Several years ago, soon after my first book of my fantasy trilogy was launched, Paulo Coelho responded to an email I sent him with a note of “congratulations and success”. Talking about small miracles, I was in awe.
Coelho happens to be an author I hold in high regard and who has inspired much of my writing, especially in my trilogy, The Elias Chronicles.
Coelho has authored numerous books, but the one that captured my heart was The Alchemist. It was given to me by a dear friend who felt it was important for me to read. I had never heard of the author or the book at the time. Now, I recommend it to all. It is a story of believing in yourself and following your dream.
More Small Miracles
Months later, I sent Coelho a follow-up email. Would I be lucky again and hear back from this known author around the world. I was amazed to hear from him once, but would I hear from him again?
The stars and planets must have been aligned, as I did hear from him once more. With a short note, he sent me a copy of a story that he wrote that was being published in many journals around the world.
Again, I was overwhelmed by his gift to me. His generous action and the simplicity and power of his story inspired me to write Blessing the Poor. A holiday story, which I plan to post in December.
Here’s What I’m Thinking
The book that was given to me by my friend years ago, and Coelho’s generous acts, are testaments of why I believe the way I do; we must take time and value each moment of our lives. But then, we need to do more. We must take it upon ourselves to inspire others to reach for what is good in them and around them.
Not only should we dream, and we should dream, but it is what we do with our experiences that counts much more than the dream. Dreams are just that, dreams, but our experiences make us who we are.
In Coelho’s last message to me in 2008, he ended by telling me, “The Warrior of light concentrates on the small miracles of daily life.” I decided to learn more from his words and read what I found. I contemplated this phrase.
Photo by Alban_Gogh
These are my takeaways
These small miracles are found in our ability to find beauty and appreciate it. Finding joy and fulfillment can be found in the sublime and the mundane. This, I would say, is always found in the moment.
Gratitude need not be for receiving abundance, but for the sliver of good that may pass us by if we are focused on our desires.
The “Warrior of Light” finds beauty in others as they nurture their light within them.
The “Warrior of Light” isn’t always successful, but in failure, they find the light.
We are all intuitive creatures, and when we open ourselves to the voice within and look to the powers of the universe for guidance, regardless of our spiritual beliefs and practices, wisdom is not too far away.
I must remind myself to acknowledge the small miracles of daily life.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
“One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again.” ― C.S. Lewis
Have you ever read The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis? For that matter, have you ever read any fairytales, fables, myths, legends, folktales or any story that takes you on a magical adventure?
Well, I’m pretty sure we’ve all read a tale or two when we were young. Lucky are those of us who have included these stories—I would include fantasy in this category—in our lives as we’ve moved beyond the innocence of childhood and have experienced the layers of age.
So what did Lewis mean when he said,“One day, you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again.”?
Just as the first few stars that appear in the early night sky are followed by many more, in Lewis’ twelve word quote, we realize there are countless ways to interpret his words. I have a few thoughts to share.
When We First Read Stories of Magic, Marvel, and Mystery
Innocence Lost, but is that Forever?
We all wanted to be that kid—at least I did and still do. You know, the kid with the sword, in the spaceship, the one who went on an adventure and became the hero. Or the kid that found something marvelous and magical—or the one that went back in time, into the future or was a princess or a prince. The kid that won the “golden ticket” or flew with dragons.
As kids we search for magic as we know it is there. It’s a question of how do we get to it. Maybe there’s a special cave, or a hidden door to an undiscovered land. Maybe a wand in a trunk or a map with a code that we can crack. Maybe it is in an old trunk in Grandma’s attic.
But We Grow Up
As we grow older, something changes all that. We decide, or it is decided for us, that the thoughts, feelings and desires of our childhood should be left behind. Grown-ups know best…they know it all and that’s what we should aim for. Yeah, right.
Deeper Layers
What many grown-ups don’t always realize is that there is wisdom in fairytales and stories that take us on magical and mystical adventures. That’s why they were written in the first place–wisdom. This deeper layer of meaning may be missed by children but when it comes to grown-ups, they have no excuse. That’s a good reason to return to such stories.
Just like the simplicity of Lewis’ quote, fairy tales and the like may seem uncomplicated and naïve, but they are full of wisdom.
Wisdom is, unfortunately, a word that is seldom used or valued anymore.
A Place for Magic
When we grow older, the sheen of adulthood fades, however. Sometimes we see this when we are twenty-five, sixty-five or somewhere in between. Don’t get me wrong, the wonders and beauty of life grow exponentially forever, but the powers of some and the structures they impose have a way of ensnaring the best and dampen our journey–our life’s journey that should be filled with riches.
We are here but once, and to live it in a box is unappealing to say the least. If we haven’t yet found magic since we were a kid, whether we are twenty-five or sixty-five, we just might want to pause and ask why. Then look for it once again.
Magic is found in many places, and we don’t have to go far to find it in books both old and new. Wow! What a diversion. What a way to learn what it is to be human. Yes in any story that takes you on a magical adventure?
Thinking About It a Little More
I may have overcomplicated this twelve-word quote. I’m not nearly as elegant as C.S. Lewis but here are my twelve words:
You will find magic if you remember the marvels of your childhood.
It’s time to read a fairytale…a legend…a myth…or any story that takes you on a magical adventure. You deserve it.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
There’s genre fiction and then there’s literary fiction. Examples of genre fiction to name a few are: romance, fantasy, science fiction, mystery, thrillers, horror, and adventure fiction. When it comes to literary fiction, there’s really just one kind—literary fiction. There are “types” of literary fiction for instance, there is realistic, philosophical, contemporary and philosophical and something referred to as experimental fiction.
What is Literary Fiction?
Literary fiction is character-driven as opposed to being focused on the plot. Yes, you must have a plot, but it is secondary to the story. When I say “character driven” I am referring to an inward journey the main character takes and whisks the reader off to join them.
photo by Uran Wang
Full of Complexities
If the protagonist isn’t introspective, it’s not literary fiction. This is, in my opinion, the sheer joy of reading—and writing literary fiction. The main character does not react to the event in the story itself, but event spawns a feeling and the feeling manifests into an action.
Metahors, imagery and symbolism help to tell the story and by doing so may lead the reader to personal interpretations. Our own experiences shape the meaning of what we are witnessing just like in all art forms.
More About the Internal Journey
Literary fiction is purely human-centered. This is what makes this type of novel relatable. It makes it significant…important…applicable to our own lives.
Most of our journeys have nothing to do with boarding a plan, getting in a car or taking a train. Most of our journeys are inward as we try to decipher this larger journey we are all on together and that is life.
Who Reads Literary Fiction? And I’m Being General
Too few! Mostly women. Men, not so much.
Nothing against men—I’m one—but come on guys, there’s more to reading books than just science fiction, history, and biographies/memoir, crime and thrillers I should throw in stories about sports and war. Don’t get me wrong, if these are the kind of books you love to read, keep it going as reading is important, but consider mixing it up a little. Try literary fiction.
Having written literary fiction, fantasy and short stories, I’d have to agree that literary fiction is an art form…that it is “serious”. Perhaps folks would argue that all fiction is an art form. When our creative expression come in the form of words and it evokes a feeling in the observer, the reader, it is nothing less than an art form.
While reading literary ficion, our feelings and thoughts could evoke a sense of beauty or just the opposite, as humans are capable of just the opposite and pulling out our dark self. The feeling could inspire, transform or wake up that part of us that is sleeping. Believe me, there’s quite a bit burying in all of us that is fast asleep.
I Also Mentioned it’s “Serious”
Any time we read, or write, about the human condition, it is “serious” whether it’s direct, satirical or somewhere in between. Some things are out of our control and there’s no way around it, so we, and the character, deals with it. Is it how we would deal with it? Maybe.
When we read literary fiction, we are reading about what it is to be human and we see it in the choices the characters of the story must make to continue on our their path. Many times their path is not so different than ours.
My Reminder
Just a reminder, this article is what I learned from writing literary fiction. Others may interpret their knowledge and experience differently than me. That’s the beauty in writing and reading fiction. My thoughts assembled here, just like literary fiction itself, doesn’t end with a neatly tied bow, but I hope it makes us think. It makes us feel.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Although many folks express their love for their mothers on Mother’s Day, I think it should be a daily occurrence in some way. That’s not always easy to do as we get wrapped up in our own world, but we should aspire to do more…always. Something I did as a kid many years ago reminds me of doing this. I thought I’d share it with readers on this Mother’s Day.
Several years after my mom passed away, I uncovered this note and drawing. I would never have remembered writing it or drawing the picture had I not been lucky enough to find this perfectly preserved loose-leaf page. When I first laid eyes on it, memories gushed forward.
I was nine years old when I drew this picture and wrote this note—that was in 1969 some 56 years ago!
A Simple Act
It was infrequent that my mom and dad went out to dinner, but I now vividly recall this particular evening. I am the youngest of four children, and so there were MANY babysitters that night. It was an April evening. Without prompting, I did a chore for my mom. Moments after, I rummaged to find a piece of paper and a pen. For a kid my age, using a pen was new, and I wanted to use one any chance I had. I sat at the kitchen table, pulled my thoughts together, and put pen to paper. I wanted to share my picture of our home, tell her I loved her, and let her know the picture and note were hers to keep.
The Feeling
When this memory had become fresh not long ago, it came with the feelings that I had at that very moment in 1969. Feelings of a little, skinny, and shy kid. Yes, this was very weird! It was not “like” going back in time, it was more like I only knew that time as there was no other.
She Saved It
As I thought more about it, it was clear my mom cherished this gift and what it meant to her as she tucked it away and saved it. Why did she save it? I am not sure, but I have a few guesses. Looking at it today, I am warm with delight, joy, and love. Not because of anything I did, but because she saved it. Our connection was seamless—one.
Maybe she saved it for me to find many years later, when she was gone. Yes, I am certain of that. I was meant to find it these many years later. The thing is, she has never been gone from my life.
So, what about these symbols? The drawing is one thing, but the action of tucking it away is symbolic. As a parent of four myself, I know the value of such a gift. Life would be meaningless without symbols and our actions that express ourselves and our enduring love.
Not Just on Mother’s Day
The sentiments of my 9-year-old self and those of my “mommy” symbolize something powerful that cannot be touched, but it can be held as it has a place in my heart. This treasure represents goodness, life, and light. It’s a symbol of love. It’s for everyday and Mother’s Day.
What Does Love Mean?
Many folks have tried to define “love” but there is no one clear definition. For me, love lasts an eternity as its vibrations that began years ago, or at this moment, continue to move outward and forever. These vibrations trample over the ills it may find on its path. These vibrations are warm and tell us so much if we are open to listening.
It’s not about data, analytics, AI, algorithms, technology and other soulless distractions, but love is about being a part of something spectacular, wonderful and beautifully human.
Love’s Not Perfect
Interestingly, I found the rough draft of this note on the back of another picture I drew so I attached it to the back of this picture and placed it in a frame. Even after my nine-year-old self “practiced” what I wanted to write, in the version I gave my mom, I still made an error. Even after I have practiced, when the curtain goes up, and I step in front of the limelight, I do so in all my vulnerable ways—I like that about me. Never used to, though… I’m sure she knew this about me. This, too, is symbolic as I am imperfect and always have been. Love really isn’t perfect either. It is organic—it’s living, growing, and changing. As we change with it, love never ends. I miss her.
“Our House”, the chore I did without being asked, my imperfections, but most of all, the care she gave this gift and me is, indeed, a symbol that gives my life—and hers—a profound and cherished meaning.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom!
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Mentors are crucial in storytelling, especially in the genre of fantasy. Aside from the “hero” in the story, the mentor is my favorite character. A good villain, for me, comes in third. The mentor and the protagonist’s relationship is special, and that is one reason I chose to share the following excerpt of The Elixir: Journey On. The Elixir is Book III of The Elias Chronicles.
Mentors Carry a Heavy Burden
Good mentors do many things: they guide the protagonist through an evolutionary process by providing experience and knowledge and encourage resourcefulness and independent thinking. They support our hero in any way they can. Wisdom, a characteristic overlooked in the “real” world, is cherished in the fantasy world. Sometimes mentors merely encourage and show they care
All Mentors Posess the Power of Empowerment
Mentors empower the hero to make decisions, and sometimes it may be the wrong choice, but our hero learns from mistakes, and mentors know this.
Ultimately, our hero achieves personal growth even if they can’t save the world—this time.
Some Mentors of Note
Think of Gandalf and Frodo: Dumbledore and Harry; Aslan and Peter, Lucy, Susan, and Edmund; and in each of the three books of The Elias Chronicles, Zoltan and Elias.
I’m sure you have a few mentors in mind as well.
“The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light”
Joseph Campbell
In The Elias Chronicles, a reader can start with any book as each is a stand-alone story. Saying that, I think to appreciate Elias’ journey and his development, I’d start with the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, and then read the second and third in order, The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok and The Elixir: Journey On. In each you will find the mentor, Zoltan and the hero, Elias as well as many other colorful characters that will help guide or thwart Elias from his quest.
Enjoy the excerpt…and let me know what you think. Who are your favorite mentors?
5
Climb The Stem
Weary from his encounter with the Sea Serpent, Elias stretched out squarely in the middle of the boat’s deck. His thoughts wandered at best, but without notice, they pulled him back to some frightening moments. He, however, felt gratified for untangling the scary event and helping a mom. Images of her huge bony head that disagreed with her graceful cylindrical body were imprinted in his mind. Worst of all was her shriek, and he winced as he brought it to mind. What did it all mean? The serpent—the journal—his exile? Of all places, why was he here? While wondering where land could be hiding, the faces of his friends and family overpowered all his thoughts. All he could think was, will he ever see them again?
Restless, he fiddled with a thick, coarse rope coiled to one side as he looked to the sky. Drained by his rocky voyage, he remained listless on his back as he, biding time, picked up the dagger and examined it closely. Squinting, he focused on every scratch or nuance on the cold metal blade. He delicately touched the tip of his index finger on the tiny point, and as he did, he mouthed the sound ‘ow’ while his nose twisted up on one side. Still on his back, he grabbed the hilt with two hands, and with outstretched arms, he pointed it to the blur of the heavens, ruminating about his first night on Sirok. That’s when he plucked a powerful sword from a secret vault told to him by Nattymama. The sword, he mused, saved his life on a couple of occasions when he skillfully severed the heads of the Sarkany—the three-headed, shape-shifting dragon. “Existo verus ut vestri,” he whispered, followed by, “Be true to yourself. Think of that…that was written on the blade itself, and I didn’t even know it at the time…can’t complain, as it served me well, but this oversized pen knife has done right by me too.”
WHOOSH. At that moment, jarring him from his comfort, he heard a gigantic splash only twenty paces or so from the bow of the boat. The wave it made jostled the little craft as he jumped to his feet. With a wrinkled brow and his jaw hanging low, he peered from side to side. Keeping one eye on the white-capped waves, he reached back to grab his dagger. Bubbles jetted to the surface of the choppy water, and he waited to see if anything would pop up. Only a second later, bobbing before him, the back of a man’s head emerged, gasping uncontrollably for air. Ardently treading water, he turned, and Elias saw who thrashed about before him. He could barely believe his eyes.
“ZOLTAN. Is that really you?”
Zoltan, now exhausted but surprisingly calm, answered Elias. “It is I,” he gasped. “…and I came so very close to landing on the dry planks… of your vessel…right beside you.” Water splashed a few times in his face.
“…but…but I can’t believe it,” Elias said, reacting in amazement.
“Not to be rude, my boy, but I’m not interested in conversing at this point. Be a good man and put down your weapon to throw me a line to welcome me aboard.”
“Oh yeah…sorry.” With a cold slap, Elias was brought back to reality as he hurriedly tied one end of the rope to an iron ring attached to the floorboards of the deck and tossed the bulk of the looped hemp to Zoltan. He wrapped it around his arms, and like a vice, he held on securely with both hands. With somewhat of a struggle, like reeling in a blue marlin, Elias was able to tow Zoltan up and over the edge of the side of the boat. He delivered him safely to the dry deck of the lifeboat. Both Zoltan and Elias collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
“Zoltan, are you alright? What are you doing here? Why is…”
“Not all at once,” Zoltan said, pulling himself up to a seated position, clearing his throat between words and poking his pinky finger in one ear. “I’ve come chasing you, Elias. I sent you here…do you have a blanket in there?” he asked, pointing to the large wooden box.
Elias froze. “Wait, what? You sent me here?” His jaw jutted forward, and he scowled at his guest.
Zoltan kindly smiled and exhaled. He shrugged his shoulders and joined his hands together in a prayerful fashion.
“I knew it. I don’t know why I reacted so surprised. I knew something was up, especially since I found my dagger here, but…why?” Elias said, folding his arms against his chest.
“My good boy, I could see no other way. You have the gift, the donum…now the blanket, if you will.” Zoltan stretched out his shivering hands.
“The donum…the DONUM…this gift is a curse! What else…what else can you tell me?” Elias retrieved a moldy moth-eaten blanket from the box and gently wrapped it around Zoltan’s shoulders.
“If you settle yourself down one iota, I will tell you—you temperamental artists are something else,” he kindheartedly said under his breath.
Elias’ shoulders sank, and he let out a sigh as he sat next to the old man.
“I detected something sinister as the smoke of the kingdom wafted our way,” Zoltan said with an easy monotone. Now for a cup of coffee. Do you have one?”
“What? Coffee? Are you serious? We’re on a banged-up boat in the middle of nowhere. What are you thinking?”
“I see your point,” Zoltan said as he placed his hands one over the other and quickly clapped his upper hand to his lower, at which time a hot pot of steaming coffee and two mugs hovered before them.
“Awesome, Zoltan. You’ll have to teach me that one,” Elias said as he briefly forgot about his frustration with his new and unasked-for adventure.
“Oh, you will learn how and quite a bit more. Now pour the
coffee, and let’s talk,” said Zoltan as a soft, salty breeze gave him a slight stir.
Elias poured the coffee and looked with admiration at his old friend. “So what can you tell me?”
Using both hands to sip from the mug, Zoltan said, “I can tell you very little at this point. I have a morsel of information to share, but not much. Believe me when I say I know very little.”
Short-fused, Elias blurted out, “A morsel. A morsel! You send me here, and YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHY?” You know I was just attacked by a sea serpent and…”
“Good for you, Elias,” Zoltan interjected gleefully, cutting Elias off mid-sentence. “You must have fared quite well as I do not see any hideous blemishes on you, and I don’t see the serpent anywhere,” Zoltan added while looking out to the vast gray rolling waves.
Collecting his thoughts, Elias knew his frayed nerves would lead him somewhere he’d rather keep to himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Zoltan…I’m tired and so… alone.” Elias looked down at his hands, sniffed a few times, and then rubbed his nose. He looked out to the sea as a breeze caught his floppy hair and tousled it in a few directions. “Like I was abandoned until you showed up. I just don’t know what to make of all this. It’s time for me to go home and do what I want to do. I earned it, after all. That’s why I traveled to find you in the first place—to find out who I am and do what I love. And traveling to the Under World to find you and all I did there. I’ve done enough—I’ve earned it.”
“You earned it? Yes, I can see your point. First of all, thank you as you saved me from the clutches of Ordak, and you are quite humble as you set the oppressed folks of the kingdom free. But my good boy, I am sorry to say that, now, those things matter not, at least not for the short run.”
“Huh? I feel my life is out of control.”
“Elias, life is full of the unexpected, but we seem to forget that and think life SHOULD be full of the ‘expected,’ Zoltan said in a very calm but exacting tone. “You are in the middle of, shall I say, a twist and, for that matter, a turn—and perhaps another twist. I must say you are who you are whether you like it or not, and you should think of it as a privilege to be you and grab hold of every moment of your life. It is up to you to make the most of it. Let me pour you another cup of coffee.”
“Okay, okay, but I don’t like it, and I’m not talking about the coffee,” Elias said, sitting back and looking at the sea. It was now quiet as the endless waves that relentlessly wrapped themselves around the boat seemed like a warm embrace as they continued to lap lower against the sides. It was still.
“I know you are unhappy with me, and you have every right to be so, but in the end, you will understand. You will. Trust me.”
Ignoring Zoltan’s words, Elias asked, “So tell me, how is everyone—Kelsa?”
“She is just fine. I managed to redirect both her and Cimbora safely to a place where you will see them soon. Don’t ask me why, as I had to act quickly when Ordak was breathing down our necks—before our dear friends, the Bee People, whisked him away. Oh, that was such a special moment just hearing the hum.” They both laughed and sipped from their cups.
“I think I know the moment—yeah, the exact moment. He almost picked up on what you were doing. I could tell you were doing something, but I had no clue,” said Elias.
“To tell you the truth, I was not so sure myself.” Zoltan winked.
“And the others?” Elias asked abruptly, changing the subject.
“Nattymama and your family are fine. Oh yes, and before I forget, you must understand that time counts differently there versus here. It may seem like only a minute to some but an eternity to others, but this will all be clearer to you later.”
“You haven’t even told me where I’m going.”
“Oh yes. In a moment,” Zoltan replied with a light chuckle. “As far as the others, Lantos and Gaspar are back in their homes, I presume, and Akota is being celebrated by the Seraph people and the former Inhabitants of The Kingdom of Gold. And by the way, passing the ring to him has made all the difference for his people. You have shared the donum, and you have yet to realize your brilliance in doing so.”
Elias smiled, but he quickly looked down at the splintering planks below. Zoltan felt his angst and wanted to comfort him.
“Oh yes, you may long for them and feel you are missing out—but you are not truly missing out as you are where you are supposed to be—that’s the difference. Elias, do not pine for what was or what you think is, nor reach for what you think might be. It is today that matters as we may, most assuredly, count the days we have lived, but we cannot even attempt to count the days ahead of us. Life does, indeed, have a starting point for all, but the endpoint is a mystery. But I dare say, life has a habit of going on whether we like it or not—even if we are in it or not,” said Zoltan.
Elias said nothing but looked fondly at Zoltan, then turned and stared at the horizon. As he nodded, a wide smile came across his face as Zoltan sipped from the mug. At that moment, a sparkling aqua and sapphire-colored dragonfly landed on Elias’ knuckle. Without moving his head, he gazed down at the quiet and majestic creature.
“We must be near land,” Elias’ eyes lit up as he kept still and looked intently at the dragonfly.
“Elias, I believe you are correct. That little fellow reminds me of a story I was once told. A story that others have passed down over many years and, as time so masterfully can do, has gobbled up the author’s name. Would you like to hear a story?”
Elias faced Zoltan and looked into his eyes. He couldn’t help Zoltan’s allure as he looked into the recesses of his pupils. The eyes that have seen a thousand years. The eyes that have looked deep inside of him. Elias nodded and smiled.
“A time not so long ago, there was a pond like any other pond—perhaps like the ones around your home or mine. Do you know the kind
of pond I speak of?”
“Sure, Zoltan, go on.”
“Okay then… in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little neighborhood of water bugs—cute little things. This tiny community lived a simple and predictable life in the murky water. Little concerned them, for the most part, so they were happy creatures. As it is with any community, sadness would come at peculiar times. On occasion, and without warning, a water bug would journey up the stem of a lily pad. To an onlooker in the water bug community, this was not a good sign.”
“So the water bug crawled up the stem of a water lily—how is that sad?” asked Elias.
“Well, Elias, all the water bugs knew was that when they saw one of their own make the climb, their friend or family member would never be seen again.” Zoltan paused and looked away.
“That’s not much of a story. So the water bug climbed up the stem, and a hungry bird ate it. Great story, Zoltan,” Elias said, shaking his head.
“Elias, my boy, that is not the end of the story—far from it. Would you allow me to proceed?”
Elias nodded. “Sorry.”
“Okay then. The water bugs knew they would never see their friend again. They, like you, thought the worst. They thought their friend was dead.
As it so happened one day, and with no warning to his family or friends, the littlest of water bugs felt an overpowering yearning to journey up that stem. However, he was determined to return to the community and tell his family and friends what he found on the other side. They pleaded with him not to go, but he did anyway. He began to climb the stem. When he reached the surface of the water, he journeyed out of the water onto a lily pad. Because of his climb, he was very tired, and the sun felt good. So the little water bug decided he must close his weary eyes and sleep.
During his nap, he changed. When he woke, he had turned into a beautiful aqua and sapphire dragonfly with graceful wings and a slender body created for flying. Therefore, that’s exactly what he did. He soared high above and looked at all below him. He skirted downward and skimmed the surface of the water. He saw new worlds in all its beauty. His perspective was new and fresh—one he thought never existed before that fateful day.
One day, while resting on the arm of a boy, he thought of his friends and family and how they must think he was now dead. It reminded him that he desperately wanted to tell them otherwise and share with them the joy he had found. He hovered over the surface of the water where his family and friends lived, and he could barely make out the little community below. The water was murky that day. He attempted to fly through the surface of the water, but when he tried to reemerge into the water, he could not. He tried and tried and tried to break the surface of the water to no avail. He could see the water bugs below as they continued their simple life. He wanted to explain how he was alive and how wonderful life really was. He wanted to talk about the fulfillment he felt.
Attempt after attempt, he thought differently about telling them and began to understand he was now in the place where he should be. He hoped that their time would come and they, too, would realize that they have wings and one day they would join him. With one last look, he knew what he had to do, and he took to flight, never to allow the past to hold him back. He knew he had to taste the wonders of what today brings.”
“So, I’m the dragonfly?” Elias smugly asked.
“You? Maybe the both of us—our friends, too, perchance. But the story, albeit simple, tells more. Think about it.”
“I see where it is about living and becoming, but it is also about death. Right?”
“Oh, Elias, it is for you to grapple with—let us speak of it no more.”
A huge smooth swell, the size of a modest house, mildly rolled under the lifeboat, placing them high above. As soon as they were at the pinnacle, they descended to a level where all they could see around them was a wall of water. As they evened out, the clouds vanished, and the placid wave slowly moved further away. Many smaller ones rapidly made their presence known as they slapped the boat in all directions. Elias and Zoltan held tight to the sides of the craft until all was calm.
“What was that all about?” Elias said.
“My boy, look over your shoulder, and you will see.”
Elias turned, and a good five or six sea miles before them was an iridescent glow the size of a small island of purples, blues, and red. It twinkled in the bright sunlight. Like the waves, the oddity seemed to be covering something as its hues swayed and fluttered to greens, yellows, and orange. It was a magnificent sight.
“Wow! I’ve never seen anything like it before,” said Elias.
“Nor I…nor I.”
“What do you think it is, Zoltan?”
“There’s nothing like a good mystery than one that is about to unfold in front of our very eyes. Let’s wait and see.”
As they got closer to the spectacle, they noticed that around the edges of the colors and lights seemed to unravel. Specs, as they thought, were drifting away, and as they did, the two saw rocks, trees, and a mountain.
“Zoltan, they’re dragonflies. Millions of dragonflies.”
“So they are. Very interesting,” Zoltan said, leaning toward Elias. “There is something I must tell you.”
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Let me know what you think below.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Writing a fantasy trilogy can be tricky. Writers and readers of fantasy think through many questions. Here are a few: does the reader have to start with the first book to make sense of the second and the third? Should I write the series so, if a reader chooses, they could start with the second, or even the third book before the first one? As a fantasy trilogy, should all the stories be clearly connected…a continuation…or just the hero’s next quest?
As a fantasy trilogy, each book is connected as the stories follow the one before. Saying that, I include just enough of the previous storyline so the reader can easily get into the story and begin to connect with the main character, Elias.
What’s this Fantasy Trilogy About?
Without giving away any spoilers, in The Amulet, Elias learns all about himself by way of a journey he must take to truly understand who he is.
In The Rings he realizes a friend is in danger but before he can find him, Elias must harness the powers he uncovered in the first story to not only save his friend, but he learns he must alos save a community that has been ravaged by false promises.
In Book III, The Elixir, Elias has been called to protect the elixir that if it lands in the wrong hands could bring destruction to the planet. What is the elixir?
As each book is truly a stand-alone story, Elias goes from self, to community to saving the world and….
…after all, it is fantasy…but aren’t we all trying to save the world in our own way?
This story best described by this quote by Joseph Campbell.
“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.”
Please read Chapter 1 of The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok. Enjoy!
“…Elias is a character we can all connect with, as he has a good soul and always strives to do right… things like choosing kindness and good over evil…the storyline is a bit unpredictable, which is a welcome relief from a lot of fantasy writing out there right now…I would recommend this book to people who like fantasy stories with lots of fun characters and cool settings…”
ThisKidReviewsBooks.com
1
From the Crevasses
The moment had changed time and space forever. The serpent no longer slithered inside, but for now, Elias knew how it had lived and died.
Alone, he stood atop the mountain of Sirok. His crusade had been long, but it was now over. As he stood tall, he savored his sweet victory for only a moment as it was time to return to what was familiar. It was time to move on, but he knew his experience with the serpent was now a part of him forever.
With only the sounds of a breeze that kicked up the sand where he stood, he looked at the dark and infinite early morning sky. Ribbons of faint light picked up the colors of the Earth and began to fan out. It was like a magnificent painting. The shades of night tinted the light of the morning and then pulled apart so that the darkness faded softly out of sight.
He bowed his head and slipped the amulet back around his neck. He knew all too well what it meant when he felt it against his chest. Smiling, he had thought of the exact time he had realized its worth—when it had saved him.
Elias scanned the area and let out a sigh. He saw the dragon’s sword on the ground, partly covered by debris, and
then he grabbed its grip. He looked it over. Suddenly, the wind whipped up, and it forced him to look away. That’s when he saw his sword. Unlike the other blade, his sword stood upright and pierced the Earth. He gripped the hilt and pulled it from the ground. He held it high and looked at the long metal and thought about the force it commanded. These twin swords that once had unleashed an incredible power were nothing more than two cold steel blades. He sealed them away in the compartment at the base of the arch just as his grandmother had instructed him when he prepared for his journey.
With the toe of his boot, he poked at the dying embers of the campfire. He scooped up the sandy soil of Sirok, covered the coals, and stomped out the edges of the fire. Still feeling the surge of confidence that came with his victory, he felt grateful the fight was over. Elias knew it was time to go home.
As he sucked in a heavy breath, he began to descend the crooked path on the rough terrain to journey home. His faithful dog, Cimbora, was at his side just as he had been during his adventure. Elias no longer feared the Sarkany, the evil dragon, as his fears he would find now lay elsewhere. He hoped never to return to this mountain. Elias’ head was full of thoughts of his family. He had left them many weeks ago when he felt he had no choice. His Papa had made it clear to him that there was no place for artists on a farm. Elias’ grandmother, Nattymama, had prepared him to search for the sorcerer, Zoltan, to help him uncover a peace that he would find only in his heart.
No sooner had Elias turned and walked away; than the ground trembled. Elias stopped. He looked back, and he saw nothing, but still, he paused. Something was there. He just knew it. He looked around but saw nothing unusual. He turned and continued his descent on his path toward the village. Cimbora, however, stood frozen about fifteen steps behind Elias. He stared at the smoldering campfire. He jerked his head, and then he trotted to catch up with Elias. He stopped once or twice and turned to look behind him. Cimbora sniffed the air. Before long, they were far enough down the mountain and could no longer see the camp.
The crevasses in the ancient stones that surrounded the campfire tore open and made each gash deeper and longer. A cold wind whipped from them and swept over the dying embers. Too cold to be of this Earth, more wind streamed out from the rock fissures at the top of Sirok, where Elias had been just moments before. The wind spun itself, caught dirt and grit, and pulled in the cinders from the almost-dead fire.
The wind now lofted gently around the warm coals as the charm was now in play. Once again, the embers sparked into a flame. The flame hesitated briefly, but it flickered in reds and
blues as the wind all but diminished.
The flame became a fire, and the fire became an inferno.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
