Long ago in times that have now passed into myth, much was different in the newborn world. Moths the size of hawks once fluttered through the sky. The rings on the ringed planet cast a glow upon the face of the new moon. The molten core of the world flowed not only with lava but with magic. And human beings wept tears that were sweet not salty.
It came to pass that two were born upon the earth to the same mother, one right after the other. Twins were rare in those days. The brother was born first, only moments before the sister.Continue reading
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.
When they were young, the seven children of the Rain and the Sun were inseparable. They were magnificent, these children. When they were born, so too were colors born into the world. And the colors bore the names of the seven children. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.
What each child touched became that color. The red petals of a rose, the orange cheeks of a young fairy, the green spires of a pine, the indigo eye of a peacock’s feather. They would join hands and skip through the world, coloring as they went.Continue reading
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.
A tale was once told among the ancestors of the people who live at the base of the great mountain to the north, from which a waterfall plummets into a river that winds across the land. The people who now live in that rich and lovely place still remember the tale of how and why their ancestors’ hearts once grew still and frigid. And they still remember what part the everyday gods played in the tale.
When first the moths alighted in the world below, the land of earth, they did so out of curiosity. And they did so because they were sent forth from their home by their creator. Their home and their creator were one and same, and she bore the name Moon.