In 1976, while working as a professional musician, I wrote my first children’s story, “Monica and the Moonbeam.” “Monica and the Moonbeam” was originally written as a suite of songs with brief narrative interspersed between each song. It was meant to be a performance piece, combining music with story-telling. Later, I rewrote the story into standard book form and began seeking publication for it. This began my journey on the road to literary story writing.

And, so, the wizened Mage of Dur ushers me inside. His cottage proves a simple hut, yet comfortable and cozy.

“Sit. Please sit. And have some tea,” he says, upon my entering.

He serves it on a wooden tray, in two clay cups, all painted brightly. Then, he sits himself across the large old wooden table, smiles and cocks his head.

“Now, pray, tell me why you’ve come.”

            I pull a locket from the bag which hangs about my waist and open it to show, inside, two portraits, small as thumbnails.

“Sir,” I say, “I want to know whose picture this might be.”

On the left, my mother smiles, her sixteen year-old face all rosy. On the right, another girl stares out from sullen eyes. Their faces seem so similar. Hair and eyes, chin and cheek, both share all the same fine features. Yet, they could not be more different – one a joyous angel, filled with light and magic, one an angry, brooding creature, shadowed, bleak and tragic.

I set the locket down before him. Even before looking, he begins to nod his head then sighs and closes his dark eyes as if he knows already who the woman must have been.

“No wonder Claire sent you to me,” he finally says, “and I agree it was a good thing that she sent you here. For this tale is a tale of grief – for her and your poor grandmother. Because you ask this task of me, I’ll tell you what I can.”

He pauses. I wait. Then he takes a long and heavy breath.

“How shall I begin? This portrait, E’lienna, is of your mother’s sister.”

“Mother has no sister!” I exclaim.

“Now, good child,” he says, “you must allow me to explain. And without interruption! As I said, I’ll tell you what I’m able. But I warn you, E’lienna, this is not a fable! This is sorrow.  This is pain. Now, shall I start, again?”

The air hangs still, a silent weight that seems quite palpable. I swallow back my sudden feeling of dismay and answer, “Yes, dear mage, continue on, I pray. I will hold my tongue, I promise. ‘Til the end of it.”

“Alright, alright. Now let me see,” he begins again. “Eloise, your mother’s sister, born but one year before she, also had a strong desire to know magic. And this fire burned within her ever more each year that passed until, at last, it seemed that Eloise became obsessed.

“Unlike your mother’s love for light, her sister’s ‘love’ seemed more a fight for wielding power over others. While your mother meditated, Eloise would scheme and plot. While your mother humbly waited, Eloise stewed viciously over all that Claire’d been given, which she had not. She was a jealous child.

“Your grandparents saw all this unfold before their very eyes. And, yet, a parent’s love is blinded, sometimes, by a thin disguise. Eloise played cleverly upon their sympathy.

“Then one scratchy autumn day, as Eloise went searching in a nearby wood for funguses and nasty things she’d planned to use to cast a spell to make herself invisible, she came upon a traveler – a wicked sorcerer! Well, that was all it really took. Eloise became his student. Off she went, away from home, to live with that most wretched thief within that dank and musty wood!

“He taught her filthy kinds of spells – spells which, cast upon poor victims, caused disease and pain! Oh, but she felt powerful! And, then, one night that fraud divulged, if she would simply bring her sister to the darkest corner of that wood, he could show her one most potent spell to rid herself for good of fairer Claire. He promised he would show her how to cast this ‘wondrous spell.’ It would allow – he did avow – Eloise eternal life!

“And, so, young Eloise,” the wizard pauses then looks down at my gold and silver locket, taking it in hand, “and, so, she tried to capture Claire for this most evil purpose.”

Sample verse-chapter from Enchantments: The Elves

Science-fiction novel, The Dream Star, brief synopsis:

             The Dream Star is the story of Kalindi, a young village woman from the mountains of Tamar, who Dreams that she must travel to the distant city of the Ancient Ones – the Center of the World – to rid Tamar of the horrible Intruders who have taken over the Center. She must make this trek with a strange young man named Atman, from a village far away.

            As they progress on their quest, Kalindi and Atman fall in love. Atman reveals to Kalindi that everything she and her people ever believed in is a deception. Atman is not who he claimed to be and Kalindi is forced to leave behind all that she once believed to be real, only to be thrust into a strange and mystifying new world on Terra, Atman’s true homeland.

            As Kalindi adapts to her new life, she finds herself developing empathic and intuitive abilities beyond Dream and far beyond any abilities of her people. Kalindi begins her journey as a student and finds she becomes a teacher and a guide who holds the destiny of leading all humankind into a new beginning of hope.  

            The manuscript is 275 pages, approximately 83,000 words.

The Dream Star excerpt:  

Chapter 1 – The Journey

Kalindi tugged at the hood of her cloak. The icy drizzle numbed her face and hands as she washed their cooking utensils in the little stream beside their camp. She peered through the gray mist that shrouded the surrounding forest of broadleaf and evergreens and began to seriously wonder if they still traveled the path that would lead them to the Center of the World, or if they had somehow taken a wrong turn back at one of the villages they had passed through. She stole a side-glance at her strange traveling companion.

We are so different from one another, she contemplated.

Though toned and muscular, his tall slender body looked as though he spent little time engaged in menial labors. He didn’t have the tell-tale roughness to his hands that revealed the hard life of a laborer. His long slender fingers looked like those of a musician or a healer. She studied her own small hands.

My hands work well for my weaving. My cloths are soft and strong.

A feeling of pride warmed her. She thought of the cloth she had woven and sewn into her flowing tunic and cloak. Dream had given her the idea to embroider the green and yellow finches near her shoulder. Kalindi smiled at that.

How many times have my Dreams given me gifts of creative vision? And allowed me to see things happening far away or in the future?

Again, she glanced over to the young man as he deftly folded their tent into his rucksack.

He seems perfectly at home camping in this strange forest.  

Kalindi had never before ventured outside her village. She didn’t like to admit it, but she felt small and insignificant next to him. And it wasn’t just because she barely reached his chin.

He is haughty. He always acts so superior.

She scrubbed furiously at the dirty pan in her hands.

He doesn’t have to always act to superior, so aloof, as though nothing I say could possibly be of any worth.

She stopped attacking the pan and released a sigh.

And those eyes. How can anyone have such blue eyes?

Kalindi’s cheeks flushed with this thought. Her stomach fluttered. She sighed again at the realization that she still wasn’t used to how startling his gaze could be. She felt sometimes that it might pierce right through her, especially when she asked too many questions. She put the spotlessly scrubbed pan aside and began working on their knives.

And his strange customs…

Kalindi’s eyes darted to where he was busy packing up their gear. He didn’t seem to notice her.

Even while we camp in these woods, he keeps his face clean-shaven.

She shrugged her shoulders.

Perhaps it is the tradition of all the young men in his village. They say the villages in the north are a little different.

She swallowed down her annoyance at still not knowing his age. Though it was obvious that he was the elder. She would have known even if her village Council had not explained it to her. His demeanor spoke of maturity and experience. Her friends sometimes teased her that even though she was now eighteen years old and a full adult, her heart-shaped face still gave her the look of a child. This last thought brought to mind her decision to once and for all make it completely clear to him that she was not a child and would no longer stand for being treated like one.

I will ask him this time. I must not keep putting it off.

Then she noticed how her hands shook a little at just the thought of confronting him.

Oh, why does he intimidate me so?

Never in her life had she cowed to anyone’s wishes. But everything about this man revealed an inclination toward self-control and discipline, traits that had admittedly never been her strongest. Even his straight, sandy hair fell obediently back from his face. Not like her own long, dark tresses that cascaded riotously when not held in a tight braid. And his name, Atman, as old as the Chronicles, bespoke austerity and wisdom.

Well, he is probably not much older than I am.

Aware that she had begun to dawdle in her washing, she pulled her mind back to the plate in front of her and plunged it into the stream.

He is probably only in his early twenties at most. I will speak with him about it today. I will ask my questions and not let him dismiss me!

Her jaw clenched. Then Kalindi remembered how much more difficult and dangerous this journey would be without Atman. She had to admit she felt grateful she wasn't traveling alone. The Dangko Region was not safe for a young female villager. Even a trained Dreamer should beware of the wild and ruthless tribespeople. The few villagers reckless enough to venture into the Dangko Region in the past had never returned.

Kalindi gathered up their utensils and rejoined Atman. They finished packing their camping gear into their rucksacks and set out once again onto the soggy path they had been traveling for the past three days. They silently trod through the damp leaves and fallen needles of the forest while the rain pattered haphazardly against their hooded cloaks.

Kalindi kept mulling around in her mind how she might bring up her questions regarding Atman’s plan for ridding the Center of the Intruders. She also let her thoughts wander back to the family and friends she left behind in her little village, her home. The tea garden with its colorful flowers and inspiring statues of mythic heroes, the music house where the epic songs of her people were sung and played upon strings and drums, the theater where stories of the Ancient Ones were enacted, and the village Center where she had spent so much of her time studying Dream…it all seemed so far away now. She thought of her mother and father and the tears they shed as they watched their only child bravely begin her journey to the city of the Ancient Ones, the Center of the World.

Then Kalindi gritted her teeth at the memory of how Atman had so quickly and decisively rejected her plan and implanted his own with no option for discussion. 

No one else in my village has Dreamed at such an early age. I have been a Dreamer since I was four. And I am the youngest ever to serve on the Council – of my village or any other, for that matter.

She gripped the straps of her rucksack where they pressed into her chest and fussed with them to adjust her load.

And I will be heard by this man!  

Then her mother’s calm, tender voice resonated through her memory.

            “Kalindi, you must not let your pride get the better of you – or your stubbornness. Be patient, my dear. Always, patience is the way.”

            Yes, I am the younger of us, so I must submit to his authority. That is, after all, what the ancient Chronicles teach. But that does not mean I will accept it blindly!

Kalindi couldn’t help but smile at that thought. She looked up at Atman trudging just ahead of her through the soggy forest and straightened herself up.

            He is not really all that tall or wise or powerful.

She lifted her head up high, taking a deep breath. The damp forest aromas of rich earth and pine filled her nostrils.

As soon as we stop to rest I will speak of my concerns.  

Atman halted so suddenly, Kalindi almost bumped into him. He turned to her and pointed ahead.

“The forest is thinning,” he said in his characteristically low, cautious voice. “Soon we will be out in the open air again.”

Kalindi’s eyes followed his hand gesture.

“Oh, good!” she answered with an air of what she hoped would sound like self-assurance. “I was beginning to wonder! I had not thought it would take this long to get through.”

She looked up at Atman, hoping – for some reason she could not fathom – to get a confirming smile or even a nod. But his grim expression only tightened.

“We should stop to eat and rest a little before we are out of the wood,” he said. “Tomorrow we will have to mingle with tribespeople. It would be a good idea to go over our plan again.”

“It is not ‘our’ plan!” Kalindi blurted.

She hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but now that she had, she pushed her chin forward in defiance.

He will not overpower me this time.

Atman didn’t respond. It was as though Kalindi had said nothing. She felt even more infuriated at being ignored. He quietly led them off the path and into a small clearing well hidden from the open plains that lay ahead and below. He slid his pack easily from his shoulders, noticed a fallen tree and sat down, motioning with a quick jerk of his head for Kalindi to do the same. She stood rigid, fuming inside.

“Atman!” Kalindi said. “I am not a child! I am eighteen years old and a member of the Council!”

Atman turned away from her as if she didn’t even exist and began rummaging through his rucksack.

Again remembering her mother’s exhortation, Kalindi calmed herself and regained composure. She knew her outburst had only made her seem more childish. She slumped down next to Atman and quietly accepted the travel biscuits he handed her.

For a long moment Kalindi waited for Atman to speak but he only sat quietly, chewing his biscuit slowly and methodically while looking out ahead. Finally she sat up straight and turned to face him.

“Atman,” Kalindi began, “my Dream told me to go to the Center. And you have your....plan....but there is so much I do not understand! Your plan is too vague! And why do you get to talk to the Intruders and I do not? And how do you think we will get past the tribespeople who surround the whole Center? And what will we do if we are caught? And you still have not explained exactly how you intend to negotiate with the Intruders!”

Kalindi’s cheeks grew hot while she spoke. Her hands trembled.

How does he manage to make me so nervous? she wondered for the hundredth time.

She waited for his response but Atman remained silent. He simply stared out ahead, looking more irritated than usual. Kalindi turned her eyes to the ground, completely embarrassed. Her mother’s voice, chastising her for not behaving like a proper villager, echoed in her ears.

“I am sorry, Atman,” she whispered, trying to look contrite. “I suppose I may be a little frightened,” she said.

Frightened! Why did I say ‘frightened?’ Kalindi mentally kicked herself.

But then she realized she was frightened. That was why she wanted to go over every detail of Atman’s plan – so that every possibility would be covered no matter what they encountered. With this realization, Kalindi also realized she must trust. She must trust in the wisdom of her Dream.

She took a deep breath of resolve and said, “But we must do what we are led to do, frightened or not. ‘The Dreamer must follow the Dream to its end.’”

When Kalindi quoted from the Chronicles, the resonance and steady timbre of her voice strengthened her conviction.

Atman slowly turned to face her, his expression surprisingly gentle.

“Do not worry, Kalindi. Everything will be fine. You are young. And why should you not be frightened? This task is a grave one. But remember, it is not just for you and me that we do this, but for all our people. Really, it is for the whole world, for all of Tamar.”           

Atman’s soothing voice made Kalindi relax in spite of herself. Now Atman seemed kind, not haughty. She took a long, deep breath and found herself smiling. She would keep patience. It was the way of the Ancient Ones.

“Now, as soon as we draw near the tribe,” Atman went on in a businesslike manner, “we will have to acquire some of their clothing so as to blend in. I will take care of that. Then we will make our way to the outer gate of the Center. Now remember,” he looked her in the eye, “you must pretend you are mute. I will do all the talking.” He shook a finger at her. “You are not to utter a word!”

Kalindi sighed but it went unnoticed. She answered softly, as the younger villager should to the elder, “Yes, Atman.”

“Are you ready?” Atman asked, standing up, looking very strong and in control. The rain had stopped.

“Yes,” Kalindi answered, standing up next to him as straight and tall as she could. She felt small next to Atman but she did feel she was ready – for whatever lay ahead.

"Lullaby" is a short story for middle-grade readers.