Truly Great Words Never Die

Say, does anyone around here remember the fun of Save-a-Word Saturday? Well, the best of it is back, and then some! …Or it will be, this July. Behold: Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2.5.

Welcome to Avalon, where truly great heroes – and words – never die.

Join the Merry Men and denizens of Camelot in a collection of flash fiction as neo-“ye olde” as a Renaissance Faire, every slice of their immortal life served up with an archaism ripe for revival – from “accismus” to “Weltschmerz”, with plenty of laughs in between.

Come for the language lesson, stay for the Will Scarlet shenanigans, along with a facet or two of your Fey isle friends that you’ve never seen before.

Truly Great Words, w text 4

Can we talk about that cover??

“Oh, do let’s!” Will Scarlet jumps in. “That art is phenomenal! Who the heck do we thank?”

That would be Hannah Vale Illustrations and Art, the same talent behind the cover of “An Avalon Christmas Carol”.

“What a concept,” says Allyn-a-Dale, eyes tracing the shape of the lute grown wild. “I hope the like shall never befall my own dear instrument, but visually, it takes one’s breath away.”

Will laughs. “The day your lute becomes a tree is the day you transform into the little blue birdie in its branches.”

Allyn smiles. “There are stranger ways to spend an afterlife.”

As Book 2.5 can attest, along with the rest of your series. X)

Like the Christmas special, “Truly Great Words Never Die” will be e-book only, at least until further notice. So ready your Kindles and compatible apps! Add the title to your Goodreads to-read list! And stay tuned, for the book shall soon be available for pre-order. ^o^

(Interested in reading an early copy in exchange for an honest review? Let me know!)

In Pace Requiescat

Once upon a time, there was a broken author.

Following a period of psychological trauma, she lost her voice – she feared, forever. But broken or not, she tried to put words to paper. And when she could not dream up the tale of another, she transcribed a fragment of her own. Weary and sad, she opened her scribble of a short story with the naked truth: “She felt so very tired…

And that author – *solemn nods* – was me.

And that short story went on to win a prize in a creative writing contest.

And you can totally watch the footage of me performing the piece – “In Pace Requiescat” – at the award ceremony. (Video, courtesy of my mother; upload courtesy of my father. Thanks, parents! <3)

WNPL Story Read-aloud

Isn’t that something, though? Even mired down at my lowest point – because of that, even – I created something worthwhile.

Don’t get me wrong: If I could go back and avoid that lowest of low points, I would. I’m still not healed enough to work on drafting a full-length novel – a frustration which leaves me feeling pretty blue, some days. And yet, my voice was not strangled wholly silent after all. I wrote this little story, and won a thing. I’ve subsequently written other short stories, which may or may not get accepted where I’ve submitted them. (Still waiting to hear back. *fingers crossed*) I am still making words.

Maybe I’m a little bit dead inside. But maybe I’m a little bit alive, too.

In Pace Requiescat

An Award-Winning Recap

The afternoon of Sunday, April 23rd, found me at Warren-Newport Public Library for the establishment’s 2017 Creative Writing Contest awards’ ceremony.

While the event’s presenter (shout-out to Debbie Hoffman) said at one point that the library’s been running this contest for decades, it’s the first year I’ve ever heard of it (and entered … and won 2nd place in the Adult Short Stories category … and, hence, attended the ceremony), so I had no idea what to expect.

…Apart from somebody forgetting the E. in Danielle E. Shipley. I’ve come to expect that. <_<

Exhibit A

Exhibit A: The Program

In “pleasant surprise” news, it turned out this event wasn’t just about the presentation of awards: All attending authors were invited to stand up and read their winning (or honorably mentioned) entries! So not only did I get to share my art aloud (i.e., one of my favorite things), I got to hear what the cream of the competitive crop sounded like.

The first hour featured the champs from the 3rd – to 5th grade and middle school brackets, short fiction and poetry both. For me, it was quite the throwback to the writer I was twenty years ago. It’s cheering to think that, with continual practice, some life experience, and maybe just a bit of encouragement from programs like this, these kids and their ilk can become the authors of tomorrow. I heartily applaud the pluck it took to enter this contest and perform in the ceremony. Write on, children!

Exhibit B

Exhibit B: Our Future

A brief intermission brought snacks (yay!) and the departure of most of the audience – because let’s face it, if your kiddo went up in the first act, why make the whole family sit through the second? So ‘twas a smaller crowd that heard the winning tales and poems of the high-schoolers and adults.

Exhibit C

Exhibit C: Act II

But a crowd that included my Mom and Dad!

Exhibit D

Exhibit D: Proud Parents

Which is good news for y’all, because otherwise there’d have been no one to record my reading with their phones. ^o^ Keep your eyes open for a future post with the footage!

In the meantime, Danielle Shipley got her winner’s certificate (better luck next time, author with an E.) and probably the most money any short story of hers has ever earned to date. ($30 is a good chunk of change, in unknown-author dollars.) We’ll see if I’m inspired to go another round next year.

Exhibit E

Exhibit [Danielle] E. [Shipley]: It’s official

London Rain

I was planning to blog today about this past Sunday – i.e., the day a local library held its awards ceremony for the creative writing contest in which I took 2nd place in my category. Buuut my time got eaten by writing other things, so we’ll recap the ceremony next week. As for today, it’s still National Poetry Month, so here – have a poem, inspired by one of my Pinterest boards.

<<<>>>

London rain.

Water mirrors splashed across the street, holding the sky on the ground.

Look down, look up.

*

London fog.

City wrapped up snug in black and white and smudgy gray.

Make that grey. With an e. Like the earl.

*

London bridge.

Stretched across the Thames (I think).

(I hope) in no danger of falling down.

*

London clock.

Face up high, all round and glowing like the moon.

Likewise, the night’s timekeeper.

*

London red.

On the buses, double-decked. On the boxes, telephone.

Signage: Mind the gap.

*

London rain.

Slicking silver off umbrellas, filling air with petrichor, keeping company with those who walk the paths where Beatles tread, with Sherlock and his game afoot, where vampires slipped ‘tween gaslight shadows, Sweeney Todd sang dark revenge, never-grown-up boys flew star-ward and straight on ‘til morning, while a sword stood in an anvil on a stone awaiting kingly call…

Tales on tales, and worlds in worlds, all there beneath the watchful

Eye of London.

London Rain

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

When Is It Poetry?

April, I hear, is National Poetry Month. So here’s a Danielle E. Shipley original. Enjoy!

<<<>>>

I strew the words across the page

– in rage – in grief – in rapture

– in mimicry of what the poets do –

and wonder…

 

When is a thing a story,

and when a song,

and when nothing more than black noise

in the vast, white reaches of space?

 

Here: Haiku and sonnets,

There: Novels and essays,

With free-form musings, both and between.

Where do you sketch the line?

 

HERE LIES THE DIFFERENCE

as near as I can tell:

 

That which we call poetry

is but a work of art that has been

broken just so.

 

So I strew my words across the page

and wonder…

 

Am I a poem yet?

Image via unsplash.com

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 3

Today, for your reading pleasure, the conclusion of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 2, here.) Enjoy!

<<<>>>

“Goodbye?” I cry. “You’re leaving the sky?”

The moon replies, I’m seriously considering it.

“But, the night!” I protest.

Can get along without me. There are still the stars, after all.

“But, the tides!”

I’ll find a replacement satellite. Your planet’s waters won’t know the difference.

“But… but…!” I’m running low on arguments. “What about me?”

The moon’s song turns sad. I know it will be hard

“Not hard,” I say. “Impossible. Some days, you’re my only light in the darkness. Some days, yours is the only beauty that can reach me. Without that… without you…” Tears ambush my eyes. “How can I last the night?

“Look. I get it. Burnout is a thing – even lunar burnout, apparently. Maybe the rhythm of the heavens is no better than the human rat race. Maybe you need a vacation. And you’re welcome to it! Hideout for a cycle or two. Make my attic your rehab retreat. But it can’t be forever. Please.”

Bawling seems a little more dramatic than I’d planned, but here we are. Blame it on the lateness of the hour. Everything’s awful at two a.m.

The moon’s soft light is like a stroking hand, attempting to soothe. Its music is all shushes and coos.

Suppose, it says at last, we can reach a compromise?

Compromise. Noun. That thing where nobody wins.

Suppose I leave the sky, it muses on, but not your sight?

I sniffle back another sob. “How would that even work?”

Open your eyes.

I do, and move to swipe the tears away, but the moon’s light stops me. It’s brighter than ever. Insistently so. More tears well up against the glare, but never get a chance to fall. The light is pushing back. Pushing… in.

“Personal spaaace!” I wail. “What are you doing?!”

I don’t get an answer. I rub at my eyes, and the huge glowing crescent is gone. Yet, the nighttime attic around me hasn’t dimmed.

A whisper inside says, Look in the window.

Not out the window. In.

There in the glass, my ghostly reflection. And there in my eyes…

Moonlight.

Part 3’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board – https://www.pinterest.com/pin/383931936965233854/

To carry with you, says the whisper, through the dark. I will not leave you, my child.

“Wow,” I say, because wow. “But… what about finding that replacement satellite?”

The whisper sounds like some extraterrestrial cuss. Maybe it’s not too late to get a message to Pluto and Charon. Up on the roof, love, and blink exactly as I tell you

For the end of the story, this seems an awful lot like an incredible beginning.

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 2

Today, for your reading pleasure, the continuation of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 3, coming later this week.) Enjoy!

<<<>>>

“Why on Earth is the moon in my attic?”

I don’t expect an answer, given that I don’t expect the moon can talk.

But it can. And does. Not in English, or even in words, but in… well, I guess it would be best described as music.

It says something like hello, and sorry to have disturbed you. I gather that it hadn’t intended to introduce itself until morning.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I say, because polite, inoffensive lies are my conversational default. One day I’ll slip up and tell someone what I really think, and then the world will end.

Truth is, I’m not terribly upset to find the moon in my house. Is this in any way logical? No. Can the ramifications of this event be anything short of disastrous? Likely not. Should I be contacting somebody about this? I don’t know who, but probably yeah.

But the moon knows me. I hear my name in its song.

And I know the moon. Sort of.

In one sense, it’s like a favorite celebrity. I know the moon’s stats. I can list its achievements. I recognize its face every time it shows up in pictures.

In another sense, it’s like an old friend. The sight or thought of the moon warms my heart. I feel the love in its light. It’s just always been there, the way family is.

The shining crescent says, Because family is what we are.

Part 2’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board – https://www.pinterest.com/pin/383931936962803207/

Confusion contorts my face. “Biological?”

It laughs. Nothing so Earthly as that. But you hold a part of me. And so you are my child.

I’m somewhere between touched and giddy. “That’s… special. But why are you here?”

The moon’s music sighs. I am old and tired and thin.

“Like a hobbit spread over too much bread?” I’m pretty sure that’s not quite the quote, but I’m tired, too, if not so old. My head’s too full of missing my pillow to bother with first-rate Tolkien references.

Like a moon, it says, with too many phases behind it. Wax and wane, wax and wane… I haven’t the will to grow full again.

So I’ve come down to tell you goodbye.

<<<>>>

Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!