Kaye Booth asked me to read a bit of my Tales from The Hanging Tree contribution, “Mercy.”
Not one to leave such a challenge unanswered, I responded with
Enjoy!
Quite the Life (and all in Times New Roman 10pt!)
Kaye Booth asked me to read a bit of my Tales from The Hanging Tree contribution, “Mercy.”
Not one to leave such a challenge unanswered, I responded with
Enjoy!
Fall approaches here in New England and its signature is everywhere; leaves change color and fall from trees, geese form arrowheads across the sky, woodland denizens bulk up for winter, hummingbirds no longer grace our feeders. I don’t mind time marching on, and it seems the clock ticks faster these days.
My reworking The Book of the Wounded Healers: A study in Perception continues, now with several first readers, and the feedback is marvelous (especially the “when can we get more” comments).
Last month I offered “My Writing Life” as my newsletter’s title and asked for your thoughts. Responding thoughts included
Let me know which of the four (which includes “My Writing Life”) works best and I’ll use it moving forward.
September-October 2024 Announcements
You can watch last month’s “Yeah, but you’re an idiot” episode on rejections on YouTube.
Take a look and tell them I sent you.
That’s it for September.
Enjoy!
I asked fellow Tales from The Hanging Tree anthology contributors to share some things about themselves prior to publication, and those generous enough to do so have appeared over the past few weeks (you can find their stories here). Today is the last in the Tales from The Hanging Tree anthology and is my offering, “Mercy.”
Each entry gives a taste of their contribution, a little about them, how to contact them, how their story came about, and definitely a link to Tales from The Hanging Tree (which you should purchase because it would make each and every one of us happy.
you do want to make us happy, don’t you?
i mean, considering what we wrote, you want us to know you’re a good person, right?).
My contribution is Mercy. Here’s the opening:
Adi woke screaming. His parents rushed to his bedside. The young child lay, eyes wide open, fixed on nothing, and shivered as if a strong north wind enwrapped him.
Isaiah, his father, pulled back the covers. “Sometimes an adder will climb into a bed for warmth. Sometimes a spider or biting thing will give poison. Roll him over.”
Mora, his mother, placed her hands under the boy’s left arm and leg. “He’s chilled, husband, and stiff as if dead. Has the deed been done?”
Isaiah ran a hand over his son’s chest. “Don’t be a fool, Mora. It was his scream which woke us. You think a bug or snake could kill him so quickly? Or leave him near frozen on a warm summer’s night?”
Continue reading “My ‘Mercy’ in WordCrafter Press’ Tales from The Hanging Tree Anthology”
I asked fellow Tales from The Hanging Tree anthology contributors to share some things about themselves prior to publication and those generous enough to do so will be appearing here for the next week or so.
Each entry gives a taste of their contribution, a little about them, how to contact them, how their story came about, and definitely a link to Tales from The Hanging Tree (which you should purchase because it would make each and every one of us happy.
you do want to make us happy, don’t you?
i mean, considering what we wrote, you want us to know you’re a good person, right?).
Sylva’s contribution is The Devil’s Mark. Here’s the opening:
The rope tightened and all hope of being saved disappeared as the last tortured breaths drifted on the cool night breeze. Then silence.
***“Mother is sick, do you hear, girl? Go to her at once!” Thomas slapped the maid as she scurried past, leaving a red welt across her cheek.
Mother’s coughing fits were becoming more frequent, violent hacking coughs that left her frailer and weaker each day. He couldn’t bear to watch her lying listless, her breath rattling, and her skin the pallor of gruel. I doubt she’ll last the winter out if she succumbs to another bout of influenza, he worried, and that damned maid is useless!
Upon finishing his morning read, Thomas headed back to Mother’s room; he didn’t trust that skinny little maid, Jane, to care for his mother properly. The stench hit his nostrils before he got through the door—an acrid mix of vomit and excrement. He paused, holding his handkerchief to his nose to mask the foul odour.
I asked fellow Tales from The Hanging Tree anthology contributors to share some things about themselves prior to publication and those generous enough to do so will be appearing here for the next week or so.
Each entry gives a taste of their contribution, a little about them, how to contact them, how their story came about, and definitely a link to Tales from The Hanging Tree (which you should purchase because it would make each and every one of us happy.
you do want to make us happy, don’t you?
i mean, considering what we wrote, you want us to know you’re a good person, right?).
DL’s contribution is 12 Angry Dead. Here’s the opening:
“No!” A blonde woman screamed as men held her and her family hostage near the oldest tree in the forest.
Around a bonfire, six men stood with her husband and two little girls gagged and bound. The victims stood lined up together. The men brandished knives, placing the sharp metal edges to their necks.