Showing posts with label authoress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label authoress. Show all posts

Monday, June 06, 2016

Mrs Egeland Confesses: I'd Make A Lousy Fifties Housewife

Yes, readers it's true. I've come to accepted that I would have made an absolute pigs-ear of being a good housewife in the 1950's.

As much as I would love to live the lifestyle others have so bravely and dedicatedly taken on, living to as far as possible to the standards and social norms of that era I do not. As much as I admire the ways of life, the traditional stay at home wife role, the domestic goddess who always looked her best and kept her husband happy, in an age of patience and good manners, in a simpler time, I have come to accept that had I been born, had my personality been as it is today, I would have made a horrible housewife.

I am at heart an artist, a creative who will quite happily sit and paint rather than wash the floor. I can easily get zoned- out whilst writing or drawing and completely ignore the war zone of dirty dishes in the sink and the hoovering left undone.

A Woman Of My Era

 
I like my home to be tidy and clean, as do we all, but so long as there are plates to eat off and clothes to wear I can and will leave the chores until later to do something more enjoyable, more creative. I have more self-will than self-control and as much as I dream of the day when I will be able to stay on top of my laundry, ironing, cleaning schedule in a zen-like state, with perfectly coiffured hair, and manicured nails I know that in reality, that day, is far off and quite possibly will never arrive.

I am, it has to be said, a woman of my era. I work part-time, I find entertainment online and via my iPhone, I like using my free time to pamper myself and indulge in my passions. I am not as organized as I could be, not always on top of my chores, I expect my husband to do half of them, I don't bake as much as I'd like, although I cook daily, and as much as my little heart yearns for the pastimes of past times I find my knitting is always half done and my sewing is always waiting to be finished. Even this blog has, as you will have noticed, fallen by the wayside.

Without the modern conveniences of a dishwasher, a tumble dryer and a washing machine would I have to spend more time washing dishes and doing my laundry? No doubt I would, and that would require my spending more of my free time doing those things, but I doubt that it would make me more organized. Because at my core I am a creative, go-with-the-flow, spontaneous sprite who revels in writing fantasy novels and painting pictures of Vespas whilst listening to big band music and RPG soundtracks.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Mrs Egeland Apologises

Yes, I have to apologise because I have neglected you all terribly. IMG_2040

I do have plenty of excuses though! I’ve had numerous visits from lovely, lovely, interesting people and I will have more visits this week. Yes October is a month of visits for me and I’m enjoying the company, however that, plus the fact that I got bitten by the inspiration bug just recently and have felt the desperate need to write fantasy fiction has left me little time to write tutorials or think of recipes to share with you all. IMG_2036

So I apologise! I will try hard to do better.

Mrs Egeland’s News

I have been trying to start a new blog page, which will be a slightly more improved version of this one, a tad more classy. However its taking a bit more time than I imagined, basically because I haven’t gotten around to posting the tutorial I have in mind, because I haven’t gotten around to doing the tutorial I have in mind. I will eventually get around to posting it and then I will post my new web address and say goodbye to my blogspot account.

In other news, my fantasy fiction novel is going into print. As of yet we have no bookshops on board but that I will keep you informed, and as soon as its available to buy I will let you know where you can get my debut novel. For more information and a story synopsis check out Mrs Egeland’s Other Projects, which you will find in the page list on the right side.

How Do I Make It Up To You?

Jolly good question! Would you settle for a sneak peek at my debut novel? Yes? No?

Well that’s what you getting, so I hope you can forgive me!

The Trials Begin

Eventually, when their bodies complained with every fiber, they stopped footsore and exhausted camping that night below the stars in a forest clearing. They pushed themselves to build a fire, collecting wood in the clearing itself, not daring to venture too far from the others. Eyes meeting and smiles exchanged as they nervously collected what little wood they could find, all of them, eager to sleep but aware that they were surrounded by the unknown. Soon the fire blazed with heat and light, giving an atmosphere of familiarity in the dark, unknowable night, drawing the travelling companions together and strengthening the ever-strengthening bond of friendship and family that the mark seemed to bring to them. The trees were dark and haunting compared to the warm fire, and animal sounds echoed eerily in the darkness like some signal to begin the hunt of our unsuspecting campers. But of course, it was no such thing.

“To be honest,” said Agatha with a little gulp of nervousness, “I’m a little…um… uncomfortable in this forest.”

“You mean that you’re scared!” sniggered Jorden.

“What’s troubling you my lady?” asked Loreliana patiently and calmly.

“Um… wild animals… monsters… thieves… murderers… etcetera etc,” said Agatha looking over her shoulder, every word coming out faster than the last.

“My lady, you needn’t worry about that. We’ll protect you and the fire is blazing; animals might be attracted to it but we scare them more than they do us, and ‘monsters’ are usually more frightened of the light than we are of them. Thieves and murderers, well, we only have the strength of Jorden and if they can overcome him, then we shall be in trouble. But I seriously doubt that there are any thieves and murderers who would want anything to do with us, we are after all just three seemingly poor travellers,” said Loreliana, “with little or no trappings of the rich.”

“What a mouse!” whispered Jorden, but shut up when he saw Loreliana raising her eyebrow at him and rolling her eyes, her seeming disapproval sent a stab at his heart.

“So, we’ve told you about where we came from, what about you? What made you decide to start on the road?” asked Jorden quickly changing the subject.

“My father was a local physician; he knew herb lore and anatomy. One day as he was on his rounds, checking on his patients in the village he noticed a woman was following him, she seemed like a beggar or something so he took no notice. Then that night someone knocked on his door, he wondered who it could be at such a late hour but he picked up his bag and opened the door, ready to leave if it was some kind of emergency. There at the door was a man, dirty and dressed in rags, he asked my father if he could come in. My father was a bit suspicious, but he couldn’t see any weapons on the man and so he let the man in. The man was my real father, he told my father that he and his wife, my real mother, had been watching him for a few days, saw how he treated people with illness and that they thought he must be a very clever and kind man. He told my father that they were both very ill and would die very soon, but that they had a small daughter, of a little more than three years old and would he be willing to take care of me? He told them that it was a very big decision and that he wanted a day to think about taking on such a big responsibility. The man seemed to agree and left him to think it over. The next day my father wasn’t so eager to take on a child, he was quite sure he couldn’t be a good father, but it seemed my real mother and father were dying faster than they appeared because the very next morning he found me on the doorstep, wrapped up in cloth with a note, telling him about my special gift and apologising that they had to leave me like that. My father told me he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope but soon he fell in love with me and was glad that my real parents had left me on his doorstep.” Said Loreliana.

“Wow, that’s a much better story than mine!” said Agatha looking at Jorden.

“Or mine,” said Jorden.

They slept around the fire, and for Agatha’s sake Jorden kept watch, his sword in hand, ready to fend off anything that might strike. He sat there, alert for two hours looking in the direction of every peep, and slowly like the thief of time that it is, sleep crept upon him and stole his wakefulness. He crumbled like a well-loved teddy bear after five generations of care. He slept for mere moments but it was enough, an opportunity for a real life animal to come upon the camp, a brown bear, thin and starving. It smelled what little food they had and thought of it as an easy meal, a table set and all it needed do was sit and eat. It nosed into the camp, and its sniffling was what woke Jorden, his eyes flashed open and cried out at the bear who stood nearer him than the women, suddenly the bear swiped its heavy paw, like a glove filled with lead and threw Jorden’s body across the camp where he landed on a protruding rock. His body lay prostrated across the rock as it slowly and painfully slipped down into a crumpled heap. He waved his sword from the grassy floor with no real strength in the air, more like a call for help than any real threat. The growling and snorting of the angry bear as it stood on its back legs awoke Agatha and Loreliana from their sleep, and it thumped down from its position back on to all four legs. Loreliana screamed. Agatha jumped up and spun on the spot, facing the bear.

“A bear!” said Loreliana breathlessly, recovering from her first shock, as she began rising to her knees as slowly as possible. The bear watched as the two once lane figures rose and once more rose itself, until it was standing on its back legs, six or seven feet tall; roared once more, aggravated by its hunger and fearing this movement when it had expected none. Agatha’s hand automatically reached for the stone that hung over her heart, her life-long protector. Loreliana began to dance in front of the animal, hopping from one foot to the other doing her best to keep the bear uncertain and distract it from Jorden’s prone body as he passed out once more. The stone shone. Agatha wished in her heart that there was something more she could do, something that miraculously would automatically solve the problem and rid them of this danger. The stone shone even brighter, stronger. The more fear she felt, the stronger the light grew. She remembered her adopted father’s voice telling her how when he had found her she had screamed in anguish and that the stone had shone so bright that it almost blinded him. She realised that now, with a combination of wishing and pure terror, she might produce the same blinding light and almost with her every breath the light grew stronger, intensifying and burning till it was as strong as the light from the sun. All this took seconds to happen, and takes longer in the telling than its occurrence. Quickly the light from the stone was so bright that the bear, scared, shocked by this blinding light, turned tail and ran lumbering back into the forest and then as quickly as the light had shone it dwindled back to nothing. Agatha was frozen to the spot, blinded and shocked at the light that had come forth from the stone around her neck. Trying desperately to understand how her thoughts and feelings had produced it.

“Jorden!” cried Loreliana running to his aid, wiping the tears of fear from her eyes. She looked over his broken body, his right side bleeding from the gouged wound, that was long and thick like trenches into his flesh and he held his left side groaning in pain.

“My lady, I need your help!” cried Loreliana. She watched as Jorden bled excessively, his eyelids fluttering as he apparently slipped in and out of consciousness, she had to do something. Agatha was like a zombie, catatonic, stuck in the moment that she had frightened away the bear, filled with the fear of her own capabilities.

“AGATHA!” screamed Loreliana, in some vain attempt to return her to the present. “I need your help. Jorden is bleeding, and I need your help!” It was enough to snap her out of it. She blinked, shook her blonde head and soon was running to her aid.

“I’m sorry Jorden,” said Agatha running to his side. “I’m sorry Loreliana.”

“I need you to find something to use to put pressure on that wound,” said Loreliana firmly, it was the voice of experience and it held a magic tone of authority that could lead even generals. Loreliana carefully pushed on Jorden’s chest. He tensed and groaned in anguish.

“Sorry Jorden,” she said almost under her breath.

He nodded and frowned with the pain. His breath was light and his face contorted in agony at each breath.

“Jorden, do you feel sleepy at all?” asked Loreliana searching for the symptoms that would agree with her own diagnosis. His pale face nodded with a grimace. She leant her head next to his chest, listening to his beating heart and uneven breathing.

“Your ribs hurt don’t they? Tell me, got a headache?”

“No, just feel dizzy and I can hardly breathe,” replied Jorden wheezily

“All right Jorden, do you know any good folk songs?” said Loreliana in a soothing voice

“Here, what about this?” said Agatha, who after searching began ripping at her petticoats

“Perfect! My lady,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “Put pressure on the wound, cover it and press hard on it, to stop it bleeding.”

“No,” croaked Jorden, as pain from Agatha’s pressure suffused his face with pain once more.

“Sorry, but I need her to press on your wound!” said Loreliana worriedly.

“I meant, no I don’t know any songs,” he croaked painfully.

Loreliana smiled shaking her head mockingly her forced joviality covering her shaken nerves as she tried to bring tranquillity to the situation before her and said, with a “Well it’s good that I do!”

She started to sing,

In the days of the Queen of the sun,

There will be a company,

Together with one.

She will travel along the road

To the land where she belongs,

The land that calls for her aid.

She sang on, weaving melodies in the air, like an expert basket weaver. Somehow the song made Agatha and Jorden feel better. It made Agatha’s shock melt into nothing and Jorden’s physical pain ease. It was as if someone had stopped time and taken them to their mother’s lap, where she was crooning over them, tenderly stroking their heads. All of the bad feelings, even the ever constant homesickness disappeared like snow under the hot rays of the sun. She stopped singing a moment,

“Jorden, give me both of your hands,” said Loreliana quietly as if in some sanctified place.

She resumed singing, and her lilting song hovered in the air like some kind of incense, soothing the cares of the world, blanketing the clearing like a quilt. She pushed Jorden’s hand out flat with her palms and closed her eyes as she continued to sing the soothing lullaby.

“My caring angel,” he mumbled as Jorden felt his eyes grow heavier, filled with the sand of dreams and sleep invaded him, washing away the aches and pains in his injured body like hot water after a long day. He dreamt of green pasture, ripened wheat fields and heavily scented honeysuckle, of ripened orchards, of deep orange sunsets tickled with indigo clouds and the warm arms of his mother and the scent that pervaded her. He felt himself once more a child and he felt the caring hand stroke his head. He slept heavily and deeply.

“He’s strong, he’ll be well soon enough, my lady,” whispered Loreliana over Jorden’s sleeping body. “His bones will have by now knitted well enough and the wound…”

Agatha lifted the corner of the piece of cloth she had been holding over it that was tinted by the brown red stain of blood.

“Wow, its healed fast!” she gasped at the miraculous feat, removing the bloodstained pad.

“We shall have to stay here a little longer than we’d intended, my lady, but I should think he will be well enough to continue the journey the day after tomorrow,” said Loreliana still in the deep, quiet whisper that seemed to reach Agatha’s ear with ease.

“Did you do that?” asked Agatha

“Do what my lady?” asked Loreliana

“Make him heal so fast!” replied Agatha

“It is the body that heals. I merely gave some of my strength to his body, nothing more. That’s what enables the body to work harder and therefore heal faster,” said Loreliana modestly and matter-of-factly as she stifled a yawn.

“I should keep watch,” said Agatha, picking up Jorden’s sword.

“My lady, I think that you will have scared any dangerous animals off for miles around. I should imagine it is safe enough,” said Loreliana looking at Agatha’s tired face.

“Maybe you’re right, Loreliana,” said Agatha, clutching once more at the stone around her neck, she lay down near the burning embers of the fire. Loreliana, assuring herself of Jorden’s sleep, threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire, moved Jorden’s sword out of his hand and making sure it would be nearer her own position she also lay, positioning herself between the fire and Jorden, in case she needed to attend to him in the night, and they all slept undisturbed the rest of the night.

 

So Opinions?

So what do you think? Does it leave you wanting to read more? Please leave comments below.

Well, that’s all for now, I will post again on Wednesday, I promise.

Until next time

Davita

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Mrs Egeland Is Inspired

But unfortunately not to write a blog post.

9960_women-fantasy-art-elves-artwork-sakimichan-1920x1080-wallpaper_2560x1600You see I am a writer, an unpublished author and my novel is waiting to be published via Amazon e-books. You can read the “blurb” on the “Mrs Egeland’s Other Projects” page which you will find on the right.

I am so devoted to my characters that I had decided that I would write at least two more novels, one about the characters parents and another about the characters 1o years on. Except that getting my novel published has taken such a lot out of me, with drafts and the simple pressures of getting things done, that there has been no time or basically any inspiration to write.

I think as well that by deciding to write two more novels about the same set of people, or at least the same setting has stifled my inspiration.

Not so long ago I met a young woman, a sprite of creative spark, she’s a graphic artist who writes her own graphic novels. She’s young and full of vigour, she has her own style and generally a wonderful person. She is the sister-in-law of my friend, one of my best friends, a woman who has raw talent, seemingly unlimited patience and four beautiful children. This friend and her husband live in beautiful Kvinnherad, which is quite a distance from the city of Bergen and thankfully my husband and her husband are good friends. So we occasionally take a weekend and go visit, and that’s when this little sprite shows me all her drawings.

This time, on my way home, I tried to picture my little sprite as one of my characters, and I was inspired. Suddenly I could see her, her hair streaming out behind her, her arms outstretched with a piercing light shining behind her. I don’t know what this character is, or who, or even if she’s going to be in one of the books, but I know that she needs a story. She can’t just inhabit my mind, even if she is based on my friend, she must live in fiction.

As I said, I’m inspired, but not really to write blog posts.

I hope that I will soon be able to tell you where you can acquire my first novel, so that you can all read it and tell me what you think. I’d love to know, its nothing like this blog! However its the facets of a personality that makes it interesting. Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes, domestic and otherwise.

Until next time

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Davita

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Debutant Author

That's me. I AM A debuting author, and although my publisher's critic is exhaustive I do hope that this year will be the year I finally get published. They're very enthusiastic about it, which of course thrills me to the core. So I was googling my name, something I haven't done a long while, this time it was with a friend as we googled her long distant boyfriend, anyway up came two links for a previous draft of my novel that I had published online about three years ago. Suddenly I remembered that it had not only taken my two and a half years to write but was taking my a further 6 months to get through the critique from my publisher. All in all, I'll have laboured a whopping three years on this project, true it was in my spare time, but still I was somewhat speechless to consider it. Yet, as all author's will tell you, it was a labour of love. My novel, and hopefully the two books that I have half-planned in my head as a continuation, is like a child conceived and given birth to. Although not even elephants gestate quite so long as it seems this literary "child" has. I'll be dancing on the ceiling when it finally gets to print, and even if only my friends and co-workers buy it then I will feel I've achieved my goal. After all though I live and breath writing I do have a well-paid job and for monetary imbursement. So although my wildest dreams of becoming the richest woman in the world still pervade my consciousness, money isn't really the object. Getting my baby out there, and hopefully read and enjoyed as much in its reading as its writing has been. It sounds so noble, but really I just want to be able to say that I am a published authoress. Well dears, its over and out!