and while he did wail his lip started to swell.
He said “Oh holy grail! Why be I so frail!” I sensed in him ail, the visage he had being all white and pale.

As slow as a snail, I reached through the rail and grabbed what felt like it must be a bell.
This holy grail, meant you this frail male Dale? Your ail where you fail will make me prevail!

With time growing stale, there was not time to wail, quickly I had to blaze this dead trail!
At first all went well, then a yell “You aren’t Dale!” the source of the yell, something I must quail!

Like the first-class mail, this Dale saw me sail, out of the jail, and straight out of Hell!
I stayed on a trail, ‘til I knew it not well, and suddenly ran into a rather large male.

“My name’s Christian Bale.” I heard the male tell, a man no mistake was not a frail Dale.
Cared I for his tale? Not when fresh out of jail, and I told Christian Bale “Go straight down to Hell.”

Not knowing Bale well, the male grabbed me with a yell, “Now you go to a place where no cab you can hail!”
And with that Christian Bale threw me into a deep well.

But I fell on… a whale?
Ha, Christian Bale! Tyrel did prevail, he never can fail, you slimy old snail!

On that whale I did sail, down an underground trail until I arrived at the town of Fontraile.
Thank you kind whale, sending me through the dell, my means of escape from that old wretched well!

I walked through Fontraile, a town hard to spell well, could you believe who I saw, Ha, not Christian Bale!
It was Walter Winchell, reporter tell-tale, and beside then I inhale a kind of good smell!

“Hi Walter Winchell, my name is Tyrel, I wonder have you any baked goods to sell?”
“Tyrel, and a male… I wonder are you the same that I heard did sail out of jail?”

“I did sail on a whale, and met Christian Bale. Know you that he would yell at a male reading Braille?
“Surely you aren’t well, for I know Christian Bale, he built a monorail for those needing Braille!”

All was not well, I could easily tell, and I knew I must bid Walter Winchell farewell!
“Farewell sir Winchell, you’re right I’m not well, I ate a blue scale with a taste rather stale!”

Away from Fontraile, I did flail with no trail until I fell over a yellow lunch pail.
A yellow lunch pail? Within Ginger Ale? Through what sort of veil had I Tyrel fell?

Besides Ginger Ale, there was also a quail, within that lunch pail that I did also unveil.
It had an odd smell, that oddly placed quail, so I tossed that stale quail, right over the rail.

Over the rail came an overweight male, with the appearance of one who once went to Yale.
And on the drail of the male was the very same quail, that stale quail that I’d tossed right over the rail!

“Make reason prevail, do not send a quail, over a rail for someone you may nail.”
My look did look stale, and I wanted to bail, but I tripped on the lid of the yellow lunch pail!

Then the male from Yale, I did hear him yell,
“By chance are you he whom they tell is Tyrel?”

I ran from sir Yale and he could not prevail,
And boy did he wail, “TYREL! TYREL!” As he chased at pace that could rival a snail.

My name is Tyrel, I escaped from jail, but how Yale knew, I couldn’t quite tell.
I ran down a path with no trail, when there in a sudden I read “Welcome to Crail.”

Inside of Crail, I moved like a gale, when all of sudden it started to hail!
And it fell, fell, fell, all over poor Crail! Oh how swell, how swell was the this gale around Crail!

“There is Tyrel, the bloke from the jail!” I heard some angry old townspeople yell.
I backed up and did quail, it seemed I would fail, when I thought I could take the near brail and rappel

And rappel I did well, away from Crail and the ever enlarging golf ball sized hail!
I thought it went well but I could never foretell that below would be something unwell…

The frail male Dale! I could instantly tell, that things were about to become quite unwell.
Above they dumped ale, in one was a nail, and below was to fail by the frail male named Dale!

They would never prevail! Tyrel would not fail!
Then came the male from near Yale with the quail.

He yelled with the gail, “Ha ha, Tyrel, you’ve been Caught by the snail!”  and seeing the snail, I must have done fail.
And he threw down at me the yellow lunch pail, And I fell, fell, fell… Right on top of the frail male named Dale.

“It’s over Tyrel, now come back to jail! Do not force me to pell you, Tyrel!”
“Aren’t You the frail Dale? You cannot prevail!” I taunted, I shouted, I laughed and did yell.

But Dale did flail out, a sheet of chain mail, and an item I did know was meant to impale.
“I give in frail Dale, I’ll go back to jail! But know it was from you that I escaped from that Jail!”

The townsfolk of Crail, they cried and did wail, “Hooray bad Tyrel, you’ll go back to jail!”
The fat male from Yale, he brandished his quail, “Goodbye grim Tyrel, I will see you in Hell!”

My arms did not flail; I did not yell, I was simply defeated, brought back by male Dale.
And now where I hail, is back in that jail, while outside grins smugly that once frail male Dale.

My name is Tyrel, and one day I’ll tell, of the time when forever I got out of jail.

Interview with Deanna Fugett, Author of Ending Fear

 

This question will determine your future career as an author:

Yes or No: Pineapples on Pizza?

Yes. There is no other way.

 

So, Deanna, the title of your book, Ending Fear, it’s more than meets the eye, right? How did you come up with it?

The book is about a girl named Fear, and yes, she is afraid. It does have the double meaning of course, so I thought it was a bit clever. Probably not that clever. But I tried.

 

Since this name relates to a character, are you giving us a major spoiler right upfront?

Well, you will have to read the book to find that out because SPOILERS SUCK!

 

Lots of authors go through an agent, then the agent gets them a publisher. You seemed to skip right over that. How did you get so amazing?

No amazingness to behold. I did have two agents interested, but I got the publishing contract offered through a small publisher called Love2ReadLove2Write, so I took that rather than going through an agent. I figured, okay, one is going to take years possibly to get my book published and then they take some of my money, or I can get it published now and keep all my money. The decision was fairly simple. I get how rare my situation is. I can only point to the Big Man Upstairs on that one.

 

Revisions. Those must have happened, right? How different is the final product than the original?

Well, it’s the same story essentially. I haven’t had to do anything drastic like change the plot or alter the storyline. Nor did I have to get rid of any characters or anything like that. But the edits.

OH MAN, those edits. Lots and lots and lots of editing. So while the story has been added to, it’s essentially the same story, just much better fleshed out and worded much better. That took a lot of learning, researching, and effort.

I know you were able to see Ending Fear in its earlier stages as my FASTEST beta reader! (Thanks again for that, BTW) But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with how it turned out in its polished, final stage. At least I hope you will.

 

Do you have a private office for writing with a bunch of bookshelves and a ladder on wheels? Or do you write somewhere not as cool?

Definitely not as cool. I write mainly at my kitchen table. Yeah. No massive bookshelves and definitely no ladders on wheels. Only in my dreams. Sigh. Now I need to go watch Beauty and the Beast.

 

How much input do you get for the front and back cover? Did you patrol the streets and find some random girl and say “Her, that’s Fear!” and corner her for a picture?

Ha! That’s awesome. Nope. I wish I could have found someone off the streets. Imagine the person’s surprise at being randomly offered the spot on front cover of a book!

My publisher and my cover artist Sara Helwe actually did most of it. But I did get to help with opinions. Mainly, “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know” type input.

There was one funny situation where I swear Fear had a little pimple on her face and I kept telling my publisher and cover designer and they couldn’t see it on their copies of the picture. But for some reason when the picture went through Facebook Messenger to me it messed up the pixels enough that there was one spot where she had a “blemish.” Luckily the zit didn’t end up on the front cover. J

 

Amazon’s page is teasing readers with “Book One of the Gliding Lands.” Does this mean Books 2 and 3 (Or 7 for Potter style) are already in the works? (Or have a draft or two done?)

I have the second book done but not polished. The next few months will be devoted to polishing it up. And then, book three will get drafted after (or possibly during) that. I honestly already have about 50 pages done of the third book as well. But the second book needs about 50 more pages, so maybe I should just shove all that third book stuff into the second? Huh? What do you think?

 

Does it feel nice to respond to skeptical Downers with “Yes, I write actual books” as your job?

Hehehe. I see what you did there.

Honestly haven’t run into many Downers who’ve said that to me. Probably because I was a SAHM for so long and didn’t have a job. So now, people are just like, “Oh, you’re writing? That’s so cute!” Yeah…maybe someday we writers will get someone to take us seriously.

 

When you aren’t writing, do you prefer reading books or doing Mensa Brainteasers?

*Looks up Mensa Brainteasers* Oh. Nope. No high-IQ over here.

Book reading is always pretty important to a writer, I’d say. But honestly I prefer having tea with chimps. It’s just more fun all around.

 

Do you regularly do work in an Adult Onesy?

All. The. Time. How did you know? *Checks for hidden cameras around the house.*

 

How does it feel to be doing what you love?

Amazing. Spectacular. Phenomenal. There’s really nothing better.

They say once you start getting paid for doing what you love it loses its magic. I just don’t see that happening with writing. It’s something once you start becomes a huge part of who you are. To stop now would be like ripping a giant piece out of my heart. And that would sting. Quite a bit.

 

Thanks for the interview, it was so awesome to be a part of your blog! Truly appreciate you giving me the opportunity.

Doing the scavenger hunt? Don’t miss the next step from Liv K Fisher!

Be sure to pick up your copy of Ending Fear on July 18th on Amazon! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073G8Y5MZ/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1

The Two-Tiered Train Trip Tautogram

The Two-Tiered Train Trip Tautogram

Timmy traveled through the train’s Trough. The train’s Trough took these troubled travelers to their terminus.

Tommy traveled through the train’s Top Tier. The train’s Top Tier took these tony travelers to their terminus.

 

 

Timmy thought the train trip traversed terribly. Terrible, terrible, terribly trite! Timmy thought. Timmy thought that the train’s tycoon treated these trembling travelers trimly.

Tommy thought the train trip traversed terrifically. Terrific, terrific, terrifically tip-top! Tommy thought. Tommy thought that the train’s tycoon treated these trusting travelers thrillingly. Continue reading

Book Review (Top Review on Amazon): The Special Power of Restoring Lost Things by Courtney Mauk

Original review at https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/review/B01BXSFGE2/R1OJHCVV591422/ref=cm_cr_dp_mb_rvw_2?ie=UTF8&cursor=2

Phew, talk about a downer. Everything about this book is joyless, hopeless. It really fits in the mood of the subject matter, but for the time frame, a year after a girl’s disappearance, I thought there could be SOME lightheartedness, but there wasn’t really anything for this book. Like zip, zero, AND zilch.

All right, I’ll try not to spoil anything crucial, but yeah, this is a more detailed review so there’s bound to be one or two things that get ruined. My apologizes.

Writing Style: I like the short sentences, always thought they helped the pacing and the mood. What I don’t care for, and maybe I’m in the minority these days, is present tense. I think it’s limiting, and doesn’t draw me into the moment like it’s designed to. But with most of the books I’ve read lately in present tense, I’m starting to slowly, cope. The issue here is that Mauk likes to swap between past and present tense, as well as past and present moments. And there’s not much indication of the change. Like, “Whoa, this chick’s here with them?” Oh wait no, that’s the past. I caught on towards the end, only because I think the entire book from the “present” on takes place over 24 hours. So anything that doesn’t directly come after the last part must be in the past. It’s confusing, and not in the good way. For the most part, I got over it after I realized what happened, except one part where I have no idea how all the characters got together. Seemed very forced. Which reminds me…

Characters: I can’t argue that these aren’t developed characters. They are. But they’re the unlikable kind of developed, not like Jack Sparrow who’s kind of a dirtbag but in a cool way, but like Eeyore mixed with Marvin from Hitchhiker’s. True, these people are dealing with a very depressing situation. But they let do more than define them; they aren’t really anything else at all. The absence of the older daughter is everything, like hermits on snowy peaks devoting themselves to… solitude I guess? Of course it would change them, but I think Mauk went a little overboard. I mean, these people worshiped this girl who to me, was kind of a jerk. Maybe it was intended; the symbols of the cheap saint candles and how it relates to the title, and if so, +5 author points and a kudos bar, but the transformation is pretty extreme. Especially with the crazy, hardcore life that 20-year-old lived.

Anyway, there’s 3 main characters that get the story told from their point of view, and each chapter goes through them in order. First is Carol, the wife and mother, up for national award of I Love You Since You’re Not Here Anymore. This woman has issues. Enough that I don’t think the therapist she avoids going to could do anything to help except send her to Arkham. She worships her daughter once she moves out, and I guess bribes her with money to come by once a week? These past stories come up a lot, and they’re weird. Such a fool.

Next is Drew. They call him a straight shooter; you know, those of us who only take illegal drugs every once in awhile and leave the country on a whim as teenagers without telling our worried family. He’s a weirdo too, alternating between being the family’s strict provider and the cool dad that winks at your “magazine” stash. Nobody seems to like this guy, even though he seems to be the most sane of the family. Another fool.

Last of the trifecta is 15-year-old Ben, a kid who at first seemed to have learned from his sister’s poor lifestyle, then decides he’s just going to mimic her bad choices, complete with all the same deadbeats his sister palled around with. Remember that everyone worshiped her, so all of these adults not only let this kid do things that aren’t only reckless and life-threatening, they encourage it because his sister was the best at everything. He alternates between learning from what happened to sister and doing things differently back to copying her throughout the book. The legacy of fools.

Mood: Normally, I’d stick the plot here, but this is more appropriate. This isn’t as much a story about what happens as it is how the characters react and deal with their situation. It opens up dark and depressing, and never lets up. That’s not so bad by itself, I like a dark mood as much as the next body cloak with white make-up, but for it to work for me, to show how truly miserable their lives have become, I feel like it needs to be contrasted with the opposite. For me to truly feel the pain of the daughter missing, I want to see how the happy times they shared together. I want to see the laughter, the jokes, the teasing, anything like that. Maybe it’s because I don’t have kids, but this seemed to be missing that crucial piece and honestly ruined most of the book for me. I don’t think there was even one moment of this, and I don’t recall a single joke in this entire book. This is what put it down to Two Stars for me instead of me. Even those cerebral, intense Nolan movies have one or two jokes, but this one… Nothing. So don’t expect to smile.

So if you want a depressing read for whatever reason, or maybe you’re wondering how a very dysfunctional family deals with their hard circumstances, then you might like this. But if you want anything with the whole spectrum of human emotion, the highs and the lows, maybe steer clear of this one.

The Language of Dying by Sarah Pinborough

Amazon review also here.

For me, this was a fantastic read. But there’s two things to think about before picking this up:

1. It’s written in second person (When I saw YOU), and that’s a little jarring. This is honestly the first story I’ve read in second person that wasn’t written by a first grader. I would’ve preferred first person, but, well, we can’t always get what we want.

2. That dark, nameless presence thing is more a symbol than a part of the book. So if you’re (Second person, I’m so clever) looking for a supernatural/paranormal book, it’s more supernormal than paranatural.

If those two things are okay, then definitely, read this. Basically, this is a story about the narrator dealing with her father as he’s sick and dying and can’t do much for himself. Most of the story is told through flashbacks of the narrator living with her dad or dealing with her siblings (who show up for his dying time as well) and all those dramatic family dynamics like a sitcom’s Thanksgiving episode.

Maybe that’s not the best holiday since this is set in the UK. But it’s not all bangers and trainers; even if you’re unlucky enough NOT to be married to a hot Brit, it shouldn’t be a problem. (Poor, poor, people)

Full disclosure, I work in end of life care, and people react to their loved ones dying in different ways. Some people that read this might think that the family is apathetic, cold, unrealistic, but in my experience, that’s a common way to grieve when the death is slow and drawn out. Families grieve in different ways. This book doesn’t the kind of heartwarming, friendly advice like a televangelist saying all is well, but focuses on a different, troubled family and how they deal with it. And the depiction of these people and how they deal with it is the most real I’ve seen yet.

There’s more inspirational, life-changing books about the dying process out there, but for one with a less happy tone that realistically shows the way a broken family deals with the passing of the glue that held them together, read this one.

Some Six Word (or fewer) stories

So I was once told that Hemingway’s six word stories were extremely difficult. For anyone who hasn’t heard of these, the original is “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” There can be a lot said in so few words. So in that same spirit, I decided to come up with several of them myself:

He really believed he could fly.

Wow! That coffee really is hot!

Are you sure this is chicken?

Headline: Winning ticket sucked in shredder.

In the mirror, she saw nothing.

The switch flipped; the sizzle began.

No, that one’s the litter cake.

The cage should have been locked…

The map shows it’s right here!

Honey? Then who the hell’s this?

About Fluffy… Yeah…

Finally, an Armageddon prediction was right.

Don’t worry, our shampoo is gluten-free.

But… The TV… is unplugged…

Jane, I’m not your real mother.

Three… Weren’t there four before?

That wasn’t juice.

The cake is a lie.

Huh? Aren’t you my cable guy?

The real John wouldn’t do that!

Your flight has been delayed indefinitely.

Wanted: unlicensed gun, will return soon.

 

Hope you enjoyed! For more, there’s a site devoted to these: http://www.sixwordstories.net/