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News from Over on Patreon

New Patrons

Greetings!

Many moon cycles ago (alright, over a year ago), I took the plunge and created a page on Patreon. I was not hoping for much, perhaps an added tendril to pry through the murk of the internet and expose my writing to new eyes.  A writer is always hoping for new readers, even when we tell ourselves that we write mainly for our own amusement.  Sharing something that may bring a smile or some kind of entertainment or enjoyment to others is at the heart of it. Well, inspired by other artists, I dove into those murky internet waters. 

I am posting to call attention to, and to thank, my first two patrons! 

My first was my spirit sister and long time best friend, Khanada Taylor…
(continue) https://rldavishays.webs.com/apps/blog/

books, Cereal Authors, Fantasy, Fiction, GENRES, Romance, Ruth Davis Hays, Uncategorized

What are Translations from Jorthus?

Somewhere, beyond sight but not beyond imagination, even now lie worlds so like our own in shape and character.  It’s possible.  In a universe made up of infinite possibilities, anything could be out there just past our fingertips…waiting for us to find it.

Close your eyes…hear the symphony of space…open the door…and step through your consciousness into a world that breathes. Where Dragons sleep, the forests are dark and guarded, and toadstool rings are something to be avoided if you value your life.  A world propelled by the Majiks that flow from one being to the next…through one planet to another.  It is a link in the Great Web of Life that connects us all. 

Let the music call you, let the sounds translate to words…

Come, my friends, to JORTHUS.

BOOK ONE…

This is a tale that will give a peek inside the world of Jorthus.  It follows the paths of a reclusive spellsinger named Lylith, and a young faery being (called a Faerlin) named Keinigan. 

They, along with others they meet on the way, find themselves on a quest of an illicit nature that could be construed by some as a rescue mission. 

A mystical gemstone, called the Dawnstone, is crying for help and only those in tune with the Majiks that flow through Jorthus can hear it.  Lylith is drawn by it, though she is unaware of the true reason she can hear it when others cannot. 

Lylith is fascinated by learning and with each new encounter outside her lonely tower, she discovers more and more about the world around her.  The good and the bad of it.

Having grown up using the Majiks in her everyday life, she takes them for granted and is bewildered at the fact that not everyone uses them, or even believes in them.  Spellsongs are as natural as breathing to her. 

To Keinigan, stealing is as natural as breathing.  He is placed on his path to the Dawnstone by a different means.  His life has taken a downward spiral and he finds himself having to cooperate with people who he would ordinarily have avoided, and facing many discomforts that he wishes to avoid. 

But, through it they find common bonds and friendships, and for Lylith, a new desire.


BOOK TWO…

Almost a year has passed since Lylith sought the Dawnstone and many emotions are still too fresh for her to govern.  So, she takes solace in the only thing that she truly understands…her study of the Majiks.

As she opens her home to a new friend, a mage named Master Calbraum, she learns of secrets and powers hidden in her own home.  A Door sits in her tower, unused, forgotten.  It opens pathways to other places, other worlds, and even other dimensions. 

Her natural curiosity cannot be stifled. She uses the creation to learn about creatures in other places.  Her new ambition to chronicle the myriad planes of space has one draw back…an open door is an invitation to those seeking a way into her world of Jorthus.  And not all are welcome.

In his own corner of life, Keinigan finds that his troubles aren’t over still.  An old friend comes to inform him that the man who sent him to get the Dawnstone still expects him to deliver it.  Or else…

As Lylith and Keinigan’s paths are merged once more, they discover strange occurrences happening around them in the lands of Myretrae, seemingly by happenstance.  Devastating attacks by unknown creatures are terrifying the villages and driving desperate people to congregate in a place of certain safety:  the Great Caulderon. A flux in the Majiks creates its own river of fear in the spellsingers of Jorthus as her sister-worlds, Gerellus and Quorrelles, draw close.

An alignment of planets is approaching. What that will mean for the Majiks and the future of Jorthus, no one truly knows.


BOOK THREE…

Jorthus is in danger from without and from within.  No soul is safe, and a tepid alliance is formed to save the lands from a vicious enemy bent on destruction as earthquakes increase to alert the heroes of troubles unseen.

Celestial orbits are causing havoc, disrupting the flow of Jorthus’ energies.  The Queen of Atollis issues conditions for her cooperation in the battle against the bloodthirsty creatures ravaging the countryside. Lylith and her new companions must find the source and the cause of this army to eliminate them.

Things are not always what they seem, she discovers, as the need to travel to the sister-world becomes inevitable.

The races of Jorthus place their hopes of survival in the hands of the most unlikely of heroes… 

And Lylith must face her most disruptive opponent– her unrelenting attraction to her former lover.


BOOK FOUR…

Now, a race against time begins as the shattering shadow of death flows from one city to the next, ripping the ground apart and slaughtering people from the skies. The ancient enemies of the faerlins may have survived on another planet, but their very presence on Jorthus threatens everything.

All the inhabitants of Jorthus, scaled, furred, skinned, and otherwise must band together against the ancient enemies to stop them.

Lylith must gather the Majiks into the Dawnstone for one urgent attempt at salvation:   A spell of Oblivion that will connect all three worlds. 

The only problem is whom she needs to call together in order to cast the spellsong.


BOOK FIVE…

Years after the Oblivion spell, Lylith hears a new song of despair.  Very weak, almost inaudible through the Dawnstone.  The voice of the smallest sister-world, Gerellus, is fading.  Soon, it will be no more.

The flows of Majik from Jorthus have been erratic and weak as she mourns her sisters.  The precious life-line communication between planets will be lost.  If their world is to regain its glory, Lylith, Keinigan, and their companions must follow a bloodlink to a new and strange planet of tall buildings and technology.  A world far unlike their own.

There lies the answer to the survival of Gerellus and Jorthus both.  And a new threat:  The Institution.

More at rldavishays.webs.com/

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The dragon lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower …

Kate Elizabeth Davis, the artist behind Myriadfae Creations, has been very busy lately producing a line of special pose-able pom-pom ‘adorables’ – Faerie Dragons!

Let me take you back a moment. In her high school years, she was struck by an illustration in the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual that showed a “Dragon, Fairy”, a tiny combination of butterfly and dragon. These were two of her favorite things, and it inspired her to create a 3D one of her own. So, she started crafting small faeries and faerie dragons from bugle beads with translucent wax paper wings back in her college days, circa 1990.

She has sculpted, crafted, and constructed small, hand-held dragons with butterfly wings many different times over the years, but now she has made something that is unique that she can offer other lovers of fantasy and whimsy.

These Faerie Dragons are in an array of colors, designated by the pom-pom choices she found at her local store. Normal pom-poms would not work. No, magical creatures need fantastic sparkle and flash! Kate saw the glitter and metallic sparkle balls and realized that her dream of making little, fuzzy, moth-like bodies for her baby faerie dragons would finally come true. As she pieces them together, she imbues them with personality, love, and a background. The tale of these little dragons is one perfect for the upcoming spring.

Faerie dragons lay their eggs in developing flower buds, where they grow and hatch when the flower blooms. Rare beasts, these creatures insure their species survival because when they mate, both lay eggs. Baby Faerie dragons emerge from their petaled cocoons with wings that are half the size they will need to take flight. But unlike their cousins, the butterflies, faerie dragon wings take decades to grow to full-size, leaving babies flightless and in need of care from magical people. They are often nursed by faeries, witches, wizards, and even humans who has been “touched” by the faerie realms. The variety of dragons spawn from, not only their lineage, but their nursery blossoms as well.

The first to be completed is Prism (Prisma ex Fractura Luminous)!

Built on a wire skeleton, the soft sculptures combine acrylic pom-poms with felt, fur, fabric, and Fimo poly-clay to allow each little faerie dragon movement and a chance to express themselves with charm.

(Not to mention, layers and layers of Glitter paint and glue)

Myriadfae Creations is on Facebook and now also on Instagram! Share her incredible critters and creations, and if you are wondering how you can tame one of these magical babies before they unfurl their wings and fly away, contact Kate Elizabeth!

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The Dawnstone Tale — Chapter 2 continues again!

(Where were we? Almost through Chapter 2! Well, Keinigan had just been shaken down by a trio of city guards and lost all his money. Now, what is he going to do? Let’s see…)

The sky stooping over the young faerlin turned a marvelous shade of indigo rose, the sun loitering on the eastern horizon. Keinigan had walked all afternoon and was nearing the coastal foothills of northern Myretrae. The mountains of the Great Caulderon emerged on the edge of his view to the east beneath the glowing sky, splitting the view with sharp distinction. The winds were blowing from the sea. On them, he could smell more rain in the clouds rolling across the west. The roads were still muddy from the intermittent squalls that had plagued the coast for the last few days.

It would be a soggy night, he mused grimly. Although he was a full blood faerlin, raised amid the glories of nature in the Fae Wood, Keinigan had lost his love of surviving out of doors in his time among humans. Jorthus was draping herself in the most amazing hues, mingling brilliantly with the clouds, while all he could think about was the miserable fact that he would have to camp in the woods.

He was sure that Wendal the pincher would be on the lookout for Lyla’s inquisitive guest from yesterday, not to forget, the Journeymen Council sending out men. So, he determined to keep clear of any organized cities for as long as he could.

His body was exhausted by the time he reached the edge of the Wichen forest on the northeastern road out of Eddermont. He struck into the trees and found a clearing that was big enough for him to curl up under the low hanging branches of a trusty old oak. He refrained from a campfire as all the sticks he found were too damp to light. Not that he had his flint stone with him anymore, he huffed.

Darkness slithered over the hills, enveloping him as he slumped onto the ground with an audible grunt and rubbed his weary eyes. Sleep would be a welcome escape from this terrible day. He stretched down upon his hasty bed of leaves, feeling empty, no ideas left and the fears were fading. Perhaps this misfortune was a sign from the gods that he should relocate to the east. He mused on this as he drifted off in a shallow sleep.

The crack of a twig woke him.

Jerking up, Keinigan saw figures, large humanoid figures, looming all around him. He had no time for his body to catch up to the panic that slapped his brain. A dark cloth bag trapped his head and many hands were grabbing him, forcing him to the earth again. He struggled, shouting obscenities in every language he knew, though his gut was beginning to feel as if worms were wriggling inside him. His attackers made no sound. They efficiently subdued him with a vicious kidney punch and the swift prick of a needle dripping with sedation poison. He blacked out almost immediately.

A DARK STONE ROOM, location unknown.

“I swear I didn’t know that it was Journeyman’s silver! I’ll pay it back,” Keinigan insisted. He tugged against the grip of a large human, as shadows slithered down the walls to invade his skin with icy whispers. A figure paced the room with its head nodding, seeming to consider the fae’s words. Robed from head to foot in green with a golden mask shielding the upper half of the face, a menacing voice told the faerlin its thoughts on the subject.

“Normally someone who has stolen from us would be taken care of before he could spend the money,” the disguised form told him.

Though his knees threatened to give out, Keinigan forced himself to stand. The worms crawling in his belly grew into gnawing serpents. He knew he was a dead man.

“Please,” he whispered, barely louder than a breath.

“Yet, you managed to not only lose it all to a loanbroker, three corrupt city guards, and a dwarf that overcharges for his wares,” the journeyman sounded gravely amused. “But, you actually left the city. You must be a talented escape artist to slip through our fingers. These talents could be useful.”

A ray of hope began to shine in Keinigan’s mind and he blurted out, “Anything, sirra!”

The journeyman stopped with his back to Keinigan. He finished his thought, disregarding the interruption. “We have news of a gem. On the island nation of Daie. The Dawnstone it is called. We want it. You get it, bring it to us. We will overlook the money you owe us.”

“Uh, all right. I could try and do that.” Keinigan considered this.

The man spun around to glower at him in the dim light of the torches. “You will do it. This is not a proposal. It is a command.”

“Yes, sirra,” he corrected himself humbly. “But, how will I get there? The borders of Daie are closed.”

The eyes of the journeyman glanced over, skeptical. “The announcement was posted weeks ago.”

“I can’t read, your Honor,” Keinigan admitted sheepishly. The human accepted this with a nod.

“Well, the ports have reopened for trade and as the island is passing near this time of year, it should be simple enough to find a vessel to take you there. The rest we will leave up to your wits,” the journeyman instructed before taking a deep breath and turning to face him full on.

The voice behind the golden mask grew casual again, as it drawled, “Now, we still have the little matter of tribute to settle.”

Keinigan jerked his head up to gape at the man; he was not out of the woods yet. The wriggling serpents returned in force as the thug holding him by the arms tightened his grip. Flop sweat beading on his brow, he wanted to scream, vomit, and cry all at the same time, but held the distress inside with a suffocating breath.

“There is still a price to pay for stealing from us. We can’t have that. If we let you off unscathed, then who knows what someone will try to get away with next.”

“I’ll do what you ask, I’ll get the stone. I’ll even pay you back what money I can –” the faerlin was begging. The human held up his hand to stop this rambling.

“Yes, yes, we know you will. This is not about the money. It’s the principle. The fact that you are even still alive is a blemish and embarrassment to us. No, no we must have our retribution paid in flesh.”

“But –” Keinigan’s pleading was interrupted by the sound of the journeyman’s sword being drawn from its sheath. The noise echoed eerily in the damp, hollow room. It bounced off the forlorn walls around him as the light of two sconces hanging to either side of the stairway shone on the silver blade like dazzling stars. The robed man held the tip of the weapon in front of Keinigan a moment, considering his next move aloud.

“Now, let us see.” The blade dropped low. The man pressed the sharp point against the yielding flesh above the fae’s kneecap and said, “A thief with only one leg cannot run away…” The blade retreated and shifted to his shoulder with a pressure that made the faerlin wince. “Likewise, a thief with only one arm isn’t as good at holding treasure. That would be counterproductive, now wouldn’t it? Hmm.”

The blade dropped to his groin, a malicious twist on the old human’s lips. Keinigan snapped his eyes shut, dreading what might happen next; then he heard, “No, not visible enough.”

The journeyman chuckled. Keinigan felt something touch the quivering lashes of his left eye. He flinched, sensing the closeness of the blade, and his head bumped against the chest of the large man holding him. A scream of frustrated terror was welling up inside the faerlin; his body demanded action — from either him or his tormentor. He heard a soft whimpering and realized it was drifting out of his own throat. His heart was galloping in his chest as his breath turned shallow. A rough hand grabbed his chin and pulled his face to the side, the tunic of the thug digging into his right cheek.

“A thief needs both eyes, one for the prize and one for watching out for trouble,” the cracked voice of the journeyman purred. He was obviously enjoying this torment immensely. Finally, he stated, “But, they can make do with only one ear. Especially ones as large as the Fae’s.”

The instant that the cold metal touched the flesh of his left ear, Keinigan had had enough. A flash of wild courage raced through his body. With a guttural scream, he tore his head free; the blade opening a long cut in the soft of his cheek. He dropped down and shoved backwards with all his might, toppling the startled thug behind him. They both hit the ground, jarring the man’s grip on Keinigan. He was free.

Rolling to his feet, he prepared for attack. Warm blood from the stinging gash on his face trickled freely down his neck. He threw a glance at the journeyman expecting to see rage in the human’s eyes, but instead he saw mild appreciation for the young faerlin’s abilities. The half mask revealed a smile on the thin, wrinkled lips; a smile that turned the thief’s gizzard sour.

“A fighter and a thief? Good.” Then he spoke to the thug on the floor. “Olok, he’s made you out to be a fool. As well as the rest of you. Get him out of our sight.” The flat, cold eyes turned back to Keinigan. “We wash our hands of him.”

The journeyman stalked up the staircase, and Keinigan felt the crowd of mercenaries close in.

He dodged and battled the best he could for a few minutes, but the blood loss caused dizziness. His face was slick, blood burning his eyes. The arms covered him and soon he was drowning amid a barrage of kicks and blows until blackness mercifully took him.


Translations from Jorthus series available from Amazon.com. Visit the author page for more information on the books, or join the conversation on The Worlds of Jorthus page on Facebook.  http://rldavishays.webs.com/apps/blog/

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Character Quotes from THE DAWNSTONE TALE by RL Davis Hays

As the sun lowered, millions of tiny gnats came to inspect the walkers as they hiked down the road. Keinigan flailed and snorted trying in vain to keep the things out of his face as he looked for a viable spot to climb, knowing that it was not going to get any better once they were in the scrub. The only way it was bearable was seeing that the changeling was as annoyed as he. The invasive little bugs did not seem to be bothering Lylith as she lightly strolled along looking about. He found his eyes following her every graceful move, her feet barely touching the ground. The pack sat so gently on her small frame that it looked to weigh nothing and he began to wonder if the changeling had taken her share of the supplies, leaving hers empty. Though, he had seen the packing taking place. He shook his head; even the air came to her assistance to carry her burdens for her. More intrigued by the minute, he waited eagerly for a chance to speak with her and learn all he could.

A cherry vision of Lylith, Lord Dharromar, and Keinigan

The fence was easy to ascend, though wobbly in the areas that were not strengthened by posts or boards. All three made it over and down into the lush underbrush; disappearing into vines and leaves that swallowed them whole. Lylith, invigorated by the climb, was happily searching about her, finding various large and colorful insects. As the faerlin swatted at his clothing, irritated by the clinging plant life, he glimpsed her wandering past the tree trunks like an entranced toddler. He called out to her while his eyes sought out the changeling, who had scurried halfway up a nearby tree to survey their position. Lylith glided back, appearing from beneath an enormous, green leaf; her eyes were alight with discovery.

“We have to stick together,” Keinigan said as if he were speaking to rowdy children. “We don’t want to get lost in this.”

The dark fae landed spryly on the soft, uneven ground beside him with a thud. “Especially if we can’t be seen by anyone else.” He smirked. “How would anyone ever find our bodies?”

“Now that we are out of sight, this is easily remedied,” Lylith said as she walked up to Dharromar and gave him a kiss on the cheek. A subtle flash outlined their bodies in the heavy shadows as the spell ended. Then she did the same to the faerlin. The changeling marked the simple-minded grin that lit on Keinigan’s face at the touch of her lips and snorted his dislike.

The faerlin shot him a defiant look and turned to take the lead into the jungle. Two steps and he sank hip deep into the unpredictable ground. Lylith yelped in shock and rushed to him. The changeling erupted in laughter and had to hold his sides from the ache.

Warning Lylith to stay back from the spot, as it was merely twigs and rotting leaves laced across the tree roots, he found his pack was the only thing that stopped him from falling farther into the hole between two trees. He pulled himself up on a few thick roots and got back to his mud soaked feet, grumbling. Stomp or wipe as he might, the boots and breeches were ruined. The misstep had injured his hip and his pride; the dark fae’s snickering was not helping either.

“All right,” the faerlin cleared his throat and tried to gather his composure. “Let’s stick near the tree roots.”

“Yessir,” Dharromar mocked, not masking his grin. “After all, you are the experienced woodsman.”

Keinigan was about to issue a retort when a large moth slapped the changeling between the eyes. Neither Lylith nor Keinigan could stifle their chuckles, but the changeling shrugged it off as he wiped the wing dust from his skin.

“What can I say? Animals love me.” He joked as they cautiously began to pick their way into the brush.

*******************************************

#Characterquotes #SciFiFantasy #Faery #Magic #Adventure #RLDavisHays #Jorthus #CerealAuthors #writing

Read more about Jorthus at https://www.facebook.com/the.world.of.jorthus/ or read for free on Kindle Unlimited https://www.amazon.com/Dawnstone-Tale-Translations-Jorthus-Book-ebook/dp/B07VLVC8FN/

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Excerpt from THE EXCURSION

But, here they were. Lylith, Lady Pinne, Rachel and her new admirer, Hamlin, as well as the knight Trevalin and even Master Calbraum… all willing to help him merely because he had told the truth instead of trying to steal what he needed. He was amazed.

gala n kein CA

“These people don’t really exist, do they?” he muttered aloud as he felt the warm form of Gala slip into a spot beside him. She was his back up. Since the Journeymen had hired her, she was his best bet on finding them. Though, to be honest, neither of them knew exactly where to go. This whole force of magda and arms were only going to be applicable if the journeyman took the bait.

“Do people really do this much to help each other?” he marveled, but Gala brought in the touch of reality that he needed.

“No. They want to arrest the Journeyman and you are their best way of finding him. Otherwise, we’d be on our own, Keen,” she stated flatly.

“Thanks, Gala.” He snorted. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

With that, she got back up and left him to sulk.

author, books, Cereal Authors, Character Quotes, Excerpts, Fantasy, Fiction, Ruth Davis Hays

Character Quotes from THE EXCURSION by R L Davis Hays

She tried to tell herself that his words were lies, but the curling sick in her stomach and loins told her that he spoke the truth. It was no dream that she had had months ago. He had done something horrid.

“Dharromar!” She called out, the name coming with sourness to her lips.

He ignored her and kept walking.

“Where are you going?” she shouted, exasperated at his obstinacy. “We’re leaving! What if those creatures come back? You can’t walk away.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Lylith!” He shouted over his shoulder as he tried to keep his boots from becoming mired in the putrid mud. “Remember that! You needed me for this, not the other way ‘round!”

“You have to come back.”

“The folch say you!” He laughed. “I don’t have to do anything for your pleasure. Least of all, lay my head at the axe of your justice!”

“Then, you can just go to hell!” she shot back.

He spun around to face her and cackled. “Love, we are in Hell!”

Translations from Jorthus: Book Three available on Amazon

Article, author, Cereal Authors, Life, loss, Musings, parents, Ruth Davis Hays, Sharing, Uncategorized, writer's life

Trying to maintain.

I wrote recently of my mother’s passing. It will be a year soon. A year without her in my life. I still tear up. I still miss her. I still feel angry that the cancer inside her robbed her of any enjoyment of life beyond a measly 77 years. It was not enough.

Not enough, in my opinion.

I do not want to sound like I’m complaining. I am simply trying to process what steps to take to start living my own life again. My life was put on pause to take care of her, and now, I must find a way to hit the Play button.

Just to clue everyone in, I’m in a bit of a life transition, to say the least.

In 2016, my husband finalized our divorce (after having been absent from our marriage, first emotionally and then physically, since around 2013). He left me the house so that my son could stay in the same school until graduation, and he claimed it would be “my alimony”. Well, that “alimony” cost me my savings and almost every penny I have to my name.

Mother Owl(c) and her daughters, both spiritual and actual.
(lft to rt: Lynn, Michelle, Mama, Kate, Jessica)

In 2017, my family found out that my mother had pancreatic cancer and she began chemo. My sister, who had been living with me since 2011, was planning a move to Rhode Island to live with friends and act as nanny to their child. That was put on hold and she moved in with my parents instead, to care for our mother.

When she was scheduled to go to her summer camps, I took over the caregiver duties. I was working two jobs, one a physically strenuous and soul-sucking retail job, and I was anxious for my son to be employed and help out with expenses since child support stopped when he turned 18 that year. (18! Oh, how the years fly by)

Then Hurricane Irma hit. She hit my parents’ home hard. Three feet of water in a house that was basically an insulated boathouse in a swamp.

Our mother’s room from above pic, post storm.

The clean up was vigorous at first. Myself, my son, his friends, my mother’s friend Michelle, my cousin … we threw away the wet stuff and knocked out the moldy walls. We scrubbed the precious things, wiped down family antiques. We wanted to make a clean safe place for my mother to live in while she continued her chemo post surgery, which was coming up soon after the hurricane. My sister was in Rhode Island, at this point for a visit and felt helpless.

Our father’s bedroom, post mold.

She wasn’t alone. I felt rather helpless, too. I was still working and only came up to clean when I had two consequential days off. Our father decided to stay in the upstairs master bedroom with Bindi, their dog. But, none of us thought this house was safe for our mother to stay in yet. So, Michelle and Lynn offered a small room with a daybed in their house, just one county away.

My sister and our mother.

My sister returned to help my mother for a few months, post surgery, while she continued to pack and consolidate her life’s belongings for the move to an attic room in R.I. She and my mother stayed in the room at Lynn’s, my father and Bindi stayed in a half demolished house, and I returned to work so that I could afford to keep my “alimony” and not go into foreclosure.

That’s the way it stayed through the turning of the year. Then 2018 loomed it’s ugly head.

My son had a friend or two that wanted to move in to my house in south Florida and take over the expenses there while I took turns with my sister caring for our mother and cleaning our parents’ house for reconstruction. It seemed like things were progressing. So, I took leave of my job to assist my sister in moving boxes of her stuff from my house to our parents’ house. Then from there, she was going to pack them into a trailer and haul them to R.I. But, the plan was to clean out her old apartment over the parents’ garage and move our mother into there until the house was finished. We didn’t want to overtax the generosity of Michelle, Lynn, and Robbie.

This was midway through emptying the apt.

Early 2018, I was living as if camping with my sister, no air conditioner and only a portable heater, in my sister’s old apartment in Jacksonville.

Before reversing gears. Now it’s storage.

The plan was still to repair the house for our mother to live in, and once Kate moved to R. I., I would stay and take care of our mother until such time as she could again care for herself, since the doctors could not detect any other tumors. Things seemed hopeful. I traveled back and forth to south Florida to pack my own belongings so that my son could move into my room and have two roommates. We had a plan. We were staging for the future; the next stage of our adult lives.

Then the poop hit the fan.

Our mother at Michelle’s.

My son’s “roommate” never got a job (and has yet to pay his portion of the bills there). So, my ex and my mother had to help me pay my mortgage for months. Our mother had a pulmonary embolism and almost died in May. My sister’s “friends” in R. I. told her to either move up now or “don’t bother moving at all” and she flipped out. And, it was coming up on summer camp time for my sister, which is her only major employment for the year.

Life and living spaces shifted again. My sister went out of state to her camps. I moved just my immediate necessities to Lynn and Michelle’s house and slept on a cot in the room with my mother. She was very weak after rehab and needed assistance with walking, dressing, and bathroom issues. As well as transport to chemo.

Now, did I mention that all this time, my father has done just about zero to repair their house? Garbage only gets cleaned out if my sister or I do it. He has not looked through any of his piles of paperwork, has stacks of cat food cans and recycling sitting around the floor, gaping holes in the floorboard that go down to the actual swamp, is still walking up and down the stairs on two bad knees with a dog on a leash, and has built a plank bridge from the bedroom balcony to the garage apartment porch so he can go to the functioning kitchen faster.

A Father’s Day visit to the swamp house.

My sister is convinced that he is going insane.

Essentially, my sister and I were subjected to long, rambling discussions with our father every time we went to their house to clean. None very useful, and some were downright disturbing.

I felt like I was underwater. Holding my breath and suspended under a crushing weight, just floating. Then, in one golden shimmering moment, surrounded by her children (both by blood and by choice) our mother faded from us.

Life has yet to feel normal again.

Let me say that I am grateful to the friends that I’ve gotten to know through my mother and am infinitely grateful to them for the generosity they have shown my mother, my sister, and myself. They gave us a space to sleep. They gave us a space to store some of our stuff out of the weather and summer temperatures that plague the garage apartment. They offer us comfort and company. They even feed us!

But, I cannot help but feel “homeless”. Facing a burden of two mortgages on houses that I cannot even sleep in, I’m stretched between places. Some boxes packed in the garage apartment; some bags of clothes here in the spare room at Michelle’s; some in the trunk of the car; my bedroom set still in south Florida. I don’t know where some of my specific items even are!

Me looking for what to clean next.

I don’t know where to apply for a new job because I don’t know where I’ll be staying or living in six months time. Do I abandon my grandparents’ land and my aging father in Jacksonville and go back to my house? Do I abandon my son and his friends to struggle with my house payments in south Florida and make a home in Jacksonville? Do I sell one house to pay for the other, only to have to find more money to repair it before it is safe for anyone to live inside? (oh, yes. My own house has mold as well, and needs wall and floor repair before I can sell it. So there’s that.) My sister wants to live in the swamp which was our mother’s parents’ land. But, do we rebuild the swamp house or let it fall to ruin and concentrate on the garage apartment as a tiny living space and make it big enough for three?

I just don’t know! So you can see what I mean when I say I don’t know how to Unpause. How do I hit Play? What do I do that will work for my father, my sister, my son, and myself? How do I maintain or return to “normal”?

Will I?

Ever?

All I can do right now is hope.

author, Book Trailers and Teasers, Cereal Authors, Character Quotes, Fantasy, Fiction, humor, Literary, Ruth Davis Hays, Sci-Fi, YA

Character Quotes

The elderly magda, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief, said, “So, I suggest that we leave for Atollis as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, but I have come all this way. I certainly hope you don’t plan on leaving without these gifts,” sighed a new voice from the door of the library. They all looked up to see an elderly man in long, stately robes, leaning on a sculpted cane, with three attendants baring satchels. The fine eyes and small points to the man’s ears betrayed an elven heritage.

Immediately, Lady Pinne leapt up and welcomed him before quickly introducing him around the room as Cayolans’thiane, the Duke of Elis’tavan. He turned to Pinne as he slowly lowered himself into a comfortable chair. “I had no idea that libraries were where the young folk chose to waste their days,” he joked. “But, I have brought you some things to assist in doing just that.”

At the wave of his hand, his attendants laid their burdens on the table and opened them to reveal several, large, leather-bound books, stamped and inked with beautiful patterns of a scrolling floral. Runes of a faerlish nature were burned into the covers. All present, except Keinigan, leaned forward with awe and interest.

Pinne looked at her old friend curiously, to which he replied with a casual air. “The professor wrote to me some weeks back about needing the histories of the Faerl Folk. But, these are not exactly the ancient texts,” he explained. “These are translations in elven, given to me by my grandfather who had appropriated them at high risk from a friend that worked inside the Libreas. I hope they will provide what it is that you are looking for.”

“How can we ever repay you?” Lylith murmured as her fingers irresistibly traced the design on one.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that at present, mistress.” The old half-elf smiled.

Keinigan watched everyone and felt a twinge of dread as the newcomer’s aged eyes fondled their group with a lustful glance, welcoming their gratitude.

— THE EXCURSION, Book Four from the Translations from Jorthus series by R L Davis Hays

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Character Quotes

SONG OF JORTHUS

Lovely maiden fair, we live in her care.

Planet of our home, through the stars we roam.

Before thought of Time, Jorthus good and kind.

Rheas wild and bright, loved her at first sight.

When Jorthus transforms, Rheas sadly mourns.

Iym he disobeys, to join with her always.

Lost in darkened skies, lonely Rheas cries.

Unara strong and brave, her brother she’ll save.

Sister loves him so, she begs Anom to go.

Brings him to his Love. Now they float above.

‘Round Jorthus they spin, company of kin.

Dancing in the sky, through the stars they fly.

— song lyrics written by Kate Elizabeth Davis for the Jorthus novels.

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