Tag Archives: short story

An Update on Writing

I know there (again) has been a lack of content lately, but this time for a good reason: I’m busy writing stories!
But I’ll get to that a bit later, as today I’d like to talk about writing stuff in general and stuff I did more or less recently.
Two years ago the Bücherstadt Kurier published their March volume including my story „Nebeljagd“ (Mist Hunt). This was the first of my stories that has ever been published in a proper medium and not just on this Blog or on DF.PP Entertainment or in The Forum (back when it still existed 🙁 ).
I remember being so proud of this.
I remember calling my Mum right away after I received the mail with the amazing „You’ve been chosen“-line.
I remember printing out the story and showing it to her and the smile on her face.
I also remember what happened next.
For me those two things will forever be remembered together: My first success and my biggest loss.
Still, that didn’t keep me from continuing, I knew she would have (verbally) kicked my ass if I had dared to do that. Just giving up, wasn’t quite her style. 😉
It took me more than a month to at least be willing to write again, the result being „Ein neuer Tag“ (A New Day), starting there a lot of my writings involved darker tones about loss, flight and/or death.
Part of me used this to talk about my own experiences and thoughts, another part just found it fitting for a characters‘ journey. I believe a prime example of this is Mina’s side-story from my second Advent Calendar.
I’m fairly certain that „Der Weckruf“ (The Wake-up call) was the first story I published on a Blog after it all happened – in retrospective it’s quite a fitting title for the situation – not counting „Der Zufluchtsort“ (The Haven), which was the last story I finished the day before it happened and scheduled for the day after. Still, from there I kind of got back into things.
Your Picture – A Story“ was (kind of still is, even if I didn’t manage to write anything for it these last couple of months…) a good outlet for me to just explore different topics and characters without going into too much details thanks to the word count. This was also where you could see the changes I mentioned earlier the most.
Another new step I made regarding my stories was/is attending a Lesebühne (Reading Stage) where I read them aloud in front of an audience (in a pub). It’s always a thrill to do that and I’m nervous time and again. Though there is rarely any feedback: A few people told me they enjoyed the stories, someone said the stories I read improved over time, another encouraged me to try my luck with a publisher, others had minor complains, but most of them said nothing. It’s still an interesting experience and with the amount of Short Stories I have yet to read (or write) I have quite some stuff still unknown to the listeners.
Speaking of trying my luck: I also managed to win Eve Estelles’s writing contest, twice, without actually expecting to do so:

With „The Raven’s Omen“ and the „Campfire Tale„, I impressed her enough to let me win and those two are also prime examples of my English Short Stories, as I usually tend to write those in German. The only downside to this is my pessimism coming into play here and telling me I only won, because (it feels like) there wasn’t much competition.
I am very pessimistic (in general and especially) when it comes to my stories, I like them, but I rarely think they’re good enough for anyone else to like them, so it came as quite a surprise when fruehstuecksflocke asked me to become a part of #Projekt24. With „Blind Date„, I hope I made an adequate addition to it. This project will soon be not just available on his Blog, but more on that when it’s officially announced. 😉
With my success here I also tried to add an entry to the Literary Advent Calendar of the Bücherstadt Kurier and some people quite laughed at my take on „The Crib„.
When this year began I told you about three stories I edited/translated for another project, namely: Ein neuer Tag, „The Quest for Ore“ and another one called „Verloren“ (Lost). These three are for Projekt Myra as exchange for some advertisement they did and as they still wanted/liked to get more I sat down to write out another of my organ-concert-ideas (see link Ein neuer Tag) concerning the Dwarfworld, I came up with back when writing The Quest for Ore and drafting Verloren. That story, however, did not want to be a Short Story and has by now roughly 30k of written out scenes and notes under the (working?) title: Der Wunsch der Königin (The Queen’s Wish). It’s still a lot of work to do and I’m still not entirely convinced it fits into the corner of Myra that we decided on – and again, that they really like what I’m writing-, but we’ll see once I’m done. Which I hopefully will be one day and don’t let it go to waste (like Michael’s story that I still haven’t managed to properly write down). Unfortunately I’m already kind of bored of writing out the notes and missing scenes, as motivation plays a rather huge part in my process and when the voice in the back of my head tells me something is not worth doing, then I have the tendency to listen to it, which is awful and counterproductive and absolutely annoying.
Another annoying thing is me jumping between ideas. As soon as one pops up I want to pursue it and everything else is then put aside (like writing this post, when I should be doing something else 😉 ). One of the last times this happened I had nearly/finally finished with last years Advent Calendar and then I somehow decided to write two more stories. The first one was the Christmas story „Santa’s Helper“ that I kind of feel like continuing in this year’s Calendar, though I’m not sure if I really should – any thoughts?
The other was „Winter Moon“ that I did get carried away with and which now has the basics for the twelfth chapters I speculate to write under the working title „Neubrandenwolf„. Though I still don’t know whether I should publish a Chapter a month (close to the full moon) or just publish as soon as I’m finished, Twitter wasn’t helpful for that decision…
The idea-jumps doesn’t make it any easier to get anything done though, quite the contrary. They are especially awful when it comes to the Fanfictions I started over the years that are still not finished yet, especially as I kind of took a year long break from them. Though I did manage to update 3/4 stories by now, even if updating one of the stories was recently postponed by writing the first ~7k version of The Queens Wish and then finished after I dreamed about one of the characters pulling me towards him…
Still, they’re a great medium where you technically don’t have to think up that much regarding the worlds you write in and just can explore different story lines with existing characters. Which doesn’t mean I did not think things through, because that would be impossible for me, as I want things to make sense, even if that makes things more complicated and nearly as bad, as if I thought up my own worlds.
Anyway, a few people keep telling me I have a talent for writing and that I should try sending stuff to a publisher, but the voice in the back of my head, still tells me that I’m not good enough, that the stuff I write is too full of clichés, too boring, too simple and that no one would want/like to read it anyway (hence the lack of motivation at times). I really don’t know whom I should listen to, but that doesn’t mean I won’t keep writing – and potentially improving. All this stuff has to get out of my head somehow. There are still too many stories left untold that I don’t even dare to think about to not get distracted by them…
But don’t worry, you will get a few things to read in the future – whether you like them or not. 😉
P.S. Still not any better at naming things. 😉

Wolf Moon

Well, I decided to continue the story of Winter Moon. Not just with this sequel, but a third part is already drafted as well. If I manage to do it, you will get a continuation every month close to the next full moon. The whole thing will be put below the title „Neubrandenwolf“, because let’s face it: The stuff that happens to the guy takes place in Neubrandenburg, even if I don’t say it. 😀
Anyway, I wanted to publish this post already last week, but I got sidetracked by watching Zoo. Though, as it turned out that was a good thing. For the third part I checked out the moon-names for title purposes and discovered that the full moon in January was called the Wolf Moon. Of course I had to change the title for that. 😉
As that is out of the way, have fun with

Wolf Moon

The other day it had finally snowed. The first time this winter, even if it was already January. He loved the snow; he loved how it made the world look peaceful and pure, but he especially loved how it felt on his fur and below his paws when he ran during his special night. His only fear was that it would thaw before that. Walking his way up to the hill he lived on, he thought about his plans for that night. Two days ago he had had a phone call with a friend that would complicate things.
„Hey, you’re the only one left, who hasn’t told me whether they come to my birthday party or not“, his friend had greeted him.
„Oh, sorry, I forgot. When was it again?“ He had asked, clearly remembering it would be on the day of the full moon.
„Next Thursday“ his friend had confirmed.
„Ah, yeah, I don’t know. Friday is my day off – “ he had started, but had been interrupted by: „Oh, come on! It’s my birthday and everyone will be there! You have to get out once in a while, you know, right?“ His friend had, not for the first time, mocked his status as a recluse. „Besides, I know for fact that you’ve never been to the Brewhouse and always wanted to go there!“
He had sighed at that and given in: „Let me check my schedule and I’ll call you back tomorrow.“

He had struggled with himself. On the one hand did he want to go and hang out with his friends that he hadn’t seen for ages, the great food he had heard so much about was an additional bonus. On the other hand would this cause several other problems as he was unfamiliar with the area and his potential running grounds.
The evening after the call he had spent with a map of the area. Even if he only stayed a couple of hours he wouldn’t be able to make it back in time for his run, so he wouldn’t have a choice but to improvise.
After work the next day he had gone to the restaurant and taken out the map he had printed and followed the path he had marked to the allotment nearby. He made notes of the hedges, the arbours and sometimes of the smells. Even without the moon his senses were better than those of a normal human, so he easily noticed that not many people had been here recently. They probably just checked on their belongings in their gardens or fed the resident birds.
A path ran throughout the allotment, branching off every few meters into new ways leading to the entrances of several gardens lying beside each other. At some point he had strayed from the main path to the left, this way he passed the garden entrances, but also came closer to the brook that ran parallel to everything. At this edge of the allotment he had found an unlocked gate between the hedges that led to the brook. Carefully he opened it, already hearing the bubbling of the water. This was where he could start running. No one would see him if he kept close to the hedges.
But first he needed that hiding place.
He had gone through the row of gardens leading to the brook and checked them for signs of their owners and the accessibility of their entrances. As his boots left prints in the snow he had to be careful when he looked for a proper hiding place for his clothes, he didn’t want people to think that he was planning on robbing something. Finally he had come across one garden that seemed promising. Someone had recently been here, the footprints still led to the arbour, so if the snow stayed no one would notice a second pair. The gate was low enough to pass with a bit of effort and the arbours‘ terrace seemed like a good place to hide his backpack. He was certain this should work; he just hoped the owners wouldn’t be here when the time came, that would be more than awkward. After he had made a note on his map he had started a timer on his phone to see how long it would take him to get here. When he had reached the restaurant again he was satisfied with the results and took his bus home. After dinner he then had called his friend to tell them that he’d come, but only for a few hours.
The days leading up to the birthday party he went through his plan time and again to see if it’d really work. When the day came he felt prepared enough, yet still terrified, but that was always the case if he had to change in an unknown environment; he liked his routines. He had a little time to get home from work before driving back down for the celebration. In his flat he changed into comfortable clothes that weren’t too thick to stuff into his backpack – as his usual bag would be too suspicious – alongside his supplies; something he had tried several times. With a last check he went to catch his bus.
Entering the restaurant, he was met by the delicious smell of different kinds of meat coming from the kitchen; he was definitely looking forward to the meal. His friend had invited quite a few people, fifteen if he counted correctly, some of which he knew, others he had never met before, neither of them knowing the truth about him. The only available seat was beside one of his friends‘ single lady friends, which was just a simple hint at the fact that he had been single for all the years they had known each other. A few of them – including him – decided to take the special plate consisting of a plate full of different kinds of meats and several side dishes like potato-variations and red cabbage. After some small talk and catching up, the food finally arrived and smelled even more delicious now that it stood directly before him. Luckily for him this was a restaurant where using your hands was encouraged, so he didn’t feel bad about grabbing a ham hock and sinking his teeth into it. It tasted as delicious as it smelled and it was hard to control his hunger and chew normally instead of just gulping it down. Still, he took little breaks between his refills so he could control himself better and it wouldn’t be too obvious that he ate far more than his share. He didn’t know the hunting grounds here, so he made sure to be sated enough to not attack anything – or anyone – out of hunger.
After the meal was finished and the few leftovers packaged, he wanted to leave, but his friend made him stay for the hand washing ritual. A bowl of soapy water was brought to them by one of the staff dressed as a medieval maidservant and she declared that the women would wash and dry the hands of the men. Of course woman sitting beside him was the one drying his hands. She coyly smiled at him the way she had done all evening. On days like these he never knew if this was real attraction or if it was the wolf that subconsciously made them swoon. It didn’t matter either way. He thanked her politely and stood up to say his good byes.
As he got out, his backpack loosely hanging over his shoulder, a few smokers already stood at the bottom of the entrance stairs. Their smoke interfered with his fine nose, so he quickly made his way past them, bidding his farewell. The property was surrounded by a stone wall with a few bars as fence here and there and a large gate that opened the way onto the street or onto the parking lot, depending on whether you were leaving or entering. Out of the gates he took a last look back and saw the others still standing there and with a forced smile he waved once again and turned left, as if he wanted to take the bus. Out of their field of vision he crossed the street and turned right instead to get to his actual destination. A little behind the gate he crossed the street again and with swift steps made his way to the hiding place.
He considered himself lucky that no one was around or had been here recently, but the snow had mostly thawed by now and he feared he might leave footprints in the mud. Still, he didn’t have a choice, so he crossed the low gate, went down the path to the arbour and stepped onto its open terrace. Alert he looked at his surroundings while he undressed himself and stashed everything in his backpack, his papers and remaining money at the bottom. He put the bag underneath the frame of a canopy swing and turned to leave. At the entrance of the terrace he stood for a moment looking up at the pale beauty above that was hiding behind tall trees and snow clouds. She looked magnificent. Taking in the cold air his body started to shift and soon he made his way through the garden. He tried to leave as few prints as possible through balancing on the edge of the cement plates that were vertically put into the ground as path borders; he still slipped a few times.
He followed the way he had studied to the brook and further down to a side arm of the local river and soon found himself on a still snowy field, as the ground here was too cold to let it thaw. Yelping joyfully he ran a few paces through it, rolled around in it and threw it into the air with his muzzle. Enjoying himself he howled his greeting to the moon and set off to fully enjoy his snowy run.

Behind the Scenes

As I did last time, a little overview of what is based on real things/events:

  • There is a restaurant at the edge of town called the Wallensteinkeller (Wallenstein-cellar) or commonly called „Brauhaus“ (brewhouse) where the only cutlery you get is a sharp knife. For minimum two people you can order the Wallensteinplatte (Wallenstein-plate) where you can get the stuff described above. It’s delicious. Also the staff does dress up as Magd (maidservant) and Knecht (servant), the foods have funny descriptions (black juice of the sugar beet would be coke) and the hand washing ritual really happens like that.
  • We were there for my Birthday celebration, but the moon-behind-the-threes thing happened a week earlier when we went there to order a special meal for Breagit.
  • This and me looking at a town map while waiting for my bus, I decided to write this story and let the protagonist run past the Brauhaus into the described Gartenanlage (allotment) onto the Torffeld (turf field) behind it.
  • I know a family that have their garden there and they brought me to the brook once, but the garden itself is kind of a mix between theirs and our garden, I’m pretty sure their terrace has a door, while ours is accessible.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this story as well.
Stay tuned for part three: Snow Moon! 😉

Winter Moon

Well, let’s start this year with a new story that I came up with during the last weeks of December.
Some of the stuff described in it did actually happen, others not so much. I’ll let you know what is what afterwards. 😉
I quite like the idea and the story, even if I’m pretty sure I messed up some of the tenses, but read for yourself:

Winter Moon

Since the early morning he had sat at his computer at work. He had wanted to go home more than an hour ago, but his current task just kept throwing him in circles and needed to be finished before he finally had his day off. Everything inside of him was itching and wanting to leave. It was getting difficult to concentrate, but he had to.
In the corner of his eye he caught a glimmer of light and he put it aside as just another car driving down the busy road beside his workplace. But unlike a car’s, this light didn’t cease. Curious what it was, he looked up from his screen and out of the window. Staring back at him was the brightly glowing full moon. ‚Nearly full‘, he corrected in his mind and studied it for a moment, especially the craters that reminded him of a face – the man in the moon, as he was colloquially called.
‚Always a man‘, he snickered to himself.
A thing like that should be referred to as a woman. They were the fascinating, alluring and mysterious one of the genders. Men rarely had such grace. He moved his head from one side to the other and the moon seemed to follow him, the glass adding several paler reflections on either side of the glowing orb whichever way he turned. It was stunning and beautiful and he just wanted to go outside and watch it until it would sink again. But he couldn’t.
Fiercely he shook his head. First he had to finish his task then he could indulge the moon in all its glory.
„Just one more day“, he had told himself and returned to work the next morning.
Last night when he had sat on his balcony, a steaming tea in hand, looking up at the bright and glowing moon his mind had drifted to his task and he had seen the solution to his problem clearly before him, now all he needed to do was implement it. He would do that today and then be off into his much needed day off. Even with little sleep he had been here early and with all the extra hours he had put in to finish this, no one would complain if he left a little earlier.
But his plans were thwarted again, this time by his boss. Without much notice beforehand he had scheduled an important meeting right when he was about to leave but couldn’t as his opinion was needed. The meeting dragged on and on and he became more restless by the minute. He wanted to leave, he needed to. Impatiently tapping his foot he could see the world outside the window grow dark. The moon was rising, he knew.
Finally his boss dismissed them and he all but ran into their office, grabbing his things and throwing them in his sling bag.
„You’re in quite a hurry“, one of his colleagues stated mockingly.
„I’m late for my day off“, he only answered with a forced smile. ‘Far too late‘, he added in his mind.
With a short goodbye he finally left.
„I should have taken my bike“, he grumbled impatiently. Pacing like a caged animal he waited for the bus that would take him to his home, so he could start his vacation.
The cars kept rushing past him on the three-lane street and finally he could see the glowing lights of his bus approaching in the distance.
When he enters the bus he is met by the typical stench of Christmas time. The Christmas Market was at its height and the people were streaming to it, even in the middle of the week. He could smell the spiced wine and the rum, the roasted almonds and sweats and most of all the sweat from wearing too many layers on a not that could evening. Making his way through the slightly drunk and well fed people to the back of the bus he puts on his music to tune out the world. Fittingly the shuffle he has put on gives him Full Moon by Sonata Arctica and he decides to let it play in a loop. Through the mirroring windows he sees it, looming high in the sky.
Soon‘, he thinks leaning his head against the cold window, watching the moon whenever it was visible.
The bus drives up the hill his home was built on. When he arrives at his stop he steps out and takes a deep breath of the fresher air. The music is still humming in his ears but he mostly ignores it. The tall buildings block his view of the moon, but he knows it is there. He makes his way to his small flat, choosing to take the back entrance for a change. A pale light streams through the gap between the buildings and illuminates the grass and the monkey bars on the meadow.
He grins.
The moon was already greeting him.
Hurrying into his flat he puts away his work bag and changes into comfortable pants and a wide shirt after washing the dirt from the day off of his body. He then packs a small bag with a bottle of water, a towel and some disinfectant. While he is preparing the microwave heats some leftovers and the soft ping interrupts his packing. Carefully he takes out the food, goulash, his favourite, and makes himself comfortable at his dinner table. Slowly eating his meal he goes through his packing list once again and decides that he has everything he needs.
After he is done, he puts the plate and the cutlery into the dishwasher and grabs his bag. Putting on some light shoes he takes his spare set of keys, only containing the ones getting him into his flat, and leaves.
The winter air is cold, but that doesn’t bother him as he sets out for the outskirts of his district. He sometimes curses himself for living in the city, but his job didn’t allow for something farther out; the commute would be too long. But he still considered himself lucky that he got to live close to the large fields and far stretched forests that lay just outside of the town.
It doesn’t take him long to reach the sports field belonging to the nearby schools and swiftly jumps over the waist high fence. In a dark corner behind the trainers‘ office he stashes away his bag after putting his clothes in there as well. His body shivers and shakes and a low growl escapes his throat as his body shifts. Once more he shakes himself before he runs off towards the fence, leaping over it in one swift move. Running through the silent night he feels the wind in his fur. He doesn’t fear to be seen; he knows how to stay invisible; he knew the way.
Only a little further and he would be on the fields where he could finally howl at the moon.
Call out to the pale and glowing beauty of this winter moon.

Behind the Scenes

So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Interesting? Worthy to be continued?
Anyway, quick overview of what really happened:

  • I was at my computer at work when I saw the moon through the window. It was pretty cool to look at with all those reflections – I really hope I described that well enough – and right beside our office building is a quite busy road.
  • As the renovation now moved to the main entrance I had to use the back entrance and saw the moon light the way I described it.
  • I have a balcony and a microwave, though I probably didn’t use either on that day ( I live far too low to see the moon properly, but it sometimes does find its way between the slits of my shutters). 😀
  • I live on a hill and take the bus to get there – I also have a bike, but it’s collecting dust in my basement – starting from a stop beside the three-lane „Ring“ (circle) surrounding the town centre.
  • I watched the moon appear and disappear between the buildings while listening to Sonata Arctica’s Full Moon in a loop on the bus ride – and used the song as thought-focus while writing and editing.
  • The story was thought up and written during the time of our Christmas Market (the bus stop is directly beside it).
  • There is a school sports field not too far away from where I live and the outskirts with the fields and forest aren’t that far away either – you occasionally can see deer or foxes crossing the street or standing beside it.
  • I like goulash, but it’s not my favourite food and I have a dinner table that I rarely use and a small flat. 😀

And that’s it, everything else is entirely made up, I guess. 😉
I really like watching the full moon and pretty much every time I see one while I’m driving I think about werwolves and how inconvenient it would be to turn into one while sitting in a car – or at work in the stories case. Good thing I’m not one of them. 😀
Anyway, hoped you liked the story.

Happy Birthday to me


Campfire Tales

I’ve been following Eve Estelle since I participated (and won) her writing contest „Raven’s Omen„, recently she started another writing contest and for quite some time I wasn’t sure if I would find the time to participate – thanks to not having my usual drafting time.
But I did – even if it was a different process this time, as I wrote it directly in a document and not on paper first – and now you can read the resulting story, as I submit my entry.

The Prompt

Trust can take years to build, and only seconds to shatter.

The Guidelines

  • Using the above prompt as your basis, craft your own urban legend.
  • Your story should be between 500 and 1300 words in length.
  • You must enter by August 26th, 2016. No entries will be accepted after this date.

The Story

The group sat around a blazing camp fire and filled the forest with laughter.
“Do you remember when he –“, started one of the guys, barely able to talk, his arms‘ motion telling the rest of the sentence.
“Yeah, and then he –“, continued another in a similar fashion.
Their tales continued like this for a few more moments before they eventually settled down. The cracking of the fire and the leaves rustling in the wind were now the most prominent noises.
Grins and smiles still spread on everyone’s faces, the men each took a wooden stick from small piles lying beside them. The sharp cuts of the metal knifes on the wood soon became another background sound.
“I’m getting my blanket it’s getting chilly”, one of the women exclaimed, standing up from the toppled log she sat on.
“You’re sitting beside a huge fire and you’re cold. That’s so typically female!” One of the guys jested.
“Oh, shut up, Brian!” The offended woman retorted, glaring over her shoulder as she walked away to one of the small wooden houses.
“You know, it’s scientifically proven that the heat distribution in a female body –“, another guy chimed in from across the fire.
“Dude, spare me the lecture. It was a joke”, Brian interrupted him.
The other lifted his hands in defeat, not bothering to continue.

Finally finished with the sticks Brian ripped open a pack of marshmallows and put a few of them on the sharpened tip. Across from him his friends searched for something.
“I think they’re still in the car”, another woman declared and got up, patting her pockets.
“Roy, do you still have the keys?” She asked the man sitting beside Brian.
“Oh, yeah, sorry”, Roy replied, pulled them out of his pocket and threw them over the fire.
The woman easily caught them and went off to the parking lot. She rummaged through one of the cars for a moment, but returned empty handed.
“They’re not in there”, she announced when she got back.
“What’s not where?” The other woman, now sitting with a blanket around her shoulders asked.
“The sausages”, the other merely stated.
“Oh, I took them out when the guys lit the fire and put them by the sticks behind Ian”, the former informed her, waving towards their friend.
“Are you sure, Beverly? We just looked there”, Ian replied looking again.
“Yes. I’m certain”, Beverly assured.
“Maybe you just put them somewhere entirely different, wouldn’t be the first time you misplaced something”, Brian mocked her again.
“Very funny”, she just replied with a huff.
“I’m sorry Susan, I was sure I put them there, maybe I really put them somewhere else because I was distracted”, she apologized.
“It’s okay sweetheart, I’m sure we’ll find them when we break camp tomorrow”, her friend assured her.
“Yeah, but that leaves us with only marshmallows today”, Brian complained.
“Oh, suck it up, you had a good dinner back in town”, Roy silenced him this time.
“Yeah, but nothings better than a camp fire with marshmallows and sausages”, he still continued.
The others just shook their heads at their friend.

“It’s not unusual that things go missing in these woods”, a fourth man suddenly noted.
“How so?” Beverly wondered.
“There are said to be creatures that take whatever they desire from travellers. Food, trinkets, things like that.” He explained in a relatively bored tone.
“What, like Goblins or Kobolds?” Beverly now wanted to know.
“Oh come on, you can’t really believe such nonsense. You probably put them in your sleeping bag or something!” Brian exclaimed unconvinced.
“I could not tell. No one ever saw them and Brian is right, they’re just stories”, the other acknowledged looking away.
“I like stories like that. Please tell us, Julian. You’re from around here, so you have to know some of them. Maybe even some scary ones”, Beverly urged putting her hand on his.
“I don’t know. They’re really silly”, Julian declined.
“Come on, dude, camp fire without scary tales, that’s stupid”, Brian complained.
“And I’m sure the little Miss can handle it, if you hold her hand throughout it”, he added mockingly.
“You’re such a jerk”, Beverly complained, removing her hand from Julian’s and wrapping the blanket closer around herself.

“I’d like to hear a scary tale”, she assured Julian after a moment, a smile on her face.
Julian looked at the others and each in turn nodded their agreement.
“All right”, Julian gave in with a sigh and sat upright.
“This part of the forest used to belong to the Mayans and as they worshipped different jaguar deities it was not uncommon that packs of such animals would live nearby –“, he started.
“Aren’t jaguars solitary creatures?” Roy wondered out loud.
“Shush, Roy!” Beverly scolded him.
“No, he’s right. Jaguars usually live by themselves and the packs I mentioned aren’t really packs as such. They do not live together, but there are times when they get together to hunt.” Julian admitted.
“Really? I never heard something like that”, Ian now chimed in.
“Would you guys let him tell the story, maybe it’ll become clear why they’re so different?” Beverly scolded.
The two men looked down and she motioned for Julian to continue.
“Thank you. The packs that lived with the Mayans were indeed special. Some say they were trained and raised by the Mayans to protect their homes. Others say they were Mayans walking in the skin of a Jaguar, defending their people from threats –“
“You mean like werewolves?” Brian interrupted again.
“BRIAN!” Beverly yelled and he just lifted his arms.
“A bit, maybe” Julian merely accepted and continued “It is said that in the old days, when the Mayans were still at the height of their powers, no one in their right mind would dare to attack them. Especially not when the moon was full, like tonight.”
Julian paused to see if he had everyone’s attention and carried on in a hushed voice, as if he didn’t want anyone else to overhear their conversation: “In those nights, when the enemy was close they would not get an easy rest. The night around them would be silent, no night bird would sing, no animal stir. The wind would only bring them the rustling of the leaves, but they would feel that something was watching their every move. And then when midnight approached they would hear the growls –“
“Fuck!” exclaimed Brian as he hastily pulled the stick out of the fire, the smell of burned marshmallow rising from it.
A small grin could be seen on Julian’s face for a brief moment, the other’s sat in silence, not daring to disturb the quietness that was only broken by Brian’s low grumblings. When he was finished removing the marshmallow and putting on new ones, Julian went on.
“When midnight approached they would hear the growls, deep and menacing. Soon after the cries of their comrades would echo through the night until they found themselves screaming for their lives until the very last one of them was slain.” He paused again, letting this sink before adding: “Nowadays, without Mayans and real threats, it is said that the jaguar have to make do with what they get.”

The friends sat in silence once more, everyone looking across their shoulders into the bushes surrounding them. Brian was just about to comment something when a low growl came from the forest.
“It’s just a story, right, Julian?” Beverly asked, frightened.
She turned to him only to find two glowing, amber eyes looking back at her.
“Of course it is”, he assured her in a mocking tone, a sharp toothed grin on his face.

The screams of the friends could be heard from miles away, echoing through the forest until the early morning broke.

~ 1300 words


If my word count doesn’t deceive me I’ve met the maximum on the spot which I’m actually surprised about as I kind of noted down that it would be 1500 words and had to throw out about a hundred words. I rephrased things for that and scratched some things entirely, but I hope it’s still an interesting read.
Something I’m not entirely sure about is the „typically female“ in German we use the phrase „typisch Frau“ (or any other gender/job/etc.) to refer to something that is characteristically for a certain group of people and I tried to translate it and according to Leo.org that would be the proper translation. If anyone can confirm or deny it, please let me know.

The narrator is a bit different from the one I used for the other story – or use in general, but I intentionally tried to only let him make simple observations, as if he was sitting in the bushes watching them. 😉

I also think that I took some liberties with the prompt. The trust between Julian and the group might not be as deep as the trust between the other group members, but I do believe that you at least trust someone to a certain extent if you let them camp with you in the wilderness…

A curious thing: At some point I called the third guy Roy, but afterwards still used „the third guy“ not remembering it. Annoyed with doing that I had someone call him „Max“ later on, only to realize that I had already given him a name in the beginning of the tale when I edited it. >_<

Eve chose the winners and look what I got! 😀

You can read more about her decision here:

Tell me a tale


© Rights for the story lie with me. Do not use or repost without my permission.

On a Side Note #4.1: Re-Scheduled

As I told you last time do I want to try writing with a proper schedule.
Right now that doesn’t really work and I just wanted to tell you about it.
For today I wanted to write a post for ferngeweht’s new Blog-Parade, but I just didn’t get around to finish it.


Well, because my flat is currently being renovated.
Which means:

  • I had to prepare my flat for the renovation.
  • As a Smartphone-not-user do I not really have access to the Internet outside of my flat.
  • I wont even be staying in my flat while they’re busy renewing the pipes in my kitchen and bathroom.

Additionally, will I also be at an In Extremo warm-up concert tomorrow and next week I’ll be at the Rockharz again.
Oh, and there is the whole thing with the water damage that I now have to deal with, thanks to the pipe that could not wait for tomorrow – there will be a rant later on.
So the plan is, that I’ll finish the Blog-Parade for the 5th July (a bit past the dead line, but Sabine gave me her okay) and the next What’cha Watching Wednesday and Webcomic-chapter will be postponed by a week.
As the 1st July also marks the end of the Story Sunday call for prompts you still have a little time to add yours to EveEstelles, otherwise I’m not sure if I’ll pick up the segment or simply use it for my writings outside of Your Picture – A Story and stuff. (My next YP-AS story will possibly be published on the 17th July with a picture by Selenophile Art)
So yeah, that’s the status right now.
Proper work with the Blog will hopefully be possible starting 18th July at least.
Watch out for my Twitter feed to get short tid bits of thoughts and suggestions.
Until we meet again!

Story Sunday

Lies auf Deutsch
You guys know I like writing stories, making up stuff and basically being creative, right?

Well, here’s the thing:

While I am able to write stuff for DF.PP Entertainment’s Your Picture – A Story the regulations for that are pretty confining, if you just want to scribble down a short story.
I’m not saying it’s not fun, but every once in a while I wouldn’t mind to write stories shorter than 800 words – it can be quite annoying and difficult to reach them at times.
Therefore I’m thinking about doing something different here with a lower word count and a different premise to challenge myself abit.

The Idea

  • You will give me a writing prompt – a headline, a (starting) sentence, a setting, a character, a scene, whatever you like; note: no pictures (if you want to submit pictures please do so for Your Picture – A Story)!
  • I will write a story using the given prompt, with the following rules:
    • The story has to have at least 200 words.
    • The story can be written in either German or English – with a possible translation.
    • The prompt has to be recognizable within the story

Submitting the prompts can be done through comments here – and the page I’ll create in the Writings-menu for it – or via my different social media channels or e-mail.
I’d like to start the whole thing in July, so you have nearly a month to submit the first prompts and I’ll see what I can do about them!
I don’t know how frequently I’ll manage to do this as there are still a few things to factor in.
I don’t know how the new schedule will work out for one, but I also can’t say anything about the amount of prompts I’ll receive. If I don’t get enough of the latter I won’t be able to write anything – obvious isn’t it?
So make sure to send me lots of stuff to work with! 🙂
I’m curious how this will turn out…
Read in English
Ihr wisst ja, dass ich gerne Geschichten schreibe, mir Sachen ausdenke und einfach kreativ bin, richtig?

Naja, hier ist das Ding

Während ich für DF.PP Entertainment’s Dein Bild – Geschichte schreiben kann, sind die Regularien da doch recht einschränkend, wenn man nur mal eine Geschichte runterschreiben will.
Ich sage nicht, dass es keinen Spaß macht, aber hin und wieder würde es mich nicht stören Geschichten zu schreiben, die kürzer als 800 Wörter sind – es kann recht nervig und schwierig sein, diese manchmal zu erreichen.
Daher denke ich darüber nach, etwas anderes mit niedrigerer Wortzahl und anderer Grundvoraussetzung zu machen, um mich selbst ein bisschen herauszufordern.

Die Idee

  • Ihr gebt mir eine/n Schreib-Prompt/Anforderung – eine Überschrift, ein (Anfangs)Satz, ein Setting, ein Charakter, eine Szene was immer du magst; Hinweis: Keine Bilder (Wenn du Bilder einreichen möchtest, mach das bitter über Dein Bild – Eine Geschichte)!
  • Ich werde dann eine Geschichte anhand des Prompts unter folgenden Regeln schreiben:
    • Die Geschichte muss mindestens 200 Wörter lang sein.
    • Die Geschichte kann entweder in Deutsch oder in Englisch geschrieben werden – ggf. mit einer Übersetzung.
    • Der Prompt muss innerhalb der Geschichte erkennbar sein.

Das Einreichen kann über die Kommentare hier – und die Seite im Writings-Menü, die ich dann dafür anlegen werde – gemacht werden oder über meine verschiedenen Social Media Accounts oder E-Mail.
Ich würde gerne im Juli mit dem Ganzen anfangen, daher habt ihr also fast einen Monat, um die ersten Prompts einzureichen und ich werde sehen, was ich damit anstellen werde!
Ich weiß noch nicht wie regelmäßig ich es schaffen werde das hier zu machen, da da noch ein paar andere Faktoren mit reinspielen.
Ich weiß zum Einen nicht, wie mein neuer Zeitplan sich entwickeln wird, aber ich kann auch nichts dazu sagen, wie viele Prompts ich bekommen werde.
Wenn ich nicht genügend von Letzterem bekomme kann ich nichts schreiben – offensichtlich oder?
Also schickt einfach jede Menge Zeug mit dem ich arbeiten kann! 🙂
Ich bin gespannt, was hierbei rauskommen wird…

On a Side Note #4: The Schedule

As you might have noticed did I manage to write – lo and behold – one measly post in Mai.
I had planned more than that.
I wanted to finish another What’cha Watching Wednesday, I wanted to continue my travel log from 2014, I wanted to continue the Fanfiction stuff, that’s been waiting since December and many more things.
But I didn’t do any of it.
Instead I went to couple of things, binge watched a couple of series and was basically not in the mood to write anything.
Since I ended The Weekend Guess my motivation to write something regularly dropped immensely (I haven’t even gotten around to add the other question-collections…).
I can’t even figure out what I would like to do on a regular – weekly ? – basis.
It should be something that takes as little time as the guess, but is just as entertaining/interesting.

What to do?

I can’t make a weekly song-suggestion as I partly did that in the first segment of the Guess and DarkFairy is doing a great job at that already.
I don’t really want to answer questions on a weekly basis like the Montagsfrage (Monday Question) or the Gemeinsam Lesen (Reading Together). Both are great opportunities to think about stuff you usually wouldn’t think about, but they’re also difficult as you kind of have to come up with something to stay in the loop.
With the Reading Together there is also the problem that you have to be reading something to be able to properly participate and even if I got a more or less regular reading habit again, this feels forced sometimes, especially as I’m only able to write the post properly in the evening after work.
Besides Monday and Tuesday are days where my motivation to do something useful after work are even worse than usual. But maybe I’ll still restart doing the Reading Together at least, who knows…
I’m currently considering to start a new segment for the weekend, where I talk about the many series I’ve watched (Series Satunday), but that would not fit the bill of an easy weekly post – and I would probably run out of series and motivation quite soon – like I did with the WWW.
Which in turn I thought about trying to do bi-monthly or monthly, depending on how much I watched, as it is quite some work to put down all my thoughts.
I don’t know if anyone would be interested in „Found on the Internet“ post, where I talk about stuff I came across.
I’m not even sure I’d like doing that.
I probably would rather share it through Twitter and Facebook than blog about it.
I’d also like to continue introducing people to Webcomics I’ve read or the language stuff I started way back and I think that might be more interesting than the „random stuff from the Internet“-thing.
There is also a lot of stuff, I still want to talk about that I haven’t gotten around to write about. So it seems like a proper schedule for all the longer stuff is in order.

So, this is the plan

Every second Wednesday there will be a post:
One week a WWW, one week a Webcomic (Webcomic Wednesday, so to speak).
Starting: Next week with a WWW (not sure yet, if I give you the complete one or a split version, of what I currently have)
Every other Monday there will be a post about a Concert or Festival I’ve been at – the Music Monday, even if some will still be called In Concert/At the Festival.
This way I hopefully get on track with my logs about them and maybe even talk about a few interesting long players (again).
Every other Tuesday or Thursday there will be either a post about my travellings – the Travelling T-Day – that’ll cover random stuff from the On the Road category, as well as actual travel logs or a Translation T-Day, covering the Lost in Translation stuff, I still want to talk about.
Maybe I’ll really go for the Series Satunday as well, but I’ll see how the stuff above will turn out before I make a final decision here – though the LiT stuff would fit here as well.
There is also another idea for the weekend that I’ll present you on Sunday (there’ll also be another Your Picture – A Story over at DF.PP Entertainment by the way).
I really hope I can somehow pull this off. It’s so frustrating that I can’t manage to keep up a decent schedule, so I felt it was necessary to give myself a kick in the butt to change this.

What do you think?

Does any of this sound interesting/boring?
What would you like to see more of?
Let me know! 🙂

A new Day

It’s been a year now and I still haven’t entirely gotten around the thought that my Mum is no longer with us. A lot has become normalcy by now, but it is still strange to come home and only seeing my Dad

I started travelling again and managed to get back into writing and reading as well, but it’s not the same as before. Those who followed my stories throughout the year will notice that I used (some of) my experiences with this loss as basis for stories – or chapters and it was a good way for me to work through it.

In honour of my Mum’s love for reading do I now want to show you the first story I wrote after her passing (only in German, sorry). I got the idea for it during an organ concert we went to together and when I was having trouble focusing my creativity I knew that this was the story I wanted to write to overcome the urge to just don’t write anything any more and judging by my output, I guess this worked quite well. I’d tell you to have fun reading, but I guess it should be more of an ‚I hope you enjoy it, regardless of the topic‘.

I miss you, Mum. This story is for you.

Ein neuer Tag

Es war ruhig im Dorf. So ruhig, wie er es sein ganzes Leben lang nicht erlebt hatte.
Normalerweise liefen die Kinder lachend durch die Straßen; die Händler priesen ihre Waren an und Nachbarn unterhielten sich von Fenster zu Fenster über die Straße hinweg.
Jetzt war nichts mehr von alledem zu hören, denn das Dorf trauerte.
Vor nicht ganz einer Woche war Garland, ihr geliebter und gütiger Anführer für immer eingeschlafen. Eine schreckliche Krankheit hatte ihn befallen und selbst die besten Heiler des Dorfes konnten nichts gegen sie ausrichten.
Er war in seinen letzten Monaten immer schwächer geworden, hatte sich aber nichts anmerken lassen, um sein Volk nicht zu beunruhigen. Immer wieder hatte er selbst den Kleinsten versichert, dass es ihm gut ging und er bald wieder mit ihnen spielen könnte – er hatte es geliebt den Kindern Geschichten zu erzählen und mit ihnen auf Schatzsuche zu gehen.
Insgeheim wusste das ganze Dorf jedoch, was er ihnen nicht sagen wollte.

Und nun hatte ihn diese schreckliche Krankheit dahin gerafft. Anuk war bei ihm gewesen, als es passiert war, aber selbst jetzt konnte er es noch immer nicht begreifen. Die Nachricht hatte sich wie ein Lauffeuer im Dorf verbreitet und alle Arbeit wurde niedergelegt. Egal wo man hinschaute, überall saßen die Leute und weinten oder trauerten auf ihre Weise. Niemand wagte es fröhlich zu sein, selbst die Kinder hatten aufgehört zu spielen. Seitdem hatte kaum jemand gearbeitet oder auch nur gescherzt, niemandem war danach zumute und die, die arbeiteten taten nur das Notwendigste.

Heute hatten sich nun alle versammelt, um Garland die letzte Ehre zu erweisen. Ein langer Zug hatte sich hinter den Sargträgern gebildet, die ihren geliebten Anführer zu seiner letzten Ruhestätte brachten. Die Leute hielten sich an den Händen oder lagen sich in den Armen; Kinder klammerten sich an ihre Eltern und jedem standen die Tränen in den Augen oder liefen ihnen über die Wangen. Niemand sagte ein Wort.

Am Grab angekommen verteilte sich das Dorf in einem Kreis darum, jeder wollte etwas sehen.
Wie es bei ihnen üblich war, wurde über dem Grab ein Scheiterhaufen aufgebaut, sodass die Asche in es hinein fallen konnte. Vorsichtig hievten die Träger den Sarg auf das aus Holz und Reisig gebaute Podest und entfernten sich ein Stück, damit der Heiler vortreten konnte.
„Aus der Erde sind wir gekommen – in die Erde werden wir zurückkehren.
Mögen die Flammen Garlands‘ Geist zu den Ahnen aufsteigen und seinen Körper zu neuem Leben werden lassen“, sprach er die alten Worte mit weit ausgebreiteten Armen.
Der Heiler ging wieder einen Schritt zurück und nickte seinem Lehrling zu, der daraufhin die brennende Fackel, die er in der Hand hielt an das trockene Reisig zwischen dem Holz hielt. Mit einem Knistern breitete sich das Feuer aus und hatte bald den Sarg umschlossen und sogleich stimmte das Dorf einen Trauergesang an.
Es war ihr traurigstes Lied und während sie sangen, schien alles inne zu halten. Nur der Gesang der Dorfbewohner durchdrang diese Stille.

Als der Sarg und seine Halterung zerfallen waren, war auch das Lied vollendet und alle schwiegen. Nun war es an den Sargträgern, dass Grab mit Erde zu bedecken, während das Dorf in die Große Halle einkehrte, um dort ihrem Oberhaupt zu gedenken.
Es gab reichlich Speis und Trank für jeden und auch wenn es schwer fiel, wurden fröhliche Geschichten aus besseren Tagen erzählt und darüber gelacht, denn so war es Tradition. Man gedachte den Verstorbenen indem man sie in Erinnerung behielt und sie somit in ihrer Mitte weiterlebten.

Die Feier ging bis in die späte Nacht und es war merkwürdig für Anuk als er nach Hause zurückkehrte und nur noch das letzte Geleit vor Augen hatte.
Alles schien ihm düster und grau und er verkroch sich sogleich in sein Bett. Weinend holte ihn schließlich der Erschöpfungsschlaf ein.

Am nächsten Morgen erwachte er mit trockenen Augen. Es war bereits hell draußen, aber irgendetwas war anders als zuvor.
Noch leicht benommen setzte er sich auf und blickte aus dem Fenster.
Die Sonne strahlte hinein und kündigte einen schönen Tag an.
Dann bemerkte er es.

Von draußen hörte er Stimmen.
Er stand auf und öffnete das Fenster um hinaus zu sehen.
Die Leute rannten aufgeregt aus ihren Häusern und riefen einander zu aufzustehen und zu folgen, auch Anuk wurde herunter gerufen.
Verdutzt zog er sich seinen Mantel und seine Stiefel über und eilte nach draußen. Unten angekommen hielt er einen anderen Dorfbewohner an und fragte was überhaupt los sei.
„Hörst du es denn nicht?“ Antwortete dieser nur und eilte davon.
Verwirrt schaute Anuk ihm hinterher und strengte dann seine Ohren an.
Dort in der Ferne hörte er es.
Eine Melodie so lieblich und zart, dass ihm warm ums Herz wurde.
Die Schwere, die sich durch seine Trauer darauf gelegt hatte, löste sich und er fühlte sich erleichtert.
„Was ist das?“ Fragte er sich und folgte dem anderen in die Richtung, aus der die Musik kam und in die sich auch die anderen Dorfbewohner bewegten.

Kurz darauf standen sie alle wieder um das Grab herum. Dort wo die Erde frisch gegraben war stand nun ein Baum dessen Blätter im Wind wehten und diese wunderschöne Melodie erzeugten. Sie alle standen wie gebannt und lauschten der Melodie.
Ein paar wenige begannen mitzusummen bevor sie schließlich einen Gesang anstimmten; ein altes Geburtslied wurde entsprang den Kehlen der älteren Dorfbewohnern und die Kinder begannen dazu zu tanzen.
Die traurige Stimmung war auf einmal verschwunden und wurde ersetzt durch eine Art Hoffnung, dass trotz ihres Verlustes das Leben immer noch Wunder mit sich brachte, dass es immer noch schön war und das man sich davor nicht verstecken sollte. Das Leben war ein Geschenk und man sollte es nutzen um Entdeckungen zu machen, zu spielen, zu genießen und es auszukosten. Daran erinnerte sie das Lied, das sie hörten und auch das, was sie sangen.

Garland war von ihnen gegangen, aber er war für immer ein Teil von ihnen und sie würden sein Andenken in Ehren halten und das Dorf wieder in neuem Glanz erstrahlen lassen.
Mit diesen Gedanken konnte auch Anuk weiter machen, selbst wenn jetzt vieles anders sein würde, so würde der Geist seines Vaters doch dafür sorgen, dass er das Dorf in seinem Sinne anzuführen.
Nun war er bereit, die Position des Anführers zu übernehmen.
Nun war er bereit sein Leben weiterzuführen, denn so hätte sein Vater es gewollt.

Just like Anuk did I make the decision for myself to continue, because that’s what my Mum would have wanted – even though she did not sent me a magical tree to tell me. That doesn’t mean I/we do not miss her, but I/we manage to get by. Somehow.


[Edit: Eine überarbeitete, längere Version gibt es in der Anthologie Entzünde den Funken.]

The adventurous Life of Stan the Desert Cactus

It’s been almost a year since a held the Raffle for my 200th post (by now I have more than 300…) and I know I said the winners would receive their prices within six months, but then stuff happened and it didn’t work out.
This story was the price for the second place and DarkFairy won it back then (the other two winners never claimed their prices) and wished for a story with the title „The adventurous life of Stan the Desert Cactus“ (or rather „Das abenteuerliche Leben von Stan dem Wüstenkaktus“ as it is called in German – the story will be in German as well, I don’t know if I get around to translate it). Even though I do think that I had the draft for this story done within the time frame, I never got around to finish it. But as it is Fairy’s birthday today, I thought I might as well keep the story until now and give her the story she wanted as not just a price, but a present as well.
So, Happy Birthday, Fairy and have fun with Stan’s adventures!

Das abenteuerliche Leben von Stan dem Wüstenkaktus

Heute war mal wieder einer dieser Tage, an denen nichts passieren wollte, aber so sicher konnte man sich da nie sein.
Die Sonne schien von allen Seiten erbarmungslos auf mich herab; sogar vom Wüstensand wurde sie reflektiert.
Bei solch einem Wetter wagte sich kaum ein Lebewesen aus seinem Versteck und über der Wüste lag ein tiefes Schweigen.
Nur die Hitze flimmerte über dem Sand, sorgte hier und da für Spiegelungen aus weiter ferne und hin und wieder huschte eine kleine Eidechse an mir vorbei.
Sie waren vermutlich auf der Suche nach einem der unzähligen Käfer, die sich in den Dünen verstecken und erst raus kommen würden, wenn die Sonne etwas tiefer stand.
Diese Tage zähle ich zu den ruhigen Tagen und ich bin froh, dass es auch solche gibt.
Die Spannung anderer Tage hält man nicht permanent aus, zumindest ich nicht, denn an den hektischen Tagen habe ich kaum einen Moment um durchzuatmen.
Da war zum Beispiel das eine Mal, als eine Karawane direkt an mir vorbei zog und dann in meiner Nähe Rast machte. Sie waren unterwegs um sich in dieser Gegend anzusiedeln; so hatten es mir zumindest die Strauchkugeln erzählt. Von ihnen wusste ich auch, dass diese Ansammlung von den nicht-Büffeln mit ihren hohlen, befüllten Häusern und hellen Zweibeinern ‚Karawanen‘ heißen. Eine merkwürdiges Wort für ‚Herde‘ wie ich finde.
Die Strauchkugeln hatten auch gesagt, dass die Hellen die Rötlichen, die sonst hier immer entlang kamen vertrieben und töteten und auch die Geier erzählten mir so etwas, aber von dem was ich von der Karawane sehen konnte, waren sie auch nicht viel anders als die anderen. Sie schienen besseres Werkzeug und andere Felle zu besitzen, aber ich finde die Federn der anderen hübscher als den Kopfschmuck, den die hellen trugen. Fell über Fell zu tragen erscheint mir einfach unglaublich unpraktisch zu sein.
Ich wollte den Strauchkugeln und Geiern immer nicht so ganz glauben, wenn sie mir Geschichten von den Hellen erzählten.
Bis zu jenem Tag.
Die Karawane war schon mehrere Monde weiter gezogen und der Tag begann wie ein ruhiger Tag, aber dann fühlte ich eine heftige Vibration durch meine Wurzeln aufsteigen; viel heftiger als die Karawane, die nur sehr langsam an mir vorbei gezogen war.
Eine Staubwolke näherte sich von der einen Seite und aus dieser Richtung kam ein Knallen, das ich noch nie zuvor gehört hatte. An der Spitze der Wolke erkannte ich einen Federträger auf einem nicht-Büffel. Sein Körper war voller rotem und weißen Wasser und jeder Menge Schmutz. Er keuchte, wie die Geier nach einem langen Flug, und stürmte weiter auf dem Felltier.
Hinter ihm öffnete sich die Staubwolke und drei weitere Gestalten auf nicht-Büffeln kamen hervor.
Es waren helle Zweibeiner, die lange Stöcke in der Hand hielten, die diese schrecklichen Geräusche verursachten. Immer wenn es knallte entstieg einem der Stöcke eine Rauchwolke und der Federträger duckte sich. Mehrere Knalle folgten und plötzlich fiel der Federträger vom Vierbeiner und blieb einfach liegen, während das Tier weiter rannte. Die anderen Zweibeiner hielten an, einer von ihnen stieg ab und stieß den Liegenden mit dem Fuß an. Als der Federträger sich nicht rührte nickte er den anderen zu und stieg lachend wieder auf sein Tragtier und sie rannten davon und überließen den Federträger den Geiern.
Als die Vögel schließlich kamen, rief ich einen von ihnen zu mir und er landete vorsichtig zwischen den Stacheln auf meinem Arm. Er erklärte mir, dass die Hellen das zu Hause der Federträger wollen und sie deshalb jagten, aber sie aßen sie nicht, sondern vergruben oder verbrannten sie; manchmal ließen sie sie auch einfach irgendwo hängen oder liegen, sodass die Geier fressen konnten.
Es war kein schöner Anblick ihnen dabei zuzusehen, auch bei den Büffeln nicht, die manchmal durch diese Gegend rannten und einer von ihnen fällt um und bleibt liegen.
Immer wenn die Federträger die Büffel jagten und an mir vorbei trieben, hatte ich Angst, dass sie mich umrannten, aber auch wenn bereits ein paar von ihnen an mir hängen geblieben sind, so hatte mich bisher niemand komplett umgerissen.
Es war dennoch jedes Mal wieder aufs Neue ein regelrechter Nervenkitzel.
Schrecklich war es auch, wenn von den Federträgern jemand erschöpft und ausgelaugt ein Stück von mir abschlug, um von meinen Wasserreserven zu trinken.
Es ist sehr schmerzhaft und schwer den Verlust wieder anzusparen.
Glücklicherweise passierte das in dieser Gegend eher selten, auch wenn die Hellen es mittlerweile auch gelernt haben – wie auch das Jagen der Büffel -, aber sie haben zu viel Angst vor meinen Stacheln.
Aber es gibt auch schöne Momente.
Wenn zum Beispiel der Regen fällt und meine Blüten aufgehen und um mich herum der Wüstensand grüne Flecken bekommt.
Das ist immer ein schöner Anblick, den ich jedes Jahr aufs neue herbei sehne.
Aber nach Tagen voller Abenteuer bevorzuge ich Tage an denen mich nur die Strauchkugeln, die Eidechsen oder die Geier besuchen.
Das ist dann doch wesentlich entspannter.
I hope you liked it!
And now I can add writing something from the perspective of a Cactus to the list of odd perspectives I used so far… (The others being an Enter-Key, a Medlar, a Leopard [Page 32] and I think something else I can’t remember right now – not sure if I can count Squirrel and Treetroll here, though – all stories again only in German)

On a Side Note #2

I want to give you a little status update on a few things, so I’m using this category again, as I had anticipated last time.
My pile of stuff to type is getting bigger and bigger by the day and I feel like my brain is busy with so many different ideas that I just don’t know where to start.
As I mentioned in the last What’cha Watching Wednesday did a simple story-idea ran totally amok and I’m barely catching up with it…
Aside from that have I managed to publish a few stories, namely my entry for the Clue Writing Blog Parade and Chapter Eleven of Crossing Over – that were on my to-type-list last time – and a short story for a contest over at Edge of Night.
Guess what?


My award!

Isn’t that awesome? 😀
Either way, I also managed to write two more stories for Your Picture – A Story – again both are in German: Preparations (a continuation of Lukas‘ story from my Advent Calendar) and The Medlar – a Fairy Tale for a change. 😉
During my recent stay with DarkFairy we also managed to edit quite a bit of our book in a few days time, you can read more about it here: Scenes of an Editing Marathon.
Just yesterday I also sent off my Season Summary for Season Three of Supernatural, that might be published one of these days on The Extremis Review.
By now I’m also half way through this years Advent Calendar, but it already looks like my original plan will fail, but I’ll tell you more about that in December. 😉
Other than that am I trying to catch up with my Journey through a bit of Germany-series, as there is still a lot to talk about from last year and some new stuff from this year. I’m also going to expand on the travel logs as I want to include my trip to Ireland from last Halloween, the short trip to Liegé during my mini-Journey and the one to Stockholm I’m about to partake in at the end of the month (24th-26th).
Back in July I participated in another Reading Stage (Lesebühne) and presented some of my stories. Between reading them, someone I’ve been there with commented that I should publish my stuff as it is really good. So now we come to the main reason, why I’m writing this post:
After long contemplation I created an exposé for my Advent Calendar stories, but I wasn’t sure if I should really give it away for quite some time. Then Ed proposed to set a deadline for doing so. That deadline is today, so printed the exposé, put it into an envelope and really put that envelope into the letter box of a local publisher.
I’m still not entirely sure if that was the right thing to do.
Part of me is thrilled at the thought of it being read by professionals, another part is terrified of just that. You know how the saying goes: You’re your own worst critic, so my pessimism is greatly involved in me not believing what I have done and that they won’t like it anyway…
Well, guess we’ll see what will come of this…
See you around
P.S. It’s been six months today and we regained some kind of normalcy by now, but it’s still so, so strange. Especially when Dad and I are cooking a meal after two different recipes at the same time or, you know, we’re attending a wedding together, that she would have loved to be part of…I just miss her soo much… 🙁