M. Wednesday
Three Things About Me and Why I Write:
I’m 25, and as a housewife, I’ve been pursuing my career as a full-time writer for the past three years.
When I’m not writing, I’m drawing, playing guitar, skateboarding, entertaining my dogs, or taking care of my plants, or fish tanks. (I have a lot of plants – they’re all tropical and they hate Connecticut winters.)
I’ve always been a writer.
My dream since second grade was to be an author, and my husband has helped me pursue that dream to the highest degree. I always felt like words and books were just my element. Since very little, I’d find happiness in daydreams and bringing them to life through spiraled bound notebooks. Simply, I write because the people living in my head need their story told.
The Story . . .
Moon Reign is my first real book – a full length novel where I’ve thrown my whole soul into it. It revolves around nineteen-year-old Drystan and his dragon, Soren, and how they witness what is said to be known as The Birth of a Unicorn the night prior to Soren’s unwilling farewell. For hundreds of years, unicorns, their magic, and their origins have been condemned to legend throughout the galaxy. Though Drystan has his doubts of this phenomenon, his urgent need to reestablish his father’s depleting health drives his faith towards the healing powers of star magic, the most dynamic force in the universe embedded in unicorns. However, they were not the only ones to have witnessed The Birth. Drystan determinedly leaves home in pursuit of it, and Soren, a kingdom away, endeavors to stop the new people in his life to abandon their obstinate desires in capturing the unicorn for themselves.
Three Things to Know as You’re Reading…
Drystan's father, Hamond, a wealthy landowner and owner of a dragon breeding business in Hardinggate, is battling failing health.
All the while, Drystan is battling with Hamond's decision of selling four-year-old Soren for an extremely lavish price. Come morning, the Prince of Aledonia, the Elvish kingdom to the North, will have a dragon of his own…
This is their final flight, their last moments together before daybreak disbands true friendship. But, it’s blessed with the light of a phenomenon, one that triggers Drystan to leave home in search of something that could cure his ailing father.
Where Can You Find Me. . .
There’s this coffee shop in Middletown, CT called Perkatory. I’m usually there with a turmeric latte… No, I’m playing. I’m active on Instagram @m.wednesday’s_inkwell. Once Moon Reign is published, which all my stars are aligned to hopefully be published by the end of spring/early summer 2019, my debut will be available on all indie author platforms. I’m aiming to have Moon Reign in a few local bookstores in my town that support indie authors, as well.
From . . . Moon Reign . . .
The sun had diminished to a bright orange streak, inky clouds crowning the sky. The cliffs called to them, as they always did. A place of silence and solitude. A place where flight broke free.
Thundering waves attacked the rocks on a lulling metronome. Drystan’s attention folded to the looming castle behind… Nothing. No signs of movement. No wings rounding elegant towers. A sigh hopped him onto Soren’s back.
Claws gripped the edge of the land, particles crumbling to hissing whitewash. This is it… this is… our last flight. He gulped down the impaling thought. But, you’re right beside me. And nothing in this moment could separate that. He inhaled the ocean breeze and all the scents carried within. Breathe. All he had to do was breathe and his wings would carry them away into the patient sky. Eyes fluttered open to clustered stars. The sky always understood, always waited. And, with a small confident leap…
He dove.
Dove them into a time-stopping fall. Dove to abandon all despondent thoughts. The air, the rush, revived and renewed with fleeting euphoria. Oh, how he wished their fall could plummet them out of tomorrow’s sight.
Parachute wings braced their fall, angling them with the land. Hardinggate’s dimly lit seafront came into view. Piers and ships along a cluttered boardwalk. The curve of lights along the coast. Up… Up, and over the city, wide easy arches combed velvety moonlight. Wings pivoted towards the black sea. There, still miles from the harbor, a triad of ships sailed towards land.
Playful circles rounded above, swooping closer.
With each.
Large.
Bend.
Coasting alongside their decks, wingtips smacked the waves between paralleled glides. Spray from the bowsprit blew with salty kisses. If anyone on board observed the dragon’s ballet at their port side, he didn’t know. And, if they hadn’t, they were too late. Soren surged upwards in a leisure spiral.
He leveled on an air current, somewhere between planet and stratosphere. All was quiet, save for the occasional drum of his wings. Beyond, ocean and oxygen melted into abysmal darkness. Above, stars and distant galaxies seemed wet enough to smear, watercolor on canvas. Sceaobyss sliced through the masterpiece with its neon blue rings, Arigae’s tropical neighboring planet. Thin gridlines of starships, strung high past the moon, laced between the two planets.
Their bond, fastened under the network of stars above, grounded deeper than the ocean below, could not be swayed even with approaching dread. Neither spoke. Words would not express the grief, the fear, that lay just beneath the surface of their bliss. And a satisfying silence capped their flight.
Drystan released his grip, unbinding his hands from the leather straps, and sat upright. He kicked his shoes from the short stirrups, letting his legs hang casually. Heights inflicted no fear. Gaze meandered to the heavens.
But, expectation was thwarted.
He strained his eyes. Refocusing. Blinking. No, it was there. It was definitely there. Parting stars and atmosphere, a wispy pattern of dusty rose in its wake… “Soren, look.” He tapped the dragon’s neck… “Look up there. You see that?” …And Soren craned his eyes. Blackness was seared with a captivating streak of magenta light. A curious head-tilt angled Soren’s wings. “…What is it?” He tightly flattened into Soren’s ascent.
“I don’t know.” Hushed interest hooked in his rasp. “It looks like… a comet.”
“A comet? No, that’s too fast to be a comet.” Arigae welcomed it, magenta igniting to neon pink as it punctured another layer of sky.
“Maybe a shooting star? I didn’t think there was such a thing as pink stars, though.”
Reply came distantly. “… Neither did I.”
And Soren’s giggle-snort came with delight. “It’s the Birth of a Unicorn.”
Drystan shook his head at Soren’s reference to the fabricated children’s tales. “Right, that’s exactly what it is.” Pink gaseous trail smudged in its wake. But, the bedtime stories he’d heard growing up… The stories of legend and magic and brave hunters who fought the most powerful unicorns into extinction… They watched neon-rose slowly dissolve into space, following until the East swallowed it up. “Who’s to say they even existed in the first place?”
“Well, I think they were real,” Soren muttered.
“Horned space horses. Known as the only creatures to possess star magic, whose one desire was to bring love and peace to the galaxy, devoured under man’s blade and never to be seen again. Right.”
“Oh, c’mon. Remember Hamond telling us those stories that one winter? We were little, but –”
“You were little. He was telling you those stories.”
“How did it go? Something that they were all stars…?”
“That unicorns were mere stardust. And, when they died here in our world they would return to the stars, to be reborn in another. Yeah. Something like that. You know how it goes. I’m sure every kid grew up hearing the same stories.” Recalling young nights by the fire with his father, a quilt and socks, a hot mug in chilled hands… “Even if they were real,” he huffed, thwarting memories, “They haven’t existed for hundreds of years. Hunters slaughtered ‘em all. Because, supposedly, they had the most powerful magic in all of creation. S’pose to be more mind-blowing than any magic. Even the Elves’ magic. Or, dragon magic.”
“I don’t have any magic,” Soren answered flatly.
“Well,” came a shrugged eye-roll, “Alright, wild dragon magic.”
Soren pondered over denying words and old fables, all the while admiring where plunging magenta had scored the night. “I think it’s a legend,” he decided, a glimmer in his eye, “And, legends stemmed from truth at one point in time. Don’t you think?”
A chuckling smile pushed dark hair from the wind. “Whatever you want to believe, Soren. That’s fine with me.” The last wisp of pink dust faded, blurred, and the night claimed its unknown destination.