“No, my love. It is cleverly constructed.”
This week’s story will be posted soon. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s seventh year!
The Year of Prompts is done! That was the theme for Storyfeather Year Seven. Take a writing prompt and write a short story from it.
Thank you to everyone who read even a single story. Thank to you everyone who liked or commented. Thank you for your time and interest, and for being a part of Storyfeather, especially Year Seven.
A lot happens in the seventh year stories. An inventor builds a time machine out of a jukebox. Three friends do their science project on a forgotten novelty invention, a self-peeling banana. A small team of marine explorers search for a mythical jewel that fell from the heavens. A family is haunted by a demon that is not satisfied with collecting the fallen teeth of their children. And a young drummer commits the crime of “creativity without a license.”
I’ve written over 350 stories now. And I posted my 150th podcast episode (I’ll soon be wrapping up Season Three, in which I’m narrating stories from Storyfeather Year Three). Year Seven was a worthy challenge, but I’m glad to be moving on. Sometimes I “cheated” and deviated by just writing a story based on a dream or a notion (and reverse-engineering some kind of prompt from that). It’s easy to find writing prompts. There are free apps and sites. But what I found challenging was to find a prompt with the proper level of specificity.
Storytelling is still my true love, still my destiny, still my path. And this year in particular, storytelling has been and still is my haven. And my hope.
Year Eight is on the horizon. Here’s to seeing what stories I’ll be spinning up (that’s a dorky clue to the theme). I hope you’ll come along.
I have stories to tell you.
Once upon a time, flowers lived long lives. They are now known to be fleeting, for the most part. They bud. They bloom. They grace the world with their beauty. And then they die. But it was not always so. They lived long lives indeed. Longer than creatures with many legs. Longer than creatures with four legs. Longer than creatures with two legs. And sometimes, even longer than the long-lived beings of the deep.
I didn’t earn what happened to me. The curse that fell on me was meant for another. That’s what happens when petty warlocks are reckless with their magic.
“There they are again—don’t look!”
Yolie froze, mid-fold, and snapped her head forward again to look at Luxe. “Who?”
Luxe glanced up over Yolie’s shoulder. “You know who…Burgundy.” He glanced back down at the socks that he was rolling. “So, are we going to do it?”
A restless fairy grew bored one day and created a restless trinket, imbuing it with all of the fairy’s magic. The magic was all bent toward one purpose, to grant the bearer of the trinket three wishes.
The form the trinket first took was as a pendant, which the fairy gave to a human acquaintance with only three instructions…or warnings.
“First, the wish itself will only have power over you. Second, whenever you make a new wish, the old wish will vanish. And third, once the final wish is made and granted, the trinket will leave your possession.”
“Okay, okay, so the story goes, this king sent his daughter over the sea to a distant land to secure an alliance with a country that was formerly their enemy. And with her, he sent gifts and such.”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know if these people did dowries. Anyway, the gifts included the usual stuff you’d expect, precious metals and precious stones, coins, and jewels. And the one big gift, the real gift, you might say. A crown made for the prince, and set with a very special one-of-a-kind jewel. A jewel that was sent by the heavens. A jewel that could shine without sunlight. But this king had angered the gods, so they ordered the sea fairies to destroy the ship and drown the king’s daughter—“
Legend says that the draugamunninn were once human. They were a practical but severe people who after suffering one terrible winter too many, and after failing to feed themselves with their own hands and their own labor, began to pray to their old gods for relief. But their prayer was not answered by a god.
It was answered by a demon.