#daisyannewrites

[daisyannewrites]

Once upon a time, there was a garden overgrown with weeds. It had been neglected for years, yet through the tangle, its wild beauty could still be seen. Pink roses wove themselves through a rusted gate; a magnificent willow tree skimmed across a pond covered in green algae; buttercups, daisies, and forget-me-nots decorated the nearly waist high grass. Here was a testament that life would continue on even after being abandoned… a comforting thought in a time of hopelessness.

[the-writers-bookshelf]

Happy Fab Friday! I’ve only managed to write a short story and some flash fiction this month because I’m getting ready to move house. I haven’t had a lot of free time as a result, but I was able to post the story on my substack today! It’s a short folktale about a Native American girl who shelters in a cave with a family of bears during a spring snowstorm. Writing children’s stories is such a nice change of pace 😊

Here’s the link if anyone would like to read it:

https://open.substack.com/pub/theheartofstorytelling/p/the-bear-hearted-girl

I saw your newsletter in my inbox and I can't wait to read it already! You deserve a giant standing ovation for managing to write while you're moving because there's nO WAY I'd be able to focus 🙃

Children's fiction will always hold a very, very special place in my heart. It's storytelling at the purest form that manages to hit *just right* in that special way only a really good story manages to do!

I'm looking forward to reading your story this weekend! 💜

[flashfictionfridayofficial]

✨FFF 192 Masterlist

Thank you for all your wonderful entries, we loved reading every single one ^^ (If we missed your entry, please let us know)

Consider checking out your fellow writers’ pieces, give out those likes and reblogs and gather some inspiration for the new prompt dropping at 12 pm CET!

We’ll see you then ✨

ebb & flow ; by @wildswrites

Miserable by @hushhushreblogpage

Sea and Sun by @aquadestinyswriting

Moments by @renee-writer

Sea and Sun by @anonymousdandelion

Sea and Sun by @bardic-tales

Ship at Sea by @thesorcererspen

Deserted by @eos-writes

Sea and Sun by @cljordan-imperium

Sea and Sun by @theeligibleauthor

Excerpts from "Voyage of the Hillfox from Icemeet to Perlshar, Captain Derya Aki's Log" by @writings-on-the-space-wall

Drowning on land by @itsaprildaydreams

Miscreants by @forthesanityofstorytellers

Tears of the Sea by @junypr-camus

Singing with My Sisters by @jlilycorbie

Sea & Sun by @nooowestayandgetcaught

now i look for you in the dark by @ineedaplacetostay

Sea and Sun by @landofspaceandrainbows

So It's Your Fault by @edosianorchids901

Sea and Sun by @samtheskald

A surprisingly nice boat trip by @e-lisard

Sea and Sun by @betweenthetimeandsound

Oceanborne (mShenko) by @rotschopf-thedrow

A Spontaneous Visit to the Sea by @daisyannewrites

It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) by @ngkiscool

[jjm-blogspot]

9 Lines, 9 People

Thanks @k--havok for the tag!

Rules: Share 9 Lines, then tag 9 people to do the same

Here's something from my Sunny Mage universe:

“There it is. Is it everything you imagined?” It was better. The castle rested on a floating slice of jagged rock. It had a multitude of towers, all with sharp points closing in at their peaks. From Sunny’s spot, the walls looked red. However, she wasn’t sure if that was the natural hue of the stone, or if it was an optical illusion from the blood moon painting everything red. Time would tell, she supposed. And when the time came, she could only hope for the opportunity to bask in the view from one of those lit-up windows.

I'll tag: @jamieanovels @dorthes @ryns-ramblings @harinawa @spuddlespud @late-to-the-fandom @daisyannewrites @awordchemist @the-finch-address and anyone else is welcome. Open tag.

[katieconrad]

Thanks to @daisyannewrites for the tag!

***

Last song: "In a Week" - Hozier & Karen Cowley

Last show: Ms. Marvel

Currently watching: Manifest

Currently reading: The Last Hero by Terry Pratchett and Broad Band by Claire L. Evans

Current obsession: Nothing specific comes to mind!

***

Tagging anyone who wants to participate!

[daisyannewrites]

Starlit Meadow

*****

For only one night on Midsummer Eve, fragrant white flowers bloom in a secret woodland meadow. They are known as ‘Stars of Heaven’ for their exquisite shape and brilliant glow. It is said that Alwin Beckett gathered a posy beneath the starry sky as a gift for his beloved. He had no ring to give her, but he braided the flower stem and slipped it over her finger. She was so charmed by the little flower that she accepted his proposal despite his lack of prospects. Cynthia came from money, but she fell in love with the handsome adventurer who spoke of nightingales and sacred springs. She longed to see such a wild, magical land for herself.

Because she was leaving many comforts behind, Alwin built her a grand home near one of the brooks. It took him nearly a year to complete, and afterwards, they exchanged vows on a beautiful Midsummer’s day. On the night of their honeymoon, Alwin brought his bride to the secret meadow. They wandered for a while amongst the heavenly blooms, where Cynthia gathered enough flowers to make a heady perfume that she could wear the whole year round.

The intoxicating fragrance was so admired by her friends in the city that she started giving them out as gifts. The following year, small crystal bottles of ‘Midsummer Starlight’ began appearing on apothecary shelves. Cynthia kept her small perfumery going until it gained too much interest from abroad. Rather than harvest the entire crop to keep up with demand, she ceased production and went back to making small batches for loved ones.

The meadow can now be enjoyed by everyone in Twelve Springs. Young swains still present bouquets to their sweethearts, and everyone is free to pick a basketful of blooms for themselves. Nature’s gifts are best shared with others, after all.

[daisyannewrites]

There was not a cloud in the sky as the Jellison sisters packed a picnic lunch and headed down to the pond. It was a beautiful breezy day, and the birds soared through the sky, singing its praises. Saffy ran ahead of her older sister, belting out “Early One Morning,” and swinging her basket in a cheerful way. Emmaline had to go slower on account of the quilt in her arms, but she didn’t mind. She watched the busy pollinators flit from flower to flower. When a small blue butterfly went in the opposite direction as everyone else, a tale began to bloom in her mind.

“Saffy, would you like to hear a story?”

“Yes!” her sister replied, slowing her pace so that Emmaline could catch up.

“Once upon a summer day, there was a little blue butterfly who left her meadow to go in search of a legendary flower. It was said to have the sweetest nectar, and she wanted nothing more than to taste it. Her mother had told her of this flower when she was only a tiny caterpillar in her cradle. She spent all that time dreaming of the day when she could finally fly off and find it.”

(read the full story on substack)

Over the past few months, I've been writing flash fiction set in my enchanting town of Twelve Springs. I created a newsletter to keep things organized, so please sign up if you enjoy them! Subscribers will also receive an exclusive story every month that won't be published on the website.

@twanette and @wildthingsandmagic just in case you're interested :)

[daisyannewrites]

The Nightingale’s Gift

In the town of Twelve Springs, to hear a nightingale sing is good luck. It means that inspiration is on its way. Each listener is blessed with an overwhelming urge to create… ideas come swift as wings, and they pick up a paintbrush, pen, or musical instrument only to conjure up the most enchanting of images and melodies. There’s even a saying in Twelve Springs: “the nightingale is upon me now.” The talents of the residents became so abundant that someone opened a shop called ‘The Nightingale’s Gift.’ If you’re passing through town, be sure to stop in. There you’ll find whimsical art prints alongside delightful volumes of poetry, children’s books, adventure, and romance.

The shop is hard to miss with its bright yellow door, window boxes filled with fragrant blossoms, and tinkling wind chimes that beckon you closer. When you step through the door, you’re greeted by a friendly proprietress. You say hello before browsing the shelves. That’s when you notice the lovely music playing in the background. “Who is that singing?” you ask the owner, and she hands you a CD case before pointing you towards the musical section. Before you know it, you’re carrying a small hoard of treasures up to the cash register. It’s an old fashioned kind that jingles merrily as the sale is completed.

When you get home, you divide the gifts into neat piles… poetry for your sister, postcards for your friends, picture books for your nieces and nephews, music for your father, a novel for your mother. Small joys wrapped in a bow and given with love. Next week, you’ll go back to Twelve Springs and listen for the nightingale. Perhaps she will bless you with creativity as well.

[daisyannewrites]

A Spontaneous Visit to the Sea

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

I unfold myself from the seat of the car, stretching out my cramped limbs. I drove twelve hours to get here. It hadn’t been planned, I simply woke up yesterday determined to see the ocean that I’ve longed for my entire life. I silenced my mind… ignoring all her anxious protests on why I shouldn’t go alone. I drowned out her worries with music and words and hope. This was my journey to take: the one I was meant for.

The salty breeze tangles in my hair as I cross the car park. The seagulls cry “hurry, hurry, hurry!” And the sound of crashing waves reel me in like a siren’s song. When my flimsy sneakers sink into the sand, I start to run. The expanse of endless blue sparkles with a thousand pinpoints of sunlight. The scene is friendly and inviting — like a long lost friend waving hello after a lifetime apart. I step out of my shoes and let the foaming surf roll over my bare feet, laughing at the cold shock of it.

The chilly spring afternoon keeps all but the dog walkers away. A daring retriever mix bounds into a wave, letting it sweep him back onto the shore in a bedraggled, happy heap. I laugh as the owner rushes over and attempts to towel him off — only to have him dart away and jump into another wave. The owner turns to me and grins. “He’s been waiting all winter to do that!”

“I can’t blame him,” I reply. “It looks like fun.”

While we make small talk, I notice that his eyes are the same color as the glittering sea. And there — ringed around the pupil like a life preserver — is a golden sunburst. It’s a striking feature in an otherwise plain face. But his smile is warm, and his laugh is pleasant, and I feel comfortable talking to him (which is more than I can say about most people). When he finds out that I’m only visiting for the day, he offers to show me around the fishing village. And before I can come up with an excuse, I accept his invitation. The wild song of the sea has severed the shackles that bound me to the dry, parched land. Here, I can be my true self… here, I can let my soul run free.

[daisyannewrites]

The Seashell 🐚

Sequel to ‘A Spontaneous Visit to the Sea’

~~~~~~~~~~~

Life may have returned to normal after my visit to the beach, but I had changed. There was a restless freedom inside of me that couldn’t stand being confined. I felt like a sleepwalker at work… performing mindless tasks and making scripted small talk. All I could think about was returning to that fishing village and living the way I was meant to. I kept a seashell in my pocket to remind me of that magical day. Adam had given it to me, and I’d been using it as a touchstone to get through the long week.

I went outside on my lunch break and sat at a picnic table beneath the crab apple tree. The pink blossoms looked lovely — a spot of blooming life amidst a dead sea of black asphalt. A family of sparrows serenaded me from the branches, drowning out the noise from the busy car park.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the seashell; creamy yellow on the outside, pretty peach on the inside. I held it up to my ear. The rushing sound of waves transported me back…

I can see the dog bounding into the rolling surf… see the golden sunburst in his owner’s blue eyes. He’s smiling at me, and my stomach turns over. Perhaps seasickness and lovesickness feel exactly the same?

The chime of my mobile phone interrupts the vision. I set the shell down and rummage through my purse. ‘Adam from the beach’ is emblazoned across the screen. My heart skips a beat when I read his text message. Absolutely, I reply, adding a smiley emoji. Of course I’m going back this weekend.

~~~~~

Written for @writeblrcafe & @ashirisu cinnamon prompt: what does your character have in their pocket?

[daisyannewrites]

Moon Dance

✨🌕✨🌕✨🌕✨

On full moon’s eve

Fair sisters three

Crept from the house

On stealthy feet.

The crunch of leaves,

The sigh of wind,

The only sounds

Accompanying them.

The wooded path

Led to a glade

Bathed in a silvery light—

And there they danced

To celebrate

The beauty of the night.

[daisyannewrites]

Stasis

We must all wait until we are ready.

*

Like seeds beneath the ground,

a flower hibernates until the earth

is warm enough to sprout.

*

Like an egg tucked safely in a nest,

a bird gathers enough strength

to break through its shell.

*

Like a cocoon suspended from a branch,

a chrysalis transforms itself

for the journey ahead.

*

Poised on the edge of a precipice,

slowly, we unfurl our wings

and leap into the sky.

~~~~~

D.A. Tilney

3/21/23 - World Poetry Day

[daisyannewrites]

Facing the Storm

In my dreams, I stand in a candlelit corridor. The flames flicker as I walk by, extinguishing one of them. The burnt odor is overpowering, but as I continue down the corridor, I can detect something else… a light floral scent that reminds me of my mother’s perfume. I follow the invisible trail, trying every door handle, but I’m locked out — like I always am. The closed doors stretch on and on. Just as I’m about to give up, I reach one that is slightly ajar. It lets out a shrill creak as I enter. The room is cold and dark — except for a pool of moonlight that puddles on the wooden floor. A salty gale blows through the balcony doors, tugging insistently at my nightdress. I can hear waves crashing, and the sound lures me towards it like a siren’s song. The sea is just below me — a roiling mass of dark water — powerful, and alive. A lantern-light bobs in the distance. I squint against the rain, trying to make it out. Ah, it’s a boat being tossed to and fro! A child clings to the mast, yelling for help. My breath catches in my throat. I know who she is, of course. How could I not recognize her? She was drowning back then, and no one stopped to help her. But I can change that now… I can go in and rescue the scared little girl I used to be. I climb over the railing, using my toes to balance on the narrow ledge. Arms shaking, I face the storm head-on. The girl screams again. I exhale and let go. In my moment of falling, something releases inside of me… the albatross around my neck takes flight, carrying my fear away. I wake with a gasp, and as I lay there — heart thundering like the storm-tossed waves — I draw in my first breath of freedom. I feel as strong as the sea.

~~~~

Prompt: candlelit corridor from @betweenthetimeandsound and @writeblrcafe

[daisyannewrites]

An attic full of memories

January prompts: bunny + third floor for @nosebleedclub

~~~~~~

The third floor is a wonderland of neglected items… every time I visit my grandmother’s house, I unearth a new treasure. Today, I find some broken dollhouse furniture, a collection of colorful thread on wooden bobbins, and a faux-marble fountain pen. I glue the legs back on the miniature chairs and set them on the windowsills of the enclosed porch (after all, even fairies have to rest their wings from time to time). The thread is for my mother’s embroidery projects, and the pen I’ll give to my father. I break for tea and chocolate biscuits before returning to the attic. There’s a stack of 1950s fashion magazines that my sister will adore, but my favorite discovery of the day is a patchwork bunny made of floral fabric. She has brown button eyes, whiskers made from twine, and a pink velvet nose half rubbed away by kisses. She will look charming on the rattan wall shelf I rescued only last week. I glance around one last time. The afternoon sunlight catches something green glittering on a cluttered bookcase. The dust motes spiral down from the rafters like summer snowflakes as I cross the room. The green object turns out to be a squat glass vase. I run a finger along its wavy rim before using a tissue to wipe away the grime of years gone by. I’ll fill it with sprigs of lily-of-the-valley and bring it with me to the hospital. Grammie says that seeing flowers from her own garden is the most powerful healing charm. When I get to her room, I’ll show her the things I found, and she’ll tell me about each one of them. Grammie may be ninety-years-old, but her memories are as shiny as this emerald vase. With a smile, I descend the three flights of stairs and head for the garden. I wonder what sort of stories she’ll spin for me today?

[daisyannewrites]

Shadow Fox

***

At the bus stop this morning,

I saw a shadow fox emerge from the fog…

It danced and scampered,

and flew straight through my heart -

reigniting the magic

that was almost forgot.

~~~~~

Prompt: one foggy morning from @writeblrcafe & @nerdragons-hoard

[daisyannewrites]

The White Hart by Daisy Anne

Long ago, a young bride named Isabelle sat beneath an oak tree and played a melancholy tune upon her lute. Marriage was not the great romance the minstrels had promised in their songs. Instead of poetry and passionate embraces, Isabelle was given a pat on the head or a kiss on the cheek. Even her elder brothers had been more affectionate in word and deed than her own husband! She missed them terribly, but most of all, she missed her loving father. And oh, how angry he would be to hear of her distress! Not that she could write to him, of course. Her father’s kingdom required a peaceful alliance with England. So Isabelle played and cried and mourned the life she had left behind in France – sending her message upon the wind since there was no one else whom she could tell.

At the point of her darkest despair, a flash of white caught her eye. She glanced up and saw a young deer staring out from the trees. Her breath hitched. A white hart was surely a blessing of good luck! Her fingers continued to play, but her eyes remained fixed upon the lovely creature. After a time, he left his shelter and walked slowly towards her. She could see now that he was an adolescent stag with stubby antlers covered in gray fuzz. He continued forward, curious at the sound issuing from the instrument. When he was but a few yards away, Isabelle held out her hand to him.

(read the full story on substack)